Betrayal

Chapter Ten Nura Bint-Drax

Maldred brushed aside a fern leaf, peering into the village. He didn’t see Dhamon, but he could tell something was going on. Three spawn stood guard at the pen—one snarling in its odd language, the other two looking toward a large snakeskin-covered hut outside which a half-dozen human servants were gathered.

“Snakes,” he muttered, scanning the village. “The ground is crawling with vipers.”

The horn sounded again. It was blown by a tall, reed-thin human who stood on what appeared to be the remains of a well. The peals were not the long, mournful notes Maldred had heard before. These were sharp and short.

Near the pen, Maldred spotted more movement and caught a glimpse of the sivak Dhamon had described as being chained to the tree. Maldred circled until he was practically behind the pen and could get a better look at the draconian. Varek quietly followed him. The draconian was clearly nervous, pawing at the ground and backing toward the trunk.

“I see Riki,” Varek whispered. “In the pen. She looks terrible. We’ve got to get her out and—”

Maldred drew a finger to his lips.

The horn stopped, its noise replaced by a cacophony of shouts—words so rushed and overlapping that Maldred couldn’t make them out. Added to the human voices were the sibilant utterances of spawn. He reached for the two-handed sword on his back, the blade hissing against its latticed sheath as he drew it.

“I don’t see Dhamon,” Maldred whispered. “Can’t hear anything but the damned shouting.”

“Nura Bint-Drax!” someone in the village yelled above the din. “Nura comes! Nura! Nura! Nura!”

The odd name was repeated over and over until it became a chant voiced by all the humans and spawn.

The sivak pressed itself against the trunk. At first Maldred thought it was cowering like a frightened animal, but there was something different on its face, an almost-human expression. Contempt? Revulsion?

The chanting continued, growing louder still. Suddenly it was cut through by a high-pitched woman’s cry. “Praise Nura! Bow to Nura Bint-Drax!”

“Maldred!” Varek tugged the big thief’s tunic.

“Shh!”

“Maldred! Someone’s coming behind us. I hear…” Varek’s words trailed off, and the young man slumped to the ground, a long needlelike barb protruding from his neck. Maldred whirled in time to spot a spawn with a reed tube in its mouth. Before he could move, a barb struck him, too.

* * * * *

Varek and Maldred woke to find themselves in the pen, hands tightly tied behind their backs. The stench radiating from their gaunt companions, coupled with the odor from the waste on the ground, was nearly overwhelming.

“Pigs, I was hoping you’d come,” Riki exclaimed. “But I wanted you to rescue me, not join me. Where’s Dhamon?”

The spawn and human servants were still chanting, softly now, however, like swarms of gnats. The hissing of the thousands of snakes that writhed on the village grounds added to the incessant, enveloping buzz. Suddenly the crowd parted, aligning itself like soldiery and forming two lines facing each other, shoulder to shoulder.

“A corridor of flesh,” Maldred observed.

“Nura Bint-Drax comes!” a young human woman shouted.

Immediately the spawn and humans dropped to their knees and hunched their shoulders in submissive fashion. One by one they tipped their chins towards their chests, averting each other’s eyes, as a child with copper-colored hair walked between them. Her tiny fingers brushed the tops of spawn and human heads alike, touching each as if blessing them. When she reached the end of the gauntlet, she turned to face them, clapped her hands, and nodded as they rose in unison. All the while, the throng softly chanted: “Nura, Nura, Nura Bint-Drax.”

“She’s just a babe,” Riki whispered.

Maldred growled at the sight of the child. “She is far more than she appears. She is a sorceress,” he said in a hush. “One far more powerful than any I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

A barrel-chested spawn easily ten feet tall was walking towards the strange child now, dragging the unconscious body of Dhamon Grimwulf by the hair.

Rikali gasped, and Maldred growled louder. Varek was only half watching the spectacle. He was busy working on the ropes that tied his hands. He had backed up to one of the pen posts and was rubbing furiously.

The spawn reverently approached Nura and lifted Dhamon in the air so that his toes dangled just above the ground—a trophy for the child to admire. Dhamon looked dead, but after a moment Maldred could tell that his friend’s chest was rising and falling. The child said something. At least Maldred could see her lips move, but her voice was too soft and his own heart was pounding too loudly, and the damned chanting and hissing continued to fill the air, so he missed the words.

Riki edged forward. “Mal… Mal, what do you think she’s…”

“…going to do with you?” the child finished, whirling to face the pen. She carefully picked her way through the snake carpet to edge closer to them.

The half-elf’s eyes grew wide, astonished that the child had overheard her whispered words.

“It is an interesting question, elf. Just what is Nura Bint-Drax going to do with all of you?”

The child tilted her head and her cherubic face took on an innocent appearance as she neared the pen. The barrel-chested spawn followed, still holding Dhamon. Nura looked over each of the demihumans and the ogres in the pen, eyeing them up and down like livestock. Then she raised her free hand and pointed to four elves who were clustered together. “Aldor. Them. Now.”

