Masking her faces. . and her dark places. .
He had considered the Lyric, who was unquestionably insane and changed her personality as easily and as often as anyone else might change their mind. She could be the traitor among them and not even remember it from day to day. That, he thought, would be worst of all since she was the least accountable of any of them, and Drakis felt certain he would have to kill whoever it turned out to be.
Jesters all hide in the light and sound. .
Plain in the face of our doom. .
Watch for the fool. . Laughter is cruel. .
Finally, he had to admit that it could even be the dwarf, who had pointed all this out to him in the first place. The conniving little fool might have thought himself in danger of being caught and tipped his hand as a bluff just to throw suspicion off himself. The only thing Drakis was sure about regarding the dwarf was that he couldn’t be sure about anything.
So he would journey through the day, receding more and more into the cycle of his siren song. Sometimes Mala would walk with him, chattering away about some innocuous memory she had of her life in the Timuran House or some previous House she had been a part of and only recently remembered. Such recollections studiously avoided the darker memories and were occasionally expurgated as she spoke-her voice stuttering slightly and stopping altogether only to restart on a completely different topic-light and breezy once more. Sometimes Belag would journey with him, speaking sonorously of the legends of the manticores regarding the afterlife, or Ethis would join him, respecting the human’s silence with his own. Occasionally the dwarf would accompany him, rattling off some nonsense story he remembered that the shape of a bush they passed or some figure in a cloud above them brought to his memory.
But all along the way, the names of his companions would circle through his mind and soon merged with the cycle of the music-that dreadful music-that called to him and ran always in the back of his mind.
Nine notes. . Seven notes. . Five notes. . Five. .
Jugar, Lyric, Belag. .
The smiles of each beguiling. .
Whose is the false heart? Who plays the false part?
Ethis, Mala, RuuKag. .
They swear their oath is telling. .
One is more than willing. .
All your lives they’re selling. .
Jugar, Lyric, Belag. . Ethis, Mala, RuuKag. .
The smiles of each beguiling. .
“Drakis-ki?”
Drakis shook himself. He had nearly fallen asleep on his feet. His eyes were trying to focus on the short figure before him. Drakis thought that he had never seen this particular gnome before but could not be entirely sure. The only thing he was certain of was the orange vest and floppy hat that signified the gnome’s august position in the mud city. Since which gnome was the Chief of the Day changed seemingly on a whim and each mud city had its own chief who was just as apt to pick up and wander to the next mud city as any other gnome, the only way to tell who was in charge was by which gnome wore this bizarre outfit. “Yes. . uh, Chief of the Day. . what is it?”
“Drakis-ki,” the gnome bowed deeply as he repeated the name with respect. “You honor us with the stories of your people. We thank the gods of the sky that you have come among us to brighten our thoughts and dreams.”
“Yes, thank you,” Drakis spoke through a yawn. “I’m sorry, Chief of the Day. . is there something you want?”