They were sailing along the coast, parallel to the continent. From out here, the hills of the Empire, Wishundi – his birthplace – looked like a warm, crumpled blanket. But that place... he couldn't return to it anymore.
Not for his sake, and not for those back home who might still be counting on him. This ship, though... Arin wasn't sure what to make of it.
He hadn't been on many ships in his life. Once, he and his seven siblings had gone out with their father on a Riverbug, but only for a short ride. The riverboat had been powered by Duskgold, and that made it a floating sickness to anyone who wasn't fully compatible.
That was also the day Arin learned that he was, in fact, compatible.
He frowned and looked around the main deck. Ever since he had gotten near the mighty warship, there was a sort of tingling in his blood, and it hasn't stopped since. Somewhere on this ship, there had to be a massive stash of Duskgold. He just couldn't tell where.
His first guess would've been the cargo hold – but the sensation came from everywhere. From the three masts groaning under wind-stretched sails, the captain's quarters at the rear, the hull were the high waves pounded, even from the dark wooden planks beneath his feet.
The proximity to the mysterious material wouldn't hurt him – at least not yet. Two weeks shouldn't be all too dangerous even for someone who wasn't very compatible. Probably. The real problems would come after the journey. And they wouldn't be magical.
Though truthfully, the problems were already here.
"Pull him up!"
Arin rolled his eyes. A whip cracked, and once again everyone tugged as one.
"I swear I'll strangle that idiot in his sleep..."
Jumper – yes, him again – had somehow managed to hurl himself overboard again, before they'd even finished locking up the prisoners.
The spacing between the chained men wasn't even close to wide enough! It had to be six meters from deck to sea. How was anyone supposed to drown themselves from that height?
Jumper hit the deck with a dull thud. For a moment, Arin hoped the little man had broken his neck. Then he was beaten back to his feet, and Arin lost interest.
Far ahead, he saw the trio of academy hopefuls. Round boy, anxious girl, and Vaneth in her rolling chair. They vanished down a corridor, likely headed to their cabins.
Then a guard stepped in front of Arin, and they were led below as well.
It was going to be a long voyage. And Arin had no intention of spending it in chains.
Arin had two options, if he wanted to avoid the tunnels. More specifically, the worst of the tunnels – the Sunhole.
He could try to escape in Tatli when they disembarked. But that meant giving up on the Academy. No Grandmasterhood. And odds were, the prisoner transfer would be more heavily guarded than he was right now.
The second option was to act while still on the ship. He didn't know how yet, but there were always options.
He started by assessing what he had right now.
They'd been locked up deep inside the warship's belly. Ten prisoners divided into three cells, each one sealed off from the corridor by a thick wooden cage.
Even here, Arin could feel the Duskgold thrumming in his blood.
And, of course, by the Founder's great humor, he'd been locked in with that idiot.
Arin turned around. Jumper – he still didn't know the man's real name – had been with him almost from the start. Dragged halfway across the Empire for two weeks, and Arin still hadn't spoken a single word to him.
To Arin, Jumper looked like the kind of man who'd steal fruit from the market, then give it back out of shame. A walking embarrassment. No matter how deep Arin searched those hollow eyes, he couldn't find the faintest will to live.
Then again, Arin wasn't in great shape either. The bit of bread he'd... borrowed from the academy boy had only made him hungrier.
With a sigh, he looked away from Jumper. If the man managed to off himself in a cell, that'd earn a bit of respect – but Arin wouldn't lose any sleep over it. Not now that the chains were finally off.
Instead, he stepped toward the cage's thick wooden door and inspected it.
"Mmm… I see," he murmured absentmindedly, rapping twice on the frame.
"Wood."
He turned and addressed the other man in the cell, curled up in the corner Jumper wasn't using.
"You wouldn't happen to have a saw on you, would you?"
No answer.
Arin rubbed his chin. Was that stubble? By the Founder, he felt disgusting.
If they hadn't stripped everything from him during his arrest, getting out of this cage wouldn't have been a problem.
Using Signistry wasn't an option either. If there was a Cignis aboard, she'd sense any use of the art immediately – and then Arin would face more than just mining duty.
Besides, he needed Duskgold to use Signistry. And that was what made all this so damn frustrating. He felt it everywhere on this ship – but he had no idea where.
Duskgold. The ore mined from the tunnels beneath the Blackchain Mountains. When humans first discovered those tunnels, they had no idea what power – or what death – they'd unearthed.
Generation after generation, the ore crept into the world. It brought sickness. It gave gifts. It birthed the Signists and the Cignis – those who could manipulate the ore and unlock its mysterious forces.
The first, and deadliest, of the Golden One's Three Magics.
Those who weren't compatible enough fell ill. Some died just from being near raw, unrefined ore. Even now, centuries later, when people learned to first refine and mix the ore with other material, only a small portion of the population had true immunity to the Tunnels' death.
Somewhere on the Red Return, there was a massive haul of Duskgold. Maybe part of a delivery. Maybe contraband. Arin didn't care.
Well, he cared a bit. Duskgold was unbelievably valuable. He could probably buy himself a way into the academy and out of this cell, if he got only a fistful of it.
Hell, two fists could probably buy him an entire mansion.
That's why he was looking for it. Not because he hoped to use its magical power. Because for all he knew about the stuff… he still had no idea how to channel its power, or if he was even able to.
Feeling the presence of Duskgold didn't make him a Signist – one of those rare few who could awaken the Golden arts. They had a different connection to it altogether, and someone like Arin was far removed from it.
Maybe when he would finally get the title of Grandmaster, even just Master, there was a chance for this power.
Arin shook his head and kept scanning the cell. There had to be other solutions to his situation.
No bolts to loosen. No locks to crack.
Whatever. His chance would come.
Now and then the Red Return swayed beneath him, and he had to catch himself in order not to loose balance.
Or bite down on his own arm. By the Founder, he was starving!
"When are they finally going to feed us?!"
The man in the corner looked up briefly.
"Shut it, boy. Who cares if we eat. We're all—"
"Yeah yeah, we're all gonna die, sure," Arin cut him off without even looking. "I've never seen such pathetic Wishundi in my life. If we're gonna die, we might as well die with full bellies!"
He shouted that last part loud enough for the other prisoners to hear.
No one moved. They just sat, slumped in their cages, wasting away as they waited for the Sunhole.
Arin blew the air out his nose.
"These people don't have a spark left between them…"
Utterly disappointing.
"At least we're better than him," said the man in the corner, nodding weakly toward Jumper.
Arin raised a brow.
"That's supposed to make you feel better? That you're doing better than a – hey, what is your deal anyway?"
The question was aimed at Jumper, but it was the other man who answered.
"I asked him a few times on the road. Only answered once. Said drowning's a gentler death than burning."
"And that's why he jumped?"
The man nodded. Arin rubbed his temples.
Then, suddenly, a hoarse voice rasped from the corner. It was Jumper.
"…you don't understand…"
His voice sounded more like rusted metal than a human throat.
"In the Sunhole, we don't just die… we're lost."
Arin opened his mouth, then closed it again. He grimaced.
"Fantastic," he muttered, turning away. "One of those."
No way he was going to piss himself over a damn tunnel. Probably.
And since nothing smarter came to mind, he started knocking against the wooden door.
That's when he heard footsteps in the corridor – and he paused.
He had to fight back a grin.
Here it came. His opportunity.
"And she's heavier than I thought."
It was two sets of footsteps, actually. Then two figures appeared.
The guard with a club.
And a broad, round boy in a gray cloak – one chunk of bread lighter than before.