Redemption

Chapter Ten In Search of the Overlord

Dhamon spied an empty alley off the same street where the old sage had lived. He had no way of knowing that she was dead, or that Ragh had killed her while he lay unconscious after suffering one of his worst scale episodes, and he had no intention of seeking her out again. But he knew that her stunted tower boasted secret ways of connecting with Shrentak’s under-city of twisting corridors and fetid dungeons. Somewhere in the depths of the undercity was Sable’s lair.

“There isn’t anything down that alley, Dhamon.” Fiona was following his eyes, staring in the same direction. “Nothing but dirt and garbage and rats.”

Perhaps Maldred’s corpse will feel at home there, Dhamon said to himself. I’ll kill him slowly, not until he’s given up a little useful information. He pointed to a tavern just south of the alley. “Hungry?”

“I suppose.” She nodded, but continued to stare down the alley and dropped her fingers to the pommel of her long sword. “This sword talks to me, Dhamon.”

“I know.” The words hissed out between his teeth. The blade had “talked” to him, too, when he owned it months ago, taunting him with promises of cures for the scale on his leg. “That’s all I need,”

Dhamon whispered to himself. “A mad woman with a weapon that talks to her.” Not that he had much choice. He didn’t want that sword, and Shrentak was not a place to leave Fiona weaponless.

Aloud, he said, “Pay no attention to what that damn sword says, Fiona. It lies.”

“Like you and Maldred and everyone else.”

Dhamon tugged her away from the alley and guided her inside the tavern. Ragh followed silently.

Though the outside looked rundown, the interior was surprisingly clean and well kept, and the homey scents that hung in the air miraculously kept the foul odors of the city at bay. A fire burned at the back and, along with a dozen lanterns on the walls, made the place warm and cozy. The tables were all of a polished, dark wood, as was a bar that stretched nearly the entire length of the place. The furniture had some age to it, Dhamon noted. The ebonwood trees the pieces were carved from dated before Sable, when the land was a prairie rather than a spreading swamp. Dhamon doubted a single ebonwood tree grew in the great morass now.

A few patrons stared at Dhamon as he steered Fiona toward an empty table. After noting the oddity of his scales, they seemed to lose interest and resumed their eating and drinking. Ragh also drew stares, but the patrons looked away more quickly when he snarled ominously at them.

Dhamon put two steel pieces on the table, propped his glaive against the wall, and nodded to a serving girl. Smiling politely, she was quick to take the coins. The girl was plain looking, though she’d made an attempt to look pretty by daubing some color on her face, arranging her hair atop her head, and cinching the bodice of her dress tight. He guessed her to be in her mid- to late-thirties, though she lacked any wrinkle lines around her eyes and could have been ten years younger. Shrentak exacted a heavy toll on her citizens.

“I smell roast pig,” Dhamon said.

“Yes. It’s very good this evening. Three plates of it, I’ll bring,” she said. “And bread if you like.”

“Aye. But bring four plates,” Dhamon returned. “And ale all around, too.” The steel pieces would more than cover the cost with a handful of coppers left over for the serving girl to take home.

The draconian shook his head after she’d moved away. “That alley just outside, Dhamon. We could have waited and ambushed Maldred there. You were thinking about it. I could read your mind.”

“Aye,” Dhamon admitted. “I was thinking about it. I’m still thinking about it.”

“Its true Maldred has to be dealt with.” Ragh mused in a conspiratorial whisper. “Him and that Nur… Nur…”

“Nura Bint-Drax.” Dhamon met the draconian’s gaze, where there was still no hint of recollection about the snake-woman.

“We’ve got to kill the both of them, Dhamon, if we’re to get out from under the shadow dragon’s claw.”

Dhamon nodded.

“Because we damn well can’t do what that beast wants us to do. We can’t go after Sable. It would be suicide.”

“Aye, suicide.” Dhamon sat silent. “But everyone dies,” he added after a moment. He’d willingly give up his life to save his child, make a stand against the overlord if that’s what it took, but he didn’t care to forfeit Fiona’s and Ragh’s lives, too.