The spawn who’d been holding Dhamon unceremoniously dropped him onto a bunch of snakes and stepped forward, separating the elves she had indicated and lifting each out of the pen. She nodded to the creature, and one by one it broke their necks and tossed them in a pile. Snakes swarmed over them, biting at their arms and faces.

“Why? Why did you do that? They did nothing!” Varek shouted. He paused his work on his ropes.

“Why?” he repeated.

“They were old,” Nura said offhandedly. “They looked too weak for what I have planned.”

“Weak only because you aren’t feeding us!” an emboldened dwarf shouted. “You’re starving us!

You had no call to kill them!”

“What about him?” Maldred said, indicating Dhamon.

The child turned to the spawn called Aldor, who again grabbed Dhamon and pulled him up, digging its claws deep in his arm. Nura pointed to Dhamon’s leg, where his torn trousers revealed the large scale on his thigh, and the smaller ones rimming it. She stared at Maldred.

“What did you do to him?” Rikali shrieked.

“Pity that this is not my doing,” Nura said evenly, turning to Riki. She studied her reflection in the large scale for several moments and brushed at an errant curl. “The scales make this man unique. A curiosity.”

“You’re a curiosity, too,” Maldred growled. “Just who are you?”

“I am Nura Bint-Drax,” she answered. “Aldor, if you would.”

The spawn tossed Dhamon into the pen. Maldred quickly moved to his friend’s side, gently jostling him with a foot in an effort to wake him up. The big thief said nothing, but his gaze darted between Dhamon and Nura.

The child talked softly to Aldor, then backed away from the pen. The fingers of her free hand twirled in the air like the legs of a spider.

A silvery web took shape in her palm, growing larger with each passing moment until it was nearly as big as herself. Tiny black motes appeared and skittered up and down the magical threads, moving faster and faster, becoming a blur.

“Pigs, but I don’t like this,” Rikali whispered. “I don’t like this. Not any of this.”

“I’m free,” Varek whispered. It was true, Maldred noted with a glance. The young man had managed to cut his ropes.

Varek positioned himself amidst the throng of demihumans so the spawn guards couldn’t see his hands, and he began to work on Riki’s ropes. Soon she was free, too.

“Varek, I’ve two small blades,” Maldred whispered, “hidden in my belt.”

Varek was quick to retrieve them, concealing them in his palms and working on the big man’s bonds now. A pair of dwarves pressed close, one mouthing, “Me next.” Varek complied, then tugged Riki toward the back of the pen.

Nura continued her enchantment, her voice rising in pitch and taking on a musical quality. Suddenly she extended her hand, and the magical spiderweb she’d been crafting flew at the pen. It billowed and blanketed Dhamon and Maldred, and then the dwarves and the others. They felt as if hundreds of insects were swarming over their skins, robbing them of movement. In the same instant a calmness washed over them. Varek found himself relaxing. All thoughts of escape, his concern for Riki, faded from importance. He dropped the small blades. “Nura. Nura. Nura.” He took up the soft chant.

At the front of the pen Dhamon had managed to regain consciousness and now stood at Maldred’s side. Both men dully watched Nura, who was in the midst of a second enchantment. One of the human servants bowed to the child and passed her a pale wooden bowl. The child’s voice changed in pitch, and her undecipherable words quickened. The spawn called Aldor brandished a knife and took the bowl from Nura. The bowl was oddly blackened now, as if it had been thrust into a fire. With a low snarl, the big spawn started toward the chained sivak.

“I can’t move,” Maldred said. “Not an inch.”

“My feet feel like lead,” Dhamon agreed. He kept his eyes on Nura. “They say you create spawn from the blood of true draconians,” he mused, “but it takes an elaborate spell. It takes a dragon overlord to cast that spell, to give up a bit of its essence. There isn’t a dragon, let alone an overlord, within miles of this village. The scale on my leg would have told me if one was nearby. I don’t like the looks of this.”

The spawn called Aldor made a deep cut in the sivak’s chest, holding the bowl close so blood drained into it. The sivak could do nothing to fight the spawn. When the blood slowed to a trickle and the bowl was full, the spawn returned to Nura’s side, brushing aside the vipers as it went. The child’s eyes had rolled back up into her head, showing only whites shaded by rapidly fluttering lids. Her voice was different now, faster, louder, no longer sounding like a child, but like an adult. The tone was seductive.

Everyone seemed enthralled by Nura’s voice, most of them chanting her name. Even Maldred was affected. It took all of Dhamon’s concentration to blot out the words, and try as he might he couldn’t move his feet, could barely twitch his fingers in the child’s magical webbing.

“Fight it,” Dhamon hissed to Maldred. “We need your magic to get out of here. Don’t listen to her, Mal. She might turn the lot of us into spawn.”

“Only you, dark-hair,” a nearby spawn guard corrected. “Only humans are so blessed that they can be transformed into spawn. They rest will be… abominations.” The creature locked eyes with Dhamon.

Dhamon watched as Aldor held the bowl out to Nura. Her eyes were wide and dark and flitted back and forth between Dhamon and Maldred. She dipped her fingers into the sivak blood, rapidly stirring it as she continued to recite incomprehensible words. Her voice slowed, and at the same time the sivak became agitated and the muscles in its arms and legs began to jump in time with the child’s finger motions.

