Dead is the hero. . Dead to all lament. .
Buried past memory here below. .
“LEAVE ME ALONE!” Drakis screamed as he bent over, pressing both his palms against his temples.
Belag drew his sword. Thuri and Ethis both began making their way toward Drakis, picking their path around the bodies that covered the floor everywhere around them.
“Drakis!” Ethis said, his upper two hands gripping the human by his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
Mala will forgive. . Mala will forget. .
“It’s. . it’s nothing,” Drakis said, shaking off a sudden chill. “I. . I hear this. . I don’t know. . this music. . this song in my head. .”
“Song?” Belag raised one heavy brow.
“It’s. . just a song,” Drakis said, drawing in a deep breath. “I don’t know where it came from, but I can’t seem to be rid of it. It’s just something in my mind.”
Belag’s head raised suddenly, his ears swiveling forward. “I think I hear it, too.”
Drakis shot a questioning glance at the manticore. “Hear what?”
“Your song,” Belag said in a low, rumbling voice, his heavy eyebrows knitting together. He moved closer to the stairs leading up to the throne. “It’s coming from over here.”
Belag drew his long, curved blade, the ringing of the metal singing softly as it cleared its scabbard.
“Where?” Drakis asked on a soft breath.
The manticore gestured with the tip of his sword toward the right side of the enormous cone of steps.
Drakis shook his head doubtfully but drew his own sword. He took a step toward the stairs, the melody still there. He was no longer certain whether the tune was in his mind or his ears.
One thing was certain. Something was moving in the shadows among the dead.
Drakis froze. His eyes suddenly opened wide.
It was singing. The words were indistinct, but the tune was unmistakably the same as the one that had haunted Drakis for days.
The refrain stopped, replaced by a voice.
“Is it over,” asked the lilting voice coming from the squat figure. “Can I come out now?”
Drakis raised his sword again, the squat figure still remained in shadow. “Show yourself!”