Downfall ds-1

by Jean Rabe

  Surprised and sputtering, Donnag stumbled, his shoulder striking a coffer and tipping it, sending coins and gems clattering across the floor. Dhamon kicked out as hard as he could at Donnag's unarmored stomach. The blow was enough to completely unbalance the ogre, and he fell heavily to his back, knocking over several small sculptures and shattering crystal vases.

  Without pause, Dhamon shot forward again, grinding his boot heel into Donnag's stomach and sweeping the blade down to menace the ogre's throat. "Don't move," he hissed, "Or Blode'll be looking for a new leader." He cast a quick glance to the alcove-no ogres stepped out. "A leader who brings guards into his treasure room."

  "What in the layers of the Abyss are you doing?" Mal-dred shouted. He made a move to approach, but Dhamon warned him back by pressing the tip of the sword in Donnag's throat until it drew a drop of blood.

  "Keep back!" Dhamon returned. "This is between Donnag and me."

  Even as Dhamon glanced at Maldred to make sure the big thief was staying put, Donnag acted. Using his great size to his advantage, he rolled to the side, dislodging Dhamon. At the same time, his massive hand caught Dhamon's ankle and he pulled, yanking him back into a marble pedestal and momentarily stunning him.

  Maldred leapt over a small chest and tried to insert himself between Donnag and Dhamon. "Stop this!" Maldred hollered.

  The ogre chieftain brushed by the big man, reached down and grabbed Dhamon's ankle again, hoisting him until he was suspended upside down, his dangling fingers brushing the stone floor.

  "We shall kill him for this atrocity! We give him Tanis Half-Elven's sword and he tries to slay us with it! Unbelievable, this is! We shall kill him slowly and painfully!"

  Maldred was at his shoulder. "There must be a reason, a fit of madness. He is my friend and…"

  "… he has signed his death warrant!" Donnag ranted. "We shall skin him and leave his flesh for the carrion to feast on. We shall… argh!" The ogre doubled over and dropped Dhamon, who had regained his senses and managed to stab the ogre's calf with the pin of his sapphire cloak clasp.

  Dhamon rolled away from the cursing ogre, fumbled about on the floor for the ornate long sword and crouched, ready to meet Donnag's charge. When it didn't come, Dhamon stood up and slowly advanced.

  "How dare you, insolent human!" Donnag yelled. His ruddy face was reddened further by anger. "We shall…"

  "… die if you don't give me the real sword of Tanis Half-Elven," Dhamon finished. He darted in and swept the sword at the ogre's legs, slicing through his expensive trousers and drawing blood.

  The chieftain howled and retreated. At the same time Maldred rushed in, planting himself firmly in Dhamon's path.

  "Get out of my way, Maldred," Dhamon spat each word with emphasis. His eyes were dark, his pupils invisible, his lips were curled in a feral snarl. "I've been deceived for the last time by this pompous, bloated creature!"

  Maldred stood pat, ready to intercept his friend. "He leads all of Blode, my friend. He's powerful. He commands an army, here and scattered in the mountains." The words rushed from the big man's lips. "You can't fight him, Dhamon! Take the sword and run! Flee the city and I'll find you later."

  "I'm not running anywhere." With that, Dhamon lunged to his right and Maldred stepped to meet him. Too late, the big man realized Dhamon's move was a feint. Instead, Dhamon spun to his left, feet churning over stone and coins, leg muscles bunching and pushing off.

  Dhamon vaulted a long iron box and bowled into Donnag, knocking him back again. The ogre fell heavily to the floor, and lay awkwardly across a mound of steel pieces. Dhamon drove the pommel of the sword against the ogre's face, satisfied when he heard the bones crunch. Donnag moaned as Dhamon continued the onslaught, hammering the pommel down repeatedly and breaking several teeth. Again Dhamon pressed the blade to the ogre's throat, glancing over his shoulder at Maldred.

  "Back off, Mai!" Dhamon hissed. Maldred was quick to comply. "I'll separate Donnag's head from his ugly royal shoulders without a second thought." Dhamon's chest was heaving from the exertion, his body slick with sweat. The pommel felt slippery in his grasp, and he pressed the blade down a bit more.

