"Bed not very good, but it's this or you roast," Ron said, hands still folded into his robes. Even the blood that had streamed down his head was gone now—wiped away, likely, though by whom or what was unclear.
Merrin's thoughts drifted. Ron was massive, with an angular face and a thick beard. He looked nothing like a youth. Or… was this simply how members of Odium appeared?
Why did he keep thinking the man looked like Liem?
Mists, he cursed inwardly. I must be going mad.
He sighed, rising slowly. Even standing, he barely reached Ron's chest. The man really was a mountain.
"How about the slaves?" Merrin asked, eyes scanning the dim and gloomy space. This was the first time he had truly entered it. Before, he had only ever rested on highstones, or stood and dozed during unfortunate nights—always waking from fire.
"Caring? This is good," Ron replied, snapping him from his fog. "Glass-faced men came. Stop the fight." He bent slightly, nodding toward his head. "See? Wound gone now."
Merrin didn't care for those first words. Maybe it was the weakness, or the fog still clinging to his skull. Whatever it was, he didn't press further.
Why would the Excubitors stop a fight? he wondered. He had assumed this place lawless, a pit of ruin. But maybe not. There was order here, even if thin.
Just a bit of order...
He grimaced, remembering the attack. His gaze wandered away from Ron and swept the room.
It was small, the walls made of rough-cut stone—more accurately, shaped by cast. A crude excavation, likely carved from the earth itself. This was the iron mine. Of course it was. It could only be this deep by force of casting.
Objects lay strewn across the jagged floor: torn clothes, shattered lamps, broken stones. The glassy oredite casing from the lamps had long been scavenged by desperate hands. Only a few froststones still clung to the walls, their holes told him of theft. The ones that remained flickered weakly, near-useless.
Only Ron's lamp, hanging on the right side, gave true light. And under it, Merrin saw a few slaves slumped against the walls. Asleep.
How can they sleep in this heat? Doesn't it burn them?
He looked back at Ron. "The day's work is over?"
"Yes. That is doner than done," Ron said, grinning.
Merrin didn't question the strange words. He looked down at the uneven floor, bent, and grasped the thick makeshift bed. The instant his hands touched the underside, pain flashed through his palms.
He winced. Endured. Turned.
"How did you even get this?" he asked, eyes narrowing. The Excubitors hadn't shared such a thing. And from the look of the sleeping men, neither had they. Which meant—this was Ron's. A thing only he had.
What am I getting myself into?
Ron smiled. "It was gift."
Then, for the first time, he pulled his hands free from his sleeves. Merrin noted it—marked it. Until now, the hands had remained hidden.
And I was ready to fight for him? He felt foolish.
The hands were massive. Clean. Big enough that Merrin could imagine them wrapped around his own head, crushing it with the ease of breath.
Wouldn't even hurt.
He exhaled through his nose and passed the bedding over. Ron took it, folded it neatly—absurdly so, until it looked the size of a child's pillow. Then he slid it into his robe sleeve. Gone. As if the fabric had swallowed it whole.
Are the sleeves… pockets? Merrin wondered absently. Or something else?
He watched Ron a moment longer. The curiosity to ask more—to question the wounds, the pain, the strange peace the man wore like a crown—gnawed at him.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he looked away, walking out of the little door. A small thing it was. So small that he, who was notably short, had to lean to get out.
Night and their small doors! Merrin grunted, his back touching the top of the door. It scorched hot. How did Ron even fit into it?
Stepping out from the cave-like room, what narrowed before him was a stone pathway. Rough, messy with stone slabs and dark grime plastered against the walls. Mists! There were slaves felled against the scantily froststoned surface. Were they dead?
Merrin's nose slowly itched at the redolence of scents mixed here. Even the ash mountain wasn't this ill-scented. Still, theirs was mostly the goodness of ash, but these were mucky. He frowned, stepping carefully above the many strips of dried slime and dung.
Ron should have left him on a highstone.
"This name. Liem." Ron suddenly said from behind, "Who this person is?"
Merrin glanced at him, surprised, eyes widened. "How…how do you know that name?" he turned sharply, walked slowly, and gripped Ron by the robes. "Is he?...do you?"
The giant of a man stared silently, his dark eyes with a reddish hue seeming to hold a certain emotion. What was it? Pity?
What?
Ron leaned forward a bit then said, "This name I not know. You scream it in sleep, so I ask. This is true."
Merrin quailed. I'm so stupid. He cursed. Of course, how would he even know Liem? His dead…His dead I saw his corpse. He freed Ron, pressing his back against the wall behind, feeling the heat press back in retaliation. But he didn't move. He needed it. He deserved it.
Ron lowered his head for a moment. "I don't know this leim. But he holds importance. This is true for you." he said in a low tone, a variation from his normal softer one. "Then me Ron mourn also."
Merrin glanced up at the man; his gaze was lowered. What am I doing? He thought, heaved a breath then shrugged weakly. He turned, walking. No need to stay with him anyway.
He needed his solitude. However, as apparent as the mists and darkness, Ron tailed close. A few steps behind, yes, but certainly he followed.
Not so long after, Merrin reached the edge of the wall. A round exit. He stood on the lip of the cave, with the vastness rising from the distance. Now, he very clearly saw it: the mines!
It was as though he stood at a great height–a mountain or hill like those in the Cintry Mountain range. He overlooked the mines, and in a way, it felt tangibly like he was above it all. Above the pain. Above the hurt. Above the deaths that could come from his presence here.
Realize it's fake. He smiled weakly. You're above nothing.
The mines were truly a mighty big place, the chains dangling from the reversed stone spires clanged from the ceiling. It was like a bell. Ringing and ringing. Below the dark stone spears was a sprawl of pits. At first, Merrin had believed the number small, but now, looking at this, he understood he had grossly misunderstood.
They were like the dots on a person's skin; endless, some vast enough to swallow a small mountain, some small enough that only a single person could fit into it. Yet, outside all that, there were more men than there were holes.
They strewed like sand on a surface; way too much. There were also buildings. Shacks scattered over the place. Some seemed like shops as miners went in with them, carrying handfuls of cells, and leaving quite unnerved. They would look around before moving to a secluded corner.
Somehow, Merrin understood the reason for this.
"A big place, yes?" Ron said from behind him.
Merrin did not look at the man, chances were that even if he wanted, he would be incapable of losing him. He was just too persistent. He heaved a hateful breath and asked, "Why did Kzeith attack you? What did Odium do?"
"Ah, this," Ron nodded with a smile, hands still folded within his sleeves. It appeared he was expecting the question. He answered nonetheless, "Long years ago, Odium killed Highness. Gladwell Valor, yes, his name that. They name it Rednight. Bad day for everyone."
Merrin turned, looking at Ron standing...piously. In many ways, he looked more like an Aspirant than a brightCrown. "Why did Odium kill him?" he asked, Why do you even care? "And they must have warred after that." Well, he needed something to think about.
Ron smiled and shook his head. "Don't know why Odium do that. Maybe feud from past? Since red twins and that woman…What's her name again?" he drifted into something else, his head slouched, eyes staring into the distance.
Merrin remained silent, watching the man think. A slave lazily walked past them, stepping onto the ladder at the base of the wall's lip. He climbed down.
After some time, Ron shook his head. "Ah! These things gone from mind now," he said with a smile, "And oh! If you're froststone without adi, then use cell and get some."
Merrin cocked his head.
"This is true." Ron leaned forward. "Caster here in mines. I've seen with eyes. He breathes life into stones."