[Dhamon 03] - Redemption

by Jean Rabe - (ebook by Undead)

  “Acceptable,” she pronounced after thinking for a moment. “Do not tarry long. We must make sure that Riki and her baby are safe, then I must go after Dhamon before his tracks are old. He must pay.”

  “Of course he must pay,” Ragh muttered, shaking his hobgoblin head as he lumbered away, his goblin entourage falling in line behind him and trying to shush each other. “Follow me,” he called over his shoulder, “and I’ll show you where to hide and wait.”

  Fiona stared at the hobgoblin corpses and the bodies of eight goblins that had been left behind. She hurriedly covered them all up with fallen branches, then followed after the goblins. “Dhamon will pay,” she said to herself.

  * * *

  In less than an hour, Ragh encountered two more sentries and quietly dispatched them, making his way into the hobgoblin camp. There he learned that more than sixty hobgoblins were on duty. It was a small force but equal to the number of dwellers in the village. Sixty was certainly more than his ragtag two dozen goblins.

  Too, Ragh learned, the people in the village boasted no real weapons. The hobgoblins had expropriated all their swords, spears, and bows. They left the villagers a few knives for cooking, but the village was unarmed, defenseless.

  Engaging a tired and unsuspecting hobgoblin in conversation, Ragh drew out this intelligence, that the hobgoblin force had blockaded the village on the Knights of Takhisis’ orders because most of the village residents were Solamnic or Legion of Steel sympathizers. Several locals had passed information to enemies of the Knights of Takhisis and had harbored spies in the past. The hobgoblins had been ordered to kill any Solamnics or Legion of Steel Knights they captured, as a warning to nearby villages.

  Ragh recalled that Riki’s husband had past ties to the Legion of Steel and guessed that might be why his young family was here. Varek probably kept up his old allegiances.

  “I’ll trick some of the hobgoblins into following me to this stand of trees,” Ragh explained to the assembled goblin army. He repeated his comments in Common for Fiona. “I expect you and your people to ambush them, Yagmurth, but let Fiona, the human woman, tackle the biggest ones.” He also said in Goblin but didn’t translate into common tongue, “Let the woman-slave take on the most dangerous of the hobgoblins. That way you’ll be safe. Her life is not as valuable as yours.” He didn’t have the heart to tell Yagmurth that Fiona was a better fighter than any dozen of them.

  The draconian posing as a hobgoblin had stolen a suit of armor that was a mix of chain and plate. During his spying expedition, Ragh had found the general of the hobgoblins and had tricked him into going behind a rise. There the draconian slew him and assumed his body. This bigger hobgoblin body was a little more pleasing to the draconian, for the general was in better shape than the sentry. However, he was saddled with slightly bowed legs on which he couldn’t quite walk comfortably.

  “Now the hobgoblins think I’m their general,” Ragh told the goblins with a grin. “I’m not going to try anything so suspicious as ordering them all to leave. I’d wager some of them would contest me. But I’ll order them to come out here with me in small groups that you can manage. Enough will follow my orders that we can decrease their number, I think.”

  “As we follow the orders of the greatest of Takhisis’ creations,” Yagmuth pronounced. “As we serve the perfect child.”

  * * *

  It took several hours but the plan worked brilliantly—so brilliantly that Ragh, disguised as the hobgoblin general, was able to lure every one of the hobgoblins out to the forest, in relay groups, until the entire force was vanquished, killed, or fled. Unfortunately, however, this tactic cost nearly a dozen goblin lives. Only fourteen of Yagmurth’s people survived the sometimes chaotic fighting. Yagmurth himself survived and was eager to follow Ragh to any other battle he might suggest, but the draconian was able to dismiss the goblin leader and his dwindling army with a false promise to meet them in two days at the stream where they had first confronted the umberhulk. Sadly, as though he suspected the truth, Yagmurth shook Ragh’s hands and left with the goblins.

  Fiona had loved the fighting, and now she detested Ragh for sending the brave goblins away. “Liar. Liar. Liar,” she muttered as she watched them retreat from view.

  Ragh shook out his shoulders, shedding his hobgoblin form and returning to his wingless sivak shape.

  “You lied to them, sivak.”

