by Jean Rabe
"Gone," he stated softly. He was staring at the ground, at a feather from a jay that had fluttered to the side of the path. Feril had a tattoo of a bluejay feather on her face. Dhamon closed his eyes and pictured the Kagonesti, the memory bittersweet. A part of him wished she was with him. But she wouldn't approve of his current lifestyle. She might like Maldred, however, he mused.
Dhamon scowled as he continued to follow the trail around a bend and discovered it was blocked by fallen rocks. The tremors likely had caused it, he decided, as he clambered up the pile and peered over the top, trying to see just how much of the trail was obstructed. A rock wall rose on the east side of the path, and much of its face had crumbled loose to block the way. Dhamon could tell it should pose little problem beyond this point-after this pile was cleared.
Maldred was strong. Between him and Dhamon, and with some help from Rikali and Fetch they should be able to manage it without too much trouble. And provided there weren't any more tremors in this section of the mountains. The tremors had bothered him more than a little, as a force of nature was something he couldn't stand up to. But apparently the tremors were something he had to put up with here, including the results-such as this blocked path.
Dhamon bent to the task of clearing the way himself, the activity feeling good and keeping his mind off Feril and all manner of other things that festered at him when he grew introspective. He worked until dark, the heat letting up only a little. He hadn't cleared all of it, but the worst was out of the way. He could tackle it again in the morning to finish the job. Exhausted, sweat-soaked, and very hungry, he retraced his steps along the trail and back to where he'd left the others to make camp.
* * * * * * *
Night didn't soften Dhamon's features. The angles of his face still looked hard, his eyes were dark, his demeanor as usual unreadable. His stubble had thickened, and he rubbed his fingertips across it, making an almost imperceptible sound. His jaw worked and the muscles in his sword arm tensed and relaxed as he considered the plunder from the wagon and the sale of the goods. He was silently cursing the merchants for not having more wagons or anything of extraordinary value inside.
He and Maldred sat just close enough to a small fire that they could see the coins they were counting. Fetch materialized every once in a while to turn the meat roasting on the spit and to make sure he wasn't being cheated of food or money. Rikali was nearby, trying on garment after garment she'd claimed as part of her spoils from the wagons and trying unsuccessfully to catch Dhamon's attention.
"Acceptable," Maldred announced when he'd made four piles of coins and placed them in four leather pouches. Two were larger, and he tossed one to Dhamon and tied the other large one on his own belt. "Coin and food."
"Drink," Dhamon added, his darker thoughts abandoned. He gestured to a jug of strong, distilled spirits that sat within his reach. He reached toward the jug, his hand folding about the handle. "Good drink."
"And new clothes, my good friend." Maldred had abandoned his deerskin breeches and shirt in favor of lightweight trousers and a thin, billowy tunic the shade of pale lilies. He'd found only a few things to fit him in the merchant stores, enough for two changes of garb with one shirt to spare and a cloak that hung just past his knees. Though he was only a few inches taller than Dhamon, his shoulders were much broader, his chest, arms, and legs thick and heavily girded.
Dhamon had more to choose from, and he had selected expensive, dark-colored garments that draped his lanky frame. He'd also helped himself to a ropelike gold chain, at Rikali's insistence. Hanging from his neck, it gleamed in the firelight.
Fetch had managed to find some children's clothes to fit into, though the colors and design made him hiss-sky blue with embroidered birds and mushrooms along the sleeves. Fortunately, he also managed to find a kender-sized wool cloak the shade of charcoal with a hood. He vowed to wear this when they came close to civilization- no matter how hot it was. Though others of his kind rarely bothered with clothes, Fetch had come to appreciate well-made garments-if for no other reason than because they helped to disguise his race. He muttered that he needed to find more appropriate attire down the road. He certainly didn't want to stride into any sizeable city looking like this.
At the moment, he was getting ready to smoke his prized acquisition, the old-man pipe, as he called it. Humming and gesturing with his fingers, he began to execute a simple spell. He fingered the intricately carved beard and tamped the tobacco down tight. The spell magically helped the tobacco catch fire. He puffed to get it going, and let his teeth click comfortably against the stem.