A transparent red mist poured out of the bowl Nura held, flowing to the ground and slowing rolling toward the pen.

The mist thickened and darkened until it was first the shade of blood, then nearly black. Tendrils circled like coiling serpents around the legs of the ogres and Dhamon and Maldred. The mist was cool and damp, easing the heat of the swamp a little but at the same time sapping their strength. Dhamon felt the fatigue, heavy like a winter cloak. The mist wound tighter around him and seeped beneath his skin. He tried to shake it off and continued to focus his thoughts, thrusting the child out of his mind, imagining himself free.

“I can move,” Dhamon finally gasped to Maldred. “A little.”

Maldred was looking straight at Nura. “I can barely speak,” he croaked.

“Fight it. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“She’s stronger than I.”

“Fight it. Or we’re dead men.”

By the time the mist rose to their waists, Maldred had managed to move his hands. He began gesturing with his fingers, working a spell of his own. “Everything is so hard.”

“By the power of the First One,” Nura stated. “By the will of the Ancient. Give me the force to do your bidding.”

The mist around them thickened to the consistency of quicksand. The scale on Dhamon’s leg grew warm, but the sensation didn’t worsen.

Images flashed in Dhamon’s head, large yellow eyes surrounded by blackness. A dragon? There was an intelligence in the eyes, and something more that he sensed but couldn’t put a word to.

“By the power of the First One,” Nura repeated.

Again the dragon eyes flashed in Dhamon’s mind, the child’s face reflected in them. He blinked furiously, shaking off the image while at the same time trying to banish the sluggishness that threatened to overwhelm him.

Maldred was mumbling softly, his hands working faster. He risked a glance at the back of the pen. He barely made out Rikali and Varek, standing shoulder to shoulder and not moving. His attention was drawn back to Dhamon, who had become completely engulfed by the mist. Dhamon’s throat and chest tightened. It felt as if someone had reached inside him and squeezed his heart. Through the mist he glanced down at his chest. There was a symbol scrawled on it in blood. Funny, but he hadn’t felt anything, any wound. Peering about and squinting through the mist, he saw the same symbol on the chests of the elves and dwarves and Maldred. “Mmm. Mmmm.”

Dhamon was trying to say “Maldred,” but all he could get out was a strangled sound. Dhamon’s eyes widened when he spotted one of the symbols on an ogre change its shape. The blood image became a pattern of scales—small black ones that spread outward. Dhamon furiously began brushing at the symbol on his own chest, but the scale shapes were on him, too.

Images again flashed behind his eyes, the dull yellow orbs of a huge black dragon, the child reflected in them, smiling. Through the images and the magical haze he continued to brush at the symbol on his chest, fighting the unnatural fatigue and digging his fingers beneath the scales to frantically rip them out.

I will not become a spawn! He meant to shout the words, but he heard them only in his mind. I will die first!

There was more chanting, soft at first, coming from the far end of the village. Now the servants were repeating “Nura. Nura. Nura Bint-Drax.” The chanting was picked up by most of those in the pen with him.

This can’t be happening! It is not possible! Dhamon’s mind screamed. Suddenly he found his voice and heard himself screaming. “There is no dragon in this village! Only an overlord can create dragonspawn!”

Through the ever-rising mist and a gap in mutating bodies, Dhamon saw the child smile. She paused in her spell, long enough to lock eyes with him.

“The dragon is everywhere,” she said, and he heard her words over the chanting of the villagers and the hissing of the thousands of snakes.

“Nura. Nura. Nura.” The chanting grew louder. “Nura Bint-Drax.”

“I am a vessel,” she continued, speaking only to Dhamon. “One to whom the black dragon grants power.”

A vessel, Dhamon thought. He was once a vessel for the red overlord because of the scale on his leg. If the link hadn’t been broken, he’d still be Malys’s pawn. Now, perhaps, he’d become a pawn for the great black overlord.

“He grants me power to create spawn,” she persisted, her voice mocking now, “but I prefer what you call abominations. Singular creations. Interesting. And utterly loyal. Unfortunately you are human, Dhamon Grimwulf, so you will be a spawn and not an abomination.”

Dhamon heard Maldred heave in pain behind him.

Around them, some of the ogres were transforming more rapidly than the elves and dwarves. One in particular caught Dhamon’s eye, the image filling him with terror. Scales rapidly spread outward from the design on the ogre’s chest, running like water down his arms and legs, across a face that was becoming larger and was growing a horselike snout. Twin tails sprouted from his backside, one stubby and thick, the other long like a snake. A viper’s mouth snapped and hissed at the end of the snake tail, furiously trying to bite the other mutating creatures around it. Short wings extended from between the ogre’s shoulder blades, scalloped like a bat’s, but membranous like a dragonfly’s. The creature threw back his misshapen head and howled.

A half-elf nearby was growing a second pair of arms, screeching in agony and grabbing at the mist that teased its elongating claws.

