[Dhamon 03] - Redemption

by Jean Rabe - (ebook by Undead)

  Ragh listened intently for a few minutes, cocking his head. “I agree—odd voices. Something I recognize there. A word: blessed. Another: Takhisis.”

  As the rustling persisted, a small shape darted out from behind the pine trees.

  “I can make out at least six voices,” Dhamon said. He pointed at the one running.

  “Goblins.” Ragh spat the word. The draconian couldn’t be entirely sure of the shape of the creature, which skittered behind a clump of scraggly bushes, but he finally recognized the language. He had spent enough time on Krynn to know goblin when he heard it spoken. “Big rats.”

  Ragh stood silent, watching Dhamon for some signal, glancing at Maldred and Fiona to make sure they weren’t causing problems. The Solamnic Knight, struggling with the ties at her wrists, caught his gaze and stopped, shrugging.

  “If there are only six of them, we could just ignore them,” Ragh suggested.

  “There’s more than six,” Maldred said. The ogre-mage had come up behind them and was looking at the pines, too. “You might not hear more than that, but goblins don’t travel in such small numbers. There must be at least twice that many.”

  “It shouldn’t be a problem, no matter the numbers.” Dhamon propped the glaive over his right shoulder and gripped the great sword in his left hand. “I’ve found that goblins are little more than a nuisance. Oversized rats, just as Ragh said. And they die quickly.”

  The two days on the fishing boat had done wonders for his health. The serious wound caused by Fiona had nearly completely healed. The pain from the scales had abated somewhat, and his fever had broken early this afternoon. He felt alive and alert, and he found himself almost anticipating a fight to test his recovered strength—though goblins would not present much of a challenge.

  “No, they shouldn’t be a problem,” Ragh agreed, “depending on just how many of them are out there.”

  “Doesn’t matter how many, I said.” Dhamon saw one of them clearly now, crouching among the leafless branches of a stunted shadberry bush. It was about three dozen yards away, and the fading light served to make it look especially grotesque. It was a small creature, not quite three feet tall, with a mottled red-brown hide dotted with warts. Its visage was flat, as if it had run into a stone wall, and its nose was far too broad for the rest of its face, its ears lopsided and irregularly pointed. Looking closely, Dhamon saw that its forehead sloped back a little, giving way to a coarse smattering of black-brown hair tufts on the top and sides of its head. Its large eyes for night-seeing were wide and fixed on Dhamon’s.

  “A damn nuisance, goblins,” Dhamon hissed. “Worse than rats.” He took a step in the direction of the shadberry and watched as three more scurried out from the pines and jumped in the clump of bushes. They were all carrying crude-looking short spears in their twisted hands. Their spindly arms hung down almost to their knees. They were foul, ugly creatures.

  The goblins were chattering behind the bushes, and the words, sounding like snorts and grunts, reminded Dhamon of a pack of dogs arguing over a bone.

  “What are they saying?” he asked Ragh.

  “They’re talking about us,” the draconian returned. “Mostly about Maldred. They’re worried about him. They know by his color he’s an ogre-mage and can cast spells. They’re frightened of magic.” After a few moments: “They’re puzzled by you, however. They think you’re some sort of spawn or draconian, but they want to get a better look at you. And… they’re wondering how many steel pieces Fiona might fetch.”

  “Let them worry and wonder. Then let them die.” Dhamon strode purposefully toward the clump of bushes. He tossed his hood back so the goblins could see his scaly face. “I’m wondering just how long it will take me to finish them off.” A glance over his shoulder. “Ragh, watch Fiona and Maldred.”

  “There are a dozen,” Ragh said, just as that many creatures came out of hiding, waving their spears and shouting. “There are a dozen of them that I can see.”

  The goblins spilled out from the bushes, though they didn’t advance more than a few yards. They stank. A gust of wind drove the stench into his nostrils, and Dhamon had to work to keep from gagging.

  They raised their dissonant voices to a shrill and annoying chorus. Dhamon loped toward them now, expecting them to run, half hoping some would stay and fight. To his surprise, the goblins all held their ground, shaking their spears at the air, the smallest one hopping and whooping.

