by Jean Rabe
The ogre knew how to handle difficult patients, and he made Dhamon feel vulnerable and uncomfortable as he continued his brusque examination, which must have taken at least half an hour and included ogling the diamond that dangled from the thong on Dhamon's neck. Then he made a clacking sound. Reaching into one of the many pockets in his patched robe, he tugged free a root and snapped it, letting the juice dribble onto Dhamon's chest where he smeared it into a pattern.
The clacking continued and became primitively musical as his long, knobby fingers worked over the obvious wounds and bruises, always returning to the scale. The ministrations reminded Dhamon of Jasper Fireforge, who had healed him more times than he cared to count. Jasper's work had seemed much more caring, however, the actions of the ogre healer were uniform and practiced, yet detached and sometimes almost harsh.
Dhamon fervently wished either Maldred was here or that he, himself, was elsewhere. Then he felt a warmth begin to flow through him. It wasn't the painful sensation associated with the dragon's scale, however, but one similar to the relaxing calm he had felt when Jasper tended him. The ogre stopped his clacking and welcomed Maldred, who had arrived, and who had quite a mastery of the strange language. Dhamon started to drift off toward sleep when the pain intensified all of a sudden. The ogre healer was tugging at Dhamon's scale.
"No!" Dhamon shouted, sitting bolt upright and throwing his hands over the scale. "Leave it!"
Grim tried to press him down again, but Dhamon successfully fought against it, arguing with words he was certain the healer couldn't understand but couldn't mistake their meaning. The pasty ogre shook his head and snarled, pointed to the scale and made a surgical gesture that was clear.
"Remove the scale and you'll die." The words repeated inside Dhamon's head. Then the scale was heating up like a branding iron again, sending agonizing waves through every part of his body. There was no gentle, teasing warmth to warn him this time. The pain struck like a hammer, over and over, seeming to drive him into the table. His muscles constricted and he shook uncontrollably, his teeth grinding together and his hands clenching so tightly that his fingernails cut into his palms. He raised his head and sucked in great gulps of air. He tried not to cry out. But a strangled moan escaped his lips and his head fell back hard against the table.
Rikali was at his side, fingers moving over his face, alternating stern and worried looks between Grim and Maldred.
Maldred's hand was on the scale now, and he was arguing with the healer. Dhamon wished he could understand more of what was being said. Finally Grim backed away, shaking his head and making an almost-human tsk-tsking sound.
"What's going on in here?" Rig's head poked through the beaded curtain, and immediately all eyes were on the mariner.
"Nothing," Maldred said. "Wait outside."
"What are you doing to Dhamon?" The mariner could see Dhamon shaking, the sweat covering Dhamon's limbs and the odd-colored liquid on his chest that had come from the discarded root.
The ogre healer took a step toward Rig, eyes narrowed and a hiss of growled words issued rapidly from his mouth.
"It's all right," Dhamon breathlessly cut in, the episode finally abating. A part of him was bothered that the mariner seemed concerned for his well being. He wanted to sever all his ties with the man.
Rig grumbled, but slipped outside to rejoin Fiona. His eyes grew wide when he realized the beaded curtain he had moved aside wasn't truly beads. It was a collection of painted finger bones.
"Rig's a little jumpy," Dhamon explained to Maldred. "Always has been a jumpy guy. I told you we should have stole their horses again and not let them follow us."
The big man passed Dhamon his clothes. "Feeling any better?"
"Remarkably better." The ogre passed him a cloth. Dhamon wiped the concoction off his chest, eyes widening when he discovered the bruise was gone, and no mark was left behind. Even a few of his old scars had disappeared. "Remarkable," his whispered. "What do I owe this man?"
The ogre healer turned and pointed to the diamond that dangled about Dhamon's neck.
"So you can understand the human tongue after all," Dhamon said, tugging the gem free and passing it over- despite Rikali's protestations. "Will that pay for Mai and Riki too?"
Grim nodded and set to work on the half-elf, while Mal-dred undressed and, with Dhamon's help, climbed on another table. Rikali's wounds were easy to cure and required little time. When Grim finished with her, she glided toward Dhamon and prodded him here and there, pronouncing the healer's work more than satisfactory.
