And they still had to go all the way back.
Tired and ill-tempered, she now eyed Drugar suspiciously. He had, after all, tried to kill them all once. What if he was bringing her down here for some nefarious purpose? Far away from the others. No one would hear her scream. She paused, glanced behind, half-toying with the idea of turning around and going back.
Her heart sank. She had no idea which way to turn. Had it been to the right?
Or maybe they hadn’t turned at all, but taken the path in the middle... Drugar came to a halt so suddenly that Aleatha, still looking behind, stumbled into him.
“I’m... I’m sorry,” she said, steadying herself with her hands on his shoulders and then snatching her hands away hurriedly.
He looked up at her, his face darkening. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, hearing the strain in her voice. “We are here.” He waved his hand. “This is what I wanted to show you.”
Aleatha looked around. The maze had ended. Rows of marble benches, set in a circle, surrounded a mosaic of variously colored stones arranged in a starburst. In the center were more of those strange symbols like those on the pendant the dwarf wore around his neck. Above them was open sky, and from where she stood Aleatha could see the top of the citadel’s center spire. She breathed a sigh of relief. At least now she had some idea of where she was—the amphitheater. Though her knowledge wasn’t likely to help her much in getting out of this place.
“Very pretty,” she said, looking back at the starburst in the multicolored tile, thinking she should say something to keep the dwarf happy. She would have liked to rest; there was a calm, pleasant feeling to this place that urged her to linger. But the silence made her nervous—that and the dwarf staring at her with his shadowed, dark eyes.
“Well, this has been fun. Thank you for—”
“Sit down,” said Drugar, gesturing to a bench. “Wait. You have not yet seen what I wanted you to see.”
“I’d love to, really, but I think we should be getting back. Paithan will be worried—”
“Sit down, please,” Drugar repeated and his brows came together in a frown. He glanced up at the citadel’s spire. “You will not have to wait long.” Aleatha tapped her foot. As usual when her will was thwarted, she was starting to get angry. She fixed the dwarf with a stern and imperious gaze that never failed to cut any man down to size, only this time it lost some of its effectiveness as it slanted down her nose instead of flashing upward from chilling eyes. And it was completely lost on Drugar anyway. The dwarf had turned his back on her and walked over to a bench, Aleatha gave a final hopeless glance down the path and, sighing again, followed Drugar. Plopping herself down near him, she fidgeted, looked back at the spire, sighed loudly, shuffled her feet, and gave every indication that she was not amused, hoping he’d take the hint.
He didn’t. He sat, stolid and silent, staring into the center of the empty starburst.
Aleatha was about ready to try her luck in the maze. Getting lost in there wouldn’t be nearly as bad as being bored to death out here. Suddenly the light from the Star Chamber, on the top of the citadel, began to glow. The strange humming sound began.
A shaft of strong white light slanted down from the citadel’s tower, struck the starburst mosaic.
Aleatha gasped, rose from the bench, would have backed up except that the bench was behind her. As it was, she nearly fell. The dwarf reached out a hand, caught hold of her.
“Don’t be afraid.”
“People!” Aleatha cried, staring. “There are... people there!” The stage of the amphitheater, which had been empty, was now suddenly crowded with people. Or rather, with wisps of people. They weren’t whole, flesh and blood as she and Drugar were. They were transparent shadows. She could see through them—to the other seats in the theater, to the hedgerow of the maze beyond.
Her knees weakening, she sat back down on the bench and watched the people. They stood in groups, talking earnestly, walking slowly, moving from group to group, coming into her view and then passing out of it as they stepped into and then out of the shaft of light.
People. Other people. Humans, elves, dwarves—standing together, talking together, apparently companionably, with the exception of one or two groups who seemed—by their gestures and posture—to be disagreeing about something. Groups of people gathered for only one purpose, so far as Aleatha was concerned.
“It’s a party!” she cried joyfully and leapt up from her seat to join them.
“No! Wait! Stop! Don’t go near the light!” Drugar had been viewing the scene with reverent awe. Shocked, he attempted to catch Aleatha as she darted past. He missed his hold, and she was suddenly in the center of the crowd. She might as well have been standing in a thick fog.
The people flowed around her, flowed through her. She could see them talking, but couldn’t hear them. She was standing near them, but couldn’t touch them. Their eyes bright, they looked at each other, never at her.
“Please! I’m here!” she pleaded in frustration, reaching out eager hands.
“What are you doing? Come out of there!” Drugar commanded. “It is a holy place!”
“Yes!” she cried, ignoring the dwarf, talking to the shadows. “I hear you! Can’t you hear me? I’m right in front of you!”
No one answered.
“Why can’t they see me? Why won’t they talk to me?” Aleatha demanded, facing the dwarf.
“They are not real, that is why,” Drugar said dourly. Aleatha looked back. The fog-people slid past her, over her, around her. And suddenly the light went out, and they were gone.
“Oh!” Aleatha gasped, disappointed. “Where are they? Where did they go?”
“When the light goes, they go.”
“Will they come back when the light comes back?”
Drugar shrugged. “Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. But generally, this time in the afternoon, I find them here.”
Aleatha sighed. She felt more alone than ever now.
“You said they aren’t real. What do you think they are?”
“Shadows of the past, maybe. Of those who used to live here.” Drugar stared into the starburst. He stroked his beard, his expression sad. “A trick of the magic of this place.”
“You saw your people there,” said Aleatha, guessing what he was thinking.
“Shadows,” he said again, his voice gruff. “My people are gone. Destroyed by the tytans. I am all that is left. And when I die, the dwarves will be no more.”
Aleatha looked back around the floor of the amphitheater, now empty, so very empty.
“No, Drugar,” she said suddenly. “You’re wrong.”
“What do you mean, I am wrong?” Drugar glowered. “What do you know about it?”
“Nothing,” Aleatha admitted. “But I think one of them heard me when I spoke.” Drugar snorted. “You imagined it. Don’t you think I have tried?” he demanded grimly. His face was haggard and ravaged by sorrow. “To see my people! To see them talking and laughing. I can almost understand what they say. I can almost hear the language of my homeland once again.”
His eyes squeezed shut. He turned away from her abruptly, stalked back among the seats of the amphitheater.
Aleatha watched him go. “What a selfish beast I’ve been,” she said to herself.
“At least I have Paithan. And Roland, though he doesn’t count for much. And Rega’s not a bad sort. The dwarf has no one. Not even us. We’ve done our best to freeze him out. He’s come here—to shadows—for comfort.
“Drugar,” she said aloud. “Listen to me. When I was standing in the starburst, I said, ‘I’m right in front of you!’ And then, I saw one of the elves turn and look in my direction. His mouth moved and I swear he was saying, ‘What?’ I spoke again and he looked confused and glanced all around, as if he could hear me but couldn’t see me. I know it, Drugar!”
He cocked his head, looking back at her dubiously but obviously wanting to believe. “Are you certain?”