Betrayal

Chapter Seventeen Sweet Magic

They could see their breath in the narrow passage, the limestone walls cold to the touch. Dhamon led the way, Maldred holding the lantern high behind him, and Rikali and Varek following. The sivak paused for a moment, watching them go, then out of a mix of duty and curiosity followed. He found the passage a tight fit. There were only inches to spare on either side of his broad shoulders, and the jagged shards of crystals that crunched beneath the boots of the others dug into his feet. He paused again a few dozen yards later, clawed hands running over knobby clusters of coral and pieces of shells embedded here and there in the wall. He traced the fossil of a crab. Farther along the passage widened and the ceiling that had been only a few feet above their heads disappeared in the darkness.

After the better part of an hour, Dhamon stopped and turned to Maldred. “Time to go back,” he said.

“Head out to the healer. There’s nothing here.”

Maldred nodded and made a move to retreat, but a moment later Dhamon’s hand shot out.

“Wait. I hear something.” He turned again and followed the passage for several more minutes. “The wind, I think, Mal.” Disappointment was clear in his voice. “I admit, it was my idea to come in here. My idea to waste our time.” The stony corridor had opened into a small circular cavern, nearly the entire floor of which was taken up by a pool of water.

Both men glanced up. Dhamon spotted a thin crevice high overhead through which rain could have entered to create the pool.

He shook his head. “I thought I heard music. I still hear it.” Softer, he added, “It might be the wind.” Again he was just about to retrace his steps, when he spotted a crevice across the cavern—another tunnel, this one narrower than the one they had just traversed.

“Pigs, but I ain’t squeezing through that,” Rikali said. She sagged against the wall, her fingers brushing her stomach. “’Sides, I’m not feelin’ too well this mornin’. This bein’ pregnant ain’t fun.”

Dhamon was working his way around the pool of water, Maldred following. Varek stood next to Riki and coaxed a light from the lantern he’d been carrying.

“Then we’ll stay here and wait for them together, my love.”

Riki frowned. “What if they find somethin’? We don’t want them cuttin’ us out of anythin’ valuable. They would, you know.”

He hesitated.

“I will stay with her,” Ragh said.

“Now I know I’m not going with them, Riki.”

The half-elf gave him a lopsided grin. “I’ll be just fine with this beastie, Varek. He ain’t gonna hurt me.”

Ragh unceremoniously sat near the pool, clawed feet dangling just above the water. Varek glanced at Riki, who gestured for him to hurry. A few minutes later he disappeared into the crevice after Maldred and Dhamon.

“Your big shoulders and all, you wouldn’t have fit in there,” she told the sivak.

“I wouldn’t have wanted to.”

* * * * *

The thin tunnel curved back on itself and the ceiling dropped so that Dhamon, Maldred and Varek were almost crawling. Varek had to leave his staff behind. Somehow Maldred managed with his greatsword.

At one point Dhamon thought the tunnel dead-ended, but as he approached what seemed to be a stone wall, he discovered a mesh of tree roots that had penetrated this far down through the rocks. It was from a tree, long dead, but the thick taproots formed a dense mat. He broke through and continued on.

“I hear something too, now,” Maldred said after a while, “but I don’t think it’s music.”

“Crystals teased by the wind,” Dhamon said. “Sounds a little like music.” The tunnel opened onto a wider crevice, the depth of which was impossible even for Dhamon’s keen eyesight to gauge. Spanning it was a narrow bridge of rock, which led to another crevice on the other side. Crystals were embedded in the walls, and stalactites hung from the ceiling, some of them solid crystal.

“Your music,” Maldred said.

“We’ve gone too far now to turn back,” Dhamon said, as he headed across the bridge. Maldred was slower, constantly looking around, and glancing up repeatedly at the stalactites as he walked across. Varek waited until both men were on the other side before he risked it. The next crevice was not so long or so cramped, and at the other end Dhamon poked his head out to find a cavern nearly as large as the one they first explored. There was a noticeable breeze in here, coming from a trio of narrow rents in the rocky ceiling above, a mist of rain water seeping in.

“More ships,” Dhamon said. “Caravels and cogs.”

These ships were in slightly better shape than the others, though there were not so many of them as in the other cavern. And there were plenty of splintered boards to suggest docks to which the ships had been moored in ages past.

Dhamon moved forward, Maldred behind him, raising the lantern high in the process. The light bounced off a myriad of crystals that dotted fingerlike stalactites hanging from the ceiling. The crystals fairly glowed, and the added light helped to illuminate crumbling stone buildings wedged into the southern wall past the ships.

