Drakis felt the edge of the archway with his left hand and carefully stepped back into it, His right hand slowly reached across his body almost without conscious thought, his palm resting on the hilt of his sword. “Braun, we’re warriors. . Impress Warriors of House Timuran. .”
“No, Drakis, you’re wrong,” Braun breathed through clenched teeth. He would not stop advancing. “Who are you, Drakis? Why do you fight so well? What makes you so determined to live?”
“I fight. .” Drakis swallowed, taking another step back through the archway. “I fight for the glory of Rhonas, for her Emperor, and for the glory of House Timuran!”
“Pretty speech, hollow words,” Braun spoke, his words dripping disdain. “You dance like a marionette and vomit out the words spoken by others behind the curtain. I’ve seen what’s back there. You take a peek at the truth and tell me. It’s just us here. . you and me buried in our crypt, and there should be no lies between the dead. You know the answer! Tell me!”
Drakis’ breath was coming hard.
Five notes. .
For the love of her. . For the loss of her. .
“Tell me!”
He suddenly thought of Mala-his beautiful Mala working in the foundations of the magnificent palace of Sha-Timuran. Her image floated before him in his mind; she reached up with her hand to wipe the sweat from her clean-shaven head before she returned to scrubbing the path stones beneath the graceful towers of their master’s citadel that floated above the garden. He could almost catch the glint of her emerald eyes, feel the curve of her cheek in his hand. He had to return to her-for her and with the honor that they both so desperately needed. She was unaware of the danger he was in-that his life could end at any moment-and the thought of her not knowing comforted him.
He could almost hear her humming to herself as she worked in the garden. .
Nine notes. . Seven notes. .
The dwarves have no doors. . The dwarves are no more. .
Braun was smiling at him. “So you do know something honest after all! Tell me!”
Drakis gripped his sword, pulling it from the scabbard.
Braun anticipated the move. The Proxi’s staff lashed out suddenly, gripped with both his hands. The shaft caught Drakis just behind the knees, cleanly sweeping both his feet out from under him. The warrior landed heavily on his back, the breath knocked from his chest. As he sucked in a painful gasp, the light from the headpiece carved a brilliant, blurred arc over him, and he felt the cold steel point of the staff against his throat. He fought for air, trying to speak, but the sound would not come.
Braun leaned down, his head and shoulders silhouetted against the light from the Aether crystal on his staff.
“We’re empty rooms, Drakis, all of us,” Braun said in short breaths. “Nothing but the form of what our masters have molded us to be. But I’ve seen the reality of who and what we are. The walls have cracks, and the light shines through. The cords that bind us unravel, and we see at last that our rooms are not empty but filled with ghosts, Drakis-ghosts and demons more terrible and wonderful than we know.”
Drakis reached up with both hands, gripping the staff at his throat. “Braun! Stop!”
“I can’t stop now,” Braun answered, shaking his head with an unnatural smile. “You’ve got to see the ghosts! They’re waiting for us both-calling to us-longing to take us to a better destiny.”
Braun looked up. The roof of the avenue was a great arched ceiling barely visible beyond the light from the staff.
“The ghosts come in the darkness,” Braun giggled. “Some things are seen better in the dark. . some things are easier in the dark. .”
The glow from the staff began to fade. The impenetrable darkness slowly closed in on them again as the light shrank.