Dragon Weather by Lawrence Watt-Evans Page B

Rat and the others over the past three shifts, all the reasons it was better to keep Bloody Hand alive than to risk an unknown new overseer or tighter precautions in the mine, how he hadn’t wanted to miss even a single meal—but that was all lies, and right now he didn’t want to lie to this man, who had admitted what was unmistakably the truth about Dinian’s death, who had clearly been troubled by that death for years.
    â€œYou were in danger, and I could help you,” Arlian said. “Who you were didn’t matter.”
    Arlian could see Bloody Hand’s brow lower at that, could almost hear him growl. The overseer’s hand lashed out and grabbed him by the beard, pulling Arlian forward.
    â€œIt does matter,” he hissed. “You’ve seen that it matters! You saved someone’s life, and what did it get you? I killed a man, and what did that get? It’s a sick, unjust world, Arlian, and it does matter who we are!” He released his hold and Arlian tumbled backward, catching himself against the tunnel wall.
    For a moment the two men stared silently at one another; then Bloody Hand turned on his heel and marched back out into the pit.
    â€œGet to work, slave,” he called back over his shoulder. “There’s ore to be mined!”

8
    Into the Light
    Arlian was asleep in his niche when a booted foot kicked him awake.
    â€œGet up, slave!” Bloody Hand shouted. He stood over the sleeping miner, lamp in hand, boot ready to kick again.
    Arlian rolled aside and struggled mazily upright.
    It was his time off, his sleeping time—he had dug and carted his share for this shift, and was entitled to a few hours’ rest. He knew better than to argue, though.
    As he stood, Bloody Hand leaned forward, his mouth close by Arlian’s ear, and whispered confidentially, “If there’s anything you prize here, bring it.”
    Astonished by this sudden change in manner, Arlian blinked at him, then quickly snatched up his bag and belt. He reached for his lamp, but Bloody Hand shook his head and knocked his hand away from it. “Leave it,” he whispered.
    Arlian left it, and waited for orders.
    â€œIt’s time I settled with you once and for all!” Bloody Hand bellowed, stepping back, reverting to his usual bullying self and astonishing Arlian anew. “Come out and take it like a man!”
    Confused, still half asleep, Arlian staggered out of the niche and up toward the pitshaft, Bloody Hand close behind, shoving him forward every time he slowed or stumbled. He tied his belt in place as he walked. Other than the belt he was wearing only a tattered pair of breeches, and he wondered whether there was anything else he should have grabbed while he had the chance.
    Well, it was too late now.
    â€œWhat do you want with me?” he asked.
    â€œI’m going to ensure that you never lay hands on me again!” Bloody Hand roared. He snapped his whip.
    Arlian was baffled. He had saved Bloody Hand’s life; was a flogging to be his reward? Perhaps it was what he deserved for aiding a murderer, but he hadn’t expected it. Was this Bloody Hand’s way of showing Arlian that there was no justice in the world?
    It was hardly necessary; the dragons had done that long ago.
    Then they were in the pitshaft—and Arlian was surprised to see that it was almost totally dark. All the lamps had been put out; only the one Bloody Hand held remained to provide illumination.
    A faint glow came from above, as well, but Arlian wasn’t sure whether that was anything out of the ordinary or not. Perhaps there was always a light up there, and it simply wasn’t usually visible through the glare of the lamps.
    â€œNow!” Bloody Hand barked, as the two of them reached the base of the rag pile. He blew out the lamp he carried, plunging the already shadowy pit into near total blackness. Only the glow from above alleviated the gloom.
    Arlian heard