Redemption

Chapter Nine The Skin of Shrentak

Dhamon stood on a rise bordering the eastern edge of the sprawling city ruled by the black dragon overlord Sable. Fiona leaned against him, staring up at his sweat-streaked face. Below them, a mist covered the streets, cloaking some of its filth and decay. Its rising tendrils helped to soften the appearance of the crumbling towers that reached like gnarled fingers into a pale, gray-orange sky.

Dhamon tried to look past the ugly surface of the place—seeing men and women shuffling about, as they walked about in any other city on Krynn. There was joy here, somewhere. He heard a child laugh, a man offering a pleasant greeting, a dog barking excitedly. People eked out a living, loved each other, raised families just as they did in Palanthas or Winterholm or Solanthus. Just like any city. Except this city belonged to Sable, the black dragon overlord, and it lay smack in the middle of a swamp teeming with spawn, giant crocodiles, and all manner of other horrors. While some of the frightful denizens of this place crawled beneath the streets, others walked freely around the city.

He noted a pair of spawn trudging past a woodworker’s shop, dragging the carcass of something large covered in hide. A dozen or so spawn milled about on corners and under building overhangs in the merchant’s quarter. There were a number of conspicuous abominations, grotesqueries mixed from draconian blood, dragon magic, the husks of elves and dwarves, and perhaps even kender. These were not as sleek as their spawn brothers and had corrupt bodies—extra limbs, misshapen wings, snakelike tails, and more. Dhamon believed he was turning into such an abomination, and he believed that when the transformation was complete his human brain would be displaced by… some otherworldly intelligence. The new being would be loyal to its creator, the shadow dragon.

As Dhamon continued to observe the city, he saw a sivak draconian leap from a blackened spire and spread its wings, lazily circling the center of the city before diving and losing itself in a tangled of ruined buildings and swirling mist.

The city stank of the swamp, of human waste and rotting corpses. The scent of evening meals cooking was faint amid the foulness. They’d eaten very little since leaving the lair of the shadow dragon. He knew Fiona and Ragh were hungry—he could care less about the welfare of Maldred and Nura Bint-Drax.

Perhaps he could find something reasonably edible at an inn. It was important Fiona and Ragh keep their strength for whatever challenge was to come.

He listened to screams and growls from the creatures kept in pens for display and sale in the central marketplace. It was there that he’d wreaked so much havoc when he freed Fiona and other prisoners from below the city and in the process also released the marketplace menagerie. All that seemed like a lifetime ago.

He also heard soft music emanating from a building he suspected—judging by the trio of men stumbling out—was a tavern. It was a pleasant tune, carried by a flute and some sort of horn, which in one moment sounded like the sad cry of a sea bird and in the next subtly angry as it gained tempo.

Dhamon stood staring at the buildings and the spawn and abominations and listening to the unusual tune and thinking at least he had discovered one iota of beauty beneath Shrentak’s ugly skin. All of a sudden the music ended, and he let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Are we going into that city, Rig?” Fiona tugged gently on Dhamon’s arm. “It looks strangely familiar. I think I’d rather stop somewhere else.”

“So would I,” Dhamon answered sincerely. During the two-day journey here, Fiona frequently addressed him as Rig. He was certain it was because he carried the glaive that Rig used to wield. With Ragh’s help, he tried repeatedly to convince her Rig was dead and that Dhamon looked nothing like the mariner. Fiona did have momentary bouts of sanity, recognizing Dhamon and making it clear she loathed him.

“I’d rather be tracking Riki and my child,” Dhamon said more to himself. “I’d rather not be going back into Shrentak either.”

“Ugly name for an ugly city,” Ragh said.

Nura Bint-Drax chuckled. “I think Shrentak is beautiful.”

She and Maldred were several paces behind them. They had been engrossed in some hushed conversation. All the way here Dhamon had looked for an opportunity to go against the naga and the ogre-mage, but they were always prepared, always watching him, and Nura had constantly threatened Fiona and Ragh, recognizing Dhamon’s companions as a weakness to be exploited. The naga, like Dhamon, hadn’t slept, and he was certain she was as exhausted as he was, but she had magically blanketed her reptilian form with the guise of a comely Ergothian and was somehow concealing her fatigue.

Maldred clearly looked exhausted, and he made no attempt to hide it. He had approached Dhamon several times, endlessly trying to explain his actions and rekindle their friendship. Each time Dhamon rebuked him. Maldred would be easier to overcome than the naga, Dhamon decided. Tired and feeling guilty, Maldred could be bested somewhere down a dark alley. Dhamon doubted murder was considered much of a crime in Shrentak. Defeating Nura Bint-Drax would be another matter. He’d have to create an opportunity, call on Ragh’s help somehow. Dhamon and the draconian had been exchanging glances, and he hoped Fiona could be counted on when the time came.