The serving girl returned and set plates in front of all of them, leaving one at the empty chair. She was quick to disappear and come back with tall mugs of ale, nearly tipping over the one she sat in front of Dhamon. Her eyes wide and fixed on Dhamon’s face, she gasped, mumbled an apology, and scampered back to the kitchen. Dhamon ran his thumbs around the lip of his mug and glanced down into its dark surface. His face was faintly reflected, and he noted a scale on his cheek that hadn’t been there just minutes before, when they had entered the place.

When Dhamon looked up, he saw Fiona and Ragh staring at him.

The draconian swallowed hard and dropped his gaze to a whorl on the tabletop. “Going after the Black would be suicide, I repeat,” Ragh raised his voice a notch. “You’re not really thinking about it, are you? Going after the overlord?”

Dhamon resumed staring into the ale. He raised his fingers to his cheek. The skin around the scale was burning hot as though from a fever.

“You’re strong, I’ll grant you that, Dhamon, far stronger than me. And that weapon looks formidable.

I’ll admit the lady here is good with a sword, and she would be a strong warrior—that is if she came to her senses—but we can’t take Sable.”

“I know. Suicide.”

“Suicide. But you’re thinking about it anyway.” After the draconian downed the contents of his mug, Ragh added. “I’ll have no part in your suicide mission, Dhamon. I’m not sure why I came this far with you, why I didn’t just slip off into the swamp after we left the shadow dragon’s cave. Maldred and Nura were watching you, not me. I know you saved me from a spawn-held village, and maybe I feel I owe you for that, but whatever else you did, I don’t…” Ragh’s voice trailed off as he spotted Maldred coming in the door.

The tavern hushed. All eyes turned to watch the blue-skinned ogre-mage. Shrentak was known for odd denizens, but even here Maldred stood out. The ogre returned the stares. When the patrons started to look away, he glided catlike to Dhamon’s table.

Without meeting Dhamon’s glare, Maldred sat and hungrily dug into his meal. Fiona watched him between bites of her own dinner and began rocking back and forth, eyes narrowed to venomous slits. She reached for her mug, took a deep pull of ale, sputtered. She coughed to clear her throat and took another swallow. Around them, most of the other patrons returned to their conversations.

“You tried to make me hate Rig,” Fiona spat, directing her words at Maldred. “You used magic on me and manipulated me.”

The ogre-mage briefly interrupted his eating, looked up from his plate. “That was long months ago Lady Knight.” Indeed Maldred had toyed with her affections when she and Rig kept company for a time with Dhamon and his little band of thieves. It had been a game to Maldred, and he had played it very well. Dhamon hadn’t seemed to object.

“You are a thief,” she continued.

He nodded.

“And you are a liar.”

“And you are a definite liability, Lady Knight,” Maldred replied grimly. He drank the ale in one swallow, then thumped the mug on the table to call for more.

Ragh caught Dhamon’s attention and gestured to a nearby table. The men there seemed particularly interested in the blue-skinned ogre.

“Keep it down the two of you,” Dhamon said to Fiona and Maldred. “Bad enough we look as we do. We don’t need to draw any more attention.” He made a move to push his plate away, then thought better of it. He needed to keep his strength up. He ate quickly, keeping his eyes on Maldred the entire time.

Finished, Dhamon wrapped his fingers around the ale mug and pulled it close. He contemplated taking a drink, then decided not.

He leaned back in his chair. “Why does the shadow dragon want Sable dead? Really?” Dhamon said in a low voice to the ogre-mage.

Maldred steepled his fingers and answered in similarly hushed tones. “He told you. Two dragons of their size cannot exist without deadly rivalry in the same land. The shadow dragon covets this swamp and does not wish to go elsewhere.” Maldred finished a second mug of ale. “Truthfully I think he would be the better dragon for this country. He wouldn’t meddle with the people who live here, wouldn’t try to expand his territory and enlarge the swamp, would leave the ogre lands alone. He would be content with things the way they already are.”

“Would he?” Dhamon said. “Just why does the shadow dragon need mortals to fight for him? He would stand a better chance against the Black than we would.”

Maldred thought a moment. “A better chance, maybe, but he stays safe this way. And you, Dhamon, he feels you are some kind of anointed warrior. He believes you can sneak into the caverns and surprise and defeat Sable.”