  Maldred looked uncertain, glancing between his friend and Donnag. "Dhamon, leave him be. Let's get out of here. He's truly good for Blode. Kill him and you'll throw this country into one petty war after another. You've got the sword, plenty of gems. I know a hidden way out of the city and…"

  "You don't understand, Maldred, I don't have the sword." Dhamon had moved his free hand to Donnag's throat, pressing on his windpipe. The ogre gasped and flailed about with his massive arms. Maldred crept close and looked down over Dhamon's shoulder into the chieftain's rheumy blue eyes.

  "Is that true?" the big man asked.

  Donnag didn't answer, couldn't as nearly all his air supply had been cut off. But the expression in his eyes served, and Maldred nudged Dhamon. "Get off him." Maldred's words were cold but commanding, and after a moment's pause, Dhamon relented. Still, he kept the long sword aimed at Donnag's thick neck.

  The ogre chieftain rubbed his throat and glared at Dhamon, swallowed hard, and then made a move to get up. This time it was Maldred who kept him in place, setting his foot squarely on the chieftain's chest. He spoke to Dhamon. "How do you know that's not Tanis's sword?"

  "I know." Dhamon studied the ogre's ugly face. "I know because I know Donnag. He deceived us about Knollsbank's woes, he intends to deceive Fiona. The truth and he are strangers, Maldred. Why would he give me the real sword when he can deceive me with a pretty piece like this?" Dhamon spat at the ogre and tossed the sword away. He drew the broadsword he still carried, the one stolen from the hospital, and waved it in front of Donnag's eyes.

  "We have guards," Donnag managed.

  "Not down here," Dhamon cut in. "I noticed that you left them all upstairs. Don't trust them down here, do you? Afraid they'll take a bit of your horde? Your fear has made you vulnerable. Your treasure is your weakness, your lordship. Well, you won't have to worry about your precious collection any longer. Dead men can't spend steel. And since you haven't got any heirs, Maldred and I might as well help ourselves to whatever we can carry. Then we will let the guards down here for their turn. Rig and Fiona can take whatever they want, too. And your whole country be damned."

  "Wait!" For the first time there was real terror in Donnag's eyes. All of his haughty indignation vanished. His lower lip slightly trembled. "We will give you the real sword. We swear! Let us up, Maldred."

  "No." Dhamon waved the blade closer. "Where is it?"

  "In… it's in that steel box." Donnag's chest heaved in relief as Dhamon backed away, toward the box he had leapt over to reach the ogre.

  "Watch him!" Dhamon said to Maldred. Then he was kneeling in front of the box, ramming the tip of the broadsword into the lock-snapping the sword and breaking the lock. Sweaty hands threw back the lid, which clanged loudly against the stone floor.

  The sword that lay inside was not held in velvet or resting in a sheath, as befitting a weapon of its status and history. Rather, it was at the bottom of the box, amid silver pieces, leather thongs from which dangled rough gems, small pouches, and other knickknacks.

  Dhamon carefully moved the coins aside and lifted the blade, an eager gleam in his eyes. It was a long sword, the edge etched in an elvish script he couldn't read. Its cross-piece bore the likeness of a falcon's beak. It was not nearly as ornate as any of the other weapons hanging on the dungeon wall, and its workmanship was not as fine as the sword the ogre had tried to pass off to Dhamon. Still, there was something remarkable about it. He held his breath as he stood and slowly swung the weapon in front of him.

  "Wyrmsbane," he whispered. Dhamon raised the blade parallel to his face, his dark eyes reflected in the polished steel. Was it his imagination, or did the metal give off a faint light of its own? Perhaps it was the elvish script, a written spell that caused the soft glow.

  "Dhamon?" Maldred was at his shoulder.

  Dhamon's at
tention snapped back to Donnag, who was standing against a pillar, the great leader of Blode nervously watching them. "I asked you to watch him."

  "It's all right," Maldred said. "He'll do nothing against us now." As an afterthought, and much softer, he said,"And I am watching him… very closely." The big man nodded to the sword. "Wyrmsbane, you said?"

  "One of the names the sword was given."

  "And you're sure this is the fabled weapon?" Maldred's eyes darted to the wall of swords, then back to Donnag, who hadn't moved an inch.

  Dhamon nodded. "It fits the description the sage gave me."

  "The sword of Tanis Half-Erven."

  "It's had many owners through the decades. Many names. Most know it as Wyrmsbane, sister sword to Wyrmslayer."

  "Wyrmslayer? The blade the elven hero Kith-Kanan wielded in the second Dragon War?"