“We’ve found one of the ancient pirate ports.” Maldred beamed. “Ha! We might find a true fortune here.”

Even Varek was excited, slipping by them and to a caravel with intact masts. They set about searching the ships first, finding exotic silks and foodstuffs, wines that had turned to vinegar a hundred years ago. Insects had invaded many of the holds, ruining wood carvings and paintings.

There were gems to be had, small urns brimming with pearls, elegant boxes filled with diamond necklaces, ruby pins, a small collection of brass-inlaid peg-legs, and more. One exceptional piece of jewelry caught Dhamon’s eye. It was a necklace, fashioned of rare black pearls and highly polished volcanic glass beads. That something so dark could have so much fire and color impressed him. He passed the piece to Maldred, who agreed it was one of the most valuable things they’d come across.

“We could give it to Riki,” Maldred suggested.

Dhamon shrugged and resumed his search.

Varek discovered a cache of objects that were probably enchanted—a small glass globe that alternately glowed green, then orange; a dagger that gave off a faint blue light, which he was quick to thrust in his belt; a palm-sized onyx wolf, that, when its side was rubbed, played an old tune; and a silver goblet that continually filled itself with cool water.

“For the healer if your book isn’t sufficient,” Maldred said, gesturing to the magical treasures they’d gathered into a sack from one Of the ships. Dhamon set a bronze circlet with this collection, swearing he heard voices in his head when he put it on.

As they moved deeper into the cavern, they discovered more remains of buildings, mostly consisting of a few stone foundations. These were far east and south of one row of ships, probably marking what had been the bank of the east side of the ancient river. There were dozens of skeletons amid the debris, all picked clean with scraps of cloth laying around them. Varek tossed an old sail over three small skeletons, which he suspected from their wide feet were kender rather than human children.

“Dhamon, after we’re done, finished plundering all of this…”

“We find the healer, Mal.”

“Yes,” Maldred agreed, “but after we’re finished with that business, we have to tell someone where all of this is. A historian, I think. Give him a map and let him come here.”

“Not our enchanted map.”

“Never.”

“After we’ve taken what we want.” This came from Varek. “Everything we want.”

Maldred nodded. “But this is history, something remaining from before the Cataclysm, and it should be shared and recorded. Dhamon, we must tell my father. He’d be pleased to know his map took us to a true treasure.”

“You’ll be the one to tell your father,” Dhamon chuckled as he examined a stone door on the most intact building in the cavern. All the windows had been covered by sheets of slate, which were uncomfortably cold to the touch. “You’ll not catch me in Blöten ever again, my friend.”

“Fair enough. It’s not so bad a city,” Maldred said. “Fine places to eat. Grim Kedar’s to visit, but I’ve no desire to stay there either. Too much of the world to see. Maybe we should buy a ship, Dhamon, sail to lands we’ve only heard about.”

Dhamon offered him a half-smile. “After the healer.”

“Maybe follow another one of my father’s treasure maps.”

Varek cleared his throat. “Riki and I won’t be going with the two of you on any more treasure hunts. We’ll take our share from this and be done with you.” The young man helped Dhamon pry at a piece of slate.

“Buy a nice house somewhere?” Maldred posed, a gleam in his eye. “Settle down and forget the adventuring life? Raise a big family and plant your roots deep? Riki’d like that just fine.” The last he said with a touch of sarcasm, which was lost on the busy Varek. Dhamon stepped back and resumed examining the building, though his mind was on the half-elf now, of her settling down to a mundane and safe life with a young man Dhamon didn’t care for—too young, too impetuous. Am I jealous? he wondered.

He admitted that it had bothered him every night seeing Varek sleeping with his arm protectively around Riki. Dhamon tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter, that he didn’t love the half-elf, that he’d only kept company with her because she was pretty—and convenient at the time. I don’t love her, he thought. I never did. But did the half-elf love the boy? Riki didn’t smother the young man with affection, didn’t hang on him the way she used to cling to Dhamon. She looked different, too, than when she’d been with Dhamon. She no longer painted her face and didn’t dress in garish, tight clothes. She cursed less frequently and often seemed softly feminine.

“I’m better off without love,” he whispered. “I don’t want it, don’t need it. I’m better off alone.” He tried prying at a different piece of slate and discovered that like the one Varek still worked on, it had been fused to the window—perhaps some act from the Cataclysm or perhaps a sorcerer’s spell, the latter something Maldred might be capable of.