The air was filled with hisses, cries of anger and disbelief, a few anguished shouts of Ogrish that Dhamon didn’t understand and some that he knew were deeply profane. There were snapping and popping sounds too, coming from limbs that were altering or new ones being birthed, bones that were breaking under stress in bodies that were growing unnaturally large and heavy and distorted. Maldred voiced a throaty growl, and now Dhamon screamed. There was intense pain in the transformation, worse than he’d ever experienced from the scale on his leg. Where the scales were spreading on his chest, it felt as if his skin had caught fire.

“No!” he shouted, as he threw all his efforts into digging out the scales, moving sluggishly, trying to get out of the mist and away from the child’s heinous spell. His legs were rooted to the ground, were difficult to budge. He moved only inches at a time. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Maldred’s fingers still twirling, saw the mist thinning around the big thief’s hands.

“Wh-what…”

Dhamon tried to say more, but found his tongue uncooperative. It felt thick and dry. He glanced down, shuddering when he saw more tiny scales flowing outward from the dragon scale on his leg.

“Dhamon, I am putting our hopes on Riki and Varek,” Maldred managed. He balled his fists, which were becoming thicker and black.

For a moment Dhamon thought he saw his old friend’s handsome human face, thought he saw him smile. Then the fleshy color was gone, turning blue, his hair becoming a wild white mane as he transformed into the ogre mage he truly was, the only son of Donnag. He towered over everyone in the pen. Black scales spread across him, racing across his chest and up his neck. His face elongated to form a dragonlike snout, and a thick ridge erupted above his eyes. Maldred grimaced as he took a step forward on legs that were becoming thick as tree trunks, veins wrapped around them like vines. His feet were growing, sprouting claws. Spiny ridges were protruding from his knees and elbows. And his hands, which could no longer maintain fists, were stretching, a double set of talons emerging from what had been his fingers.

“Hope Riki can…” No more words came from Maldred’s mouth. Instead, a long forked tongue shot out to lick his bulbous lips. He hissed, his arms flailed, knocking over another ogre who was in the midst of growing a third arm. He swung his left arm at Dhamon, striking him hard in the chest and propelling his friend several feet away toward the back of the pen. Had that been intentional? Dhamon wondered, as he struggled breathlessly to his feet. He could see the rails through gaps in the ever-thickening magical mist. Have to get out. Move!

Dhamon saw that every ogre, dwarf, and elf was in the process of transforming. None had been spared the child’s heinous spell, and none looked the same—none save Riki and Varek, who were cowering at the very back of the pen and so far seemed untouched. One dwarf was growing a second head atop the first, another was folding in on himself, becoming thick and stunted, his arms turning into another set of legs and forcing him to walk like a dog. The half-elf nearest Dhamon sprouted four eyes. The thinnest ogre was perhaps the most terrifying in appearance, becoming thinner still, looking like scaly hide that had been stretched across a skeleton. Bones threatened to poke through, and a skeletal pair of wings sprouted from his back, flapping and clacking but offering him no chance of flying away.

Dhamon shut his eyes and tried to move faster. He shuffled back a few steps, bumping into something that felt as sturdy as a stone wall—only the wall was breathing and wheezing, another metamorphosing creature. Dhamon’s arms and legs ached terribly, and he was certain they were growing or changing.

Got to get away! he told himself, as he blundered blindly. Get away. I cannot serve a dragon again. His thoughts began to muddle, and he sensed that his mind was being displaced. Hungry, he mused. I am hungry. Strong. I am strong. What is your bidding Nura? Look at me, Nura!

Nura. Nura. Nura Bint-Drax.

“No!” he howled again, his voice deeper and sounding foreign to him. “By all the vanished gods, no!”

* * * * *

“Varek!” Rikali whispered, furiously blinking. “Varek, I can move.” She glanced away from the transforming creatures, unable to stomach what was happening to them.

“So can I,” Varek returned in a hush, “but I’m not sure why.”

“It was Maldred,” Rikali answered, as she moved slowly with Varek through the slats in the back of the pen, hoping the mist would conceal their escape. “I thought I saw him casting a spell. Pigs, but I’ve seen him do magic enough. It has to be the only reason we’re free.”

Once outside the pen, Varek tugged loose a slat, shouldering it like a club. He passed to Riki the small blades he had dropped then retrieved, and for a moment considered grabbing the half-elf and running. But Riki was already moving away from him, skirting around the pen, tugging loose slats as she went and stepping through the carpet of snakes as she made her way toward the child.

“Nura!” the half-elf cried. “Stop your spell! Leave these people alone!”

Varek mumbled a prayer to a vanished god and headed after her.

Nura was taken aback. Intent on the abominations she was creating, she hadn’t noticed two of her victims escaping.

Some of the transforming creatures spilled from the pen. A few who had just begun to change fled through the broken slats into the jungle. Spawn ran after them, urged on by Aldor. Other spawn tried to herd the transforming creatures within the red mist so the spell could finish changing them.

“The little girl!” Rikali shouted to Varek. “We have to get the little girl! Make her stop!”

“No!” Varek yelled as he shoved past her. “Riki, get out of here. I’ll take care of the girl.”

The half-elf defiantly shook her head, but she couldn’t catch Varek, and a second later she found herself facing a spawn that stepped across her path.