Dhamon gave a quiet laugh. “Surprise an overlord? I rode a dragon, ogre. Dragon’s senses are incredible. You can’t surprise them unless they’re in a deep sleep, and not always then.”

“Your senses are also acute,” Maldred countered, “and you’re stronger than any four or five men. I’ve seen what you’re capable of.”

“Sable will kill all of us, ogre.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

Dhamon took a drink then, feeling the ale warm his throat. He relished the sensation, which he had denied himself for too long. But I will die soon to the scales anyway, Dhamon thought, again touching the scale on his cheek. So what difference does the method of my death make? “I know what I know, ogre, but I’d try to fight Sable anyway if I knew for certain my child would be all right.”

“The shadow dragon will keep his word, I promise you that. He’ll leave Riki’s family alone and call off the hobgoblins. I want to see her and the baby safe, too. And if by some chance you do win…”

Maldred leaned back in the chair, which creaked in protest. “He’ll cure you of the scales.” A pause. “You need that cure, Dhamon, and you and I both know you need it soon.”

Dhamon caught Maldred’s stare, holding it for a long silence. Maldred finally looked away as the serving girl brought more ale.

Dhamon glanced at Ragh, who sat there stolidly, watching Maldred.

“Maldred lies. The shadow dragon lies,” Fiona said to Dhamon.

“Aye, Fiona, the shadow dragon surely lies.” Dhamon pushed away from the table and stood, tightly clenching the glaive’s haft. “But I’ve got to try to save my child.” Or die in the trying, he added silently.

Dhamon walked away from his companions. He heard Maldred rise behind him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” There was a hint of threat in Maldred’s voice.

“I’m going to see if I can find out where Sable is, ogre.”

Instantly a mix of fear and irritation crossed Maldred’s angular face. He strained to keep his angry voice down. “You can’t, Dhamon. Not yet. Nura Bint-Drax will determine when the time is right. It’s too soon, we’ve told you that.”

“Well, the naga isn’t here, is she? I don’t remember the shadow dragon mentioning anything about timing. And I’m running out of time.” He glanced around and noticed that many of the patrons had become interested in his and Maldred’s conversation. “But don’t worry. I’ll not fight the Black without you at my side. Sable will kill me if I make the attempt. And I want to make sure you’re there to die, too.” If I don’t choose to kill you first in the alley, he thought. When Dhamon reached for the door, Maldred dropped a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not going anywhere, Dhamon.”

“No? And you’re going to stop me here? With all these people watching?” Dhamon nodded to Ragh, who was intently regarding them. “Wait for me here, the two of you. I shouldn’t be more than a few hours.” He tossed his coin pouch to the draconian, frowned and nodded to Fiona.

Ragh understood. Dhamon was giving the draconian a chance to escape with the Solamnic as soon as Maldred left to follow Dhamon.

“Or do you want to step outside, ogre?” Dhamon opened the door and immediately was greeted by the odors of the city street.

Maldred growled and let him go. The ogre-mage returned to the table, settling himself down with Fiona and Ragh and thumping his empty mug to summon the serving girl. His eyes were on the door, however, and he was clearly seething.

“Aren’t you going to follow him?” Fiona asked.

Maldred shook his head. “Dhamon expects me to, but that wouldn’t be a safe proposition right now.

So I’ll wait for him. You’re here. That means he’ll be back.”

“Will he?” Ragh asked.

Dhamon waited in the alley, expecting Maldred to follow him. He was trying to decide whether to kill the ogre here or later in the bowels of the city, where his corpse might go undiscovered for days. But the ogre didn’t emerge from the tavern, and so after a while Dhamon cut across the street to the stunted tower of the old sage. Maldred had outfoxed him by staying behind.

“At the very least,” Dhamon decided, “I’ll find out if the overlord’s home.”

There were two spawn guards just beyond the stunted tower’s entrance, and Dhamon made quick work of them. He was becoming an expert at fighting the vile creatures, and he knew to jump back after delivering a mortal blow, saving himself from the brunt of their death-throe acid blasts. The glaive was superbly balanced and lightweight, and gave him a good reach. But with every swing he pictured Goldmoon’s face the time he tried to kill her. When this business was done, he’d get rid of the weapon once and for all. It had a magic that nobody could control.

