While the civilian paymaster clerks finished counting silver rolls for the last departing soldiers on the windy parade ground, Kezra Venn and Paxa Sel dropped into the dark depths of the western castle.
They followed the narrow, switchbacking rock stair down past the damp water tanks to the broken-grille nook in the lowest underground court. The air here was cool and damp. It carried the steady, refreshing draft that had circulated through the mountain since Kezra and Fellis unblocked the outside air-flow shaft on Day 103. In the yellow lantern light, thirty-two men, women, and children of the castle miners’ community were assembled along the gallery floor. They were surrounded by wicker panniers, rolled feather beds, iron grease-lamps, and bundles of scaling chisels.
These eleven families had lived underground for three ages, cutting building stone and lead ore for whatever guard post held Stonewake’s castle walls. They had been treated as part of the mountain’s furniture—workers who slept below the frost line, saw the sun only on holy days, and ate barley porridge in the dark. During the forged-profile investigation on Day 103, Kezra had discovered their hidden living quarters carved behind the false foundation wall. There, Ulvan Dret had once tried to hide their presence from the regional tax roll.
