The Eastern Silver Mine, Etruria The nobles are in. The doors shut. Pesna's plan is in full swing.
The man who dreams of being king of the new territories of Etruria stands at the end of the silver-laden table. His position ensures that, should their concentration wander, then their eyes will inevitably fall upon the riches laid out in front of him.
'Noblemen, it is my privilege to welcome you here. I thank you all again for your time and the honour of being your host.'
'The honour is ours!' booms a jolly-faced man whose vast belly bumps against the table. 'And we'll be even more honoured when you let us fill our pockets with these glittering works of beauty.'
A chorus of laughter breaks out.
Pesna waves them quiet. 'In good time, in good time, dear friends.' He trails a hand across the table, catching chains and bracelets in his fingers. 'And not only today, not only with these small gifts, but I hope for the rest of your days.'
The nobles laugh again.
'After we have feasted, I will speak to you of how we – together – can build new cities, open new mines and reap riches far greater than the modest trinkets twinkling on this table.'
The audience cheer.
A small underground rumble makes the earth shiver. Pesna sees concern on their faces. 'Nothing to worry about, my friends. Aranthur, explain to our guests the slight tremor they just experienced.'
The works manager's face fills with the smugness of one who relishes being centre stage but rarely gets the chance. 'The vibration is underground blasting. We build large fires under sections of rock where we know precious ore is ingrained. The rock heats up to an unimaginable ferocity, then we douse it with freezing water channelled from the ground above. The rapidly cooling rock then cracks and caves away.' He makes a splitting gesture with his closed hands. 'There follows a collapse of stone, rock, ore and earth. Then our men move in and dig the silver out.'
An elderly noble from Velzna looks concerned. 'Do many of your slaves get killed?'
'Some,' answers Pesna, matter-of-factly. 'It is dangerous work.' He waves a hand over the table. 'But the risks are richly rewarded and well worth the loss of a few slaves. This mine is the first and biggest of six that I own.'
There are mumblings among the nobles – speculation as to the extent of Pesna's wealth rather than concern at the dangers.
'Please!' The mine manager tries to recapture their attention. 'Please – be so kind as to follow me across the room.' He walks towards rough tables erected in a far corner. 'Here are samples of the latest ore we have recovered. See how rich the seams are?' Aranthur steps back so they can examine the precious metal for themselves.
'Most of our silver is easy to extract.' He walks to another small table. 'Slaves have to do little more than shovel it, wash it and harvest it from the dusts of the earth. But these easily grabbed riches tend to be on the small side.' He holds up a nugget the size of his thumbnail. 'It's when we dig deep into the groins of the hills that we find the bigger prizes.'
Another explosion makes the ground tremble again.
All eyes flick to Pesna. He gives them another reassuring grin. 'It is the sound of the gods applauding our latest find. Now come, enough of Aranthur's tedious lesson, let's share out the wonderful presents you have been admiring. I have had gifts handcrafted for each and every one of you. My noble friend Kavie has a list detailing which piece belongs to whom.'
Another rumble.
This time no one flinches. They're too absorbed in the sound of wealth being distributed.
Kavie starts with the smallest presents and least important guests. 'It is my honour to pass these gifts on to you. First, to my old friend Arte of Tarchna, I am pleased to present this signet ring, beautifully engraved with his initials…'
The nobles applaud as Arte works his way through the throng to receive his present.
But he never gets it.
The whole wooden structure of the outbuilding creaks and shakes.
Parts of the roof break away. Daylight bursts through. Clapping turns to silent, open-mouthed fear.
They are all looking up as the entire roof collapses. Hands cover heads as timber and metal rain down.
Now the ground disappears.
Opens up beneath their feet.
Like a trapdoor to hell.
Hands cling to the edge of a crumbling crevice. Fingers claw frantically, but the soft earth yields and they slip away.
Screams echo from the gaping hole. The nobles tumble into a murderous torrent of cleaved rock.
Roaring through the complex of six mines is a fireball of methane, set off by fires in the cliffside.
Those who survive the drop are burned to death in the inferno. From his vantage point on the hillside, Larth watches the mushroom cloud of dust and black smoke rise high in the afternoon sky. His men did well with the fires, brilliantly arranging them to set off the chain reaction that tore through stagnant chambers filled with the earth's noxious gases.
As he leans against the busted chariot wheel and looks down at the three precious silver tiles in his hands, he allows himself a smile that even Pesna would have been proud of. The tablets are the key to great things. He must keep them safe. Guard them with his life. Guard them until his new master is ready for them.