“I don’t need love,” he repeated.

He turned and gestured to Maldred. “Over here. I want to get a look inside this building. Could be some treasure vault the way it’s all sealed up. I think we’re going to need your magic to get inside.”

* * * * *

“What are you lookin’ at, Ragh?”

Rikali eased herself down at the sivak’s side and leaned close to get a look at what was in his palm.

“It’s only sand and silt,” the draconian told her. His words themselves sounded like sand blowing across stone, raspy and soft from his scarred throat. “And ash, I think.”

“Ash?”

“From a volcano.” Ragh pointed a claw toward a spot high on the wall and moved the lantern.

“See?”

“All I see is rock.”

“Different kinds of rock,” he said, his grating voice slow and even, as a teacher might speak when lecturing. “They’ve been melted together—chert and granite and sand, shells, some fossils probably. A solid piece. The floor we sit on. Beneath this…” The sivak brushed aside some sand. “It’s indurated, soil and rock all fused together.”

She raised an eyebrow. “How could that happen?”

“Time could do it, enough pressure on the ground. So could a volcano, the heat melting everything together. It would explain the ash and maybe explain the tunnels and this chamber. They might have been formed by a lava flow.”

The half-elf shivered. “I’ve been through an earthquake. Pigs, when Mal an’ Dhamon an’ me were in the Vale of Chaos…. The vale, it’s a…”

“I know what and where it is.”

The half-elf traced a design in a patch of sand.

“I am old, Rikali. I have seen much of Krynn.”

“Smart, too,” she said. “You seem to know a lot. Smarts don’t come with age.”

The sivak let out a long breath, which sounded like a strained whistle. “I learned a lot about Krynn out of necessity. A spy for Takhisis, then for Sable, I would slay men and take their places for as long as I could hold their forms—explorers, politicians, ambassadors, dwarves. From the dwarves I learned a lot about caverns and stone.”

Rikali shivered at the thought. “How many did you kill?”

“More than I can remember.” Ragh tipped his head back to study the ceiling. “But all of that ended when Sable gave me to Nura Bint-Drax.”

“Like them thieves sold me and other folks to her.” Rikali shivered again. “I could’ve been turned into a spawn.”

“An abomination,” Ragh corrected her, a clawed finger drifting up to touch the scars on his chest where he had been bled to create the creatures.

“I hope they won’t be too much longer,” she said as a way of changing the subject. “Ain’t comfortable to sit here.”

* * * * *

“Magic,” Maldred said. “It fused the slate on the windows and sealed the door. I’d say the resident was a wizard who thought barricading himself inside might save him from the Cataclysm.”

Varek continued to struggle at a window. “Then maybe he might have saved all his magical trinkets.” He huffed and tugged a moment more, then shook his head. His chest heaved from the effort he’d put into it. In frustration, he kicked at the door. “Can you get us in there?”

Maldred grinned and splayed his fingers wide, chest high on the door. “Shouldn’t be too difficult, I’d wager.” He started humming a tune Dhamon had not heard before. Interspersed in the melody were Ogrish words, a monotonous chant.

Varek glanced around the cavern. “Maybe there are some more chambers. That old map showed the river going farther south, another pirate port maybe.”

“Don’t you think we’re rich enough?” Dhamon asked. He knew that if he had not wanted to find the healer, he’d be exploring farther. It was his greed that sent him down the crevice to this place anyway. In the back of his mind he was considering a return trip. Maldred could seal the hole that brought them underground, and he could come back after he’d been cured of the spreading scales.

“What’s rich enough?” Varek rubbed the ball of his foot against the stone floor. “I want to buy Riki a real nice house. Buy her anything she needs.”

“Almost have it!” Maldred’s shoulders were straining the seams of his tunic, and the outline of his muscles shown through the fabric. He was using more than just his magic to get through the door.

“Though if this place weren’t so old… and if the door was set in here any better…. There! Hmmm, what’s this?”

Strips of green wax fell away as he began to push the door inward. The big man put his shoulder to it and pushed harder, grinning when the door moved a few more inches. “Some help, here, Dhamon.”

Dhamon was quick to join him, the hair prickling on the back of his neck when the door moved a few more inches and part of the rocky ceiling came down. A fist-size chunk of stone hit him on the arm, and he muttered a curse.

“It’s nothing,” Maldred said. “It seems you heal easy enough anymore. Come.”