“Pigs, but you’re ugly,” she spat. She ducked beneath its grasping claws and sliced at its legs with the small blades.

A few yards away, Varek faced Aldor. The large spawn effectively shielded Nura, at the same time spewing a gout of acid at Varek. The creature grinned as Varek cried out in pain. It let out a deep, clipped laugh when Varek crumpled to his knees.

Nura concentrated on her spell. Preoccupied, she did not see Rikali. The half-elf had slain the spawn she’d been fighting and came up behind the girl. Rikali took quick aim with one of the small blades and plunged it downward. The blade sank into the child’s back. She screamed in surprise. The bowl fell from her hands, striking the ground and spraying her legs with sivak blood.

“Fool!” Nura cried as she dropped to the ground, righting the bowl and trying to cup the escaping blood back into it. She ignored the small knife sticking in her shoulder. “You’ve no idea what you’ve done! You’ve ruined my magic. Your life is forfeit! Your life is mine! Aldor!”

Aldor spun away from Varek, claws outstretched and chest expanding as he spat at the half-elf with his poison breath.

At the same time, Varek struggled to his feet and clumsily charged Aldor. Lowering his shoulder and awkwardly barreling into the spawn, he knocked him off balance and threw off his aim. Riki took advantage of the situation and darted in, slashing at Aldor with the remaining blade. Varek swung his makeshift club at the spawn’s outstretched arm.

“Varek! Stop the little girl!” she shouted. “I can handle this beastie!”

The child had finished scooping as much of the blood as possible into the bowl and worked feverishly to reinvigorate her spell, ignoring Varek and the half-elf behind her.

“Varek!” Riki shouted. “The little girl!”

Varek reluctantly left the half-elf’s side and closed on Nura, swinging the club into the back of girl’s head. “Damned child!” he shouted for good measure. “Straight to the Abyss with you!”

Nura was barely fazed by the blow, though plainly angered at this second interruption. The air was filled with noise: the chanting, the screams and cries of the abominations, and the hissing of the snakes that writhed all around them.

“How can you still be standing?” Varek asked. He pulled back on the club again, anchored his feet, and risked a brief glance at the pen as he swung again. The horrifying sight nearly made him lose his grip on the weapon.

A few of the ogres and dwarves had completely transformed. One had six arms and an overlong single wing that flapped madly and threatened to tangle between its ankles. Another had an arm that hung limply from the center of its chest. Others were… worse.

“Monsters.” Varek shuddered, blindly striking out again and again at the girl, who seemed impervious to his blows.

“I must finish the spell!” she cursed. “They are caught between!”

The grotesqueries lashed out at each other in pain and madness. The skeletal ogre howled as one of his fellows pulled his wings off, blood and acid spraying around them. A creature with two heads snapped at a misshapen beast who was on all fours. A dwarf spotted with scales had buried his head in his hands and was weeping uncontrollably. As Varek watched, this dwarf was skewered on the long talons of one of his fellows.

“They’re slaying each other,” he said in awe.

“They’re caught in the madness!” the child cried. “I must finish the spell. Aldor! Slay the elf! Then stop this flea who pesters me!”

“Ssspawn kill elf,” Aldor stated. His eyes glimmered darkly.

“I’m a half-elf,” Riki returned defiantly.

As the spawn let loose a breath, Riki ducked, the gout of acid passing over her head and misting behind her. Without pause, she jumped back up and swept her blade in, jamming the tip into Aldor’s chest. She pressed her attack, trying to drive the spawn back into Nura, who was busy stirring the draconian blood again, ignoring Varek.

The spawn crouched low as Riki lunged, spread its arms wide, and tried to grab her. But the half-elf was fast and sidestepped, bringing the blade up and slashing at its throat. The half-elf slammed her eyes shut and turned her head, and a heartbeat later the big spawn dissolved in a cloud of acid that rained down on her and Varek and Nura.

“No!” Nura howled. The acid mixed with the sivak blood and sizzled in the wooden bowl.

“Noooooo!”

Only two of her prized spawn were nearby. The transforming creatures had managed to dispatch several in their maddened fury. Nura gestured to her servants.

“To me!” she cried. “Hurry, my spawn!”

Inside what remained of the pen, only a dozen creatures were standing. Dhamon had managed to pull himself through the railing. He rolled onto his back, coughing, trying to clear his lungs of the last of the red mist. He felt about on his chest, which was marked by raw wounds from where he’d ripped out the scales. His fingers flew over his skin, trying to find more of the scales, digging at a couple near his waist. His strength returning, he lumbered to his feet and backed away, wanting to put a greater distance between himself and the pen. The swamp was so close behind him. It would be easy to lose himself in it. Lose himself. Save himself.

“Maldred.” The thought of his friend was the only thing that kept Dhamon from running away. “Got to clear my head,” he told himself. “Concentrate.” There were still thoughts of power, of hunger, of serving Nura Bint-Drax. “Nura. Nura. Nura,” he heard himself say. “No!”

Dhamon focused his thoughts on Maldred and Rikali. He peered at the grotesque fracas, but all he saw were the repulsive and deformed creatures. All he heard were their screams as they fought each other.