“We will pass the rest of the night up here,” the naga announced, as she stared into the setting sun.

“We will wait until the morning to go into the city and look for Sable.”

“I thought you served Sable, too,” Dhamon said. “Don’t you know where she is?”

She ignored him and made a show of stretching and studying a trio of sivaks that rose in flight from the center of town. “We will wait, I say. In the morning, or perhaps the morning after that, we will go down into the city. It is up to me when we act, and I say, for the moment, we wait.”

“Wait?” Dhamon made no effort to conceal his surprise.

“Yes. I want to make sure the overlord does not have too many minions about. We must determine the best time to strike.”

“Well, I’m in a hurry. I’m not waiting.” I’m dying, he thought, and I won’t spend my last hours waiting on a whim. Before the naga could say or do anything, Dhamon grabbed Fiona by the hand and hurried down the rise. Ragh followed quickly on their heels. If the naga wanted to dally, there must be a secret reason, Dhamon thought. Easier to deal with her later if he kept her unsettled and upset.

“Keep him in sight,” Nura hissed to Maldred. The naga shoved the ogre-mage after them. “Don’t lose him again—or you’ll fast be a dead man! I’ve allies in the city who won’t let him—or you—escape. He’s your responsibility!”

Maldred glowered at her but said nothing, and in a few long strides he caught up to Dhamon. He drew his sword as a precaution, though he didn’t dare use it against Dhamon—not if the shadow dragon’s plan was to proceed. You’re a dead man, Maldred, if you don’t keep track of him! he heard Nura repeat inside his head.

“Dhamon, wait,” Maldred pleaded. “Nura’s right about this city. It’s better that she finds out if Sable—”

“I can’t defeat the damn dragon no matter when or where I strike,” Dhamon said tersely. “Not with all of your help and magic. You know it, Maldred. It doesn’t matter if the dragon has ten minions here or ten thousand.”

“You can beat her,” Maldred argued. “We can. We have to.”

“To save the ogre lands,” Dhamon snarled. “Right? To save your damnable people’s dry patch of ground.” He increased his pace. I need to save my child and Fiona before I save the ogre race. And before I die.

Dhamon wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew the naga could keep track of them, with or without Maldred. He sensed her rivalry with his onetime friend and would take advantage of it. A glance behind him showed her perched on the rise. He didn’t slow until she was out of sight and he found himself amidst a throng of battered-looking men who were leaving a building site, heading home from the day’s work. He listened to the clack of their heels against scattered bricks in the street, listened to their conversations about work and family, about how tired they all were, about the swamp they all hated. He clasped Fiona’s hand to keep her close, and he scanned for alleyways, ones that were dark and empty where he could lure Maldred. So far the only ones he saw were in one fashion or another occupied. In one, two young women flanked an older man in a guard’s uniform. He was happily pressing coins into their palms. In another, men were curled into balls, sleeping against walls and in doorways. In the next, a few men huddled against a precariously leaning building, thick fingers passing a heavy clay jug back and forth between them, as they pleasantly poisoned themselves.

Dhamon found himself envying them. He had poisoned himself often enough during the past months, drinking anything strong enough to help cloud his senses when the pain from the scale began. He’d numb himself after each episode, relishing the oblivion the alcohol granted, never minding the headache and gut-ache he had when he sobered, not caring that he was tearing up his insides. He was dying anyway.

But he’d had not a swallow since setting foot in Shrentak the last time—when he had sought the help of a mad old woman who tried to remove the scale, when bedlam erupted after he freed Fiona and the rest of the prisoners. He’d had no opportunity to drink since he’d fled from this city on the manticore’s back. No chance on the Chaos wight’s island. It was only now that he thought of how long it had been since he’d had a drink. Dhamon paused to stare at the huddled men and wondered at the taste of their particular poison. He thought about the steel pieces in the pouch at his waist and at how much potent alcohol that could buy.

“It’ll only muddle your mind,” Ragh whispered, perhaps reading his thoughts. “We need to be sharp, look for an opportunity to—”

“Aye, you’re right.” Dhamon testily turned away and kept to the middle of the street, still searching for an appropriate alley. “I am looking for an opportunity all right.” Hearing him, Fiona sneered and suddenly disentangled herself from him, apparently looking at him with fresh eyes and realizing he was not Rig.

