[Dhamon 03] - Redemption

by Jean Rabe - (ebook by Undead)

  “I won’t kill you,” Dhamon promised, as he continued to stalk the frightened creature. “If you give me some information.” Now I am truly the liar, he thought. I intend to kill you after you’ve told me what I want to know.

  “Man want what?” the spawn asked as it dodged out of Dhamon’s reach.

  “I just want out of here. Take me up to the street.”

  The spawn glared at him but nodded. “Take you to ssstreet. Yesss.”

  “No.” Dhamon inwardly cursed himself for what he was about to say. In a heartbeat’s time he’d made his decision, changed his mind. “Take me to Sable’s lair.” Perhaps, he guessed, the shadow dragon seeks something hidden in the Black’s lair.

  The spawn vehemently shook its head and exhaled noisily, but Dhamon hugged the cavern wall and again was spared the acid breath. “Sssable kill me if I do.”

  “I’ll kill you if you don’t,” Dhamon shot back. “Besides, Sable might actually reward you for bringing me to her. I’ve caused the overlord all manner of grief.”

  “Sssable kill you then,” it said.

  “Maybe. Now move.”

  They hadn’t traveled more than a few minutes before the passageway became wholly submerged and very wide. Again Dhamon swam, following the spawn, wondering if he was being led to the overlord’s lair or to someplace where a myriad of spawn waited to pounce on him. Eerie sounds came to him as he made his way through the water—growls and groans from creatures that clung to the sides of the rocky walls. The sounds grew, and so did Dhamon’s unease as they broke the surface in the next foul-smelling chamber. He nearly dropped the glaive when his hands started trembling uncontrollably.

  “Not much farther,” the spawn told him. It raised a scaly claw and pointed to a shadowed alcove. “One more tunnel.” It hesitated. “You go by ssself now?”

  Despite the few patches of luminous moss, this cavern was all shadows, and it was too dark even to read the expression on the spawn’s face. His unease, his trembling hands—it wasn’t like him. Dragonfear. That was the only explanation. The spawn was indeed leading him to Sable—or to a lesser dragon serving the overlord.

  “You go by ssself?”

  “All right. I’ll go alone.”

  The spawn sighed with relief and made a move to swim past Dhamon, heading back the way it had come. Though it was difficult to maneuver the blade in the water, Dhamon managed to sweep the glaive like a scythe to cut off the passing spawn’s head. Then Dhamon dropped below the surface to avoid the acid blast.

  “Convenient that you spawn leave no corpses,” he muttered. Then he looked to the alcove, took a deep breath, and disappeared below the surface again.

  There was no glowing moss here, and so he found his way by feeling along one side of the submerged tunnel. He continued pulling himself along until his lungs ached for air, and then he slowly rose, finding barely an inch between the surface of the water and the rocky ceiling. A few deep breaths and he was under again.

  It seemed an interminable journey, and a heavy sense of dread settled in. He rose again minutes later when he noticed the water growing lighter in color. His head silently broke the surface in a chamber whose boundaries he couldn’t discern. A great patch of the luminous moss illuminated enough parts of it, however, for Dhamon to guess he was in a dragon’s lair. Giant crocodiles lounged on outcroppings. Other creatures he couldn’t name clung to spires and ledges. There were things flying somewhere overhead—he could hear the flap of leather wings, but he couldn’t see the creatures, and couldn’t see the ceiling.

  His teeth started chattering. Focusing his thoughts on holding onto his weapon, he managed to stave off the worse effects of the dragonfear.

  It was Sable’s lair. The Black was there, at the extreme end of where the pale light reached. Curled on a sandy stretch of ground, the overlord slept, coins and gems spilled all around it. The great dragon’s breath was so strong it created a breeze in the cavern, and the sound of its slumber was a constant, sonorous rumble.

  Dhamon had seen Sable once before—years ago at the Window to the Stars portal. All the overlords were there, when Malys tried to ascend to godhood and become the next Takhisis. The Black seemed more impressive here, alone, in her dark and malodorous realm. She was huge, eyes as large as boulders, scales thicker than the greatest plate armor. The tip of her tail was as big around as an ancient oak.