  “Yes, Fiona. I lied to them,” the draconian admitted, “and I’ll probably have to tell some more lies in order to get Riki and her baby and Varek away from here safely”

  She tossed her head. “Yes, Riki and Varek and… the baby That is my mission now.”

  “We’ll go together,” Ragh said tersely. As much as he would prefer to send her back alone—for the humans were bound to wonder at the disappearance of all the hobgoblins and the sudden, alarming presence of a draconian—he still couldn’t bring himself to fully trust Fiona. Her eyes no longer flashed any semblance of sanity.

  “Together, then,” she reluctantly agreed. “Then I must hurry after Dhamon.”

  * * *

  Things didn’t go well. The alarmed villagers had already prepared themselves for some crisis and started at the sight of Ragh strolling down their main street. The draconian was wounded by a badly tossed hobgoblin spear before he could shout anything to quell their fears. Now he was in the care of Riki, who had him seated on a chair inside her small house—the only chair she trusted to support his considerable weight—and she was bandaging the sivak. She smoothed ointment on his ribs where he had been gouged and blotted blood from his forearm and shoulder, where he had been pelted with rocks.

  “Pigs, but they got you good, beastie!” the half-elf said. Riki fussed over the draconian, as Varek and Fiona looked on. “My new friends in this place didn’t know you weren’t no evil beastie. They were just tired of all the…”

  “Hobgoblins,” Ragh supplied.

  “Hobgoblins and such that been keepin’ us from goin’ anywhere.” She twisted a bandage around his shoulder, one that looked suspiciously like a baby diaper, and stepped back to admire her handiwork. “That should do you, Ragh.”

  The Solamnic had picked up the baby and was cradling it maternally. A baby boy with flashing dark eyes and wheat-blond hair. On the baby’s leg was an odd-shaped birthmark. Fiona traced it with her finger. It looked vaguely like a scale and was hard to the touch. Her finger caressed the baby’s face. The child’s ears were gently rounded, giving no hint as to his mother’s heritage. As far as Fiona could see there was no resemblance to Varek, only to Dhamon. She wondered if Varek had guessed the truth.

  “I have to admit I’m surprised you’re alive,” Riki chattered away to the sivak. “You and Dhamon… and Maldred, too, I heard you say.” She wagged a finger at him. “I figured you would all have been hanged months ago. I didn’t mean to just leave you in that jail, but I had the babe to think about. And me and Varek.”

  Ragh recalled with a grunt. Riki had denounced them to some Legion of Steel Knights months ago in a gods-forsaken jail on the Plains of Dust. She’d done it to guarantee the safety of Varek and herself, and she’d done it apparently with no remorse.

  “Don’t get me wrong, beastie,” Riki added, as she adjusted the bandages one last time. “I’m glad you didn’t die. You’re not a bad sort for a beastie. But I don’t understand how you and your friends avoided that noose.”

  “The tale is a long one and for another time, Rikali,” Ragh said wearily.

  “I’ll have quite a few such tales to tell my babe when he gets older,” Riki returned merrily. “Tales about this village, too. Them horrid hobgoblins kept us all from goin’ anywhere for quite a few months, and all because Varek and some of the others were workin’ to help the Legion o’ Steel. Doesn’t pay to act good in this sad world.”

  The draconian nodded. She was right. It didn’t pay to act good.

  “What about the Solamnics?” Fiona cut in. She didn’t look at Riki, she didn’t raise her e
yes from the baby’s. “I understand there are Solamnic sympathizers in this village, too.”

  “Pigs, but there are!” Riki continued, slapping Ragh on the back to show that the job was done. “All manner of too-good-to-stomach folks here. I’m surprised I was gettin’ along so well with them all—me and Varek and the babe.” She paused and glanced around the one-room home. “Where’s Dhamon? You don’t know where he is?”

  Fiona shook her head. “No, but I will find him. I will track him down, I promise you.”

  “Good,” Riki said, not completely understanding. She balled her thin hands and planted them on her hips. “You can tell him Varek and me have left here—we’re not wasting time, waitin’ for hobgoblins to come back. We’re goin’ right today. Going to…” The half-elf turned to her husband. “Where did you say we was goin’, Varek?”