He finally spotted Maldred in the center of the mass. Dhamon shuddered. There were traces of his friend that he could recognize, the blue skin and mane of white hair, but patches of black scales covered most of his arms and his chest, and a serpentine tail twitched behind him. His ogre face was distorted and dragonlike, though no scales marred it.

Dhamon turned away and raced toward the closest hut, one in which he remembered seeing weapons. Moments later he emerged, carrying two swords, and he made a dash toward Nura and the two spawn who formed a guard around toward her.

He saw Varek, who was a mass of boils and scars, his clothes and hair melted away. Dhamon shoved one of the swords into his acid-blistered hands.

“The little girl,” Varek gasped, as he faced a spawn that had appeared in front of him. “Kill her, Dhamon. Protect Riki.”

“I’ll kill the little girl all right,” Dhamon growled, as he dove at the second spawn and, in two quick slashes, killed it. “I’ll send her straight to the Abyss. I’ll…”

His words died as he saw Nura shimmer, grow, and change. Within the passing of a few heartbeats, the child calling herself Nura Bint-Drax was gone. Something else entirely stood in her place.

“The breath of the world!” Varek gasped. “What is that?”

“I don’t care what it is,” Dhamon answered. “I just need to know if it can bleed. Because if it can bleed, I’m going to kill the damn thing.”

Where Nura had stood now was something that resembled a snake. Only this snake was easily twenty feet long and thick, with alternating bands of black and red scales that sparkled like jewels in the sunlight. The bulk of its body was elevated like a cobra hovering above the ground. Its head was not that of a snake, it was that of the evil child, copper-colored hair fanning away from it like a hood. A small knife still protruded from one side, the one the half-elf had drove into the little girl. The creature’s lidless eyes were eerily fixed on Rikali, as it wove back and forth hypnotically.

“You’ve ruined my plans, elf. Stopped my spell! Destroyed nearly all the precious creatures I was birthing.” She swivelled her head toward the pen, to three fully formed abominations that stood apart from the other wretches. “To me, children!”

Dhamon spun to intercept the misshapen abominations that followed Nura’s orders, climbing out of the pen. He drew the long sword back. The blade caught the sun, and the edge sparkled so brightly that one of the creatures—one with six arms and two tails—shielded its eyes and hesitated. That was long enough for Dhamon to drive the blade down, cutting deep into the chest of the monstrosity. Like a spawn, it died in a burst of acid.

There were two more abominations. Varek jumped in front of one to keep it from reaching Riki. Dhamon met the charge of the third abomination, this a creature that looked more like a spawn, save for the third arm dangling uselessly from its chest. This beast also seemed mesmerized by the light playing off the sword. One swing and Dhamon had lopped off the worthless appendage, another swing and he’d managed to cleave the creature’s right arm. The abomination yowled, stepping back and looking with uncertainty between Dhamon and Nura. Dhamon darted forward, the sword held in front of him. It pierced the creature’s abdomen, and he was rewarded with a shower of acid that ate at his skin and trousers. Without pause he whirled toward Nura, passing Varek, who was still struggling with his foe.

“Riki, leave the snake-woman to me!”

“I can’t seem to hurt her, Dhamon!” Riki was shouting as she slashed with the small blade.

“I can more than hurt you,” Nura returned. She opened her mouth, revealing a row of sharply pointed teeth. Something glistening dripped from them, sizzling when it hit the ground. Lightning fast, the snake struck, her head darting forward, teeth digging into Riki’s cheek.

“Pigs!” the half-elf screeched. “That hurt! Like fire!”

In the same instant, Dhamon swung his sword and watched in amazement as it only grazed the snake creature’s scaly hide. It would have been a killing blow to a spawn or an abomination. At least he’d finally drawn blood, he observed, as he swung again and again, aiming at the same spot and finally making a noticeable groove in the thick flesh.

“Riki! Get back!” Dhamon shouted.

“Damn you, Dhamon Grimwulf! You weren’t worried about me when you left me all alone in Blöten! Why worry about me now?” The half-elf swiped at the snake creature again and again, nicking it with her little knife. “Bite me, will you, Nura Bint-Drax? I knew you really weren’t no little girl.”

Nura grinned malevolently and struck again, ignoring Dhamon in favor of the half-elf. This time her teeth sunk into Rikali’s arm, and as Nura pulled back, the half-elf crumpled.

“Monster!” Dhamon spat. “Face me!” He put all of his considerable strength into his next swing, and when he connected, blood and scales flew.

Nura raised herself high off the ground, balancing on her snake tail and pivoting to give Dhamon her full attention. “You are strong, human,” she hissed, “I truly believe you are the one.”

Puzzled by her strange comment, Dhamon didn’t allow it to distract him. He lashed out, putting his muscles into each swing, scowling to note how little damage he was inflicting.

“Wh-what is that creature?” This from Varek, who finally had finished off his foe. His clothes were in tatters, his arms and face covered with claw marks. He was still hefting the sword Dhamon had given him as he joined the fight against Nura. “What is it?”

