Redemption

Chapter Seventeen Visions and Shadows

“Riki will be all right, Dhamon. They might not have to fight the hobgoblins to get her out. They might be able to slip in, take her, your child, and Varek too.”

“Aye, maybe.”

It was the first either of them had spoken since they’d left Ragh, Fiona, and the goblins, hours ago.

They were making their way toward the mountain ridge. The wind was strong, cutting across the uneven plain, rustling the tall, dried grass and whipping up small rocks. The sky was cloudless and blue, making the brown landscape seem even more desolate and drab. The few trees that grew on the craggy ledges were thin and barren, save for a lone pine that stretched tall and defiant.

Dhamon lengthened his stride, keeping his eyes on the pine. He’d chosen a route that avoided the cluster of small settlements and farms between Haltigoth and the mountains, and one that roughly paralleled a merchant road to the south.

Maldred maintained his appearance as a blue-skinned ogre-mage. Earlier, Maldred had attempted to don his human guise when two men on horseback rode by, but Dhamon became angry and shouted at the ogre, so Maldred kept his true appearance. The sight of the ogre kept the men on horseback at a distance.

Dhamon didn’t want to be reminded of Maldred as a human, the sun-bronzed friend who once shared many an adventure with him, but as they neared the shadows of the mountains, he realized, too, that he didn’t want Maldred to look human because he, himself, didn’t look human anymore. And unlike Maldred, he couldn’t cast a spell to make himself look like a man again.

Did Sabar speak the truth? he thought. Was there still time to reach the shadow dragon and force the damnable creature to cure him?

He wondered if Maldred would betray him again, warn the shadow dragon somehow of their approach. Would he cut some new deal to save Blöten and the surrounding land? He wouldn’t put it past the ogre-mage. Dhamon would have left Maldred behind with Ragh and Fiona, if he didn’t think the ogre might be needed to find the shadow dragon and if he didn’t need Maldred’s crystal-ball scrying.

“We had some good times,” Maldred said.

“Aye,” Dhamon admitted. “A few.”

It was even cooler in the shadow of the mountains, and the coolness was a welcome antidote to the fever that consumed Dhamon. Dhamon found himself staring up at the mountains and wondering if perhaps the dragon had chosen its lair here wisely after all. The peaks were stark and imposing, like the dragon.

“Dhamon, we can wait here a moment, ask Sabar to look in on Riki, to see if the Knight and draconian have accomplished anything.”

Dhamon shook his head. He didn’t want to know that, not at this juncture anyway. They’d traveled too far to turn back now. He couldn’t afford to be distracted either by Ragh’s success or failure. Dhamon needed to concentrate on confronting the shadow dragon. He’d put his trust in Ragh, and that was that.

He suspected the ogre-mage had volunteered to use the crystal because it would afford him a moment of rest. Dhamon had been driving them pretty hard, and neither man had slept in nearly two days.

“Look in on the shadow dragon instead,” Dhamon suggested. “Try to pinpoint the exact location of his cave. If you can’t get us a good idea of where he is, we’ll spend days wandering around here.” And I don’t have the time, Dhamon thought. Softly, he added, “Or maybe you prefer us to wander around.

Maybe you don’t want me to find the cave until it is too late. Maybe you want the shadow dragon to win.” The fever hadn’t lessened. If anything the fire in his stomach and across his back was more intense.

Just walking was a chore.

While Maldred was summoning the image of Sabar into the crystal ball, Dhamon closed his eyes. He focused all his thoughts on the heat and pain, attempting to use his willpower to shut them down, but it didn’t work.

Dhamon stared at the mountains. The dragon was somewhere up there, hidden in some massive cave.

He gazed toward the south, where the peaks were the highest, then suddenly felt a spasm of fiery pain and almost buckled.

“Dhamon?”

“I’m fine,” he said tersely. A few deep breaths and the worst of it passed, but his chest ached now.

He tore his robe at the neck, then ripped it open down to his waist. Leaning on the glaive for support, he rubbed his chest and his ribs with his free hand. His left side was now covered with scales that burned to the touch. As his fingers moved over his abdomen, he felt another fiery jolt. There was a similar sensation low on his back, and he knew that more skin was disappearing.

How much of my skin remains? he wondered. There was a stream nearby. He wanted to look at his reflection, but perhaps it was better if he didn’t know.

“Dhamon.”

“I said I’m fine.” He turned to face Maldred, seeing the ogre-mage seated on the hard ground, the crystal between his knees. Maldred stared at him with wide eyes. Dhamon reached up to feel his face.