  Another nod. "Wyrmsbane was said to be not as powerful, though it was forged by the same Silvanesti weaponsmiths during that Dragon War. Legend says this blade was given to the kingdom of Thorbardin. And from there it went to Ergoth, where it fell into Tanis Half-Elven's hands. It was said to be buried with him."

  "The thief claimed to have robbed Tanis's grave," Donnag croaked.

  Dhamon glanced into the steel box and idly wondered if some of the other trinkets also once belonged to the famed hero of Krynn's past. "Redeemer, it was also called," he continued. "What Tanis called it, I believe. Because it was forged to redeem the world from the clutches of dragonkind."

  Donnag cleared his throat. "You have what you want. Now leave, the both of you." There was no power behind the words. It was as if the chieftain was pleading with Dhamon rather than ordering him.

  "A test first," Dhamon told Maldred. "Just to be absolutely certain. And just make sure, Maldred, you keep your eyes on Donnag." He went over to what he believed was the very center of the old dungeon and slowly turned to take it all in, though in truth that was impossible, as he could not see into the reaches of all the cells that extended from the chamber. Then he gripped the pommel with both hands and closed his eyes. The other two watched him intently.

  * * * * * * *

  "‘Tis a very old blade, this one ye be askin' me about." This from a slight man so bent with age he looked like a crab folded in a shell. Wispy hair, like a spiderweb, clung to the sides of his head, and a thin beard extended from the tip of his chin down to the folds of a drab weatherworn robe. He was hunkered over a table in a dingy tavern in the rough section of Kortal, a town east of the northern Kalkhist Mountains in the territory of the red dragon overlord.

  "I'm interested in old weapons, Caladar," Dhamon said as he reached and grabbed the old man's tankard, brought it toward him, and from a jug he'd purchased-the second of the night-refilled it. The old man's hands closed greedily around the tankard and he drank deep, his eyes bobbing shut in pleasure.

  "I've not tasted anything quite so sweet in quite a few years," Caladar mused. He carefully set the tankard on the table, his fingers feeling clumsily thick after imbibing so much alcohol. "I haven't been able to afford it."

  Dhamon reached beneath the table and glanced around the room. It was very late, and only a few other tables had patrons, who were engrossed in their own drinks and tales. He tugged free a brown leather bag and pushed this across the table toward the old man.

  Caladar's right hand shot forward. The speed of his acquisitive gesture surprised Dhamon. "Ye think that by plyin' me with drink and coin I'll tell ye more?"

  Dhamon didn't answer. His dark eyes locked onto the old man's pale gray ones.

  "Ye'd be right." The sack disappeared in the folds of the robe. "Ye wouldn't've been a decade ago, when I had me more money and more respect, and I had some righteousness about me, too, and a good dose of morals. But I figure now I haven't got me that many more years left, and so I could use the means to enjoy them." He raised the tankard to Dhamon in a toast.

  "The sword…" Dhamon prompted.

  "It be called Redeemer. Be ye lookin' for it ‘cause ye need to be redeemed?"

  Dhamon shook his head, his eyes never leaving the old man's face.

  "It was laid to rest with Tanis Half-Elven-after he was brutally slain. Skewered in the back, according to the story I heard, an ignoble way for a noble man to die. Buried with him, hands placed around the pommel. The story says." Caladar shuddered. "If the gods hadn't abandoned Krynn they would've watched over Tanis's body, wouldn't've let some common thief…"

  "Shhhh!" Dhamon drew a finger over his lips, as the old man's voice had been rising.

  Caladar wrapped both hands around the tankard and shakily raised it to his thin lips. He took several big gulps, then carefully set it back on the table and wiped his lips on his shoulder.

  "Old man…"

  "Caladar," he corrected. "Caladar, Sage of Kortal."

  "Aye, Caladar. This sword…"

  "Ye should have known me in my younger days. Hah! Even as recent as a decade ago, I was truly a great sage. A wise man people came to see for miles and miles around, askin' advice, hearin' the old tales, learnin' of Krynn's ancient secrets. My mind was so keen that…" His words trailed off to note Dhamon's fingers drumming on the pitted tabletop.

  Caladar edged the tankard toward the center of the table, and Dhamon refilled it, scowling slightly to note that this second jug was now empty. He motioned for a serving girl and plunked two steel pieces in her palm. Another, he motioned. How could that old man drink so much and still stay alert? Dhamon himself had finished only two tankards of his own, and felt a little sluggish because of it.

