Page 82 of Kingdom of Feathers

“Well. It seems you were right, Sergeant. There most certainly is something down here.”

Basil!

With a gasp, Wren stumbled forward. She rounded the corner so rapidly, she almost fell into the group of men standing just past the bend in the blaze of several lanterns. She barely saw the others, her eyes drawn instantly to the tall man at the center of the group, his light brown hair sprinkled with dirt, and his hazel eyes full of shock as they latched on to her.

“Wren!” Basil started forward, reaching out to steady her as she pulled herself abruptly up. “What are you doing here?” His eyes searched vainly in the semi-darkness behind her. “Surely you’re not alone?”

Wren nodded, a slight shiver running over her frame, followed quickly by a flush of heat. Perhaps she’d been more unnerved by being trapped in the tunnel than she’d let herself acknowledge. Although that didn’t explain why the heat seemed to have localized at the points where Basil still gripped her shoulders steadyingly.

She forced herself to look away from him, taking in the identity of his companions. Basil’s guards she recognized, and Lord Baldwin, although she didn’t linger on him. He was watching her with even more discomfort than usual—he looked almost horrified. The rest of the group were all in military uniform. One was so decorated, Wren suspected he might be Basil’s own general. He was flanked by two soldiers, but a third stood next to Basil, his dark eyes showing mild surprise at Wren’s abrupt appearance.

Pushing down a strange and embarrassing impulse to curl up against Basil’s chest, Wren took a step back and straightened her spine. She was a princess of Mistra, and she fully intended to show these Entolian soldiers a strong front. Surreptitiously, she shook a few clumps of dirt loose from her hair.

Basil cast an appraising glance over her. “You look like you got in here by crawling through a hole,” he said bluntly.

Feeling slightly resentful, Wren acknowledged it with a quick nod. Basil chuckled, and Wren couldn’t help scowling as she flicked her chin toward his own disheveled appearance.

“I know, I know, I’m not much better,” Basil acknowledged comfortably. “We did have to dig a bit, but at least we didn’t have to crawl.” His expression turned grim as he turned his head toward the nearby wall of the tunnel. “It was certainly worth the effort though, wasn’t it?”

Following his gaze, Wren felt her eyes widen at the sight of another one of the objects she’d been passing. In the light of the lantern being held by the third soldier, she could clearly make out the small wooden cart, piled with chunks of dirt and rock, with a series of unfamiliar metal tools sitting on top. Suddenly the reinforced tunnels made sense, and she felt like a fool for not recognizing it immediately.

They were standing in a mine.

“We’ve found the source of the magic,” Basil said darkly. “It seems someone is mining the iron ore out from underneath the battlefield. By the looks of things, they’ve probably been doing it for years. Maybe the whole duration of the war. And I can only assume they’re using magic to do it so clandestinely, and so successfully.”

“It’s not just iron they’re mining, Your Majesty,” chimed in the dark-haired soldier. “But yes, they’re certainly using magic to do it. This place is coated with magic. Not just the protective enchantment I felt from above—which I assume operates to protect the mine from being damaged by the fighting—but other magic as well. Even the lights,” he nodded toward the stone-topped torches, “have latent power.”

Wren looked him over, intrigued. It seemed Basil had found another magic-user to act as his guide after he left the merchant enchantress with Wren.

“What do you mean they’re not just mining iron, Sergeant Obsidian?” Basil asked, frowning.

In answer, Sergeant Obsidian lifted a pick from the cart and swung it into the wall of the tunnel, which in this area seemed to be primarily rock. He chipped away for a moment, then pulled off a chunk of something red. Raising his lantern in his other hand, he held up his prize for everyone to see.

Wren wasn’t the only one to gasp as the lantern threw its light not just onto the item in the sergeant’s hand, but on the vein of dull red threading its way across the rocky tunnel wall behind him, enlivened by the occasional sparkle of gold.

“Is that ruby?” one of the other soldiers asked, sounding awed.

The sergeant shook his head. “Much more rare than that. It’s fire jasper.” He pointed to the piece in his hand. “See the thread of sparkling gold that runs across it? That’s how you tell it apart from regular jasper.”

Fire jasper. The name tickled something in Wren’s memory, although she couldn’t immediately identify it.

The Entolian general raised an eyebrow, a definite hint of suspicion on his face. “I didn’t realize you were well versed in matters of mining and precious stones, Sergeant.”

The young soldier gave a humorless smile. “I don’t know anything about mining, sir. I know about magic. Fire jasper has a latent affinity with magic, and can be useful in all kinds of enchantments. It makes sense that there’s some in this area actually. We’re not so far from the dragons’ realm, and everyone says their colony was built on a bedrock of fire jasper.” He tossed the piece he’d mined to Basil. “Now I think about it, I’ve heard that it’s sometimes found alongside iron ore. But as you can probably guess, Your Majesty, it’s about a hundred times as valuable as iron.”

Wren’s eyes widened as she remembered where she’d heard about fire jasper before. It had been mentioned in the notes Basil’s sister had sent, as a tool that could be used in combining the power of more than one enchanter. The notes had tallied with the sergeant’s account—apparently fire jasper was particularly effective in carrying magic of various kinds.

Basil’s face was set in grim lines. “Well, now we know the what and the why. What still remains is the who.”

“I’m more interested in the how!” snapped Basil’s general. Studying him quietly, Wren detected mortification beneath his outrage. It seemed he truly hadn’t known about the secret mine under his own battlefield, and he must be deeply embarrassed to have his obliviousness paraded in front of his king. “As for who, it’s clearly the Mistrans behind this,” the general blustered on. “Just the kind of duplicity I would expect from them, waging battle for the mine above land, and all the while sneaking under our feet to steal what’s rightfully ours!”

“General,” interjected Basil mildly, “this might be a good moment to formally introduce you to our new companion.” He cleared his throat. “Princess Wren of Mistra.”

The general’s eyes seemed to start from his head, and to Wren’s amusement he reached for the hilt of his sword.

“Oh, don’t be absurd,” said Basil impatiently. “She’s not here to attack any of us. She’s been investigating the source of the magic, same as I have.”

Ignoring the protests clearly building on the general’s lips, Wren pulled out her slate. She was aware that the soldiers were all watching her in fascination, but the time for embarrassment was long past.

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