Rikali fared the best, in her opinion, discovering all manner of tunics and skirts and scarves and baubles. She'd been occupied for more than an hour since they'd stopped, trying things on again and again and twirling to unheard music.
Those things that didn't suit her sense of fashion, along with practically everything else in the wagons, had been sold at the bandit camp. Dhamon conducted the bargaining, gaming more than Maldred had guessed likely for the lot. They'd purchased a different wagon there, one that had high sidewalls and a big canvas tarp. Maldred contended it was even sturdier and more appropriate for the trip to the valley than the ones they sold. And they'd kept two draft horses to pull it.
"The trail you want to take is narrow," Dhamon told him.
"I know, I've used it before. It's my favorite route to the valley. Not so easy to navigate, and therefore not often used."
"So, are you going to tell me precisely what's in this valley?" Dhamon prompted. "Diamonds, you say?"
"Yes."
"Why so secretive?"
"I thought you liked surprises."
"Never said that. You must be thinking of Riki."
Maldred grinned and shook his head, reaching forward and tugging free a hunk of meat. "There will be windfall profits, partner," he said, "if we can pull it off. I wouldn't even consider attempting it without you."
Dhamon's dark eyes gleamed, reflecting the light and his curiosity.
"It will be easy, I think. All we have to do is…" Maldred caught Rikali listening and shook his head. "Best I keep the details to myself until we get there." He lowered his voice until Dhamon had to strain to hear him. "Fetch'll do whatever we want, go wherever we tell him. But we don't need Rikali getting all excited and upset. Trust me?"
"With my life," Dhamon said. "Keep your surprise for a while longer."
The big man rose and stretched and cocked his head back to take in the night sky. A riot of stars winked down, and he raised a finger to trace a design in them. "I, too, trust you with my life, my friend. I've not said that to another man before. But in the four months since you've drifted into my company I've come to think of you as a brother."
Dhamon reached for the jug and unstoppered it, drank greedily for several moments. "I've had… few friends I could trust like that, either."
Maldred chuckled. "I can read your mind, my friend. What are you thinking about? Palin Majere and the mystic Goldmoon?" Maldred stopped tracing stars. "I'd say your travels at their behest added to your character, Dhamon Grimwulf. And taught you the true meaning of friendship."
"Aye, perhaps," Dhamon agreed, raising the jug in toast. "Friendship is important." He drank deep again, then met the big man's gaze. Dhamon's eyes were unblinking. "I've told you considerable about my past," he said evenly. "But I know little about you."
"Nothing much to tell. I'm a thief. Who dabbles in magic." He padded from the fire and stretched out on a blanket, hands cupped behind his head as a pillow. Fetch scampered over, took a last puff on his pipe, shook out the tobacco, and carefully put the pipe away. Then he curled up between Maldred's feet and in an instant was softly snoring.
Dhamon tugged free a hunk of charred meat and chewed on it almost thoughtfully. The odd beast called Ruffels was tasty and tender. He had slaughtered it himself on his return from the scouting trip. No one in the bandit camp would buy the accursed creature, and it had gobbled down a few more pieces of Rikal
i's jewelry.
"Do you like this?" Rikali had slid behind him, draping a gossamer-fine scarf in front of his eyes.
"Very pretty," he replied, craning his neck and glancing up at her.
The half-elf's face was heavily made-up, her eyelids and lips painted the color of a ripe plum, her silver-white curls piled high atop her head and held in place by a jade comb she'd found in one of the wagons. She was wearing a dark green tunic made of a satiny fabric. It was a little too tight, which seemed to suit her. "And don't you think I'm very pretty, too?"
Dhamon nodded and made a move to rise. But she dropped the scarf over his face and eased down next to him. He gazed appreciatively at her somewhat hazy and celestial form. "Riki, you're very pretty." He gave her a hint of a smile. "And you know it. You don't need me to tell you that."
She waggled her fingers at him, showing off the new rings she'd claimed from the merchant stores. She had tried unsuccessfully to talk him out of the old pearl ring he'd stolen from the hospital-and out of any of the best pieces from that haul. But the hospital booty had not been fairly divided. Still, there were several new bracelets on each of her wrists and around one of her ankles. She'd discarded her boots in favor of soft leather sandals that she also appropriated, and she had managed to find a thick gold ring to fit around one toe.
