Downfall ds-1

by Jean Rabe

  And what did she need? Fiona mused. A good dose of common sense? What was she doing here? Committing one impropriety after another, she admonished herself. Consorting with thieves, who were also likely considered murderers, making a deal with a despicable ogre chieftain, commanding a squad of ogres. She was certain the Solam-nic Knighthood wouldn't approve. Deep down, she didn't either. Perhaps they would release her from the Knighthood if they discovered all that she'd done. And her brother? What would Aven think of the lengths she pushed herself to in her effort to ransom him?

  "Aven," she whispered. It will be all right, all of this, she told herself, if she could gain his freedom. Time enough to atone for her deeds after her brother was at her side.

  Still… second thoughts were nagging at her sensibilities. Perhaps she should give up on all of this now.

  "Fiona!" Maldred called to her. He was emerging from Donnag's palace and jogging toward her, a smile spread wide across his face. "Dhamon is all right, and is on his way here."

  She pushed her concerns to the back of her mind and waited for him. He rested a hand on her shoulder.

  "That is good news," she returned, looking up into his clean-shaven face. "I am glad no misfortune befell him in the cave-in." Despite her words, Fiona seemed unruffled by the news. She was making it a point to appear stoic and detached in front of her ogre troops. "And you know this about Dhamon because…"

  "Remember? I am a thief who dabbles in magic." Mal-dred's eyes locked onto hers. "Dhamon found a way out of the mountain many miles away from where we came out. He will be at least another day or two in arriving here."

  "And Rig?"

  Maldred's lips tugged downward. "The mariner is trailing behind him. He is all right, too. Do not concern yourself with him."

  "I will not concern myself with him," she echoed softly.

  * * * * * * *

  In fact, it was two mornings later, the rain slowing to nearly a drizzle, when Maldred came out of Donnag's palace and approached Fiona in the ogre chieftain's garden. There were no flowers, just a myriad of weeds nurtured by the rains. Most were thorny, with twisting gray-green vines that tried to claw their way up the few statues scattered about or that sent runners across the cobblestone paths. The garden filled a circular courtyard off Donnag's grand dining room, and it scented the air with a mix of pleasant and pungent fragrances.

  She had been summoned to meet Maldred here, and he softly touched her cheek to get her attention. "Dhamon was spotted entering the south gate a few hours ago. He is meeting with Chieftain Donnag as we speak."

  She stood straight, her eyes wide. "And Rig? Is he with Dhamon?"

  Maldred shook his head. "It seems Rikali is injured. The sentry reports that Rig arrived later and took her to Grim Kedar's."

  The Solamnic looked a little puzzled that they would not all be together. She pursed her lips, thinking for a moment. "What about the kobold?"

  "Dead," said Maldred, rubbing his chin ruefully.

  "I must go to Grim Kedar's, then," she said finally. "If Rig is there, I certainly should…"

  Maldred's eyes flashed. "Why? They will find their way here soon enough."

  She cocked her head. "I suppose they will. But I should go to Rig."

  "Why?" Maldred moved closer and took her hands. He gazed into her eyes. "Do you love him so terribly much, Lady Knight?"

  She returned his look. Fiona knew she could so easily lose herself in Maldred's enigmatic eyes. "I don't know. Months ago I was certain I did. I had no doubts. But now… I don't know."

  "He doesn't deserve you," Maldred said. "He does not appreciate you, so few of his words are filled with compliments." His sonorous voice had turned melodic. "He is so unlike you."

  "Unlike me," she repeated softly, still staring into his eyes, wanting him to talk some more just so she could listen to his mesmerizing voice. Rig used to talk to her at length, when he was first trying to impress and woo her.

  "You must not marry him," the big man said. "Your heart belongs to me."

  "I will not marry him," she repeated. "My heart belongs to you."

  Maldred smiled. Had Fiona not questioned her own feelings toward the mariner, the enchantment would be so much more difficult. But her doubt gave him room to manipulate his magic. He bent close to her, brushed her lips with his.

  She stepped into his embrace, tracing his jaw with her fingertips, easing away from him finally, almost reluctantly. He extended his arm and nodded to a canopied wooden bench. They walked there together, slowly.

