Seeds that are planted in dark. .
Long for the sunlight. .
Wait for the sunlight. .
“DRAKIS! WAKE UP OR DIE!”
Drakis heard the warning from the chimerian barely in time. He flattened his back against the cold stone of the plaza wall, thrashing about with his sword as he desperately tried to parry the dervish flailing of the enraged dwarf pressing his attack. The ornate granite wall immediately chilled the back plate of his armor, pulling the heat out of his body with painful swiftness. He was grateful for the pain; the shock of it focused his mind. Drakis thrust fiercely, kicking hard away from the stone behind him with his right leg, rolling into his opponent before the dwarf could counter the blow. Drakis trapped the creature’s weapon arm in his own and forcefully bent it outward. He felt the thick bones crack as the dwarf howled, but he kept on, pulling the dwarf forward by his broken arm and throwing him to the ground. Desperate, Drakis reversed his grip on his sword, plunging it downward toward the dwarf’s chest-but another dwarf suddenly sprang onto his back, his thick arms wrapped around Drakis’ throat. Drakis panicked, trying to strike at the beast now throttling him, but his sword only flailed ineffectively at his back. What little vision remained to him was rapidly going blurry.
“He’s an insect, idiot!” Ethis yelled at him. The chimerian reached back with his fourth arm and shoved Drakis toward the cold wall behind him.
Drakis lurched back, smashing the dwarf between himself and the stones of the plaza wall. The impact rattled the dwarf enough to loosen his grip-but not enough to make him let go. Drakis staggered forward, hoping to smash his unwanted rider once more when he saw-incredibly-the dwarf with the broken arm running toward him. Blood streamed down his face as he screamed, his ax in his good hand. Flashes of light danced around the edges of Drakis’ vision as he watched the berserk dwarf charge at him. At the last moment, Drakis spun away from the horrible specter just as the gleaming edge of the ax blade swung toward him. He felt the impact of the blow behind him. Hot air suddenly rushed into his lungs as the second dwarf, still clinging to his back, took the thrust and released his grip.
Drakis swung around again, drawing his blade up swiftly behind his head. Too late. The berserk dwarf had already shoved his dead confederate aside and leaped toward the human, his ax blade descending toward Drakis’ face.
The flight of the dwarf was suddenly arrested in midair by the blur of a massive club swinging out of the darkness and connecting with the body. Drakis heard the dwarf’s armor crumple under the blow and the collapse of its rib cage just before the dwarf flew backward, vanishing under the feet of the raging combatants.
“Nice hit, GriChag,” Ethis commented, slightly out of breath himself. Drakis could barely make out three still shapes lying at the chimerian’s feet. “That one was worthy of the Imperial Games.”
“Not good,” GriChag replied with disappointment, his deep voice rumbling. The manticore’s massive dark head shook with disapproval a full two feet above Drakis. “I was aiming for his head.”
Drakis, still choking, stepped quickly back to the relative safety of the plaza wall and tried frantically to catch his breath. His Octian was forming a defensive circle around him, pulling ChuKang and KriChan both within their perimeter.
“When all else fails, depend on your Octian, eh, Drakis?” ChuKang yelled over his shoulder as he drew his twin swords across the throat of a dwarf before him.
“That is what you taught us,” Drakis shouted hoarsely as he rubbed his throat. Panic suddenly gripped him and he turned quickly. “Braun!”
“I’m here, old friend,” Braun replied. The Proxi stood next to Drakis, his sandals and feet covered in blood from the bodies about them, but he took little notice of either. Instead, he gazed at the bas-relief covering the wall towering behind them. “There are cracks in the wall, you know. I’ve been looking at them for some time now, and I think I can see light coming through them. They’re getting wider all the time.”
Drakis squinted at the Proxi. “What are you talking about? We’re leagues underground!”
Before Braun could answer, ChuKang and KriChan stepped back, standing on either side of the Proxi. “Braun! This is a disaster! What does the Tribune want us to do?”
“Well, he hasn’t. .” Suddenly Braun’s demeanor changed; anger and disdain showed on his face, and his voice was suddenly nasal and condescending in tone. They were used to it, for they had seen it every day of their lives: The Tribune was once again pulling the strings of his puppet Proxi. “Gather the individual Octia cells together and re-form the Centurai. Flank the dwarves in the plaza on the left and make for the rotunda. The dwarves are fanatical, but they have gambled on this charge and lost-they have extended themselves too far, and their reserves will not arrive in time. Flank them and get to the rotunda.”
“Master, should we plant a gate symbol there?” KriChan asked.
Braun turned to the second manticore, his features contemptuous. “No! There are grand halls leading away from the rotunda. Take the Centurai to the end of the right-hand hall. . then have the Proxi plant the gate symbol there and propagate it as many times as possible along the promenade you find there before the dwarven reserves arrive.”
ChuKang asked, “But how long before the dwarven reserves. .”
Braun turned back toward the captain, his face nearly purple with rage. “Just do it! We need as many gate symbols as possible established on the promenade at the end of that hall. Do that and you may yet salvage some honor from this debacle, Captain ChuKang.”