“I should be with Rig,” the female Knight snapped, tilting her chin defiantly to the darkening sky. “I shouldn’t be with you, Dhamon Grimwulf. I should be getting a new assignment from my Order. There is so much evil in this world to fight.” She ran her fingers along the collar of her tunic. “My armor…. Where is Rig? Why are we here? What do you plan to do here, Dhamon?”

We’re here to save my child, he answered to himself. “We’re on an errand, Fiona,” he said softly.

“Remember, the shadow dragon sent us?”

She nodded, her eyes bright and her expression distant. “To slay the overlord. Sable’s evil.” The notion seemed to quiet her.

Dhamon led them deeper into the city, unconsciously heading toward the stunted tower where he’d found the old sage. Maldred fell back a little. Dhamon looked at the faces as he went. Most of them were sad and weary, most of the people were human. A few bore faint smiles suggesting they were dreaming of a life far from here. There were wizened ones with pale, watery eyes, men with weathered skin and vacuous looks. A lone, cheerful woman clutched a child to her breast.

“Riki,” Dhamon whispered to himself. Did the half-elf and her young husband know that the village they were in was surrounded by the shadow dragon’s hobgoblins? That Dhamon’s child was endangered?

“Dhamon.” Ragh had said his name several times before Dhamon heard and acknowledged him.

The draconian bobbed his head toward a row of buildings, their entrances and the walkway in front of them shadowed from the setting sun. “Do you think we ought to be strutting about so much in the open?

Someone might recognize us.” He indicated a pair of haggard-looking humans who’d been lagging behind them the past two blocks.

Dhamon kept an eye on the two, but they soon cut away and ducked into a leatherworker’s shop.

“Recognize us?” He stifled an uncharacteristic chuckle. The draconian was singular—a sivak without wings, and Dhamon flaunted a bunch of scales on his leg where the shadow dragon had sliced his trousers. There were even a few scales on his neck now, too, which he had tried unsuccessfully to tear free.

“It was dark, Ragh, when we escaped this place. I doubt anyone who’s still alive got a good look at us.”

Still, rather than take the chance, he accepted the draconian’s advice. The shadows offered a better opportunity to get rid of Maldred, anyway. Dhamon glanced behind him again, seeing the ogre-mage eyeing them. There was no sign of Nura Bint-Drax in any of her guises. He guessed she could look like anyone she wanted and that she might very well be close by. Shuddering at the thought, he pressed on and ignored Ragh’s and Fiona’s questions about where precisely they were going. At the moment, Dhamon didn’t really know.

On the rise east of Shrentak, Nura Bint-Drax shrugged off her Ergothian form. Easing back on a comfortably thick coil, her coppery hair fanning away from her face in a graceful hood, she closed her eyes and pictured the shadow dragon. The last of the sun’s rays warmed her face and struck her scales, setting them to glimmering, save for a shadowed patch near her tail. The scales looked like the small ones on Dhamon’s leg, but there were only a handful—and they hadn’t spread much since the day the shadow dragon stuck them there. The dragon’s magic hadn’t taken as firm a hold on the naga, who was naturally resistant to his spell, and so she expected that no more of his scales would grow. For this she was jealous of and embittered about Dhamon Grimwulf.

“You are the one, Dhamon,” she hissed. “My master’s champion.”

The shadow dragon had fostered Nura’s magical abilities. He’d sacrificed a bit of himself to engender her magical growth and to create a link between them so he could watch the world through her eyes. She had become an extension of him.

In return, she gave him her absolute loyalty. Inasmuch as she could revere anything, Nura did worship the shadow dragon.

“Master,” she cooed. She let her mind drift to the cave several miles away from her resting place. The image of the shadow dragon hove into view and around her she pictured the pleasant rankness of his lair.

Nura inhaled deeply and held the scent as long as possible.

“Master,” she exhaled. “Too early Dhamon Grimwulf has ventured into the city. Your puppet Maldred follows him. Yet everything is under my control.”

In her mind the ground rumbled from the dragon’s reply. She patiently waited until he was finished.

“No, I agree Dhamon is not yet ready to face Sable,” she said. “Maldred and I dallied in the swamp and chose misleading trails, taking days, not hours to reach here. Despite the time we spent, he is not yet ready for the ultimate test. The scales have not spread fast and far enough—and yet he goes forward.”

The dragon growled and sent ripples through the earth. Her mind picked out the words.

“Yes, master. I am confident your ogre-puppet will find a way to delay Dhamon until he is ready. Of course I will step in, if need be.” Nura paused, her senses studying the shadow dragon, finding the great creature more alive with energy than she had ever seen him.