"Mai, what about the wagon?" She was whispering, fearing those in the outer room might hear her. "All those… uhm… our cargo. What did you do with the wagon and…"
Grim waved a hand at the half-elf, trying to silence her as he worked. But Rikali would not be dissuaded. She hovered around Maldred's table, just out of the healer's reach, dodging when he made a move to push her.
The healer snarled when he removed the bandage on the big man's arm and saw traces of gangrene. Dhamon recognized the seriousness of the injury, too, as he had tended many fallen Knights of Takhisis on battlefields and had been forced to amputate limbs. He drew Riki away and held her close as Maldred moaned. The healer busied himself applying another root to the wound.
Grim glanced over his shoulder, meeting Dhamon's gaze. "Tomorrow," he said, the first word he'd spoken in the common tongue. "Come again then. For Maldred. After mid sun." He suggested several reasonably safe areas they might go to pass the time, and then he dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
But Maldred beckoned Dhamon closer, then gave him quick and quiet directions to the wagon. "In the event Grim isn't able to put me wholly right, you'll be on your own with it."
The big man intended to say more, but the ogre healer growled and spun Dhamon away from the table, then forcibly guided him and Rikali through the bead curtain after they'd retrieved their satchels. Fetch was waiting for them atop the counter. Rig stood and put his hands on his hips, as if to say, "well?"
"Maldred needs to rest here a while," Dhamon began, not intending to tell them the big man was most certainly going to have to have his arm amputated. "Rikali and I are going for a long bath, at something that serves as a bathhouse down the street. Then we've some shopping to do-that is provided we can find the right stores and some clothes in Bloten that might fit us."
"Dinner," the half-elf chimed in. "Rare meat and some-thin' sweet." She wrapped her arms about Dhamon's waist and stretched up to nuzzle his shoulder. "And wine, the expensive kind."
"I'm coming!" Fetch decided. Softer, he said. "But ya ain't gonna find anything better here than bitter ale."
"I doubt Rig and Fiona will want to follow us around for the rest of the day," Dhamon said. "So…"
Fiona cleared her throat. "On the contrary, Dhamon. Rig and I wouldn't think of abandoning you and the fair Rikali in this ogre den."
"Thank you for speaking for me," Rig said under his breath. Louder, he said, "A warm bath sounds like a wonderful idea."
The following day found Dhamon in different clothes. They were not new and not the best fit, the pants being too baggy for his lithe frame. Still, they were clean, a dark yellow, the shade of dying birch leaves. He also wore an oddly striped, faded blue-and-red tunic that was overlarge and draped to his knees. With the application of a few steel pieces he'd managed to talk an ogress, who was an adequate seamstress, into fashioning ties about his ankles so the pantlegs ballooned out and fell in folds. A fine leather belt wrapped about his waist only twice. Somehow the seamstress was also able to provide a deerskin vest that fit him nearly perfectly. It showed little wear, and was decorated by polished brass studs that formed a half-moon in the center of the back. Human-sized boots, which he'd spied in her shop, completed his new outfit. He suspected the boots had been taken in a raid or removed from an unfortunate soul who found his way into slavery here. But they were superbly fashioned and would have cost four times as much in a human city.
"So h
andsome, you are, Dhamon Grimwulf. Haven't seen you lookin' so fancy since that day I met you," Rikali told him. "We look quite fine together, you and I." The half-elf's hair was piled in locks atop her head. She'd decorated it with jade clasps in the shapes of butterflies and hummingbirds, bits of jewelry she'd taken from one of the merchant wagons. Her face was again painted, eyelids a bright blue, lashes made long, and lips a rich crimson.
She tucked her arm beneath his, expecting to accompany him to get the wagon, but he instead directed her and Fetch to meet him outside Grim Kedar's later.
Alone, Dhamon strolled down a street that led to the east, where the tops of the towering Kalkhists disappeared into low-hanging clouds. Indeed, Dhamon mused to himself that he hadn't seen clear sky since the night Rig and Fiona stumbled upon their camp.
