The rough shake of Commander Dravik's boot against his bedroll startled Kael awake.
"On your feet, " Dravik growled, "The mountain won't mine itself."
Kael, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Five days. Five long days of pretending to be just another faceless grunt in the Blackscale Syndicate's operation.
The mess hall buzzed with its usual morning chaos. Kael took his usual seat in the corner.
Kael sat up, rolling his shoulders. "What's on the menu? Rock stew again?"
Dravik smirked, tossing him a hunk of bread and a strip of dried meat. "Complaints go to the cook. If you find him, let me know I owe him a knife in the ribs for last week's slop."
The mess hall was a cacophony of voices, the scent of burnt porridge and weak ale hanging in the air.
"Think the green one'll have wings like a bat or more like a hawk?" one of the miner mused through a mouthful of food.
"Wings?" Another miner, Hask, snorted. "I'm more curious if they'll breathe fire or spit poison like the old tales say."
"Tch. You're both fools," a third man, Jor, interjected. "The golden one's the prize. They say its scales could blind a man at noon."
"You see the way that purple one glowed last night?" a young miner named Tarek said through a mouthful of porridge. "Like lightning trapped in glass!"
Old Man Hask, the most senior miner in the group, scoffed. "Bah! You children and your fantasies. The black one's the real prize."
Kael kept his head down, stirring his watery porridge absently. The excitement in their voices made his stomach churn. They had no idea what they were truly dealing with.
The mining tunnels were particularly stifling today. Kael swung his pickaxe in rhythm with the others, the clang of metal on stone echoing through the narrow passage. Sweat poured down his back, soaking through his rough spun shirt.
"I've made too many mistakes," he muttered under his breath, the words lost in the noise of labor. His hands trembled slightly on the pickaxe handle. "Too much blood on my hands already."
Memories flashed unbidden, the smell of burning thatch, the screams of villagers, the way the gold coins had felt so heavy in his pocket afterward. A sharp pain in his palm brought him back to the present. He'd gripped the pickaxe so tightly his nails had drawn blood.
"You alright there, Jorik?" Rurk, the miner beside him, asked with concern.
Kael forced a grin, wiping his bleeding hand on his trousers. "Just eager for this shift to end."
Rurk chuckled. "Aren't we all? Though I'd take mining over mage-duty any day. Those black-robed bastards give me the creeps."
Kael nodded absently, his mind already racing ahead. If the mages were as nervous as Rurk suggested...
The midday meal break brought unexpected news. Kael overheard two mages speaking in hushed tones near the supply crates.
"The Benefactor demands an update in person," the taller mage, Velyn, was saying.
"But the orbs need constant monitoring!" the younger mage protested.
Velyn's voice turned icy. "Do you question the Benefactor's orders? We go tonight. Dravik will guard the eggs in our absence."
Kael's fingers tightened around his waterskin. This was it - the mages were leaving. His chance would come tonight.
As evening approached, he watched the mages prepare for departure. They wrapped themselves in heavy traveling cloaks, checking pouches of components and scroll cases.
Dravik stood watch by the egg chamber, his hand resting on his sword hilt. As he turned to bark orders at a passing miner, Kael caught a glimpse of something on his neck, a familiar mark partially hidden by his collar. A crescent moon crossed with a blade. The sigil of the Iron Sanctum.
Kael's breath caught. Either Dravik was a deserter...or he wasn't who he appeared to be. Kael was surprised as he never noticed that symbol but now.
Kael waited until the cavern had mostly emptied before approaching Dravik near the armory. The commander was inspecting a shipment of new pickaxes, his back turned.
"Veythari keth," he murmured in Old Varian, the language of the Knights. "The shadow walks."
Dravik froze. His eyes locked onto Kael's, sharp as daggers. For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then, barely audible: "Mel'thas en draal." "The light endures."
"Where did you learn those words?"
Kael met his gaze steadily. "Same place you got that mark on your neck, I'd wager."
For a long moment, the two men studied each other. The sounds of the mine continued around them the clang of metal, the occasional shout, the ever-present drip of water from the cavern ceiling.
Finally, Dravik exhaled sharply. "Balthar sent me in six months ago," he admitted quietly. "The Syndicate's been after those eggs since they first heard rumors in the Hollowfang."
"And the mages?"
"Contractors. Hired by their mysterious Benefactor." Dravik's lip curled in distaste. "They don't care about the Syndicate's goals - only their payment."
Kael nodded slowly. "They're leaving tonight."
Dravik's eyes gleamed. "Which gives us our chance. The eggs can't stay here."
They waited until the last sounds of activity had faded from the tunnels. The mages had departed hours ago, taking most of the guards with them as escort. Only a skeleton crew remained in the caverns.
Working quickly but carefully, Kael and Dravik prepared the eggs for transport. Each one pulsed faintly in its wrappings, the strange energy from the orbs making Kael's skin prickle when he got too close.
"You're sure about this?" Kael asked as he secured the golden egg in its padded crate. "Balthar will know what to do with them?"
Dravik nodded. "The Sanctum has protected worse secrets than dragon eggs." He paused, studying Kael. "You could come with them. Balthar could use a man with your skills."
Kael opened his mouth to respond when the chamber door exploded inward.
Commander Goran stood framed in the wreckage, his face twisted in fury. A dozen armed Syndicate men flanked him, weapons drawn.
"I KNEW YOU WERE A TRAITOR!" Goran roared, spittle flying from his lips. His sword gleamed in the torchlight as he pointed it at Dravik. "From the first day you walked in here with your high and mighty attitude!"
Dravik sighed, drawing his sword with a smooth motion. "Well," he said dryly. "This complicates things."
Kael's dagger was already in his hand as Goran bellowed: "KILL THEM BOTH!"