  “Evansburgh, I think.” He glanced around nervously. It didn’t look as if they had gotten very far with their packing. “Maybe not today, but we should leave soon, Riki. If… when… word gets to the Knights of Takhisis that their little monsters have been—”

  “Slain,” Fiona interjected.

  “Slain, yes, they’ll send Knights instead of hobgoblins. Evansburgh’s a larger place. Or maybe we’ll go to Haltigoth and lose ourselves there.” He rubbed his palms on his tunic. “I want my family to be safe. I’m loyal to the Legion, but this is no time for me to risk my life. I’ll not make the same mistake and put Riki and our child in danger.”

  Riki glided over to Fiona and took the baby. “Tell Dhamon where we’re probably goin’. Mal, too, OK? You’ll tell them? I wouldn’t mind seeing them again.”

  Fiona said nothing.

  She turned back to Ragh. “You tell them, and tell them I’m real sorry I turned them over to those Legion o’ Steel Knights a few months back. Did what I had to do, you understand.” She cooed over the baby and gently blew at his forehead. “You tell them.”

  “I will tell them,” Ragh said. It was, perhaps, another lie. Then he was at the door, looking out and grimacing to note a knot of curious villagers waiting outside.

  Fiona brushed past him out into the bright sunshine. “Yes, you tell Dhamon, sivak, but you’ll have to speak quickly, for when I find him, he won’t have long to live.”

  Riki raised an eyebrow, but Ragh had already raced past her, catching up with Fiona, whose sword was drawn, her knuckles white against the pommel, the blade clean and shining.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Into the Lair of

  the Shadow Dragon

  His senses reeled. The smell of the mountains overwhelmed him—the very stone, the dirt and dust squeezed into the cracks, rotting pine needles from dead trees, the molted feathers of hawks that lined unseen nests. Goats had passed this way not too long ago, he could tell, and at least one wolf that was no doubt tracking them. There was the scent of some kind of carcass inside a crevice.

  “A dead rabbit, maybe, hauled up high by an owl,” Dhamon said. He thought he could smell the owl, too, amazed at the intensity of the musky scent. “It’s eating the rabbit.” Dhamon now could hear the owl and the scratching of its claws as it ripped the meat, the tugging sound of its beak as the flesh was pulled away.

  He heard the breeze stir the pine needles, those clinging to stubborn little trees wedged in earth-filled cracks, and those that had fallen and were whirling across the rock face. He heard faint taps and after a moment realized they must be the hooves of the goats striking the rocks. How far away were they? He suspected they were a good distance. Just how far can I hear? A bird cried, a jay from the distinctive sound, and there was a sharp intake of breath that was louder than anything. This was accompanied by the repugnant odor of sweat and oil.

  “Maldred. I wondered how long it would take you to catch up with me.”

  The ogre-mage’s breath was irregular and deep. Maldred didn’t say anything right away. He bent over, hands clamped on his knees, face a darker blue than normal from the exertion. Finally he stood and looked up to meet Dhamon’s eyes.

  With wide eyes the ogre studied Dhamon, then finally looked away, finding something on the mountainside in which to be interested.

  “Aye, Mal, the dragon’s magic is still changing me.” Dhamon reached a hand up to the left side of his face. There was no human skin there now, only scales. There was no human skin left anywhere on him. “I’ve got a fire in my chest that’s raging, and it’s taking too much effort to keep the beast out of my head.” He glanced up at the mountains. “I’ve never been afraid of dying, Mal. No man escapes that fate, so why fear it? But I wanted to see my child first. I wanted to say some things to Riki, apologize to her, and to Fiona too….”

  Maldred opened his mouth to say something, and then thought better of it.

  Dhamon took off running again. He suspected there was an entrance to the dragon’s lair nearby. He could feel the truth of that instinct as he increased his speed and as Maldred’s scent fell behind.

  The cave mouth was small as far as dragons were concerned, but effectively cloaked. It was difficult to spot at first. He doubted that it was easily noticed by those men or creatures traveling north from Throt to Gaardlund or Nightlund. Merchants and mercenaries would pass by, none the wiser. The climb was steep and treacherous—even for someone like himself. Further masking the entrance was an irregular overhang that cast a long shadow across a wide swath of broken, jagged rocks. Deep inside that shadow was the opening.