There was a slight popping sound, and he felt his jaw extend outward and the scales under his chin thicken. “Is there…”

“Time yet? A chance for your cure?” Maldred dropped his gaze to the purple-clad woman in the crystal ball. “Sabar says there is time—very little.”

“Does she really say that?” Another streak of fire raced across his face. “Or are you just telling me what I want to hear? Are you playing some game?”

Maldred didn’t look up. “I’m not lying to you, Dhamon. Not now. Not ever again.” He ran one of his hands across the crystal globe’s surface. “I know I made a mistake in allying myself with the shadow dragon, a very serious mistake. I was so frantic to save my people and my homeland that I took the first good opportunity that came along. You can damn me for my stupidity and desperation, but don’t damn me for putting the ogre nation before one man. Even a friend.”

“It was your father’s idea. Wasn’t it? For you to side with the naga and the shadow dragon?”

“Yes.”

“And like the dutiful son you are, you bought into it.”

“I thought at the time the idea had merit. I should have looked for another way. I well know that now.

I should have asked your help. Instead I deceived my best friend and lost your friendship, and I’ve done my father and his kingdom no good. There might be no saving them now.”

“There might be no saving any of us if these cursed dragons go unchecked,” Dhamon said. “The shadow dragon….”

Maldred turned his attention to the crystal, seeming to caress it, and in response the woman inside conjured up an image of a mountain range. One high peak melted away to show a great dark slash.

“O Sagacious One,” she breathed. “This is the one you look for.” Sabar twirled, her purple skirts sparkling and filling up the whole of the ball. When she stopped moving, the vision shifted again, this time showing the inside of a cave at the top of the peak.

Dhamon peered closer. The image flowed inside the mountain. The passage was wide and steep, angling downward and twisting like a serpent as Sabar took them deeper into the cave. Dhamon imagined it smelled dry and stale—it certainly looked that way. Dust and clay were everywhere. There were tiny, curly-tailed lizards on ledges, and several varieties of bats clung to the walls and gently beat their wings.

Sabar led them deeper, and what little light they saw was pale and tinted purplish-red. There was moisture on the wall, and a faint glimmer suggesting veins of silver. Then the wall disappeared and a great cavern loomed. It was lit by a dull yellow glow, and Dhamon knew this came from the eyes of the shadow dragon.

The great creature was curled almost like a cat, its tail wrapped tight against its body, the tip of the tail disappearing beneath its head. Dhamon wondered if Nura Bint-Drax had managed to reach her “master’s” side here in this remote mountain. But he couldn’t tell if there was anyone else inside the cave.

The shadow dragon was awake and seemed to be studying something, its scaly visage intent, its eyes unblinking and fixed on… something faraway.

“It sees us,” Dhamon said.

“Not possible,” Sabar replied.

“It sees us,” Dhamon repeated.

Maldred slowly nodded. “I think you’re right.”

“You used the crystal too much, Mal. Somehow that damnable dragon knows we’re coming, that we’re nearby” As he spoke, the shadow dragon’s eyes moved ever so slightly, narrowing, and its lip curled up viciously.

“In the name of my father!” Maldred clamped his hands around the crystal, blotting out the image of the dragon and instantly dismissing Sabar from view. “You’re right, Dhamon, but I didn’t think the dragon would see us so easily.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No. I said no more lies.”

Dhamon gave him a withering look, then turned toward the far mountains. He wasn’t sure exactly where the shadow dragon’s lair was, but he knew from the crystal ball they couldn’t be more than twenty or thirty miles away.

His steps were fast and determined. He had no intention of waiting for Maldred. In fact, he was mulling over the possibility of losing the ogre somewhere in the craggy peaks. Dhamon didn’t for a moment believe Maldred’s claim that there would be no more treachery He didn’t for a moment…

Dhamon stopped in mid-stride, feeling a tightening in his chest. The fire on his back grew hotter still, his fever was raging. He gasped for air, found his mouth and throat parched. No sound came out. He heard his heart hammering, and he heard a pounding—Maldred racing toward him. He heard the ogre-mage’s labored breathing, heard the cool, dry wind that whipped around him. Then, as suddenly as the tightening sensation began, it abated, leaving only the heat.

“Dhamon…”

“I’m all right, I tell you!”

“You’re not all right. Let me try the spell again. It slowed the scales earlier.”

Dhamon brusquely dismissed this suggestion and resumed his brutal pace. With a sigh, Maldred followed as best he could.

“I believe we should head toward the north,” Maldred said, catching up. He was staring up at the mountains, thinking he’d seen this place in Sabar’s vision.

