She looked up. She was in a rough stone-walled room, with seven people in it besides herself. Two of them had lanterns. She didn't have to look up very far, her captors were all very short and the two lanterns they had were more than enough for her to see them clearly. They were very dirty little men, with long beards of various colors, beards that had bits of stone and moss and probably food in them. Their rough clothing, made of what looked like canvas and leather, was ragged and in dire need of mending. No matter their short stature; they were all heavily muscled and looked very strong.
This was, of course, because they were indeed very strong, stronger than most human men. She knew what they were, of course. They were Dwarves.
Dwarves did a great deal of the mining here in Eltaria. They had an un canny feeling for rock and earth, where the best stuff was, and how to get it out without killing themselves or anyone else.
She had seen Dwarves before, quite a few of them in fact. When they got mining concessions, it was on the basis of sharing the wealth they extracted with the Crown as well as a tithe to their Clan, and the quarterly presentations of the Crown share were actually considered a sight not to be missed. The Dwarves would turn up in amazing outfits, entire gowns made of plates of metal scarcely larger than a head of a pin for their women, chain mail that looked like knitted silk for the men, and jewelry that never failed to make jaws drop for both sexes. Beards and hair were combed, braided, perfumed and bejeweled. They were truly gorgeous.
Not this lot. They were filthier than any living being Rosa had ever seen. They hadn't so much as a copper chain around their necks, nor a garnet earring. And they stank. She doubted that their beards had ever seen a brush.
There were, of course, renegade Dwarves; there were bad Dwarves just as there were bad humans, or virtually any other race. There were Dwarves who didn't want to hand over a share of what they found to the Crown or tithe to their Clan, and dug their hidden mines furtively. Of course, because they didn't hand over the proper share to Crown and Clan, that meant that they couldn't sell their takings in the open market, which meant they had to sell it all clandestinely. That meant they got a fraction of the price they would have gotten if they'd been honest. They also went in fear of some honest Dwarf happening upon their mine, and taking it over in a mining concession by Crown fiat.
It looked as if these seven were that sort of Dwarf.
Which, for Rosa, was good news. It meant they wouldn't immediately take her to the Queen.
And since they were men, it was unlikely that they would recognize in the somewhat battered remains of her clothing, the signs that she was at the very least, nobly born. Men didn't know much about clothing, at least, not when it was modest, and not all showy velvets and satins. She just might get them to believe —
"Help me!" she blurted, looking up at them. "I'm running away from my stepmother! She hates me! She wants to do horrible things to me! I'll do anything if you'll help me!"
They erupted in laughter, raucous laughter that sounded like rocks banging together, slapping each other on the back and grinning evilly. "A Bargain!" they shouted. "A Bargain is made!"
Five of them turned, proving that there was a way out of this room, and lumbered on ahead up a staircase carved out of the rock wall that she hadn't seen until now. Two of them seized her, roughly cut her bonds from her, and then shoved her, stumbling, up the crudely cut stone staircase. They continued to shove her through what looked like a cellar — and a meagerly appointed one it was, too — then up another stone staircase to come out into —
A kitchen. A perfectly ordinary kitchen, if an extraordinarily filthy one. A dirty, sooty fireplace with two iron cranes for pots in it and a spit above the smoldering fire that currently was empty. A big wooden table in the middle, laden with wooden plates, cups and bowls, most of which could use a good scrubbing. A big iron sink with a pump, various bags, boxes and kitchen implements. Stone floor, stone walls and one tiny window.
And there were the other five, with tools in hand, waiting, and before she knew it, she had a shackle around one ankle, a chain leading from it to a big metal ring on the hearth. "Take a look around, ugly!" said the one that seemed to be the leader. "This'll be yer home from hence! Yon chain will reach anywhere in the house, if ye're careful, and ye'll be a-cookin' and a-doin' fer us now."
And with a sudden sinking of her heart, she realized what it was she had gotten herself into. She was to be, in essence, their slave.
There had never been anything in the tradition like this! There was Snowskin, but...the Snowskin's saviours were good kind creatures, not horrible things that took her as a slave!
As the chief of them — he told her importantly that from now on she could call him "master" — shoved her toward the hearth and ordered her to make porridge with the bag of oats next to it, she could only comfort herself with one thing.
She wasn't dead, and she was still a Princess. Sooner or later, The Tradition would move again. She would just have to be ready for it.
Lily shook the mirror, frantically. "Where is she?" she screamed, making maids on the floor below jump and look for a place to hide. The moment when she knew that Rosamund was missing had coincided with the onset of a terrible storm. The torrents of rain and volleys of thunder and lightning had only made her covert search more frantic.
And it had to be covert, because she dared not drop her persona of "Queen Sable" to show any real interest in the Princess.
"I don't know!"Jimson screamed back, the green face contorted with emotion. The Mirror Servant might occasionally be snippy and even snide, but Lily would have been the first to say he took his duties very seriously. "I can'tfind her if she's not near something that reflects!" A bolt of lightning, striking right outside the palace, and the simultaneous barrage of thunder punctuated his scream, making the maids decide that the work could wait until morning and flee to their rooms to cower in, or under, their beds. The thick palace walls prevented them from hearing the words clearly, but Queen Sable shrieking at someone — and being answered — in a room they knew no one else was in was not a good sign. Lily jumped as the bolt hit, feeling almost as if it had hit her. After a frozen moment, she put the mirror down, carefully, and just as carefully walked away from it.
She knew that Jimson couldn't find anything that wasn't reflected; she'd known that for hundreds of years. She also knew that Jimson was just as eager to find Rosa as she was. The Mirror Servant had been with her as her helper longer than anyone else she knew, and was patient and kind and forbearing with her out of all reason. She knew that screaming at him didn't help. She knew all of these things, but it didn't stop her from wanting to scream at him. She was in a panic, and she wasn't going to solve anything if she couldn't get herself under better control.
This was a disaster. This was the worst disaster in Eltaria in three hundred years. No Godmother of this Kingdom had ever lost an entire Princess.
"If it's any help," Jimson said wearily, "she is still the fairest in the land." Even if he couldn't see her, there were still some things that worked. He could still tell that she was out there, alive, and unharmed enough to trump Lily's beauty.
So Rosa was still alive at least. Lily took many deep breaths and forced herself to calm down and think. "All right, the most logical point of trouble is the Huntsman," she said to herself as much as to Jimson. "What's he doing?"