“Probably by making people forget they’ve got somewhere better to be,” Ragh said, waking up and joining in. “Stealing their memories until there’s nothing left, drinking their intelligence like damn vampires.”
“The shadow men have never hurt anyone.” The lord mayor faced the draconian and spoke to Ragh now. “The only thing the shadow men will take are your names. They will convince you to stay in Bev’s Oar. Then starting in the morning, you will teach us about the world, and you will teach me how to read my books. Now, I will see about getting you some dinner.” He took the torch with him when he left, leaving the hallway and the cells to the starlight.
“By the Dark Queen’s heads,” Dhamon groaned. “The wight told me his kind steal memories.”
“I’d say there are more than one of ’em in this town,” Ragh said.
“The people can’t remember their names. They can’t remember to charge for their goods and services.”
What by all that’s sacred did the wight take from me? he thought. Nothing important, surely, I have no holes in my memory. I’m certain I fought the wight off before it could do real harm. But these people apparently aren’t able to fight them off.
“We’ve got to get out of here.”
Fiona stood, hands on her hips. “No, we’ve got to help these people. Make them realize if they fight back…”
“Impossible.” The draconian’s eyes glowed faintly red in the darkness. “They won’t believe you. They don’t have enough intelligence left in their thick skulls to believe you—to believe any of us. All they want is for you and me and Dhamon to stay, to teach them. Except when the wights find us maybe they won’t leave us with anything worth teaching.”
Dhamon gripped the bars tighter and pulled, feeling a slight sense of movement. The bars were imbedded in a hardened clay floor and ceiling. It wouldn’t take him too long if he could muster his strength. “I won’t lie down and die,” he said, working on the bars. “I have things to do. We’re getting out of here.”
Ragh growled from deep in his chest and also grabbed the bars of his cell. Muscles bunching, the draconian strained to budge them. “It’s worth trying.”
The hallway door creaked open, torchlight spilling in.
“Maybe I can help.”
“Maldred!”
“Dhamon, my friend, how do you manage to find yourself in such hopeless predicaments?” Maldred ducked his head to pass through the doorframe, the torchlight revealing he was in his true ogre form. His wide, blue shoulders were a tight fit in the hallway, and the top of his white-maned head brushed the ceiling. Despite his ragged clothes, he was a welcome sight. The torch was small in his large fist.
“But… how, how did you get out of Shrentak, and how did you find us here?” an astonished Dhamon asked.
“I have magic, remember?”
Dhamon glanced at Ragh, who shrugged. Fiona’s eyes were narrowed, but she said nothing. Maldred passed Dhamon the torch, then knelt on the ground, fingers spread wide over the hardened clay. His long white hair fell over his shoulders and down his arms and hid his face. The torchlight danced across his form, exaggerating his massive muscles and the thick veins that stood out.
“What are you doing?” This question came from Ragh.
“Magic. Will you keep it down?” Maldred started humming softly, a tune with no identifiable melody or predictable rhythm. As it quickened, his fingers burrowed in the softening clay. Ripples spread outward from his hands, the clay becoming like mud.
Dhamon found he could more easily move the bars. Ragh’s also gave way a little.
“A little more,” Dhamon coaxed.
“Trying,” Maldred replied, as he interrupted his humming. “Odd,” he added. “It’s getting cold in here.”
The magic humming resumed. Dhamon dropped his torch and worked faster with both hands. The cold meant the presence of wights. Eyes darting, he looked in the shadows for glowing, undead eyes. His breath feathered away from his face as he wrenched the wall of bars loose.
“The shadow men are coming,” Ragh growled.
“Aye,” Dhamon said, stepping to the other cell and helping the draconian work on those bars. With one final heave, the two loosened the bars enough so Ragh and Fiona could squeeze out.
Fiona clutched the bundle of clothes to her chest. Breath misting in front of her, she fixed her eyes on Maldred.
“Liar. Liar. Liar,” she said.
Dhamon shivered to feel the air growing colder still. “Mak we’ve got to get out of here now. There are…” He swallowed his words as he glanced to the far end of the hallway where three distinct shadows had separated and formed manlike images. Their eyes glowed eerily, and their insubstantial hands reached out at them, claws elongating like slithering serpents.