“Aye,” Dhamon said. “To the north. And up.”

Maldred said something else, but Dhamon pushed the words away and focused on the whistling of the mountain wind. He prayed the wind would blow colder still and abate some of the burning fever in his body, and at the same time he knew that nothing—save a cure, or death—would stop the pain and fever.

Miles passed. Dhamon put distance between himself and Maldred, who was not able to keep up the relentless pace. They began to ascend when Dhamon recognized a gnarled spire of rock, high up, that looked like a hawk’s beak.

“Not too much farther,” Dhamon muttered hopefully to himself. They continued to climb, continued north. Shards of rock constantly bit into Dhamon’s feet. He almost welcomed the sensation, as the scaly pads on his feet were so thick he’d barely registered the roughness of the terrain. It felt good to feel something.

Dhamon paused here and there to check his bearings. During one such interval the ogre-mage trudged up from behind. Good. He wanted Maldred to make sure they were on the right course. And it was like the days of old, as if Maldred could read his mind.

“Dhamon, let’s check our position again,” the ogre-mage suggested.

A nod of agreement, and the ogre-mage gratefully sat down. He took several deep breaths and rubbed his thighs. “You’re making fast time, Dhamon. You go too fast for me.”

“I need to go fast. I’m in a hurry, remember?” The tone was more sharp than Dhamon had intended.

Maldred carefully pulled the crystal ball from the pouch. He set it on a tablelike section of rock, spread his fingers around the base, but before he could say anything the mountain suddenly trembled all around them with the force of a small earthquake. The crystal rolled off its crown perch and began to tumble down the slope.

“By the Dark Queen’s heads! No!” Dhamon leaped for the crystal ball. “I have been a fool! You have caused the quake! You do mean to keep me from the dragon until it is too late! You did this!”

Dhamon’s fingers closed on air as the crystal ball rolled down the slope. The mountain continued to shake, rock cracking and pebbles cascading.

Maldred had lost his footing and was flailing about for any foothold. His blue skin was soon lacerated from rocks, and his hands and arms were bloodied. The rocky outcropping above them broke off and smashed into him as it bounced down the slope.

“Look out, Dhamon!” Maldred managed to cry out in warning.

Stronger and more agile, Dhamon dodged the rockslide and managed to stay on his feet as he raced down the incline, trying recklessly to reach the crystal.

“It wasn’t my doing!” Maldred shouted, his voice all but drowned out by the crumbling of the mountain range. “I swear it wasn’t my magic!”

The tremor persisted for several minutes, during which time Dhamon reached a lower level and there discovered the shattered fragments of the magic crystal. Pathetically he pawed at a small piece of lavender cloth.

“By all the gods, no!” he screamed.

In anger and frustration, his fingers dug into the pouch at his side, pulling out two of the carved figurines Ragh had found in the sorcerer’s laboratory back in the Black’s swamp. He hurled them as high and as hard as he could. They struck the cliffs above, and there was a flash of bright red light and the crack of thunder. The mountain shook again, rock shards raining down the slopes.

Dhamon reached into the pouch again, intending to rid himself of all these accursed, unreliable magical items, but the ogre-mage came stumbling up behind him, and Maldred’s big blue hand shot out and closed on Dhamon’s wrist.

“Stop!” Maldred looked beaten, bruised, and bloodied. He was panting. “Dhamon, stop!”

Dhamon paused, eyes gleaming furiously.

“It wasn’t my doing, honestly. The quake. I didn’t—”

“I know. I believe you.”

Maldred looked astonished. He released Dhamon. “I told you, no more deceit. I want to help save you, Dhamon. I need to save… something.”

Now that he was calmer, Dhamon knew Maldred wouldn’t have risked destroying the precious crystal ball. The enchanted item was far too precious for the thief who was also a sorcerer.

“I know. It was the shadow dragon,” Dhamon said. He dropped the piece of lavender cloth in Maldred’s palm. “He has great magic, I know, and I am certain he used it. Obviously he wants to keep me away. He fears me, Maldred.”

The ogre-mage stared at the cloth, remembering Sabar draped in it, twirling in the lavender mist. Was the magic-woman shattered, too? Or was she entirely illusion?

His breath caught, and he turned to look Dhamon directly in the eyes. “No.” The ogre-mage swallowed hard. “That’s not entirely true. I have no doubt he caused the quake, but he doesn’t want to keep you away. He wants you to find him. I know it. But he doesn’t want you getting close until he’s ready. He’s delaying you. The scales on you, he wants the scales to…”

He’s delaying me while my body becomes more grotesque, Dhamon realized. “Yes, he’s delaying me until it’s too late. As punishment he’s delaying me until I become a spawn or a draconian or some mad meld of the fiendish creatures. Until I’ve lost my mind and my soul and am no longer any threat.”

