Ashara supervised the excavation, which meant that she spent most of her time on the scaffolding, watching soldiers swing their picks to make sure that they didn’t strike the crystal. Once in a while, she called a halt and put her hands against the stone. Then she either told them to continue or ordered a switch from picks to chisels. The rhythm of the swinging picks changed to a rattle of tapping hammers as the last thin layer of stone fell away to reveal the gleaming blue stone beneath. Then the soldiers lowered the scaffold and swung their picks again. Every few days, they raised the scaffolds again and cleared more stone away from above the jutting crystal.
Haldren paced like a caged tiger, yelling at soldiers who flagged in their work or made any errors. He had earned some good will from the soldiers in the battles against the worgs, but he squandered it away until the soldiers burned with resentment toward him. Either he was oblivious to it or he thrived on it-with every passing day his vitriol grew more caustic. Cart was sure that if he had not been there, the soldiers would have killed Haldren in his sleep, and he wasn’t sure how long his influence could stay their hands.
Three weeks after the excavation began, Kelas arrived at the head of a caravan. A platoon of soldiers escorted a train of carts laden with food, lumber, and a jumble of metallic objects Cart couldn’t begin to identify-tubes and cylinders of all sizes, gears and wheels, and a staggering variety of other shapes. A team of artificers and magewrights from House Cannith walked in the middle of the caravan, and miners and smiths rounded out the convoy. Haldren’s soldiers cheered when the caravan first came into view, and laughed and clapped the newcomers on the back as they passed through the palisade.
Kelas and Haldren disappeared into the Lord General’s tent, leaving Cart to supervise the expansion of the camp and the placement of supplies. Though it was hectic, everything went smoothly. The sheer number of new arrivals made the work go quickly-until a problem arose with the Cannith contingent. They wanted to place their tents and supplies near the scaffolding and commanded the soldiers and miners who were already established there to move. When Cart came to sort the problem out, they ignored him, continuing to yell at the other soldiers as though he weren’t there.
It had been years since Cart had encountered that kind of treatment. As the only warforged in a squad of human soldiers during the Last War, he’d had to earn their respect-but he’d done that in their first battle. As he worked his way up the chain of command, he occasionally met resistance from his subordinates, but the army did not tolerate insubordination. On the Lord General’s staff, he commanded absolute obedience. But many of House Cannith-because they had made the warforged during the war-refused to acknowledge the warforged as equals, let alone superiors.
Cart turned to a soldier beside him. “Get Ashara,” he said. He hated to resort to that-bringing in someone else to bolster his authority-but he couldn’t see any other option. He stood, arms crossed and impassive as he listened to the argument continue, until Ashara arrived.
Ashara approached quietly, unnoticed by either of the bickering factions. She stood behind his shoulder and spoke quietly. “What is it?”
The Cannith representatives were junior members of the House, technically subject to Ashara’s command, and when they noticed her presence they slowly fell silent. She said nothing, but put a hand on Cart’s back.
“House Cannith, your place in the camp is to the south,” Cart said.
An artificer, a young man with pale hair and a constant sneer, stepped forward and looked up at Cart. The Mark of Making covered one of his arms, left bare by the sleeveless silk shirt he wore.
“We do not take orders from you,” he said. His arrogant condescension was what he had first expected from Ashara.
Ashara remained just behind Cart, her position reinforcing his authority. “There are two people in this camp who outrank Cart,” she said quietly. “Lord General Haldren ir’Brassek is one, and Kelas ir’Darran is the other.”
The blond man stepped sideways to face Ashara. “You expect us to obey a cart? A tool?”
Ashara’s hand flew like lightning to slap him across the face. A gasp went through the entire Cannith contingent.
“I told you his rank,” she said coldly. “You will behave accordingly, or the Baron will hear of it.” She turned and strode away, confident that her command would be obeyed.
His hand on his burning cheek, the blond man looked up at Cart again.
“House Cannith,” Cart repeated, “your place in the camp is to the south.”
The artificer spat on the ground at Cart’s feet and rejoined his contingent. Cart watched, seething with anger and grateful for his immovable face, until they had gathered their belongings and moved to the south of the camp.
Cart didn’t have a chance to seek Ashara until evening, with the new arrivals settled and the next day’s plans set in place with Haldren and Kelas. He found her walking alone near the palisade.
“Lady Cannith,” he said.
“Cart, how many times do I have to-”
“Ashara. I owe you an apology.”
“Oh, no-I should be apologizing to you. Their behavior was outrageous. I’m ashamed for my House.”
“It’s nothing. And certainly not your fault. But I’m sorry for the way I’ve been treating you. You’ve shown me nothing but kindness since we met, and I… I questioned your motives.”
“You thought I was trying to manipulate you.”
Cart nodded.
“Isn’t it funny?” she said, looking away. “We get so used to deception that we see it everywhere.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“I don’t blame you. You trust me now?”
“You took my side against members of your own House.”
Ashara smiled up at him, all warmth and affection. “You were in the right.”
They walked together around the perimeter of the camp until the second watch of the night.
The excavation progressed quickly. The miners extended the head of the canyon from the top down, slowly revealing the bluish crystal, like a great glass monolith jutting up from the ground and leaning out into the canyon. Cart began to worry that if they cleared the stone around it all the way to the canyon floor, it would topple forward, but Ashara assured him that it extended at that angle deep into the earth, far deeper than they would dig.
As more and more of the crystal came into view, Cart started thinking he saw movement within it. At times it seemed like a faint light shifting inside, at other times like a dark smear. He tried to get a clear look, but it seemed to resist his gaze, vanishing into the azure depths as soon as he fixed his eyes on it. He hated it, somehow-looking at it made him inexplicably angry.
He wasn’t alone in feeling perturbed by the crystal. Arguments broke out more often among the workers and soldiers, sometimes escalating into violence. As Cart broke up the fights, he had to keep a tight rein on his own anger to make sure he didn’t injure the people he was trying to calm. Energy flagged, work on the excavation slowed dramatically, and the night was filled with the moans and whimpers of tortured dreams.
“Do you feel it, too, Cart?” Ashara asked. They stood together, looking up at the crystal from the greatest distance possible as the crimson sun of another day sank below the horizon.
“Anger, unease. At least I’m spared the nightmares.”
“Be grateful.”
“What is it?” he asked. “What’s going on?”
“It’s them.” She pointed to the crystal. “The Secret Keeper and the Messenger.”
“The imprisoned fiend?” Cart said.
“And the spirit that binds it. They’re both angry. The Messenger fears that we’ll release the fiend, and the Secret Keeper is furious that we haven’t done so yet. I think it also suspects what we actually plan to do.”