He stopped at a squat building, one in far better condition than its neighbors. It appeared the ogre who maintained the place took a little bit of pride in it. Stepping inside, he was met with a growl and narrowed eyes. The ogre behind a great table that served as a counter pointed a stubby finger and gestured for Dhamon to leave.
But Dhamon shook his head and jiggled a small pouch on his belt.
The finger dropped and the growling stopped, but the eyes narrowed even further. The ogre cocked his head and glanced at the rear wall, from which hung all manner of long-hafted weapons-all too unwieldy for Dhamon.
"I want a bow," Dhamon began, jingling the pouch again.
The ogre shook his head and shrugged a misshapen shoulder.
Dhamon let out a deep breath. "So I'd better learn a bit more ogre-speak if I traipse around these mountains any longer or ever come back to this cesspool," he muttered. He drew his lips into a thin line, met the ogre's stare, and pretended to draw a bow and nock an arrow as he said a few words in broken ogre.
Minutes later, Dhamon was continuing down the winding, narrow street, a long bow and a quiver filled with arrows strapped across his back. Following the incident with the dwarves in the valley, he'd resolved to acquire a distance weapon.
Another stop, and he purchased three skins of the strongest liquor available in the city. Two dangled from his belt. And the third was in his hand. He took a long pull from it before he clipped it onto the belt.
The several ogres he passed gave him a wide berth. It was clear they had no respect for humans, as they spat at the ground when he neared, snarling, and wrinkling their warty, hooked noses. But there was something about Dhamon's bearing and expression that kept them from accosting him. He dropped his hand to the pommel of his sword, and they moved to the other side of the street, not daring to look over their shoulders until they were several yards behind him.
His next stop was where the street dead-ended at a large building. There was no roof, only walls of stone and wood, and a double-wide rotting door that rested slightly open.
Dhamon poked his head inside, then instantly pulled it back out. There was a whoosh and a thud as a great two-handed battleaxe descended in the space where his neck had been a moment before. Mud and water flew when the blade struck the ground, spattering Dhamon's tunic and causing him to curse loudly.
He kicked the door open and drew his sword in the same motion, darted inside and braced himself to meet an impressively large ogre. The creature was easily ten feet tall with broad shoulders and a considerable paunch that swelled over a thick leather belt. The ogre hefted his axe again, a yellowed, crooked smile spreading across his pudgy face, his drab green eyes gleaming.
Dhamon stepped back, into a deep puddle. With no roof, it was raining as steadily inside the building as it was outside. "Maldred!" Dhamon shouted, oblivious to the muck. "I am with Maldred!"
The ogre paused a moment, smile disappearing. His shaggy brow furrowed. His hands still clenched the axe, but the menace had lessened in his eyes.
"Maldred," Dhamon repeated, when the large brute took a step forward with a threatening snarl. In broken ogre-speak, he added, "Our wagon. Maldred asked you watch. You have. I have come to claim our wagon."
The ogre looked to the back of the building-the glance was enough to let Dhamon know he understood clearly. The wagon was cloaked by the shadows. Dhamon walked toward it, careful to keep an eye on the ogre and to keep his sword at the ready. Only one horse was tethered nearby. Dhamon worked quickly to harness it to the wagon while he scanned the area for the other horse.
"Damn," he swore softly when he spotted blood against the back wall. There was a hank of mane, and from beneath a pile of wet, moldy straw, a hoofed leg protruded. "Got hungry, didn't you?" He didn't expect the ogre to understand or answer. "Picked out the biggest one to eat."
The creature padded closer, sloshing through the mud. He still held the axe in front of him, his eyes darting back and forth.
Dhamon busied himself checking beneath the sodden tarp, keeping an eye on the brute. "Got greedy too, didn't you? Or at the very least, curious." He noticed the sacks had been rearranged in the wagon bed, and though he couldn't be sure if there was anything missing, he decided to play a hunch. He pointed the sword at the ogre. "Give back. Sacks you took. Give back."
"Thwuk! Thwuk!" The ogre snarled as he closed in, bringing the axe up over his head in a great threatening show. "Thwuk not take from Maldred!" But Dhamon wasn't in the mood to be intimidated. He darted in and swept his sword across the creature's belly, then leapt back as a film of dark blood sprayed out. The ogre howled, and the axe slipped from his fingers, which were now furiously clutching his stomach. Blood spilled out over the brute's hands as he dropped to his knees, a mix of anger and surprise on his ugly face.