One more push, and the door swung wide, Maldred jumped away from it and grabbed up the lantern. He was back and through the opening before Dhamon had moved. The air felt dead, still, cold, and heavy with the scent of decay, and Dhamon fought to keep from gagging. Maldred was affected too, but his senses were not as keen. He plunged ahead.

“You stay out of here, Varek!” he warned.

The young man shook his head and followed. “You’re not cutting Riki and I out of anything.”

“Doesn’t look like any sorcerer’s house,” Dhamon stated. “Varek, why don’t you wait outside?”

There were eight large chests spaced evenly in the center of a rough-hewn square room—four on each side, separated by wooden pillars that looked as if they might collapse at any moment. Varek brushed by Dhamon and Maldred and moved to the first chest, noting more of the green wax around the edges.

Dhamon felt the air chill.

“Varek, I don’t think this has anything to do with pirates or sorcerers.”

Varek tried to lift the lid. “Some pirate who didn’t trust his fellows in the port put his wealth in here.”

“Let me give you a hand with that.” Maldred thrust his fingers under the lid and pulled up.

“Mal…” The air was getting colder still. “I don’t think this room was buried in the Cataclysm. Look. Magic or no, none of the walls are cracked. The chests don’t look as old as the wood on the ships or from the other chests we found. I think this was put here well after the Cataclysm. See….”

Dhamon pointed to the far end of the room, where three stone steps led to a wall sealed with more of the green wax. “I think we should leave here. You ought to—”

“There!” Maldred exclaimed. “There hasn’t been the lock or door made that could defeat me!” He and Varek stepped back and flipped open the chest, coughing when a swirl of dust erupted. On the heels of the dust cloud came a diaphanous figure with glowing red eyes.

“Undead!” Dhamon snapped, drawing his sword and lunging forward. “Well and truly wonderful.”

The creature was vaguely man-shaped, but as it moved, it grew and separated, becoming two. The first floated toward Maldred, wispy arms outstretched, mouth forming and cackling. The second sped toward another chest, thrusting insubstantial arms inside, solidifying, then breaking the wood. Another creature came out.

Dhamon raced toward this second chest, sword sweeping in front of him and passing through the again-transparent creature. His sword continued its path, striking instead one of the wood columns and cleaving it in two. Rocks rained down from the ceiling, stinging his arms and head and doing nothing to the creatures.

“By the vanished gods!” Varek cried. “What are these things?”

“Wraiths,” Dhamon shot back as he swung again.

“Your death,” one of the creatures answered, its haunting voice echoing off the stone walls. There were four of the undead creatures now, the newly freed one dividing also.

“We are free,” one of them whispered. “Bound no longer, we will join our brethren.”

“Yes,” another joined in. “Free, we must go.”

Maldred swung at one directly in front of him, snarling as the blade passed through it, inflicting little, if any, damage.

“Why don’t you just die?”

“Free,” they repeated as one.

“We are at last freed from our prison,” said the one nearest Dhamon. Dhamon raced to another chest that one of the wraiths was attempting to open. It glared balefully at him and solidified an arm to take a swipe at him, but Dhamon was faster, bringing up his sword at the last moment and meeting something solid. The wraith howled. Its eyes glowed brightly and seemed to burn into him. “We could not answer the summons, trapped. Free, we can answer now!” It floated to another chest and thrust an arm inside. In a moment, another creature was free.

“Free!” It became a hissing chant, and through it Dhamon heard Maldred gasp as he continued to spar with one of the creatures. Varek muttered curses at one hovering near him, jabbing at it with the glowing dagger he’d taken.

“Brothers, this one stings!” the wraith howled, as Varek’s blade burned the thing’s insubstantial form. “This one must die first.”

“Sweet death,” they chanted. “Death to the man who stings.”

Dhamon heard a splintering, popping sound cut through the chanting. “No!” he shouted. “Mali Varek! Look out!”

One of the wraiths had solidified adjacent to a wooden column and tugged at it, laughing manically when it broke and brought down part of the ceiling with it. Big chunks of rock fell on another chest, splitting it open and releasing more undead.

“We are free!”

“We are summoned! Called to join our brethren!” another cried. “I feel the pull!”

“Let it pull you out of here,” Dhamon shouted. “Leave us!”

Some of the creatures were indeed slipping from the chamber, a cloud of death gliding into the cavern beyond. Others were working on the pillars to bring the building down.

“Maldred, Varek, get out of here!” Dhamon barked. He realized that the undead were going to break open the rest of the chests and free the rest of their macabre comrades, using the rocks falling from the ceiling. The weight of the rocks couldn’t hurt something that was already dead:

“We are called!”