“By my father!” Maldred boomed. “What are those strange creatures?”
“Around here, they call them shadow men,” Ragh answered.
“Foul undead,” Dhamon spat. “Wights! And we’ve got nothing to fight them with!”
Maldred reached for his sword, and the shadows cackled.
“That won’t work,” Dhamon said. He started backing his companions toward the door at the other end of the hallway.
“Maybe this will work.” Maldred pulled something out from under his ragged tunic, cradling it in front of him so the others couldn’t see. “I’ll get us all out of here,” he said. He focused his magical and physical energy, gripped the dragon scale hard, and snapped it in two.
“Liar. Liar. Liar,” Fiona repeated venomously, as a swirling gray mist rose up around them and transported them out of the jail.
Chapter Eight
Shadows of the Past
Dhamon was confronted by a vast emptiness, unending black stretching in all directions. There was nothing to hint at shapes or shadows, but he felt as if he was moving, his feet dangling yet touching nothing. He held his arms up, then stretched them out in front of him and to his sides, his fingers feeling only warm, humid air.
It was a startling change from the cool breeze that had wafted into his jail cell and comforted him until it turned into the frightening, cold currents of the Chaos wights.
He tried to call for Maldred but sucked in a fetid taste and scent. He couldn’t hear himself, couldn’t even hear the beating of his own heart. The taste and scent increased.
It was all magic, he knew, and he should have asked, when Maldred cast his spell, that they all be spirited away to Southern Ergoth, to the far coast where the Solamnic outpost stood. But Maldred had acted too fast. Dhamon hadn’t had a chance to tell him where they were going, so now where was he taking them? Perhaps the Qualinesti Forest, perhaps the eastern shore of Nostar. Certainly not back to the ogre lands.
Dhamon was more curious than worried, as any magic created by Maldred was bound to be a positive enchantment. He called out to Fiona, however, on the chance she might be able to hear him, to reassure her that everything was all right and that she had no cause for alarm. He received no reply.
He continued to float in the nothingness, noting that he was feeling increasingly fatigued—either because quite a bit of time was passing or more likely because Maldred’s spell was somehow sapping his energy. Perhaps Maldred was drawing on his energy.
“Maldred,” he tried to call again. This time at least he heard himself.
A change occurred in the air. The temperature grew warmer still and the fetid smell much stronger. There were variations in the blackness now, suggestions of blues and grays and faint images that resembled shields, as though rows of knights were standing on each other’s shoulders, three or four men high. He shivered, though it was warm, not cold.
“Maldred?”
“Here, Dhamon.”
“Where are we?”
“My spell’s taken us far away from that jail.”
Dhamon heard strange sounds: a rough, constant “shushing”, the flutter of something like leaves blown in the wind, the muted cry of a shrike, and the throaty cry of a
burrowing owl.
“Mal, where?”
It was still night, wherever they were. They were no longer near the sea; there was not a trace of salt-tinged air. However, Dhamon thought he detected the sulfurous scent of a blacksmith’s shop, and now he could sense the draconian and the familiar presences of Fiona and of Maldred. The rank smell overpowered everything, however.
“Where have you taken us?”
“Someplace safe.”
Dhamon blinked as the wall of shields began to move, as though the unseen knights were taking two steps forward and then back, repeatedly, keeping rhythm with the shushing. Before he could bring this to Maldred’s attention, the shield-wall slid out of sight, replaced by thick gray patterns intersected by strands of green so dark they looked black. He stopped shivering.
Concentrating, Dhamon stared until he could focus. He discerned that he was inside a cave. The dark patterns were shadows created by outcroppings and recesses in the stone, the green was moss-covered vines that hung down to the ground and were disturbed by a gentle breeze that was stirring. Leaves continued to rustle, from just beyond where the cave mouth must lie. He turned slowly, finding the silhouettes of Fiona and Ragh only a few yards away. He also saw Maldred, who was speaking softly in words he couldn’t understand, no doubt casting another spell. A moment later a globe of light appeared in Maldred’s hand, and as it grew he tossed it toward the ceiling, where it hovered.