"You don't need all that… decoration," he said.
"Ah, lover, but I do." She kissed the jeweled Legion of Steel ring on his hand. "It's easier to carry my baubles than a heavy sack of coins. And they're much lovelier to look at than minted pieces of steel. But some day I'll trade all of this in for a fine house far from the dragons and Knights and this insufferably hot weather. On an island, I think. One that catches the cool breezes when the summer tries to get too unbearable. One where it never snows. A perfect, beautiful island. It'll be just me and you there-and company when we invite them. And we'll have a big strawberry garden ringed with a field of daisies." She leaned close and kissed him, lingering so he could smell the sweet musky perfume she'd liberally applied. "And maybe we'll have a babe or two to cuddle and watch grow up." She shuddered and giggled. "But not for quite a while, Dhamon Grimwulf. I'm much too young for all of that, and I've too much o' the world to see first." She tugged free the scarf and kissed him again.
When she pulled back, her face was serious. "Tell me you love me, Dhamon Grimwulf."
"I love you, Riki." He said the words, but there was no ardor in them, and his eyes did not meet hers.
She smiled wistfully and teased the hair that hung over his high forehead. "Someday you'll mean it."
They settled down, nestled together, but Dhamon's mind was elsewhere. Once again he had felt the scale begin to burn. It was a slight sensation at first, a not unpleasant warmth. It always started this way, the gentle warmth, almost comforting in a way, teasing him. And after several minutes, sometimes as much as an hour, the warmth began to build.
Now he gritted his teeth, trying to focus on Rikali's sensual ramblings, but all he felt was the growing heat. Hot as a flame now, it felt like it was melting his flesh. All he heard was the pounding of his heart, so loud in his ears it was deafening. The jabs of cold started next, alternating with the burning until fire and ice pulsed outward from the scale with each breath he took. The pain was consuming him. Despite his best efforts, he started to shake. He slammed his mouth shut and felt his teeth involuntarily grind together, felt his fingers twitch and the muscles in his legs move uncontrollably.
In the back of his mind he saw the red dragon and the Dark Knight who, long ago, had cursed him with the scale. "Remove it and you'll die," the Knight had said, repeating the words in a whisper that sounded like a chorus of maddened ghosts. He saw, too, a glaive, the glaive that was now carried by Rig, though it had once been borne by Dhamon. Saw the glaive in his hands, saw it bearing down on Jasper Fireforge, cleaving into the dwarf's chest and sorely wounding him. Saw his arms raise the glaive again and strike down Goldmoon, slaying her-or so he thought. He felt something then, in a small faraway place in his mind, grief and horror and a desire to be dead in Goldmoon's stead.
As the pain mounted, he watched and watched. He saw it all happen again, watched the months melt away until a shadow dragon and he were in a cave. A silver dragon used her magic to alter the scale. Then memory vanished as the pain intensified, making it impossible for him to think of anything more.
Rikali snuggled even closer and kissed his damp forehead. Tears welled up in her eyes, her fingers closed about his arm. "It'll pass, lover," she said. "Just like always."
CHAPTER FOUR
The Vale Of Chaos
"No wonder you had us travel at night, Mai, so none but your ill-tempered self would know where we were goin'." Rikali was whispering, her voice biting, buzzing around Maldred's head like a cloud of annoying gnats. "Why, if I'd a clue we were comin' here, I'd have… well, I wouldn'tVe come along. And neither would've Dhamon. I'd have told him all about this place, and for a change he would've listened to me. We'd be cud-dlin' up somewhere nice, where it ain't so damnably hot and dry, and… well, I'm tempted to turn right around now and…"
"Where are we exactly?" Dhamon prompted, understanding why Maldred had kept their destination secret, but now wondering if he should have pressed his partner for some information about this mysterious mission.
They were picking their way down the side of a mountain, Dhamon and Rikali following Maldred and Fetch and trying, save for Riki's mumbled complaints, to be reasonably silent. The footing was quite precarious, with jagged rocks stretching up like crooked fingers everywhere and abundant patches of loose gravel that threatened to send them sliding to the bottom. It was dark, well past midnight. A touch of gray in the east alluded to dawn being only an hour or so away.