  “Suit yourself,” he said, as he raised the glaive and swung. “Let’s see how many of you I can kill with one pass.” The blade fairly whistled as it swept forward, and only then did the goblins in its path leap back. Dhamon pulled the weapon around for another swipe, then stopped himself before he managed to cut any down. “Damn it all.”

  None of them were truly threatening him, he realized. None had darted in, not a one had lobbed a spear. They just hobbled around and hooted annoyingly.

  Dhamon let out an exasperated sigh. Maldred’s good-heartedness—the Maldred who once had been his friend and who, back then, seemed to revere all life—had perhaps finally rubbed off on him.

  “Fight me!” he cursed. Dhamon couldn’t bring himself to attack the foul little things unless they made a hostile move. They held their place, whooping louder.

  “Wonderful,” Dhamon grumbled. “Are you going to fight or just shout and dance?”

  There came more noise, grunts and clicking sounds. The goblins continued to chatter as they formed a semicircle around him, their grunts and growls sounding almost rhythmic now, like a chant. The tallest of the lot, a bent old fellow with a dirty yellow hide and more than a dozen steel rings threaded through his lips, cheeks, and nose, was waving wildly toward the pines. Another was pointing behind Dhamon, to where Ragh and Fiona and Maldred waited.

  From behind the pines came forty more goblins, all with spears, and half of them wearing pieces of leather they’d cobbled together into breastplates. One flaunted a helmet, human-sized, that had been hammered in places to keep it from falling down over the goblin’s head. Two carried wooden shields garishly painted with the images of open-mouthed goblins. They were animated and snarling, though not one waved a spear menacingly in Dhamon’s direction.

  “Ragh!”

  “Coming,” the draconian said. He pointed the long sword at Fiona, then Maldred. “Both of you, move. Stay in front of me so I can watch you.”

  “What are they saying now?” Dhamon asked as Ragh and the others approached.

  This time it was Maldred who answered. “Essentially they’re welcoming you to Throt, save that they call it Goblin Home. They are honored by your presence. They apparently have decided that you and the wingless sivak are among Takhisis’ greatest creations. They believe they are blessed by your presence. The chief argues that Ragh is the greater blessing, however, as you still have some flesh on you and might be part human.”

  “And you, ogre?”

  “They believe I’m your slave, and Fiona is your property”

  “Ragh?”

  The draconian snorted. “Maldred’s translating well enough.”

  “They talk a lot. Are they saying anything else worth knowing?”

  Maldred paused, shifting his glance between the goblins and Dhamon while deciding how to answer. “They’re asking how they can serve you—the ‘perfect children’ of their revered god.”

  The sky continued to darken along with Dhamon’s mood, and he felt the ground tremble again beneath his feet—perhaps the precursor to an earthquake. “Perfect child of Takhisis. Ha. So everyone thinks I’m a monster,” he said softly. And maybe everyone’s right.

  The goblin prattling stopped when Dhamon raised the glaive high, and as one the odd little creatures stood at some semblance of attention, breathing shallowly, eyes flitting between Dhamon and Ragh, faces all nervous. The stillness was broken by a wolf howling, and moments later by the screech of some night bird overhead. Again the ground trembled slightly, longer this time, before subsiding.

  Ra
gh moved up alongside Dhamon, speaking in barely a whisper. “Use them, Dhamon. Put them on our side. Then we don’t have to worry about them.”

  “Worry? I’m only worried about one thing.”

  “Yes, I know. Finding the shadow dragon,” Ragh finished.

  “All right. Let’s see if they can help,” Dhamon said. “Let’s see if they can guide us to Haltigoth, that is, the village near Haltigoth where Riki and my child are.” They’ll be a welcome nuisance if they do that, he thought. They can help against the hobgoblins outside the village if need be. “We’ll start now. The clouds are breaking and with the moon out it will be clear enough for travel.”

  Ragh was quick to relay Dhamon’s commands to the ogres. When the draconian finished, several of the goblins grinned wide and bobbed their misshapen heads.

  “They’re quite happy to help us,” Ragh told Dhamon, “though they say there are several human villages near Haltigoth. How will they know which is the right one? They fear they will displease you if they guess incorrectly”

  “They should fear to displease me,” Dhamon said, “although I’m counting on the woman in the crystal ball to tell us which village.”