  "I will check on Dhamon. Wait for me here, Lady Knight."

  "Of course I will wait for you."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Donnag's Promise

  Dhamon stood at the base of the stairs, looking out on what served, decades past, as the manse's dungeon. He wondered where the current dungeon in Bloten was-where the ogre chieftain locked away those who crossed him or who fell out of his favor. Or perhaps he simply killed all the scoundrels and saved the paltry expense of housing, feeding, and guarding them.

  Dhamon was certainly dressed for a dungeon-his clothes filthy and torn from his arduous trek, his hair dirty and matted, the stubble on his face thick and uneven. He stank of sweat, so strongly that he even offended himself, and his boots were thickly caked with muck.

  Iron manacles dangled rusted shut from the tall ceiling and dripped with moisture. In a near corner sat a weathered wooden rack, discolored with what Dhamon was sure was blood, and behind a veil of cobwebs was suspended a cage filled with pieces of a human skeleton.

  Just beyond the torture implements were massive chests filled to bursting with steel pieces, elegant golden statues, high vases, and coffers spilling strings of pearls into puddles caused by rainwater seepage. The great chamber was illuminated with expensive crystal oil lamps that glimmered between once-exquisite tapestries that had been irreparably damaged by mold.

  Weapons hung on one wall, their blades catching the light. Another wall displayed shelves of baubles and trinkets-carved animals with wings and horns and jeweled eyes, precious shell arrangements crafted by Dimernesti artisans, and vials of exotic perfumes, that-though stoppered-still sweetly scented the air.

  And there was more. He padded toward the center of the great room.

  Inside the former cells, the doors of which had long ago been removed, more wealth could be observed-coins and carved ivory tusks, ornate chests as valuable as whatever was locked up inside them; gem-encrusted busts of mino-taurs and other creatures.

  "This is our main treasure room, Dhamon Grimwulf," the chieftain said proudly. He stepped out from an alcove, taking Dhamon by surprise. The chieftain had not used the same staircase as Dhamon, suggesting the existence of secret passages. "The rough gemstones you gifted to us are being cut as we speak. Then they will be given a good home here among our rare and esteemed collection, some set into fine pieces of platinum and gold that will adorn our fingers. We so like gems. It gives us much pleasure to look at them. Others will be stored away so we can admire them later-when we tire of what we normally wear."

  Dhamon looked away from Donnag to study an urn that appeared to be made of solid gold.

  "And we can never have too much wealth, can we?" This was not truly a question. Donnag came farther into the room, drawing his cloak up around him before stepping over one of the puddles. He strode toward a platinum-edged throne and eased himself down, sighing and yawning and steepling his big, fleshy fingers. From this position, he could better keep an eye on Dhamon and the array of treasure. "Wealth makes rulers more respected, we think. But it makes us more envied."

  Dhamon padded toward a case filled with necklaces and rings. He leaned against it nonchalantly. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Maldred entering the room. The big man must have used the same hidden staircase as Donnag.

  "Take as much as you desire-within reason-for you and your half-elf harlot," the ogre chieftain continued. "We do not mind. Indeed, we wish to be generous to you, who have aided Knollsban
k. We so love our milk and goat meat."

  Dhamon nodded a greeting to Maldred and selected two gold chains, thick and dotted with emeralds and sapphires. He added a pearl and ruby ring, suitably flamboyant for Rikali's tastes, and a thin jade bracelet that was elegant and cool to his touch, something he would prefer she wear. There was a jade egg, the size of his thumb, sitting on a small wooden base. The egg had a colorful green and orange bird painted on it, with dabs of white to simulate clouds. She might like this, too. He tucked them all in a pocket and made a mental note to ask Maldred just how familiar he was with Donnag and the manse-and how friendly.

  "You have an eye for what has value, Dhamon Grimwulf," Donnag observed.

  Dhamon was picking through a coffer filled with jewels now, selecting a few and holding each up to the nearest lamp. One ruby that caught his eye was the centerpiece of a hammered gold brooch. After a moment's consideration, he claimed this prize, too.

  "There will be more. Much more," Donnag said, "after you return from the swamp. Another small errand for us."