“Let’s get going, then,” Maldred said, looking up the mountainside. “Let’s not allow the shadow dragon to win.”

Dhamon took the lead again. The quake had altered the face of the mountain, and Dhamon worried that the mouth of the cave had been erased.

They climbed for a few hours. Dhamon felt increasingly concerned that they were irretrievably lost.

He thought of Riki and the child—and of Varek, too, who would have to act as the father of Dhamon’s child. He wondered if they were all safe, and wondered if Riki ever thought of him, wondered if in some small way the child favored him. Wondered if…

You will never know those things, Dhamon Grimwulf.

His eyes flew wide, as these were not his words, but he heard them clearly inside of his head.

You will never see them… Riki, the baby… you will never let them see your scale-ridden self. You will never touch your child.

“No!” Dhamon shouted. “That’s not true!” He screamed in rage, then he screamed again—this time in sudden, sharp pain. He felt as though flames had attacked every inch of his body, burning away his tattered clothes. He dropped the glaive, and his fingers ripped at his clothes, pulling them off and tossing them aside. His hands flew to his ears, trying to drown out the words that persisted.

You will never let them see that there’s nothing human about you anymore. You will never let them see the creature you have become.

“No, you damnable beast! I will see them!”

Maldred, close behind, shouted at Dhamon, but he couldn’t hear anything except the words inside his head. He forced himself to walk, despite the agony and the taunts in his head. With each step he felt his bones crack and stretch, felt his skin burn away to be replaced by scales. He reached to his back, felt something growing.

Wings, the voice said. Spawn have wings, Dhamon Grimwulf.

His fingers registered a snout forming on his face. He opened his mouth to scream a protest, but his tongue felt thick and foreign.

There is no humanity left in you, Dhamon Grimwulf, and soon you will have no soul.

Dhamon reeled. He tried to imagine what he must look like. He turned around and saw Maldred gape, take a step back away from him. Even Maldred was shocked, afraid.

I have no intention of turning into one, no intention of sharing Ragh’s existence. I still have my mind, he thought. If for only a while longer. While I can yet think on my own, I can always take the glaive, end my life.

Live. Come to me, the voice said.

He felt a slight tug, as though someone had taken his hand, but there was no one there, and the sensation was more of an urging than a physical pulling.

“By the Dark Queen’s heads, you’ll not win! I will kill myself before I become your spawn puppet!”

There was deep, sonorous laughter—loud and long and haunting. The laughter enveloped Dhamon, yet he knew it was coming from inside him. The laughter was all inside his mind. The shadow dragon was thoroughly inside his head, he realized, and it was attempting to control him and draw him near.

“The beast wants to see me lose my soul,” he managed to gasp. “He wants to see the last of my humanity die.”

He looked around. Maldred had disappeared. Fled. Betrayed him again.

In the next instant not only could Dhamon hear the dragon, he could see it clearly—a bloated mass of shadowy scales breathing and moving and flying toward him in his mind’s eye. It was nearly as large as an overlord. Huge and terrifying, its image weakened his will. He felt his mind surrendering.

“I’ve got to fight it,” he told himself. “Stay strong long enough to kill myself. Where’s the glaive?”

All of a sudden Dhamon felt as if he were flying, the wind rushing beneath his leathery wings, his claws outstretched, his eyes scanning the ground below for… dragons. For magical energy. He had been mentally swept away from the mountainside and deposited… where? In a cavern? Hot and dry and smelling of sulfur. There was a blue dragon nearby, small and with a Dark Knight mounted on its back.

Dhamon felt his wings pulling into his sides, felt himself diving. He realized the cavern was incredibly immense. The air was laced with the scent of lightning and blood, filled with shouts of battle and the cries of the dying. When he looked around he saw other blue dragons, all ridden by Knights.

“The Abyss? Am I witnessing the Chaos War through the shadow dragon’s eyes? Is it forcing me to watch this catastrophe to stamp out my resistance?”

The blue dragon loomed in front of him. He stretched out his claws, felt them sink into the young dragon’s side. His claws began rending the creature, killing it quickly and sending the Knight-rider plummeting like a discarded doll. He felt a rush of excitement from the kill, felt a wash of energy pulse up through his claws and into his chest. Then he flew to another blue dragon. And another. And another.

Dhamon felt his mind slipping away.