  * * *

  They’d walked until after midnight, a forced march set by Dhamon that had the goblins running and gasping and clutching their bony sides. The ground was not helpful, for it was broken by tree stumps and jagged rocks, with sharp dips and slick slate that sent the goblins flying. Dhamon found nothing interesting about Throt. The land was primitive and something he would have preferred to avoid.

  When the goblins began to fall too far behind and even Ragh, Fiona, and Maldred had trouble keeping up, Dhamon grudgingly stopped by a thin, twisting brook. The moon was high, clearly illuminating the dying vegetation all around them and setting the water to shimmering like molten silver. The goblins struggled to catch their breath. They kept a polite if not wary distance from Dhamon and his associates.

  Dhamon had ascertained that none of the goblins knew the common tongue, so he could talk freely without fear of insulting or provoking his guides. “To be venerated by these things is uncomfortable,” he confessed to the draconian.

  It was clear Ragh didn’t share that feeling. The draconian basked in the goblins’ adoration and kept them busy bringing him water from the brook and plucking sweet apples that were still clinging to a nearby tree.

  They’d removed the gag from Fiona’s mouth but didn’t untie her hands. The female Knight wouldn’t accept fruit or water and refused all conversation.

  “They think we are going to ransom her to someone in this village. They think she’s royalty.”

  “Don’t tell them anything different, Ragh.”

  “They want to know why you and I don’t have wings.”

  Dhamon grimaced. “What did you tell them?”

  The draconian offered him a grim smile. “I told them I honestly don’t know where I lost mine,” he said. “Likely in some great battle so many decades ago that I’ve forgotten.”

  “And me?”

  “I told them your wings just haven’t sprouted yet.” The draconian instantly regretted the words when he saw the life go out of Dhamon’s eyes. “About Sabar,” he said, quickly changing the subject. He gently removed the cloth bag from his waist and produced the crystal ball.

  There were a collection of ooohs and ahhhs from the goblins, and a few inched forward uncomfortably close until Dhamon halted them with a look.

  “Ogre,” Dhamon said, calling to Maldred. “Use this crystal again, and see if you can find the village for us. I want to look in on Riki and the baby”

  Maldred selected a flat, dusty patch of ground, spread his legs and rested the ball on its crown base between his knees. Using the ball was so much easier now, as his mind was already familiar with the magical pulse of the crystal. Soon the purple mists filled the globe, parting to form the image of Sabar.

  “You seek me again, O Sagacious One,” she purred to Maldred. “Are we to take another journey together? I would enjoy that.”

  Maldred quickly shook his head. “Show us the village, Sabar,” he said evenly.

  “Blöten?”

  “No. The one from before that, the one inhabited by the half-elf and the babe.”

  “As you desire, O Sagacious One.”

  Sabar twirled within the confines of the crystal, gradually revealing the village. Dhamon motioned one old, yellow goblin forward. The creature leaned over the globe, finger extended and almost touching the glass, but clearly afraid.

  “Ask him if…” Dhamon nudged Maldred, watching intently as the image shifted to show Riki sleeping with the babe at her breast, Varek lying curled at her side. “Ask him if he’s seen this place.”

  The goblin’s crude language sounded even worse in Maldred’s deep voice. The ogre-mage spoke for several moments, pausing at intervals to let the goblin answer him. Finally Maldred looked up from the crystal. “The old goblin’s name is Yagmurth Sharpteeth. He’s their leader, and he says he knows where this village is. Apparently he and his people are quite familiar with it. They usually visit it in the late summer, raiding small fields for corn and potatoes, and in the spring they come again when sheep are born. They didn’t visit it this summer, though, as a force of hobgoblins have been camped just outside of it for the past three or four months.” A hint of a smile crept across Maldred’s face. “The goblins hope the ‘perfect children of their revered god’ will lead them against their cousins, the hobgoblins, so they can crush their enemy and again raid the village for food.”

