Escape From Riddler's Pass by Amy Green Page A

eighth painting, his story began to describe what led to the destruction of Urad. The scene was a cart full of uncut gems, pulled along a track by a Roaric miner while a Patrol member looked on.
    â€œOf course, they mined for iron as well,” Noa narrated. “But all of the materials went to the king, and our people were paid only a small portion of what they were worth.”
    The next painting showed five Roarics, four men and one woman, in front of a group of Patrol members. Is that…Kasha? The dwarves were, as the Roarics would say, Above-ground.
    â€œMy father and a few others decided to demand their rights. The Patrol members refused, and when my father threatened to incite the rest of the Roarics to a rebellion, they left in a fury. My father knew something terrible would happen, so he urged the people of Urad to leave the city. They would not, though he pleaded with them day after day. Then the army came.”
    The paintings became dark and ominous, filled with smoke and swords and death. Jesse could almost smell the burning buildings, hear the cries of the people, feel the panic that must have come with the Fall. “The king’s retribution was swift, and nearly complete.”
    Here Noa paused, his face full of sadness. “Many—including my mother—were killed by the king’s Patrol. Only a few escaped. My father was one of them. In the confusion, he ran with me to the mines, hiding in one of the shallow shafts that had not yet been fully drilled.”
    Jesse was drawn to that painting in particular. It showed a man huddled in little more than a deep ditch, shielding a small baby and looking upward in fear, as the gray boots of Patrol members ran by above them.
    â€œEventually, once the Patrol members were gone, the survivors found each other. Because remembering brought so much pain, the Roarics decided to forget—to forget what life had been like before, to forget the Fall, to forget their troubles, hoping that would make them disappear. My father refused to forget, and so he was called the History Keeper. After some time, the survivors built New Urad with the scraps the king’s men had left behind.”
    Here Noa stopped. “But I hardly need to show you that painting. You have seen the city yourself. Life has changed very little over the past three decades.” He walked away from the wall of paintings, shaking his head.
    Then he looked up at them. “But I have talked too long. I have not yet asked you for your history. I doubt your story to the ruler clan was fully accurate.” He looked at them expectantly.
    Jesse was about to speak up, when Silas stood, motioning for him to be quiet. “Maybe not,” he said firmly, “but it will have to stand for now.”
    Noa nodded, seeming to accept his answer, whether or not he understood it. “Would you like something to eat?” he offered. “I have only the small ration the hunter clan gives out, but….”
    â€œNo,” Silas said quickly. “We have supplies of our own.”
    â€œBut thank you,” Jesse added.
    â€œPerhaps something to drink, then?”
    â€œActually,” Rae said, moving toward the door, “I have to say, I’m ready to leave. It’s strange for us to be so far underground.”
    Noa nodded. “I understand, though it will be hard to say good-bye to my first—and perhaps only—guests. I will show you the way. It’s not far from here.”
    â€œWait,” Silas said, stepping in front of him. He set his pack on the ground, and rummaged through it, pulling out the Rebellion symbol. Now, in the darkness, Jesse noticed what he had not before: the faint white glow around the stone. “What can you tell me about the Rebellion?”
    â€œThe Rebellion,” Noa said softly, reaching out for the stone. “May I?”
    At first, Silas jerked his hand back, studying Noa. “He’s not going to steal it,