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leather and black silks with a scimitar and kyzar that had dropped from his hands when he fell. Those were traveling clothes, not mining clothes, and the man’s hair was in a topknot.
    Yanko pulled himself up, waved that it was safe for the others, and walked over to the body. He had assumed their attackers would be foreigners, invaders from across the sea, but this man had the clothing and skin color of a Nurian. More, the hair implied he was from a moksu family. Of course, the man could have chosen the style in an attempt to disguise himself, but the penalty for feigning a position in a class above oneself was steep in Nuria. Few people dared to try. So who was this then? Internal strife on a large scale was rare these days. The Great Chief squashed out rebellions, and thieves and bandits were dealt with before they could form into groups substantial enough to harry towns and clans. Even when groups did crop up, they usually targeted banks and bank-owned transports, rather than something as large as a mine. An invading army would be more likely to want to take over resources useful in supporting their troops.
    “Friend of yours?” Lakeo asked, coming up behind him. She nudged the body with her boot.
    “No.”
    “Good.” She stuck her hammer and chisel in her belt and grabbed the fallen scimitar and kyzar .
    The miners had reached the platform, as well. They eyed the bodies, but seemed more interested in finding a way out than in figuring out who was attacking.
    Yanko took the lead again, wondering if he should have been the one to grab the swords. If they encountered the enemy in the tunnels, he might not have time to summon a magical defense. The passages on this first level had been hollowed out hundreds of years earlier and were wider than the ones below. That should give him more space and more time to react, but it would also allow a number of people to attack them at once. He held the makings of a barrier in his mind as they advanced, following the cart tracks toward the lift and the way out.
    More bodies scattered the passages, the white-gray floors stained with fresh blood. A few of the leather-and-silk-wearing enemies had fallen, but far more miners had been killed, men who probably hadn’t even wanted to fight. Or who might have been willing to turn on their captors. Indeed, at one point, they passed an overseer who had been brutally mauled, his face unrecognizable, and Yanko suspected only someone seeking revenge would have lingered to do so much damage. It chilled him to think of the miners at his back deciding to turn on him if he blocked their way, or simply because they thought they could get away with it.
    He glanced at Lakeo, glad she was with him. She wasn’t moksu , and even if she voluntarily worked here, the miners would likely see her as one of them. But she should stand beside Yanko in a fight—after all, he had made countless tree and plant illusions for her over the last few months. Maybe that would make them less likely to attack him.
    As they drew closer to the offices, living quarters, and kitchen, the air stank more and more of smoke. They turned a corner and nearly smacked into a rockfall blocking the passage.
    “Guess that’s what we heard down below,” Lakeo said.
    “Sh,” Yanko whispered, sensing people up ahead.
    The explosions and shouts from earlier had faded. He hoped that meant his people had driven out the attackers, but he couldn’t assume that was the case, especially when the invaders had all been armed. The guards in the shack at the top of the lift must have been caught by surprise.
    Yanko crawled up the broken slabs of salt. They didn’t completely block the tunnel, and he could squeeze through at the top, but he paused before doing so. Two men had walked out of a storage room, each carrying bags of salt over their shoulders. These also wore the traveling garments, but their hair was cut short in the military style favored by the common man, and swords swayed at