The Stoneweaver

Chapter 2: Lamp

Skarn woke in complete darkness, as if he were blindfolded or wearing a hood. He tried to feel for a covering on his face, but he couldn't get his arms to move; they were bound behind his back. He had no idea where he was or how he got there.

Skarn remembered the Guards. And the imposing figure of Erid Gur. He had been arrested for violating the Edict of Equality, the law that brought the Trade Master to almost complete power in the realm.

He heard the sound of a boot scuffling on stone behind him. "Hello?" he croaked, his throat thick with phlegm.

He felt hands upon his arms, undoing the ropes that bound his arms behind his back. As sensation awoke, his arms were pierced with shards of tingling pain. He reached up to pull the hood from his face, but he felt nothing. Only his face. He blinked his eyes. He'd never faced such darkness before. Not even when he'd spent three harrowing months in the southern mines during his apprenticeship, digging out dimsian from the dark.

Had he been blinded? The gouging of eyes had been outlawed as a punishment generations before. But one heard stories about Erid Gur ever since he became Chief Warden of the prisons.

"What have you done to me?" he demanded, panic threatening to raise his voice to a scream.

"Light," said a soft voice.

Skarn heard the sharp ring of sparkstone. A blaze of light seared his eyes and he cried out.

"Do you know here you are?" asked the voice. Nothing more was said as Skarn's eyes gradually cleared. After half a minute, he could see now who had spoken. Erid Gur.

The Trade Master sat casually on a padded chair a few feet away. At his side stood a massive Royal Guard who held a lantern, the lone source of light.

The room took shape under the light. It was all rock. The floor and the walls and the ceiling were all one piece, no seams detectable by his expert eye. The rock was scored throughout with scratches and deep furrows.

Rock all around. Black deeper than midnight. The presence of Erid Gur. There was only one place on earth where Skarn could be: the Great Dungeon. Home to the worst scum in Darem. Murderers. Rapists. And worse.

"I can surmise by the expression on your face that you recognize your location. I am familiar with such an expression. What do we call that one, Tark?" said Erid, turning to the Guard.

"Horror," grunted Tark.

"Quite right; horror. We also know anger, despair, and the last emotion we witness in this subterranean realm ... madness."

"This can't be right," Skarn declared. "I haven't faced the Queen's justice. How can I be imprisoned without a trial?"

"Defiance, as expected in one as strong as this one," murmured Erid, as if he was speaking to himself.

"I can explain about the arch. It was in danger of—"

"Ah. This is the one we call pleading." He drew the word out slowly, savoring it. "Close kin to despair. In fact, I can see it peeking through. Can you, Tark? Look closely now; the merest hint of despair at the corners of his mouth. It will grow larger shortly."

There was no escape from the Great Dungeon. No parole. Just a life in darkness. Skarn struggled to keep his panic in check.

As monstrous as it was, he was being tossed down with the worst criminals in Darem because he had broken the prohibition against using his Talent. It couldn't be, but it was. Skarn's mind raced as he tried to think of a way out.