“That time will be very soon,” the dragon told her. “I can feel it. Dhamon rages against my magic, fights it with his mind, but his rage feeds his transformation. His body is not as strong as his mind, and I will win.”

“Soon.” Nura’s thoughts caressed the dragon’s, drawing strength from her master. Minds mingling, she could feel what the dragon felt. “Very soon,” she purred.

Yes. Soon Dhamon would be ready to face the Black. Maybe it was a matter of hours, maybe a few days. She would guide him, and if he defeated the overlord, her master would have just what he wanted.

And soon, she would rule at the shadow dragon’s side.

“Show me the beginning, master,” she urged. “Please, again, show me the beginning, the Chaos War and your birth. There is time. Dhamon is not yet ready, and the city streets are not yet dark.” She intended to go down into Shrentak when all traces of the setting sun were gone. “It has been so long since you’ve told me the tale.”

The shadow dragon relented and opened his mind, and Nura felt herself plunging into the Abyss. The images were a delirium to her. She felt practically smothered by the heat of the infernal realm. The noise of battle nearly deafened her. The sounds of lightning strikes always came first, brought on by the breaths of the swarm of blue dragons ridden by the Knights of Takhisis. Then sulfur filled the air, mixed with the sweet coppery scent of the blood of those who were falling and tumbling all around her. There were screams and shouted orders from the bravest of Knights, pitiful cries from the dying. The dragons roared, the caverns shook, and everywhere men and women perished by flames, swords, and magic.

“Glorious,” she murmured.

The images were so real Nura felt blood spattering her face and felt her eyes water at the exquisite acridness of the Abyss. She flicked a tongue out, tasting the air and the blood, growing drunk on the glorious pandemonium.

“Show me more, master.”

The war was waged, the battle grew grander and deadlier. In the vision Nura Bint-Drax moved easily through the many tunnels of the cavern, slithering over corpses and around dying dragons, seeing and touching everything and discovering something new that she had missed during her previous visions. As the images of war intensified, she seemed to merge with the mass of combatants, skin tingling from the energy in the air from the blue dragons’ lightning breaths.

In the center of everything was Chaos, a massive god-being known as the Father of All and Nothing.

He batted dragons away with the back of his hand, his booming laughter sent chunks of the ceiling falling down atop Solamnic Knights and Knights of Takhisis, his very thoughts brought disaster to ranks of fighting men. Chaos called his own forces into play, forming out of his very essence smouldering dragons that crackled and hissed with fire. There were ghastly demon warriors and undead—frost wights and shadow wights.

There were also whirling dervishes of wild magic, and when they touched something there were unpredictable and catastrophic results. Nura also saw creatures that must be gremlins and odd, wide-eyed creatures called huldrefolk.

Through the smoke and horror, she witnessed again the birth of the shadow dragon.

Chaos’ shadow was an ever-twisting giant thing, and when it grew wilder and more contorted, the Father of All and Nothing reached down and plucked it loose from the ground and gave it life of its own.

It molded itself into a dragon form, but it retained the color of Chaos’ shadow, and its scales darkly glistened with the light of the god’s magic.

The newborn shadow dragon flew around the ceiling of the immense cavern, darting down to swipe at the blue dragons trying to close with Chaos. It gained strength with their deaths, absorbing their death-energy as it would absorb the energy of others in the coming dragonpurge—as it intended to absorb Sable’s death energy when Dhamon Grimwulf slew the overlord. The few wounds it suffered healed quickly.

Dust and bits of rock rained down from the ceiling as the Father of All and Nothing bellowed his defiance at the puny creatures daring to challenge him. His shadow dragon minion continued to spread death and disaster.

When Chaos was again imprisoned in the Graygem, the shadow dragon escaped from the Abyss through a mysterious portal and found himself high in the mountains of Blöde.

“Thank you, master, for the vision,” Nura Bint-Drax murmured rhapsodically.

When she first crossed the shadow dragon’s path, he had healed her from a life-threatening injury she suffered fighting a hatchling black dragon. She had sworn allegiance to the shadow dragon, and he, in turn, often permitted her the vision of the Chaos War. The tale came more rarely now, despite her frequent requests. She intended to replay this version in her mind again soon—after she checked on that fool Maldred and on Dhamon’s progress.

“You are right, master. Dhamon Grimwulf should be ready very soon.” She slid from the rise and headed down toward the city, resuming her Ergothian guise as she moved. Above her the first stars were winking into view, and the beauty of the night sickened her, so it was with some joy that she entered the dismal, darkening streets of Shrentak and let the fetid redolence of Sable’s city embrace her.