Page 62 of Elvenbred

Leda moaned again. Haldeen saw a trickle of blood come from the corner of her mouth. He shook his head, uncertain what to do. “Next person you see, send them to get the physician.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized their futility. Good luck with that. He tried to think of something to say or do that would make a difference. In the end, he simply held Leda’s hand while she died, while the worker woman held the other. When it was done, he helped the worker move the body off the stairs.

Leda’s death had only taken a few minutes from the time he found her. Still, it felt as though hours had passed. Most of the mage-lights had gone dark, and the semi-darkness unnerved him. This area had always been brightly lit, and if not exactly cheery, it had the sense of occupation from all of the people who worked here. Now it felt haunted. He’d been in these passages hundreds of times, but never when the lights were either down or dying. Passages he knew from many years experience suddenly seemed ominous and threatening, with shadows that grew and leapt as the mage-lights flickered.

He listened for the sounds of combat or strife. Battle here would send him flying back up the stairs. He heard nothing that sounded like fighting, and a whole lot that sounded like the aftermath of a fight. Moaning came from the machining rooms up ahead, and he heard the sounds of crying from the larger of the two food production areas. He stepped over a fallen set of shelves and bent to pick up a working mage-light. Most here had either failed, or were failing, and as he looked for one that still worked well, another went out.

These should be working. A disruption in the ambient magic … or something that burned them out? Either way, this was bad. He found one that seemed in better shape than the others, and lifted it up to better see.

He heard voices up ahead in what sounded like the food makers’ rooms. Male voices, one in tones of command. He couldn’t quite make out who spoke, but he was glad that someone had kept his head. Haldeen stepped around more debris and followed the sound. Second left and second right. The smaller of the food production rooms lay just up ahead. He felt nausea build.

He made the last turn and came face to face with the destruction. Workstations had been overturned and scattered like jackstraws. Tools had fallen or been thrown down and labors abandoned. Food in various stages, from algae-sludge to finished bricks, lay splattered and scattered everywhere, smeared and crushed underfoot. The storm seemed to worsen as he moved towards where the women made the bread … the rations that kept them all going.

He entered the smaller of the two rooms and stared at the completeness of the destruction. Blood smeared the walls and pooled on the floors. The tables lay scattered and strewn about, with a number broken and at least two beyond repair. Pots of algae paste had been thrown about or cast from tables, their astringent odor adding to smells of blood, sweat, and fear that lingered in the room. He caught a whiff of something burning, and turned to find the source. A candle had overturned and fallen on a scarf that had been left behind in the stampede. So, there’s the fire.

He stepped on the burning candle and the smoldering scarf, snuffing the fire.

One of the guards approached, gripping a truncheon in one hand, and a flickering mage-light in the other. He approached Haldeen, raising his light to see. “What are you about? Get out of here, you old rat, before I … oh, wait, m’lord. Sorry, it’s you. Didn’t recognize you.”

Haldeen let it pass. “What happened here? Did you see?”

The guard used the back of the hand holding the mage-light to wipe away something on his cheek. Blood. Haldeen saw the red streak he left behind. “I didn’t see the first, but I saw what happened at the end right enough.” He took a deep, ragged breath. “One of the ration makers went mad, and attacked the others. Used some kind of magic, a weapon I think. Something she had hidden on her? By the time I came in, the others had her down. Lorman had a table leg shoved down on her throat right enough, or she might have … I dunno what she might have done.”

Haldeen felt ice down his back and knew the answer before he asked the question. “Who?”

The guard blinked heavily. “The one they call Horseface. The skinny bitch. She’s got a foul mouth on her, swearing and throwing things around when she just went mad.”

Haldeen’s stomach lurched. He closed his eyes for a second. He expected the rage to flare, and was surprised at how calm he sounded. He’d kept it bottled first when he learned of the translator’s deceptions, and now for this “Anybody killed?” he asked.

The guard shrugged again, a habit that had started to get on Haldeen’s nerves. “Dunno, m’lord. There was several bashed up serious-like, but no sheets over faces, at least not while I saw them. Couple bloodied bad, but couldn’t say how bad it was under the blood.” He paused, then added wisely, “Scalp cut bleeds like yer gonna die, but nothin’ comes of it.”

The both looked towards the door as they heard calls down the hallway, calling for a physician. Someone couldn’t move. Broken leg. Haldeen let out another mirthless laugh. He looked at the guard. “What are you supposed to be doing?”

The guard gave him a wary look. “S’posed to be guarding this room, my lor’,” he replied.

“From what?”

The guard shrugged again.

Haldeen let it pass. “Then, do whatever it is you are supposed to be doing right now, and let me be.”

The guard bobbed his head and moved into the next room while Haldeen tallied up the costs. An entire day’s worth of food production was lost. Probably more, if the cleanup couldn’t be done by the usual start time in the evening. Equipment broken, that would need to be replaced. But more importantly workers that would have to be taken off the production line until they healed enough to be able to concentrate again. Those he could put to work had been in here when it happened. He shook his head, wearily certain that they would be far off their pace.

Broken crockery crunched under his foot as he stepped around the tables and walked over to the preparation areas. He held his light high to better see. One small bit of good news. The buckets that brought the algae up from the tanks below looked intact, as well as the mixing tables, and the measuring ladles. One deep exhale. This was bad, bad, double bad … but not an utter disaster. He could get production back up, but it would cost him.

He swore as he realized the story had already moved beyond the walls of the estate.

The economic losses didn’t even begin to factor into the scandal this would cause. Just when he had things just as he liked, this stupid, stupid girl would bring attention back to him at exactly the moment he least wanted to attract attention. He felt his banked anger and anxiety flare. So much progress, but still so much to be done! She had single-handedly put all he stood to accomplish in jeopardy, and he knew with full certainty that a dozen flavors of whatever happened here would be all over the city within a few days. Anxiety turned to rage, and his head throbbed.

He turned and kicked one of the few upright tables, sending it crashing across the room. He took his rage out on a few more tables and chairs, smashing them into kindling and he let out a stream of profanity.

He heard a throat clear behind him, and Haldeen turned. The Overseer stood there, his expression wary. Lords had a way of taking their ire out on those a step or two down the ladder, and Haldden saw his Overseer’s anxiety. “I heard the smashing. Came to see what it was.”

Haldeen flung a chair away. “Vaylan, where is she?”

The Overseer saw his expression and took a step backward. “In the old reeve’s office, my lord. Collared with a sleeper. Trey-ana. The new one.”

Haldeen’s fury blazed again and his head pounded. “Show me.”

The Overseer gave him the control rod, nothing more than a slim wand made of porcelain, and gestured down the hall. Haldeen snatched it out of his hand and stormed down the passage, pausing only to step over fallen baskets and boxes. His fury boiled. He saw the lit room up ahead and swept into it.