  "Redeemer," Caladar stated, eyes smiling as he watched the young woman return with another jug.

  "Aye, Redeemer."

  "Also called Wyrmsbane." Caladar took another pull from the tankard, and his words faltered. "Elven made and elven enchanted. Elven script along the blade. The significance of that? That'd be your guess?" He shrugged. "Crosspiece in the form of a bird. Odd, considerin' it was supposedly forged to fight dragons and their kin. Ye would think it would have the likeness of a dragon on it. Maybe its maker just favored fowl." He paused and chuckled, leaned back in the chair and scowled when Dhamon glared at him impatiently. "Against scaly folk it is a shockin' thing to behold, Redeemer-or so the tales say. Tanis supposedly slew many draconians with it, the blade inflictin' grievous wounds quickly and with frightenin' accuracy. Scaly folk cannot harm the blade, or so…"

  "… the tales say," Dhamon finished.

  The old man nodded. "Not that they couldn't harm the sword's wielder." He giggled, a thin cackling laugh that raised the hackles on Dhamon's neck.

  "There's more…" Dhamon pressed. He reached for the man's tankard again, but Caladar waved off a refill.

  "I intend to take that jug home with me," he stated. "And if I drink me another drop now, I won't be finishin' my tale or findin' me way to bed."

  Dhamon softly drummed on the table top and again fixed his eyes on the old man's.

  "Yes, there is more. Or so the tales say. Redeemer, though not as strongly enchanted as its sister sword, was magicked with the ability to find things." The thin cackle again. "Perhaps Tanis was a might forgetful and needed the sword to tell him where he put his boots when he took them off at night. But I think not."

  Dhamon drummed a little louder.

  "Redeemer can find things, somehow. Was said to find as many things in a day as there were moons in the sky- which was three when the blade was forged by the Sil-vanesti. But mind ye it was also said not to function all of the time. Perhaps only when it wanted to. Perhaps it could only find things nearby, within the distance of the magic. Or perhaps it would only work for certain individuals. A legendary sword such as that must surely have some rules of its own. Or maybe it has a will of its own."

  Dhamon glanced at the entrance as a few patrons left, slamming the tavern door shut. The barkeep was cleaning up, getting ready to close. "These things you speak of? Material goods?"

  "Wealth?"

  Dhamon nodded.


  "Probably."

  "Intangibles?"

  "Like the perfect woman? Like happiness? Hah! I doubt anyone can find happiness with all of these dragons in control. And as for a perfect woman-there is no such thing-human, elven, or any other race for that matter. A good woman-now that is another matter. But you look for her with your heart, young man, not some legendary elf-forged artifact." He hunkered even closer to the table, his voice dropping as he rested his chin on the lip of his tankard. "I truly doubt Tanis Half-Elven used the sword to find him riches-or anything else for that matter. Only a thief or a desperate man would so use a fine blade in such a way."

  Dhamon eased himself several inches back from the table. "And it's here in town, you say? This Redeemer? What does this grave robber want for it?"

  "More than the likes of ye could afford."

  "Maybe," Dhamon returned. "But I intend to bargain sharply for it. Where is it? Who is this thief and where can I find him?"

  The old man let out a clipped laugh. "And now ye come to the heart of just why I let ye ply me with drink and steel. The sword was here. And the thief was here. Last week or the week before. The days blur for me, ye know. Me friend Ralf got a look at it, and said it was a beauty-said it was the real thing. No question."

  "I don't understand…"

  "Word on the street and among the guild was that the grave robber indeed intended to sell it-and some other trinkets he came by which he stole them from dead folks. But Kortal was only a stopover for him, a place to spend the night and buy some supplies. He wasn't expectin' to sell the sword here in Kortal. Town's too poor. He was headed to Khuri-Khan, a larger city with larger coffers and where the men and the creatures who roam the streets would have a keen desire for such an artifact, and the steel to pay for it. The thief would have gained a likely fortune for it there."

  "Would have?"

  Caladar yawned and eased himself away from the table. Standing, he held onto the back of his chair for a few moments to steady himself. Then he reached for the jug. "Would have indeed. But ogres are thick in the Kalkhists, and Kortal sits at the edge of the mountains. Ogres found out about the thief and sought him out. And Ralf told me they took him to Blode-where some high-and-mighty lord was gonna give the little grave robber just the fortune he was lookin' for."