Yet with each kill he felt renewed, stronger, infused with the life energy of the dying Blues. With each one that collapsed to the cavern floor, he felt an increasing power of pride—he knew that Chaos, the Father of All and of Nothing, would be pleased. He banked in the hot, parched air of the cavern, climbed to the ceiling and spotted the giant form of Chaos smiling at him.

This is the Abyss, Dhamon realized. This is indeed the Chaos War.

The great battle continued to play out before him, and when it was done, he—the shadow dragon—flew from the cavern, through a misty veil and out into the wilds of Krynn. He soared high and fast, hating the daylight, searching for darkness and finally finding it in a deep, dry cave high in ogre lands.

There he rested, cocooned by the blessed darkness. When he emerged from the dark, he joined the dragonpurge, feasting on the magical life energy of smaller, unwary dragons, all of whom swiftly died beneath his shadowy claws.

Come to me, Dhamon Grimwulf, the voice repeated. Spawn. Pawn.

The pull was stronger.

In his mind’s eye Dhamon peered through the shadows now, saw a pale, dull-yellow light, spotted a young girl with coppery hair in the far recesses.

He saw Nura Bint-Drax through the shadow dragon’s eyes.

“Let me see the beginning,” Nura cooed. “Let me see your birth again, my master.”

Dhamon witnessed the shadow dragon’s creation, a shadow detached from the Father of All and of Nothing, watched him take part in the Chaos War and watched his activities through the dragonpurge and since. He watched the dragon’s initial meeting with Dhamon and with others. He watched the shadow dragon spreading his scales.

Finally he saw the shadow dragon settling in the swamp, choosing the warmth and the heat pleasing to his form. He watched as the dragon’s seeds grew, scales spreading, killing some of its hosts. But not Dhamon. Dhamon was the one.

My pawn, the voice purred. My spawn.

Dhamon furiously shook his head and closed his eyes. He knelt and fumbled about for his glaive. “I am too late for my cure,” he told himself.

Live, the voice persisted.

“For just a while longer,” Dhamon returned bitterly. “I intend to prevent you from doing this to anyone else. You will create no more spawn! I’ll come to you, all right, you damnable beast, but on my own terms. Damn all dragons in the world!”

He thought he remembered the dragon telling him that his mind was more powerful than his body. He knew his body was very strong indeed.

“I’ll use my mind to fight you. Leave me now,” he said. His voice sounded strange, unfamiliar, deep and exotic. “Get out of my head!”

Dhamon concentrated all of his mental energy. He reached deep down inside, finding a spark he hadn’t known existed, kindling and nourishing it.

It felt like pushing a boulder, but after what seemed like an eternity, the boulder began to budge.

He shoved the boulder down the side of the mountain, out of sight and out of mind, then sat back on a flat rock, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. The shadow dragon was gone, but he knew precisely where to find the beast.

Maldred was suddenly back, at his side, eyes unblinking, but almost moist with tears.

“Aye, my old friend. It’s too late for me,” Dhamon said. His voice still seemed so strange to his own ears. “There will be no cure.”

Maldred stammered something, but Dhamon waved the words away. He rose, discovering that he was very tall now and stood nearly eye-to-eye with the big ogre-mage.

“It’s too late now, and I’m going to damn well make sure it’s too late for the shadow dragon, too.” He knew the shadow dragon would be waiting for him, that it wanted him to come—to gloat, to punish him, to finish his condemnation.

“Dhamon, I will help you. You can still try….”

The mountain range rumbled again, smothering Maldred’s pleading and forcing both of them to leap behind a huge boulder to avoid falling rocks. When the tremors died down, the face of the mountainside had changed again.

“The shadow dragon knows I’m coming,” Dhamon said, when it was over, “and he wants me to come. He wants to punish me, wants revenge, and he wants to slay my mind and use my body as his puppet.” He paused, staring up at the mountain with eyes that could now see tiny details in sharp focus.

“But I want revenge, Maldred. So I’ll come to him all right, and let my cure be damned.”

Nestled deep in the cave, the shadow dragon growled gently, nonetheless sending a ripple of tremors through the rock.

In her little girl guise, Nura Bint-Drax padded forward. “You are pleased, master?”

The dragon slowly nodded. “Dhamon Grimwulf comes. Before the day is out, he will find our lair. He is ready, Nura Bint-Drax. Finally ready.”

“We are ready, too,” Nura Bint-Drax said in her woman’s voice. “And anxious.” She busied herself gathering all the magical treasures they’d accumulated from Dark Knight storehouses and elsewhere, methodically placing them near to the shadow dragon and between its claws. “Very, very anxious.”