“I am Nura Bint-Drax,” the snake-creature hissed. She began weaving hypnotically in an effort to enthrall Varek and Dhamon. “I am the child of the swamp, the daughter of the dragon. I am your every nightmare.”

Dhamon struck at her again, this time without as much force or speed. He was slowing, and his mind was clouding. Magic! He knew that the creature had cast a spell at him. Scales danced in the back of his mind.

“Damned beast!” he cursed. Even the words came out slow. He tried to shake his head furiously, but instead he barely moved it from side to side. “Damn you to the darkest corner of the Abyss!” He watched as her head came down, mouth, and corrosive liquid sizzling out to pool on the ground.

“Fight me!” This came from Varek, who’d worked his way around to the creature’s side. Though clearly spent, he managed to land a blow where Dhamon had already carved a wound.

“You are an insignificant bug,” she hissed to Varek, “not worthy of my attention. Time to end this day’s game.” Her head bobbed and woved and her form shimmered and shrank. There was a popping sound, and the place where Nura had been erupted in a puff of acrid black smoke. Riki’s blade, which had been lodged in the snake, fell uselessly to the ground.

“By the Dark Queen’s heads!” Dhamon swore. His gaze shifted between Riki and Varek, who was crawling toward the half-elf.

“What do we do about those?” Varek gestured toward the pen, where a handful of the mutating creatures still thrashed and battled. The things were a mix of scales and flesh, with misshapen limbs and curling claws, flapping wings, hideous heads, serpentine tails, and tangled hair.

“Maldred.” Dhamon swallowed hard.

Dhamon rushed toward the pen, stepped through the rails, and passed the first two combatants. See to Maldred, he thought. Deal with the creatures quick, then see to Riki. He thrust his sword into the stomach of a doglike creature that was lunging for him, slaying and stepping over it. Another creature moved into Dhamon’s path. This one was a terribly thin abomination who’d had its wings plucked off. Its jaw clacked open and shut, a long forked tongue lolling out. It stretched out to grab at him, and he swiftly put it out of its misery. Finally he reached Maldred.

“Mal…” he said. “Mal, can you understand me?”

The thing towering above him bore some resemblance to Maldred’s ogre form, but it hissed and spat and pawed at the ground like a wild animal.

“Mal!”

The beast’s eyes met Dhamon’s. There was something pleading in them, and they dropped to the sword in his hand.

“No,” Dhamon stated. “I won’t kill you. You’re as dear as any brother.”

The creature howled and reached a claw out to rake Dhamon, but he moved quickly to evade the halfhearted blow.

“You’ve magic, Mal! Use it! Fight this!”

The Maldred-thing slashed at Dhamon again, attempting to get him to defend himself.

“Don’t let Nura—whatever in all the levels of the Abyss she is—win,” Dhamon said, still managing to avoid his friend’s claws. “Use your magic!”

Maldred threw back his head and roared a string of words in Ogrish. His claws dug at the scales on his chest and neck.

“Concentrate!” Dhamon shouted. He remembered how foggy his mind had been when the red mist circled him. “Fight it!”

Maldred continued to rant in Ogrish. His lips shaped arcane phrases that gave birth to a pale yellow glow encircling Maldred’s misshapen form.

“That’s it!” Dhamon encouraged, watching as the scales glimmered darkly and then began to melt.

“Concentrate!”

“Dhamon! Get over here! Now!”

Dhamon drew his attention away from his friend and glanced at Varek, who was motioning wildly to him.

“Riki needs help!” Varek was sitting awkwardly with the half-elf’s head and shoulders resting on his lap.

Dhamon glanced to the far end of the village, where the human servants were nervously gathered, none of them daring to budge.

Another look at Maldred, then he was racing toward the half-elf.

“Dhamon! Help Riki!” Varek’s acid-scarred face was marked by genuine fear. “I think she’s dying, Dhamon. She told me once that you were a battlefield medic. Do something! She’s pregnant, Dhamon. Please do something to save my wife and child, or so help me, I’ll…”

“Don’t make a threat you’re not able to carry out.” The words and Dhamon’s withering glance silenced Varek. Dhamon knelt next to Riki and studied her ashen face. Pregnant? It was enough of a surprise that the half-elf was married to this young man. Was she also pregnant? There was a deep bite mark on her cheek and on her arm, and ugly red lines meandered away from the wounds.

“The hut closest to the well,” Dhamon said, nodding to Varek. “There’s a ceramic pot on a crate inside. It’s filled with herbs. There’s a few sacks on the ground by it. Bring them all. And hurry.”

Dhamon sat, stretching out his legs and gently pulling Rikali away from Varek, who quickly went after the herbs. Dhamon tenderly ran his fingers over the half-elf’s wounds. It was a gentleness he hadn’t exhibited in quite some time, and his hard expression was gone, too, replaced by something that approached compassion.

“Married and with child,” he said to himself. Her loose clothes had well concealed her slightly swelling stomach.

Varek gathered as much as he could carry. He ran back to Dhamon, scowling at a trio of the human servants who were headed in that direction, too.