  Dhamon laughed long and hard, not stopping even when Donnag's eyes narrowed to slits. "You think I'm going on another errand for you, your lordship? You claimed wolves were slaughtering the goats in the mountain villages. And yet, the villagers had informed you about what they believed was the real threat. I don't think I trust you. Your errands are far too deadly."

  "We have been very busy," Donnag quickly replied. "And sometimes in our crowded schedule we do not listen closely to messengers from villages. We apologize if we did not communicate the true threat that menaced the village of Knollsbank."

  Dhamon selected a dark sapphire cloak clasp, intending to keep this one for himself. "Nor will I join the ogres you're sending with the Solamnic to the ruins of Takar. Believe me, her brother's dead. Rig saw it in a vision inside the mountain. Her trip is a fool's errand."

  Donnag's lips formed an exaggerated scowl, looking almost comical with his dangling gold hoops. Then he, too, laughed, the sound echoing oddly off the mounds of riches. "And you think we are sending our men into the swamp at the behest of a woman? To Takar? For her brother, whom we've never met? For a woman? A human woman? Pfah! You are most amusing, Dhamon Grimwulf. We should have you in our lofty presence more often. We have not laughed so hard in a very long time. We like you."

  Dhamon pocketed a few small gems, flawless specimens, he believed, and likely more lucrative than all the baubles he'd already claimed. "Then why send the men? And why bother with the Solamnic's ransom?"

  Maldred moved closer, his boots crunching softly over scattered coins. Dhamon was preoccupied with inspecting the treasure and did not see the big man and Donnag exchange meaningful glances.

  "Why would you-ruler of all of Blode-stoop to help a Solamnic Knight? Or why pretend to?"

  Donnag's gaze left Maldred. He grinned. "Why, Dhamon Grimwulf, the Solamnic Knight is helping us, rather than we helping her. We have been told she is exceptionally able in a fight-as good as any two of my best warriors! And therefore she might prove unwittingly useful to us in the swamp. Besides, we so love the thought of a Solamnic Knight at our beck and call. The treasure we gave her to lure her along is insignificant as far as we are concerned. And it will be returned to us anyway. As for the forty men, they are to help us strike at the Black again. You see, we have a plan…"

  "… which on second thought really doesn't interest me," Dhamon shot back. "Sorry I asked about it." He stood, smoothing his hands on his leggings and glancing around to see what other items might appeal to him. "However, what does interest me is my sword. I'd like it now."

  "I'm interested in your plan, Lord Donnag." This from Maldred.

  Donnag nodded to the big man, who had moved to stand between two marble sculptures of dancing faeries, his elbow resting on the head of one. "Ogres used to supervise the humans and dwarves at the Trueheart Mines. Ogres, that at one time, were loyal to us."

  Maldred cocked his head.

  "The Trueheart Mines. In the swamp. Ogres who have switched their loyalty to the Black are in charge there. Perhaps they crack the whips."

  "And what do you intend to do with these traitorous ogres?" Maldred seemed genuinely curious.

  "Nothing. We are interested in the ogres' workers. Ogres of our kin have been captured, as we explained before, in vile retaliation for the slaying of many spawn.

  They are being slaved to death there, and we will not permit that!"

  "So you want those ogres freed," Dhamon observed. "That seems like a reasonable goal." Much softer, he said, "That ought to make the rain continue for at least another month or so." From several feet away, he was eyeing the wall of weapons now. "But Fiona thinks your men are going to Takar," Dhamon added.

  Donnag didn't reply. His attention was directed to a silver buckler, in which his toothy visage was clearly reflected.

  "Ah, Takar and the mines are in the same general direction," Maldred observed. He was idly rubbing his chin. "Lady Knight has never been to either place, and she won't discover the ruse until it's too late. And then she will be forced to help anyway, as she abhors slavery. Yes, I like this plan. I think I will go on this errand for you, Donnag."

  "Maldred, Fiona will believe you are helping her," Dhamon said, his voice cautious. "You told her…"

  "… that I am a thief," Maldred finished. "It is her fault if she does not understand that I am also a liar. At least she will have an escort into the swamp, and she has gained what she sought-a ransom for her brother- though it will do her no good, and eventually it will be returned to Lord Donnag. And I will have gained what I prefer, a bit more of her charming company. She is truly easy on my eyes."

