Free The Dark Ability by D.K. Holmberg

quickly moved to another part of the wall, chipping away at the stone as if he had not found anything.
    When the whistle sounded signaling the end of the day, Rsiran quickly grabbed the lump of lorcith and shoved it under his arm, hurrying forward so he would not be trapped in the back of the line. He could leave it near the foreman or let someone else take credit for the find. Somehow, as the men nearest the stairs leading out of this section of the mine jostled forward, he still managed to end up near the rear.
    Pressing forward as he held onto the metal, he had gone nearly a dozen more steps when he felt something stab into his back, almost in the same spot as the last time. He froze, recognizing it as the sharp point of a pick.
    “Set it down and keep climbing.”
    The voice was soft but menacing. Was it the thin man? One of his friends? The voice sounded the same as before, but that didn’t help him know who.
    Rsiran knew he should listen, but felt a strange fluttering in his chest when he considered it. He shook his head. “No,” he whispered.
    The person in front of him turned and looked at him. Dust from the rock stained his face and sweat dripped down his brow. Seeing the mass under Rsiran’s arm, his eyes widened, and a dark smile crept across his face. Rsiran considered handing the lorcith to him, but he flickered his gaze past Rsiran and turned away suddenly.
    The pressure on Rsiran’s back intensified.
    He took a step forward. The pain from the pick went with him.
    “Set it down or you won’t make it through the night.”
    Rsiran suppressed a shiver at the callous tone. What did he care if someone else took the lorcith? He was supposed to ignore it. As he started to set it down, he felt an urgency to the soft murmuring that came from the metal itself, demanding that he not.
    “No,” he said again. Then he scooped the lump of lorcith into his hands and spun. The pick scratched deeply across his back, tearing his shirt and flesh with the same blunt ease. Thrusting the lorcith out like a weapon, he halted in the middle of his swing. There was no one behind him.
    He tucked the lorcith back under his arm. His back throbbed, and blood ran from between his shoulder blades toward his waist. The pain almost caused him to drop the lorcith, and he struggled to steady his breathing. He had to lean against the rough wall of the stairs as he turned to climb, hurrying as much as he was able to catch up with the remaining miners.
    When he finally reached the top of the stairs, he hugged the wall as he waited for his turn to meet with the foreman, staggering forward so that he almost fell. Most of the miners had already disappeared, but a few lingered. Rsiran hesitantly pulled the lorcith out from under his arm. He could have left it, but that would open him to more questions.
    The foreman’s pale green eyes widened as he showed him the lorcith. He smiled, flashing yellowed teeth, scratching his beard. “Quite the find,” he said. “Miners haven’t seen one like this in months.”
    The words seemed a little too loud, and Rsiran looked around, worried others might hear. The few remaining miners seemed to be ignoring him, but that didn’t change the itching in his back. How deeply had he been cut?
    “Months?” he asked. The one he found the first day had been even larger. Hadn’t the person who stole it from him turned it in for credit?
    The foreman nodded, knuckling his forehead. “Time was when this was common. At least once a week, usually more. Now?” he shrugged. “Some think the mines are dry. Others think the Elvraeth need to send more miners. Or maybe the guild just doesn’t want more lorcith.” He shrugged again, as if that answered the question.
    Rsiran shifted on his feet, feeling weak and trying to keep from falling. He laughed nervously.
    The foreman hefted the lump of lorcith. “Well, maybe the mines aren’t as dry as some think. And you’ll be pleased with the credit for this. Name?” the