The cave was immense, and the light didn’t penetrate the deepest darkness.
“Liar. Liar. Liar,” Fiona hissed as she locked eyes with Maldred. The Solamnic Knight, standing next to the draconian, squeezed her bundled clothes against her chest and glared back and forth between Dhamon and Maldred. “The both of you are liars.”
Dhamon looked at his old friend. “Mal,” he said, “I was planning to come rescue you. Why, if we hadn’t gotten ourselves stranded on that accursed island of Nostar, Ragh and I would’ve finished taking Fiona to Southern Ergoth and then come back looking for you. In fact, if you wouldn’t mind casting another one of those quick spells and taking us to Southern—”
A sharp intake of breath—Fiona’s. A raspy curse from Ragh. The shivering began again, as Dhamon whirled to stare, deep into the cave, toward a soft, yellow glow. The eyes of a dragon! Its massive scales shifted, making a strange hissing.
“Sable!” Dhamon’s heart thundered in his chest. He snarled in fury and glanced anxiously about for a weapon. “Next time, Mal, see if you can find a place safer than Sable’s lair!” He grabbed Fiona and Ragh, pulling them backward, toward where he judged by the slight breeze the cave’s mouth would be.
“Move,” he whispered to them. “Fast.” Although astonished and confused by where they had landed, Dhamon’s companions didn’t hesitate, shuffling along with him. Fiona’s hand drifted to reach for her non-existent sword.
“I once was Sable’s servant,” Ragh whispered. “She might remember my usefulness and let me live. But I fear you and Fiona…”
Draped in shadows, which blanketed much of its massive body, the dragon did not move or speak. It merely regarded them silently. The impression it gave was of a giant cat studying with mild interest an insignificant group of trespassing mice.
“Mal, you’d better turn around and follow us slowly,” Dhamon cautioned. “Fiona and I don’t have a single sword between us, so we can’t… Mal? Mal?”
Maldred hadn’t retreated an inch or drawn his sword, Dhamon realized. In fact, the big man was slowly moving toward the dragon, arms spread wide as if in supplication.
Dhamon sucked in a breath. “By all that’s…”
“Liar. Liar. Liar,” Fiona chanted behind Dhamon.
“I… I think she’s right,” whispered Ragh. “Dhamon, I think your ogre friend has betrayed us.”
“Betrayed?” Dhamon sounded incredulous. “Brought us here on purpose?” The possibility was too crazy, he quickly dismissed it from his mind, shaking his head. “No. He couldn’t have. Maldred wouldn’t.” Not of his own accord, anyway, Dhamon thought.
Perhaps Sable had captured Maldred in Shrentak, bewitched the ogre-mage, and demanded that Maldred bring Dhamon here. It was the only sane explanation. If so, if Ragh was mistaken, then why was his friend so casually approaching the dragon?
Behind Dhamon, Ragh spoke up again. “Wait, I used to serve Sable. That’s not Sable,” he said in a hushed voice. “Now that I can see it better, that’s not even a black dragon.”
“Maldred,” Dhamon said firmly, hoping to reach a part of his friend the dragon couldn’t influence. “Leave with us. Back out now.” If the dragon by some chance lets us.
“You’re safe here, my friend,” Maldred said, sounding less than confident of his own words. “I promise, you’re all safe. The dragon won’t hurt you.”
Bathed in pale ochre light from the dragon’s eyes, Maldred, standing directly in front of the beast’s massive snout, bowed stiffly at the waist. “I brought Dhamon here, master. Just as I told you I would.”
Master? “Move, Fiona! Ragh!”
Fiona dug in her heels. “I am a Solamnic Knight,” she said defiantly. “I should fight this dragon. It’s not honorable to run.”
Dhamon cringed. “Not without a sword!”
“Don’t be in such a hurry.” The sultry voice was not Fiona’s, and it came from somewhere behind them all. “You’re not going anywhere, Dhamon Grimwulf. Not you. Not the witless Knight. Not the worn-out sivak. The three of you are flies caught in a web, and I think you’ll discover my master’s the biggest spider of your dreams.”