Dhamon picked through some dried roots in one bag. They were too old, but he managed to find one that had a little sap in it. He rubbed this on the deepest bite wound. Most of the herbs and roots he tossed aside, but there were a few he added to the mixture on Riki’s cheek. A fist-sized sack contained a coarse powder, and he stuck this in his pocket, his fingers brushing the small silver box and the medallion of Kiri-Jolith he’d taken earlier. He set aside another sack that contained a gritty blend of moss and shredded roots.

While he worked on the half-elf, the three human servants came close. The eldest appeared to be their spokesman.

“Mistress Sable will be most angry with you,” the man stated. “She will hunt you. You are all fools, as Nura Bint-Drax said, and you will all most certainly die!”

“Everybody dies!” Varek shot back. “You’re the fools. Serving a dragon and a snake creature. Willingly, it seems! That’s all over now. The spawn are all dead. That snake creature, Nura, is gone. That means you’re free. If I were you, I’d head straight north, you’ll hit the coast in a week or two if you make a good pace, and some ferryman’ll pick you up.”

The three humans argued softly for a few moments, then the spokesman squared his shoulders and fixed Varek with an icy stare.

“We’re staying here,” he said. “Polagnar is our home. Nura Bint-Drax will come back. She’ll bring more spawn. We’ll serve them, and we’ll be fed and protected.”

“Sheep,” Varek muttered. “Pitiful, mindless sheep.”

“She’ll live,” Dhamon said finally, with relief, drawing Varek’s attention away from the three men. Rikali was breathing regularly. “She should come to in a little while.” He pointed to the largest hut.

“There’s a bed in there. Let her rest on it. Get her out of this heat. I doubt the snake woman will be back for a while, so we’ll stay in that hut and lick our wounds.”

“Is there something you can do for that?” Varek nodded at Dhamon’s legs. Dhamon’s pants were torn, showing his right thigh completely covered with tiny black scales, all radiating outward from the large dragon scale and shimmering in the sun. Some had traveled down his calf, looking like shiny black beads against his skin, and there were a smattering of scales on his the top of his foot and on his left leg. He didn’t answer. Instead, he took the small blade Riki had used on Nura and began furiously cutting at the scales.

“Are you sure you should…” Varek began. Dhamon’s fierce scowl caused him to swallow the question.

Dhamon cut away at the newer scales, digging out most of them and leaving behind raw wounds. He didn’t dare touch the large dragon scale, and his efforts at rooting out the couple of dozen left on his leg were too painful. After several minutes of frustration, he gave up. He took the gritty mixture he’d found and, grimacing, liberally applied it on his legs. He had to stop every few moments because it stung so badly. There were wounds on his chest, where he’d earlier dug out the scales with his fingers, and he put the mixture on these, too. When he was finished, he glanced back at the pen and Maldred.

The big thief had managed to shake off the remnants of Nura’s spell and was leaning against the slats of the pen for support. His muscular form sported a riot of gouges and cuts, and his clothes hung on him in bloodied strips.

Dhamon tossed the bag that contained the last of the gritty mixture to Varek. “You’ve some deep cuts on your back. Put some of this on them. Should help you heal, reduce the chance of infection. Then get Riki out of the sun.”

Dhamon rose and limped over to Maldred. He leaned against the railing next to the big man, staring at all the bodies. Scales and flesh and blood covered every inch of ground. He ground the ball of his foot into the mud. “I should feel sorry for them all,” he said, “but I don’t. I don’t feel anything.” He turned from the pen and almost bumped into the village spokesman, who had silently followed him.

“The black dragon will be most angry at what you’ve done. The black dragon and Nura Bint-Drax will—”

Dhamon slammed his hand into the man’s chest, shoving him out of the way. He walked to the hut Riki was in, kicking snakes out of his way as he went. He heard heavy footsteps behind him. Maldred followed him inside.

The acid-scarred Varek was dutifully sitting on the bed next to Rikali, who twitched in her sleep, her thin lips set in an uncharacteristic grimace. Varek’s cuts were covered with the gritty mixture.

“You’ve first watch, Mal,” Dhamon said. “All of us need some rest, but we’re going to do it in shifts. I don’t trust the villagers. Wake me after the sun’s down—earlier if there’s trouble.”

Without another word, Dhamon busied himself ripping up a cloak to fashion bandages for his leg and arms, then settled back against a large crate. Already he felt his wounds closing. His healing ability was another part of the curse, he knew, probably a by-product of the dragon-scale on his thigh. Though he was pleased to be mending quickly, he wanted nothing more than to be rid of the accursed scale.

“I need your mysterious healer, Mal,” he breathed. He closed his eyes and intended to go straight to sleep, but in his mind he saw Nura Bint-Drax writhing as a snake before him. He opened his eyes quickly.

He listened to Maldred and Varek quietly talking about the half-elf. He heard a few crates being moved, sensed Maldred taking up a spot at the entrance to the hut. He heard movement outside, several yards beyond the hut, and he heard the voices of a pair of villagers. Maldred shooed them away.

Sleep finally claimed Dhamon, his dreams filled with the visages of grotesque abominations and a snake woman with hypnotic eyes who was wrapping herself so tight around him he couldn’t breathe. All too soon, Maldred roused him, and it was his turn at watch.