He advanced a step and another and another. He didn’t run into anything. And he realized that he could see! Not very clearly; he couldn’t have read one of his speeches, for example. But it seemed as if the walls had absorbed some of the light that had been shining on the dwarves for as long as they could remember and that light, out of gratitude, was giving some of itself back. Limbeck could see the walls and the floor and the ceiling shining faintly. He could see the silhouettes of his Fellow Warriors stand out black against the light. Moving on, he could see the break in the walls made by the staircase, could see the stairs running upward, a pattern of darkness and faint, eerie light.
Behind him, he heard the other dwarves gasp in awe, knew that he wasn’t alone. They could see, too. His heart swelled with pride for his people.
“Things will change now,” he said to himself, marching up the stairs, hearing the bold footsteps marching right behind. The revolution was back on track, and, if not exactly rushing along, at least it was rolling.
He could almost have thanked the elves.
Jarre wiped away a few tears, stood with her back planted against the door, waiting for Limbeck to knock, meekly request the torch. She’d give it to him, she decided, and give him a piece of her mind as well- Listening to the voices, she heard
what sounded like Limbeck, launching into a speech. She sighed gustily, tapped her foot on the floor.
The torch had nearly burned out. Jarre grabbed another sheaf of speeches, set them ablaze. She heard “Fight!” in a loud roar, then a thud against the wall. Jarre laughed, but her laugh was bitter. She put her hand on the doorknob.
Then, inexplicably, she heard the sound of marching feet, felt the heavy vibrations of many pairs of thick dwarven boots clumping down the hall.
“Let them bang their fool heads on the wall a couple of times,” she muttered. “They’ll be back.”
But there was only silence.
Jarre opened the door a crack, peeped out.
The hallway was empty.
“Limbeck?” Jarre cried, flinging the door wide. “Lof? Anyone?”
No response. Far away, she heard the sound of boots thumping determinedly up the stairs. Bits of Limbeck’s speech, turned to glowing ash, drifted down from the torch, fell on the floor at her feet.
CHAPTER 10
WOMBE, DREVLIN LOW REALM
HAPLO OFTEN USED THE DOG TO LISTEN JN ON THE CONVERSATIONS of others, hearing their voices through the animal’s ears. It never occurred to him, however, to listen to conversations anyone might be having with his dog. The animal had been ordered to keep an eye on the boy, alert Haplo to any misdeed— as in the case of the attempt to open the hatch. Beyond that, Haplo didn’t care what Bane said or thought.
Though he had to admit that Bane’s innocent-seeming question about obedience to the Lord of the Nexus had disturbed him. There had been a time—and Haplo knew it well— when he would have answered such a question immediately, without reservation, with a clear conscience.
Not now. Not anymore.
It was useless to tell himself that he’d never actually gone so far as to disobey his lord. True obedience is in the heart, as well as the mind. And in his heart, Haplo had rebelled. Evasions and half-truths were not as bad as outright refusals and lies, but they were not as good as open honesty, either. For a long time now, ever since Abarrach, Haplo had not been honest with his lord. The knowledge had once made him feel guilty, uncomfortable.
“But now,” Haplo said to himself, staring out the window into the rapidly intensifying storm, “I begin to wonder. Has my lord been honest with me?”
The storm broke over the ship. The vessel rocked on its moorings in the violent wind, but otherwise held fast, secure. The constantly flashing lightning lit the landscape brighter during the height of the storm than the sun did during the calm. Haplo put his questions about his lord out of his mind. That was not his problem, at least not now. The Kicksey-winsey was. He walked from window to window, studying what he could see of the great machine.