  Dhamon could feel the power and the evil exuded by the dragon. Spellbound, he wanted to flee while at the same time he wanted to swim closer for a better look. He forcibly controlled his foolish impulse.

  Did the shadow dragon desire the Black’s wealth? Certainly the shadow dragon could obtain his own horde. So not wealth. Something magical? What?

  Dhamon’s eyes narrowed. He took a deep breath and dropped below the surface, just as Sable opened a massive eye. The overlord suspiciously scanned the chamber. Seeing nothing, she resumed her slumber.

  * * *

  It was past midnight when Dhamon found his way back to the city streets. He was dripping—from sweat and the stagnant water of the tunnels—and the stench was overwhelming. He knew he must look a sight. His clothes were nearly burned off from the spawn’s acid, his legs were covered with scales, arms dotted with them, and there were now a few on his face. He’d passed a mirror in the hallway of the stunted tower, saw the spreading scales on his legs, arms, and throat.

  Fortunately there were only a few brave souls wandering the streets this late at night, and all of them—including a pair of spawn—gave him wide berth.

  He was hopeful that somehow Ragh had gotten Fiona out of the city, and though hours ago he wished the draconian had managed to kill Maldred, now he hoped the ogre-mage was still alive. He was going to need him for his plan.

  The tavern was still open, and peering through a window, he scowled to see Fiona and Ragh still sitting at their table. The Solamnic Knight had her arms folded on the table, her head nestled in them and was sleeping soundly despite the racket from the conversations and clinks of mugs. Ragh was wide awake, and was watching Maldred converse with the sultry Ergothian form of Nura Bint-Drax.

  Dhamon muttered a string of curses and went inside.

  Nura made a gagging sound and waved her delicate-looking hand in front of her face in a show of warding off Dhamon’s stench. “Where have you been?”

  Dhamon came closer, leaned over her shoulder, and whispered into her ear, “To see Sable.”

  Her eyes grew wide. She abruptly stood, nearly knocking him over. “You couldn’t…”

  “Sable’s all cozy in her lair. And she’s got lots of… treasure.”

  “How did you…?”

  “Get in and out alive?” Dhamon lowered his voice when he noticed all the conversation around them had stopped. “Luck, I think,” he said. “Sable was sleeping soundly, and I had the presence of mind to leave before she woke up.”

  Listening to him, Ragh nudged Fiona awake. The Solamnic rubbed at the sleep in her eyes.

  “Ragh, Fiona, we’re leaving now,” said Dhamon, grabbing them and heading for the door.

  “Thank you, Rig,” Fiona said as she stepped outside.

  Ragh was quick to follow her.

  “It is too soon, Dhamon Grimwulf,” Nura warned. “We need to make preparations and develop a plan. It is too soon to disturb Sable.”

  Dhamon slammed the door behind him and waited, waving away Ragh’s questions. Within a few moments Maldred and Nura joined them on the street.

  The Ergothian pulled herself up and thrust a finger at Dhamon’s chest. “You are my master’s tool, Dhamon Grimwulf,” she said threateningly. “You’ll follow my orders from here on out. I’ll have no more of your—”

  He jabbed a finger back at her. “I’ll have no more of you.” In a move that caught her completely off guard, Dhamon shouldered the glaive, took a step back and swung it at her. The blade whistled through the night air and sliced into where she’d been standing but a heartbeat before.

  Nura was ligh
tning fast. Narrowly dodging the blow, she stepped behind Maldred. “My master will slay you for your impudence!” she sputtered.

  Dhamon circled round. “I think not,” Dhamon said, taking another swing. Maldred drew his sword and held it defensively in front of him, unenthusiastically protecting the naga. Behind them, the Solamnic pulled her own long sword and began talking to it. Ragh backed up and assumed an aggressive stance.

  “The master wouldn’t dream of slaying me, Nura. I am the one, after all. His precious tool. He’s been preparing me for the past few years, hasn’t he? He planted the magic in me some time ago. As you said, you’ve been testing me. All that work… even a dragon wouldn’t slay someone he’s got so much effort invested in.”

  Nura’s hands were working, fingers glowing and tracing patterns in the air. “You are the one,” she said, “and I will force you to cooperate.” Arcane words spilled from her lips, and the glow intensified.