There was only a little light in the corridor, this coming from a pair of guttering fat-soaked torches that had burned down to stubs. When he was last here, the light was reasonably bright and the air fresh.

Now the staleness hung heavy and nested unpleasantly in his lungs, and a thick layer of grime coated the stone floor. Were he not in a hurry and had he not so many other things on his mind, Dhamon would have let the changes bother him, and he might have investigated matters. Now, though, he wanted only to find a way below, and within moments he located a narrow, winding stairway that took him far beneath the city streets.

The stale air turned increasingly foul. Dhamon smelled stagnant water, human waste, and decaying things he’d rather not think about. The corridors became darker the deeper he went, the torches spaced farther apart and many of them burned out. He knew the spawn could see well in the blackness and doubted they cared about providing light for the human prisoners who rotted in the cells he passed. Sable must have some human servants, though, Dhamon guessed, else no one would have bothered with providing any light.

Dhamon slipped down a corridor filled with waist-deep water. The water was cool, and the film that floated on top of it clung to his clothes. Some of the passages were vaguely familiar because of the animal sculptures that served as torch sconces. These had been burning magically before, when the old sage led him to her laboratory. Now the torches were all burned out, save one in each corridor, which gave off an offensive oily smoke—nothing magical about them any more.

A turn and the water deepened to his chest. Another turn and he was sloshing along in a near-river and most certainly lost. He’d let himself become too preoccupied with thoughts of his child and Riki. He hoped Maldred had managed to follow him, or Nura Bint-Drax. The naga had a knack for turning up.

“Damn.” The floor dropped out from under him, and he had to swim now. It was difficult swimming while holding onto the glaive. There was no torchlight here, only scattered patches of luminous moss that clung to the ceiling and helped to guide him. He considered turning around but thought, Maybe that’s what the water was intended to do, dissuade visitors. “I’m a drenched rat in a maze,” he muttered. “I was a fool to think I could find the Black on my own.”

Was it really as simple as Maldred said? The shadow dragon wanted the swamp and didn’t want to fight Sable himself?

“It’s all too simple,” Dhamon decided as he turned down another watery corridor. He didn’t doubt that the shadow dragon wanted the Black dead, but the reason had to be more convoluted than simply desiring the swamp. Things were never so simple as far as dragons were concerned. There had to be another explanation.

“But what?” Dhamon treaded water, finding himself at a juncture of two passageways. “Just what does the damn shadow dragon want? And why does he need me?”

He chose the branch that led off to the right and began swimming a little faster. He heard sibilant voices up ahead, two or three spawn. He could deal with them.

“Did you hear ssssomething?”

“Heard man talking.”

“Where man?”

The spawn voices buzzed, sometimes in the common tongue, sometimes in their odd, hissing language.

“Where man?”

“Man supposssed to be here?”

“Where?”

“Here!” Dhamon shouted as he erupted from the water. He had swum quietly around a curve and entered a cavern, spotting the scaly threesome sitting on a ledge just above the water. He jumped up onto the ledge, swinging the glaive and sending the blade deep into the chest of the closest spawn.

The thing burst into acid before its companions could act, showering Dhamon with the caustic liquid, for he couldn’t jump out of the way in time. Ignoring the pain, he pressed his attack, sweeping the polearm in a wide arc and cutting the second spawn in two. The weapon was indeed enchanted, but Dhamon’s great strength gave it additional power.

“As strong as any four or five men,” he recalled Maldred saying. He was at least as strong as that many men, all because of the shadow dragon.

And if the shadow dragon had planted its magic inside Dhamon a few years ago, as he had claimed, that meant there was indeed nothing simple behind what the dragon wanted. There had to be something intended beyond sending Dhamon after the Black. Just what in the many levels of the Abyss was the true scheme?

“What does the damn dragon want?” Dhamon shouted in frustration.

Hearing him, the last spawn scuttled fearfully backward. It inhaled and breathed, but Dhamon ducked just in time and was hit by little of its hurtful breath.

“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 lightning 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.