Now the dust of the ages hung thickly in the air, making Hakem Rafi sneeze and cough. Insects buzzed unconcerned through the air, and the rats that fed on them chittered quietly in the corners. The air smelled musty and dry, and felt warm from the heat of the afternoon sun.
Hakem Rafi took a couple of steps as he looked around, and the sound of his boots on the tiled floor echoed through the chamber and down the corridors. His voice, when he spoke, echoed like a drum in the still air, frightening some of the rats back into their holes. “It’s all so dead,” he said. “I’m not sure I like that.”
“With my help, O master, you will make it live again and restore the palace of Rashwenath to its former grandeur.”
“It’d take an army of slaves a year to clean this up,” the thief said, looking at t