"By my breath," Rikali persisted in her hushed voice, "this is idiocy, Mai, worse scheme you've ever come up with. First Dhamon steals all of the treasure kept at a hospital and then makes it clear it's not to be properly split- a "door opener," he calls it. Must be some helluva door. Where's the door, I keep askin'."
"Where are we exactly?" Dhamon repeated, raising his voice.
"Shh!" Maldred and Fetch warned practically in unison.
Dhamon paused, watching the three thread their way down the mountain. It looked like they were heading into a great, black pit of the Abyss at the bottom of the vale. Through the soles of his procured boots, he could feel the summer's heat baking the land. Still, he felt better than he had in quite some time. He'd had no episodes with the scale for the past several days, and his spirits were high- too high to continue to put up with Rikali's grumbling and this mystery. "Tell me exactly where we are, Mai, or I'm not taking another step."
Maldred continued down the mountainside, oblivious to Dhamon's threat. Fetch shrugged and followed the big man. But the half-elf stopped, huffed, and put her slender hands on her hips. She cast her head over her shoulder again, her mass of silvery-white hair fluttering, and she glared up at Dhamon. "We're just south of Thoradin, in the heart of dwarf lands. Satisfied?" Then she started down again, motioning for him to follow.
"I know that much… dear."
"The Vale of Chaos," she added, still talking so softly he had to strain to hear her. "Smack in the middle of the Vale of Chaos."
When Dhamon finally caught up to them, Maldred signaled they'd made it halfway down the mountainside, and he directed them behind a massive boulder.
"Never heard of it," Dhamon muttered. "This Vale of… Chaos?"
"That's ‘cause you never lived around here," Rikali said. "That's ‘cause before your head was always filled with notions of Knights and dragons and honor and such. And with… what was that lady's name… Fiona." She spat at the ground and cut Maldred an evil look. "Gonna all die, we are. Gonna die right here in this damnable Vale of Chaos."
Fetch looked nervous, but kept silent, his small hand clutching a pouch of tobacco.
"Ruled by dwarves, this place is," she continued, her voice even lower. "It don't
make sense to seek out dwarves after Ironspike."
Jasper Fireforge, Dhamon thought, meeting her gaze. That was a dwarf Dhamon had considered a friend.
"Pigs, but this place is supposedly patrolled by an army of them stubby, hairy men."
"There are patrols," Maldred finally spoke, his voice low. "But it's not an army. And they can't be everywhere. The valley's too big for that. And the dwarves don't own the land, they just claim it."
Dhamon gave him a look that said, what's the difference?
The big man sighed and glanced around, ran his fingers through his hair and considered his words. "Dhamon, Thoradin is always skirmishing with Blode…"
"The ogres," Rikali cut in.
"… over ownership of this vale. It is a struggle with a long history, made more bloody in recent decades."
"All ‘cause of the Chaos War," the half-elf added.
"The ogres have a legitimate claim, since they roam freely over the rest of these mountains. The vale truly should be theirs."
"Tell that to the dwarves, Mai," Rikali whispered.
"But the ogres don't care to press the issue at the moment. They can't. They must direct their efforts against spawn and draconian and other minions of the black dragon who constantly encroach upon their time-honored territories."
"Why is this valley so damned desirable?" Dhamon asked.
"Wait until the sun comes up, lover," Rikali said. "You'll see, or so the tales say. All of us will see. And then all of us will die."
When they lay down, Rikali snuggled against Dhamon and rested her head against his chest. She told him to wake her at dawn if the dwarves hadn't found them before then. Maldred closed his eyes, too, but Dhamon could tell the big man wasn't sleeping. The knob in his throat was going up and down, his teeth softly clicking together, his fingers tracing intricate patterns in the dirt. Fetch glanced back and forth among the three of them, and occasionally, very nervously, poked his head out from behind the boulder. Dhamon dozed fitfully and briefly, keeping an eye on Mai and Fetch. When, hours later, the sun struck the top of the canyon walls, the kobold was the first to see and gasp in amazement.