  “What about me, magic lady?” This came from Ragh, whom Nura had made the mistake of ignoring. The draconian slashed at the Ergothian’s back, claws cutting through her tough skin. Nura shrieked with pain. Her spell was squandered in that moment, and the glow of the magic faded.

  “Fool!” she cried. “All of you are fools! The master will never cure you now, Dhamon Grimwulf. He’ll have the hobgoblins feast on your child!” She edged around Maldred, jockeying for advantage over Ragh and Dhamon.

  Suddenly the Solamnic Knight brushed Dhamon aside and sprang forward, the tip of her sword aimed right at Nura’s heart. She managed to prick her, as Nura dodged.

  “You will cooperate! All of you!” Nura howled, as she reached behind and slipped her hand inside Maldred’s shirt to retrieve the shadowy scale. She cracked it just as Fiona lunged again, disappearing and leaving the Solamnic Knight confused.

  Dhamon heard the tavern door opening, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a half-dozen drunken men stumble out, intent on watching the fireworks. He paid them little attention, turning his anger on Maldred now. Fiona stepped on one side of the ogre-mage, and Ragh took the other.

  “Let’s take the monster once and for all,” Fiona said.

  “No, leave him alive,” Dhamon said.

  “Alive? Why? What are we doing, Dhamon?” the draconian sputtered.

  Dhamon leveled the weapon at Maldred’s chest. “The ogre is going to take us back to the shadow dragon.”

  The draconian raised his brow in puzzlement. “Not a good idea.”

  “The shadow dragon wants us to tackle Sable, because he’s not powerful enough to do it himself. That must make us more powerful than the shadow dragon is, right? So we’re going to attack the shadow dragon instead.”

  “Dhamon, you can’t!” Maldred argued. “You—”

  “Can’t I? I’ll find a way to make the damn dragon call off his hobgoblins and leave Riki alone. I’ll make him cure me of these scales. The shadow dragon claims he’s made me formidable? Well, let’s see just how formidable I am! And you’re going to take me there, Maldred. Right now, before the naga comes back…” Dhamon’s words trailed off in a strangled cry.

  He crumpled to his knees as the glaive fell from his hands. A second later he was writhing on the street, jabs of intense cold and incredible heat warring inside his body. “The scale,” he gasped. One moment it was as though he was in the middle of a bonfire, the next as though he was adrift on a glacial lake. His muscles twitched wildly, and he shrugged off Fiona’s attempt to comfort him.

  Ragh looked with uncertainty between Dhamon and Maldred, then as the ogre-mage took a step forward, the draconian reached down and snapped up the abandoned glaive. He was unfamiliar with the weapon, but it gave him a reach that kept Maldred at bay.

  “He’s dying,” Fiona said. She touched Dhamon’s forehead, then pulled back in shock. “Rig’s burning up! My beloved’s dying.”

  More men came out of the tavern, all keeping a respectful distance and all watching curiously as they chattered.

  One started waving chaotically, and Ragh growled, noting the gesture was meant to attract a passing spawn guard.

  “Wonderful,” the draconian muttered. “Look down the street. We’re going to have company.”

  Dimly Dhamon heard the insectlike buzz of the tavern-goers, felt Fiona’s fingers brushing the hair away from his face, felt the intense heat and cold.

  “Rig is dying,” she repeated. “Dying!”

  Dhamon found himself agreeing with her. He was dying. The pain had never been so bad before. He found himself falling away into an emptiness.

  Chapter Eleven

  Shadow Keep

  The grass was soft and cool, and Dhamon thrust his fingers into it until he could feel the damp earth beneath. So he wasn’t dead, not yet. He was mildly saddened at this realization, as death would have solved all of his problems.

  Death would have ended the pain from the scales.

  If there was a place where spirits found peace, he would rather be there right now. It had been a long time since he’d known any real contentment.

  Since he wasn’t dead his problems persisted. He realized some time had passed since the episode in Shrentak, and though his eyes were closed, he could tell it was midday, probably by the amount of light seeping through his eyelids.

  He ached from the scales and found himself wishing for a big jug of that ale he’d drunk in the tavern last night. He couldn’t remember when he’d hurt this much following an episode. It felt as if he’d sparred with a few dozen bakali.