  Dhamon studied the goblin named Yagmurth. “Only if necessary will there be a fight with the hobgoblins. Tell him that. Fights take time, and I’m in no mood to waste time. There’ll be a battle only if that’s the last resort, for I’ll do anything to make sure Riki and the child stay safe. But don’t tell him that. In fact…” He felt the ground shaking again. “Maldred, ask the crystal ball…”

  The ogre-mage was startled. Dhamon hadn’t called him by his real name since they’d been transported from the Nostar cell to the shadow dragon’s cave.

  “Ask the crystal ball if a cure is still within my reach.” Dhamon ran his hands across his stomach, feeling all the scales beneath the ragged robe. He touched the left side of his face to make sure there was still flesh there, and he waited impatiently while Maldred talked to Sabar. Dhamon visibly relaxed and breathed a great sigh of relief as he heard Sabar answer yes.

  “But Sabar says you don’t have much time left in which to find a cure,” Maldred explained. “You have to find the shadow dragon soon.”

  “Aye, Mal. I am well aware of that.” The fever had suddenly returned, and the skin on his cheek was drenched with sweat, despite the chill of the fall night. His stomach felt was if it were on fire. Dhamon turned abruptly away, walking toward the brook. “Why don’t you look in on your damnable dry mountains of Blode while you’re at it? Check in on your dear father.”

  Ragh snatched up the crystal ball. “You already did that, didn’t you?” The draconian returned the ball to the pouch, trying it to his makeshift belt. “You don’t need to use this anymore.”

  Dhamon shed his tattered robe, hearing more oohs and ahhs from the goblins following him as they admired his scales. He waded into the water, hoping its coolness would chase away his fever and put out the fire raging in his stomach. He left the glaive on the bank and growled when a goblin ventured close to touch the weapon.

  “Get back!”

  The creature didn’t need a translation. The meaning in Dhamon’s eyes was clear. The goblin scampered away to join his fellows, eight of them sitting high on the bank at a respectful distance. They all watched intently Dhamon’s every move. When the ground trembled again, stronger than it had before, Dhamon saw the look on the goblins’ crushed faces turn to horror. The trembling persisted and became more intense. Pebbles rolled down the bank and into the stream.

  Dhamon jumped up, nearly losing his balance as the earth rumbled. Spears in han
d, the goblins were chattering in fright, forming small groups and shouting.

  “They’re scared!” the draconian called to Dhamon.

  “I don’t need to speak their language to know that.”

  “They await our orders.”

  Dhamon shrugged on his robes and snatched up the glaive. He watched Fiona stumble as she tried to get up. “Cut her loose, Ragh. It’ll help her keep her balance.”

  Ragh started to argue but thought better of it when the tremors became more pronounced. As the draconian headed toward the Solamnic Knight, a fissure appeared behind him and a half-dozen goblins were instantly swallowed by it. Before their hysterical fellows could attempt to rescue them, the ground beneath the sweet apple tree erupted in a geyser of dirt and rocks, sending the tree toppling down the bank and half the remaining goblins running in all directions.

  Something began to rise from the ground where the tree had been.

  “By my father!” Maldred cursed. “What in all the levels of the Abyss is that?”

  The ogre-mage hadn’t expected an answer, but he got one from the draconian.

  “It’s an umberhulk,” Ragh groaned.

  “A what?” Dhamon and Maldred asked practically in unison.

  “A monster,” Fiona hissed.

  Climbing from an ever-bulging hole was a hideous creature, easily eight feet tall and nearly that wide around. It looked like a cross between a great ape and a crustacean, with long crablike pincers at the end of massive arms clacking loudly. It was the color of wet earth, of which it strongly smelled. A pair of jagged mandibles on either side of its cavernous mouth were dark as midnight. Its eyes—four in all, two pairs of them—were darker.

  Legs as thick as tree trunks bent as the strange creature shook itself, scattering a shower of dirt. The umberhulk stamped with its great clawed feet, and the ground was set to trembling again.

  The creature swiveled its head, mandibles moving, pincers clacking. Its mouth opened slowly, revealing an intense blackness. Teeth that looked like jagged roots were also blackest black, yet they gleamed weirdly. When the creature roared, it sounded like a dozen angry lions, an explosion of noise that filled the night and brought tears to the goblins’ eyes.