  The low roof made a very tight squeeze for the shadow dragon, one that would probably cause it to shed a few scales from its back and belly. Perhaps it was an entrance the dragon rarely used but held in reserve, but because the dragon had known of the entrance, he had inadvertently communicated that information to Dhamon.

  Dhamon didn’t know that with a single spell the dragon could turn himself into a shadow—as thin as a sheet of parchment and flowing as smoothly as water. He didn’t know that the shadow dragon could follow wherever the much smaller Nura Bint-Drax was able to go. Dhamon didn’t know that the dragon actually preferred this way in and out of his lair because of its smallness and remoteness.

  “Do you see it? A way in?” Maldred had caught up once more and was peering into the shadows and seeing nothing. He was shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand. The other hand was clenched around the haft of the glaive. Dhamon’s hands had changed radically just in the past hour. Now they were claws, similar to Ragh’s, but with longer curled talons that made grasping difficult. Dhamon didn’t object when Maldred claimed the polearm that he had been forced to abandon. He didn’t seem to care that the ogre-mage also carried the pouch with the magical miniature carvings, which Dhamon had discarded when he grew out of his clothes—or rather, burst out of them.

  “The cave?” Maldred pressed. “Do you see it?”

  “Aye,” Dhamon said in a hush, his voice rich and strange. “There’s a small entrance. It’s our best way in, I believe. It looks too small for such a creature, but I sense the way is not unattended, as I had hoped it would be.”

  “There are guards?”

  “Aye. Two, I think. That’s all I sense in any event. And they’re relatives of yours.”

  Indeed, the guards were a pair of overlarge ogres, crude, muscular brutes who stood outside the cave. They were reasonably attentive, however, considering their forsaken post. Great double-axe polearms were propped near them, each larger than the glaive. From the ogres’ waists hung thick-bladed broadswords and long knives. One carried a crossbow. Strapped to their huge thighs were more knives, and lashed to their backs were long quivers filled with javelins.

  “Walking armories,” Dhamon mused. He knew he could take these two ogres—he could take a dozen now—but it might be a noisy fight and alert the shadow dragon.

  Despite all the weapons, they weren’t wearing armor, making them vulnerable. No shields were in evidence. Each displayed an odd tattoo splayed across his naked chest, and each wore a loincloth made of the hide of some large lizard.


  Not a tattoo, Dhamon noted, after a moment. Scales, I think.

  Yes, he was certain—they were small patches of scales.

  “So the ogres’re pawns of the dragon,” Dhamon whispered. “Just like me.” Would they eventually become spawn or abominations like himself? he wondered. He was still changing, becoming incredibly strong, he realized—he intended to make the shadow dragon regret that mistake, before his soul vacated this grotesque body. He shivered at the thought of what he must look like now. He glanced at Maldred. The ogre-mage looked quickly away.

  “What do you see, Dhamon?” Maldred asked.

  “As I told you, I see a pair of your ugly kinsmen guarding our way in.” Dhamon quickly described them. “I don’t believe they have seen us yet. We’re too far away, and they seem very relaxed.” Yet Dhamon was able to see them clearly with his extraordinary vision.

  “There are two other ways in, the closest at least a mile from here,” Dhamon said.

  “Probably guarded by something else.”

  “Aye. Better guarded, I’d wager, if it’s more accessible. Anyway, I don’t want to waste more time searching. I count my life in minutes now, Mal.” Dhamon paused, rubbing his chin. “You swear you have never been here? You don’t know this lair?”

  Maldred shook his head, his white mane of hair tangling around his shoulders. “I told you, Dhamon, no more lies. The dragon summoned me to his cave in the swamp, yes. I knew he had more than one lair. It is said all the dragons do, and Nura Bint-Drax bragged of those she had visited. But I’ve never been here.”

  “I wonder if Nura is here, too.” Dhamon said. “The dragon favors her over you.”

  “No one favors me,” Maldred said with a nod. “Maybe my father. Now about the two ogres….”

  “I suppose you’ll insist they be spared, that all ogre life is sacred. Weeks ago I would have disagreed.” But the changes taking place inside him and all the things that had happened to him had made Dhamon feel that life was a precious thing. “Even ogre life is sacred? Maybe you’re right. I suppose I can lure them out and—”