  His throat was dry his tongue felt swollen, and he had trouble working up some saliva to swallow. He kept his eyes shut and his breathing shallow, deciding he ought to learn more about his surroundings before letting anyone know he was awake.

  The breeze felt slightly warm against his face, and he picked up the faint, telltale odor of Ragh, like a blacksmith’s shop. He could smell little else, save a trace of chicory and—something else—sheep. He himself still reeked from the water and sludge he’d waded and swum through to catch a glimpse of Sable.

  So he was still in the swamp, he guessed, somewhere outside of Shrentak. He heard the striking song of a heron and the distant snap of a crocodile’s jaws. There were no sounds of city life or of people. He could hear plenty of leaves rustling, and willow branches, as well. He was lying partially in shade, an effort on someone’s part, probably Fiona, believing him to be Rig, to keep him out of the oppressive heat.

  Opening his eyes just a crack, he spied sunlight streaming diffusely through a veil of leaves. Wider, and he spotted the draconian’s scaly visage—Ragh bending over him.

  “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it,” the draconian said flatly. “This was the worst time, so far. You haven’t moved for hours. I was afraid I’d have to deal with the mad Knight and the blue-skinned ogre all by myself.”

  So the draconian hadn’t killed Maldred yet. Too bad. Dhamon propped himself up on his elbows and rolled his head to work out a kink in his neck.

  Ragh leaned closer. “How are you feeling?” There was genuine concern in the draconian’s voice, and this distressed Dhamon.

  “Fine,” Dhamon said. Then truthfully: “More than a little sore. Did you get me out of the city? Where’s Fiona?” And where’s Maldred for that matter? he thought.

  “Sore. You feel sore. But you feel all right otherwise?”

  Dhamon frowned and raised his right hand to push Ragh away so he could stand up. He stopped and swallowed hard. The back of his right hand was entirely covered with scales, and there were pearl-sized scales on his wrist as well. He gaped at his arm, completely covered with scales the size of steel pieces. His left arm was the same, though the scales hadn’t yet spread to his left hand. He touched the scales on his arm, and only when he pressed down hard did he register the slightest sensation.

  “By the vanished gods.” Dhamon jumped up, seeing Fiona and Maldred watching him warily from nearby. He moved away from them to the far side of a willow trunk. Ragh followed him.

/>   He knew the scales were spreading, but this was all happening so fast. It seemed he might only have hours left before his transformation—into what?—was complete. He might not have time to confront the shadow dragon. Dhamon checked out the rest of his body. His legs were almost solid with scales—all the size of coins save for the large one on his thigh. There were also scales on his stomach and chest, and feeling around, he discovered several on his back.

  “There’s… more on your neck,” Ragh told him.

  Dhamon reached up and touched his neck, where the scales were like a choke collar spreading down to his shoulders. His fingers danced over his face, finding a few more on his cheek, one on his forehead. Had the shadow dragon out of vengeance sped up the foul magic? Had he learned that Dhamon balked at fighting the Black and was now circling back to the shadow dragon’s lair?

  He leaned against the tree, closed his eyes. A sense of hopelessness washed over him. He’d always prided himself on being strong. Alone in life. His only real family had been the Knights of Takhisis, and there was no coddling there. Strong, independent, fearless, and driven—those qualities had directed his life. At this moment, all of those qualities were of no use, all had forsaken him.

  If Riki was here she would hold him, tell him everything was all right, that they would find him a cure for all his agony. She would be lying, but her words and warmth would be appreciated, as he had never appreciated them before, when she was actually with him. Palin—he was another one who would fuss over him, poke and prod and make some effort to remedy the situation, then fall to studying him like a specimen in his laboratory. Maldred… the friend Maldred had been… Maldred used to rage against the world with him. But none of those people were here now. He’d never appreciated them anyway. This crisis was his to face alone.

  How long before my soul slips away?

  Dhamon opened his eyes and scolded himself. He began to fight his anguish and substitute fury. The damn shadow dragon better speed up the magic even faster, Dhamon thought, better kill me quick before I reach him! Dhamon suspected he was beyond a cure now anyway, but he would force the dragon to spare Riki and his child—and then he would exact some measure of retribution.