Recognizing the voice, Dhamon spun around in disbelief, meeting the eyes of Nura Bint-Drax in her snake-woman form. She effectively blocked their retreat, rising up on her tail in the middle of the cave mouth and swaying hypnotically, her scales glimmering. Her magic, more than her intimidating form, held Fiona and Ragh in place.
“None of you are going anywhere until my master permits it,” Nura hissed. “If he permits it.”
No chance at redemption, Dhamon thought. No chance to…
“Dhamon!” The big man, still in front of the dragon, motioned to him. “Come! Join us, Dhamon!”
Join you? By the Dark Queen’s heads, this can’t be happening! This can’t be real!
Dhamon tried to convince himself that this wasn’t happening, but he knew it was.
He’d felt the sensation of dragonfear, and now, looking back and forth from the cave entrance to its depths, he could see the naga swaying and see the eerie yellow of the dragon’s eyes. He could see his traitorous friend, Maldred, in front of the dragon, waiting.
“Ragh,” Dhamon whispered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the draconian shudder as though trying to break the spell of the naga. “Ragh,” he said louder.
“I-I hear you.” The familiar hoarse whisper sounded as though it was straining for power. “Have you some great plan for getting us out of this?”
From the cave’s recesses, Maldred called again to Dhamon.
“Well, I have a plan,” Ragh growled. “I plan on us dying, and I prefer to let the dragon kill me. That’ll be quicker than whatever that snake-thing plans to do, is my guess.”
“It’s Nura Bint-Drax, Ragh.”
“Whoever it is, it is ugly.”
“It’s Nura Bint-Drax.” You know her, Dhamon thought.
Since the moment I met you, Ragh, you have been obsessed with killing her. She cut off your wings, bled you to make spawn and abominations. You hate her. “You have seen her in other forms, but you must recognize her.”
“I have never seen her. I would certainly remember her if I had see her before.”
“The Chaos wight,” Dhamon muttered. The Chaos wight had stripped the memory of Nura Bint-Drax from Ragh. That must be it. What memory did the damn wight steal from me?
“Dhamon!” Maldred called again.
It doesn’t matter what the wight stole from me, Dhamon thought. Nothing’s going to matter if we don’t get out of here alive. Bu
t his legs didn’t feel like cooperating. In the few moments he’d let his mind wander, the dragonfear had seeped into his bones.
At the same time, the naga moved closer.
The odd, heady smell of her perfumed oil mingled with the foul scent of the swamp. Dhamon felt weak, dizzy, ready to quit. I should’ve let the sea take me in that storm, he thought. This dragon wouldn’t get the satisfaction of killing me now. I’ll never see my child.
“Fight the dragonfear,” he hissed, as much to himself as to Ragh and Fiona, “and the naga’s magic. Don’t give in. Put up a fight!”
He focused on his anger, a technique he employed when he used to ride a blue dragon and had to deal with its suppressed aura. He focused on the dragonfear. In a blind rage he lurched away from Ragh and Fiona, rushing toward Maldred.
“Ragh,” he called over his shoulder. “It was Nura Bint-Drax who took your wings!”
Dhamon hoped that revelation might arouse the draconian, but he didn’t wait to see what happened. He grabbed the surprised Maldred, swiftly reached behind the ogre’s back and tugged free the great two-handed sword that was always sheathed there.
“Dhamon, no!” Maldred made a grab for the sword, but Dhamon was on fire with anger. In a few strides Dhamon had put space between him and Maldred and the dragon, steeling himself against the ceaseless aura of fear and readying the sword for action.
The glowing dragon eyes didn’t so much as flicker. The dragon neither spoke nor moved, except for the continual hissing of its scales.
“Dhamon, stop!”
Focusing on the dragon, Dhamon was taken aback by Maldred’s lunge. The ogre struck and knocked him aside. The sword clattered away.
“Dhamon!” The ogre, his voice defiant, held up his arm in a warning gesture. “You must listen to me, Dhamon!”
Dhamon kicked at him, tripping Maldred, and scrambled to regain the sword. “No, you listen to me, Mal! The dragon’s got you under its control! This dragon—”
“This isn’t Sable!” Maldred cried. “This dragon isn’t interested in hurting you!”
[Dhamon 03] - Redemption Page 12