  "So you want to steal her away from Rig," Dhamon whispered. "Like you stole the merchant's wife. And many others. Always the thief, my large friend. I wonder if you'll keep her any longer than you did the others?"

  Maldred smiled warmly and gave a shrug of his big shoulders. He paced down a row of chests. "I saw her fight those trolls. A great swordswoman! Indeed, she must have been truly formidable to have helped you at the Window to the Stars. A swords woman with a fierce heart and fire in her blood! Ah, I do fancy her, Dhamon. Perhaps I will keep her around for a little while."

  "And if she shirks off that spell you have cast to win her favor…"

  "Then what have I lost? Love is fleeting, after all. Eventually I will let her go anyway, unharmed, in honor of your friendship with her. To you, Dhamon Grimwulf, I have always kept my word.»

  "I don't care what you do with her," Dhamon said. "I just want my sword, as promised."

  Maldred's face took on a strange expression. "Doesn't it at all bother you, Dhamon, that your Solamnic friend is being so deceived?"

  "Former friend." Dhamon edged his way closer to the weapons. "And, no, it doesn't bother me. In fact, I find the whole business amusing." He paused at a coffer brimming with jewels and drew a handful of necklaces from it. He carefully reached behind him and placed them in his satchel, fastened it, and decided he was finished with petty baubles. "The sword, Donnag?"

  The ogre chieftain frowned, his attention finally drawn away from his own reflection. "Maldred is going into the swamp at my request. He says you are his friend and partner. We think you should join him. Fight for me, Dhamon Grimwulf, and we will reward you beyond your dreams."

  "No thanks. The trolls provided enough exercise. I'm not going along to the mines, or to anywhere else in Sable's domain for that matter." He cast a quick glance at the alcove from which Donnag and Maldred had entered the room. There was no indication of anyone else back there. The three of them were alone.

  Donnag raised his hand to object. "But you are a warrior and…"

  "The sword. Our deal. Remember? I'm not going to ask again." Dhamon pointed to the wall. "You have the gem-stones from the valley. Knollsbank and the other villages are safe from the ‘wolves. Now I want what's mine. My weapon of choice."

  "Very well, Dhamon Grimwulf." Donnag gripped the arms of h
is throne and pushed himself to his feet. "You shall have our very special sword. As promised." The ogre chieftain walked slowly toward the wall of weapons. His face was somber, his eyes fixed ruefully on the weapons, as if he was loath to give away even one and diminish his fine collection.

  They were arranged from left to right, shortest blades to longest. The former included daggers, some of which were no longer than a few inches. The latter would have been impossible for Dhamon to use because of their size, though some of the largest and strongest ogres in Bloten might have managed them. More than a hundred daggers and swords in all, and all valuable either because of the workmanship, materials, or because they were richly enchanted from a time when magic was plentiful in the world. There were a few axes in the mix, also ornate, twin glaives, and a dozen dwarven throwing hammers.

  Donnag sighed and reached up and carefully took down one long sword just above his head. He pivoted slowly, as if to let the blade dance in the light of the torches, and held it out. "The sword of Tanis Half-Elven."

  Dhamon stepped forward and took the blade, his fingers reverently clutching a pommel that was striped with silver, bronze, and blackened steel. The crosspiece was platinum, formed in the shape of muscular arms that ended in talons grasping bright green emeralds. He passed it back and forth between his hands, feeling its perfect balance and noting the exquisite blade etched with dozens of images-wolves running, eagles in flight, great cats crouching, snakes entwining boars, horses rearing.

  "A magnificent weapon," Dhamon said appreciatively. He pivoted, moving the blade with him, as if he were fighting an unseen foe. "A work of art."

  "It suits you," Donnag said. "A famous sword for a famous swordsman-for Dhamon Grimwulf, who dared to make a stand against the dragon overlords."

  Dhamon continued to work with the sword, then relaxed for a brief moment, holding the long sword parallel to his leg. He tightened his grip on the pommel, and then suddenly leapt forward, clearing in a heartbeat the space between himself and the ogre chieftain, and slamming his elbow into the ogre's massive chest.