He growled deeply at Dhamon, red spittle trailing over his bulbous lip. Then he cried out once more as Dhamon stepped in again and slashed the blade across his throat. The ogre pitched forward dead.
"Hope you weren't too good of a friend to Maldred," Dhamon mused, as he wiped his sword on the brute's clothes and sheathed it. He quickly tossed the straw over the dead ogre, avoiding the insects that swarmed over the horse haunch.
Then he used the rain to wash his hands and take a good look around. There were tall plants growing along the northern half of the building. They appeared well tended, and their tops nearly reached to where the roof had been. There was a huge hammock strung between what had served as the roof's support beams, and beneath it was quite a collection of small barrels and satchels, likely the ogre's possessions.
Dhamon tugged off his newly purchased tunic, sprayed with blood and mud, and tossed it behind a row of plants. Searching around in the wagon beneath a sack of gemstones, he recovered the fine shirt he had saved from the merchant haul and was quick to don it. Black, it complemented his baggy trousers and deerskin vest. He admired his dark reflection in a puddle near the ogre's hammock.
Dhamon searched through the ogre's possessions, finding only a small sack of gemstones-which the ogre might have stolen or more likely had been given in payment for watching the wagon. Dhamon tossed it in the wagon and continued to pick through the dead creature's worldly goods, finding a pouch heavy with steel pieces, an ivory pommeled dagger, and bits of dried foodstuffs, which Dhamon sniffed unenthusiastically. There were a few other odds and ends, a small broken jade mermaid, and a bronze bracelet, thick with mud, which he sloshed about in the water that had filled the hammock.
Deciding there was little of value, Dhamon led the horse and wagon from the barn and propped the door shut.
"One final stop," he told himself. "The most important one."
An hour later, he found his way back to Grim Kedar's.
Rig was across the street, leaning against an abandoned stone building and watching the entrance to Grim Kedar's. His eyes appeared sunken, the circles beneath them dark, proving he'd slept little the previous night. A disheveled-looking human was cowering next to him, nodding and shaking his head as Rig grilled him with questions. The mariner had not spied a single human who was not shabbily dressed or who appeared remotely happy.
Fiona motioned for Rig to jo
in them, but the mariner shook his head and continued talking to the stranger. She shrugged and turned her attention to the kobold.
"An unusual name," she said, bending over until her face met his.
"Not my real name," Fetch returned. "I'd guess you'd call it a…" He scrunched his features and tapped on his nose ring.
"Nickname?" Fiona risked.
He nodded. "My real name's Ilbreth. I'm just called Fetch ‘cause…"
"Fetch!" Rikali was standing on the sagging walk and crooking her manicured fingers at the kobold. "Bring my satchel and get inside. Hurry up!"
"… I fetch things," he finished, scampering to do her bidding.
Dhamon urged the horse toward the sagging wooden sidewalk, tethered it to a post and brushed by Rikali, whom he told to guard the wagon-with her life. Entering the establishment, he noted that even though it was just past lunchtime, there were no tea-drinkers or apparent patients. He rapped on the counter. The others came in behind him. A few moments later, Maldred emerged from behind the beads.
A wide grinn was splayed across the big man's face, and his arms were spread to his sides. He turned once for inspection. There was no indication of injury, and Dhamon stared wide-eyed at his large friend.
"I thought he'd have to cut off your arm," Dhamon said evenly.
"So did Grim," Maldred replied. "Indeed, he tried! But I wouldn't let him. Told him he had to work his magic and make me whole or I'd tell everyone he was nothing but a simple charlatan. And he could not afford such a reputation-at least not here. Of course, this cost me a bit more than what you gave him yesterday."
Dhamon winced.
"Worth it, my friend. Grim is the best. Unfortunate, however, he is not so powerful as to stop all of this rain. I doubt these mountains have seen this much in the past few years. At least it's giving all of Bloten a much-needed bath," Maldred chuckled, then instantly grew serious. "The wagon?"
Dhamon nodded toward the street.