“Magic!” one of them wailed. “I smell magic.”

“It is in the man’s blade. It stings us.”

“Magic!” became the chant as three of the wraiths descended on Varek. One stretched out a diaphanous hand and wrapped it around the glowing blade.

“It stings me!” the wraith cried, but it refused to let go of the weapon. “Magic! I will drink the magic!”

“Dhamon! Help!” Varek tried to pull the dagger from the creature’s grasp, but its two companions had solidified and were holding him in place.

“Sweet magic,” the wraith cooed. Finally it released the weapon, but the blade no longer glowed.

“Sweet magic,” its companions echoed as they hurled Varek against the stone wall, so hard that they momentarily stunned him.

They turned as one to Maldred. “Magic!” they cried.

Dhamon frantically tried to push the wraiths away from the pillars, at the same time trying to make his way around the shattered chests to reach Maldred, now surrounded by the ghostly images.

“There is magic in this man!” one cried. Its eyes glowed white hot in anticipation.

“Sweet sorcerer,” the wraiths chanted. “Sweet death for the sweet sorcerer.”

“Fight me!” Dhamon howled, but the wraiths seemed interested only in Maldred. One of the undead solidified in front of Dhamon to block him.

“The sorcerer’s blade!” the creature cried. “It was forged in magic. Drink the magic!”

“Sweet magic.”

“The man!” another keened shrilly. “He holds far more magic than his weapon. Drink the magic!

Drink his life!”

“Sweet magic.”

“Varek!” Dhamon shouted as he swung at the wraith before him. It reached a clawed hand out and scratched at Dhamon’s face, the nails like icicles digging into his skin. “Varek! Get to Maldred!”

Varek shook his head and pushed away from the wall. The ghosts smashed another pillar, and a great chunk of the ceiling fell, burying Varek. From beneath the rubble the young man groaned, and Dhamon saw that rocks were pinning the big man, too.

“You say you’re been summoned, you filthy thing!” Dhamon spat at the wraith, blocking him. He rained a series of blows against the creature, all of them ineffectual. “Leave! Go to whoever’s calling you.”

“Sweet magic!” came a cry from the chamber beyond the building. Dhamon realized the creatures had discovered the sack containing the magical trinkets.

“Drink the magic!”

“Sweet magic,” cooed the one in front of Dhamon. In a breath it became insubstantial and drifted to join its feasting brothers.

Dhamon hurried toward Maldred, slipping around rocks that barred his way, around a chest where more undead were surging forth.

“Drink the magic!”

“Sweet magic!”

“We are summoned! Called, we must answer!”

“Dhamon!” Maldred’s bellow was filled with pain. A quartet of the undead remained around the big man, and Dhamon watched in horror as one reached ghostly hands inside of Maldred’s chest, the arms solidifying. The big thief screamed.

“Sweet magic!” the four undead cried as they thrust their claws into Maldred’s body and feasted. Dhamon tried to pull them off, but his hands closed on nothing but bone-numbing cold air. He gasped and redoubled his efforts.

“Can’t hurt these things,” he grunted. “Can’t do a damn thing to them!”

“Summoned, we must answer!” one cried from the cavern beyond.

“Sweet magic,” the four in the room repeated. “Sweet magic gone.” As one, they glided to the door and beyond, into the cavern where a cloud of the creatures hovered like fog above the stone floor. Swiftly the cloud lifted. The wraiths faded from view.

“Maldred!”

Dhamon felt about on his friend’s chest, finding nothing broken. Mal’s face was ashen. “Be alive, Mal. Be… ah!”

Maldred sucked in a breath and began shivering uncontrollably. The temperature had plummeted so quickly from the presence of the undead that frost coated everything. Maldred was changing. His form expanded, his skin turned pale blue, his hair grew long and turned white before Dhamon’s eyes. His human form melted, replaced in an eyeblink by his true self—a hulking ogre mage.

Dhamon gritted his teeth and pulled at the rocks that pinned his friend. He shouldn’t have been able to move the chunks of stone, he knew. They were too big, too heavy for one man to manage—but he was stronger than a normal man.

What’s happening to me? Dhamon thought as he picked up the largest stone and threw it aside. He worked his way behind Maldred and grabbed him beneath the armpits, dragging him from the room. Maldred’s limbs and mouth quivered. It was several minutes before he opened his eyes. “Dhamon?”

“Aye, I’m here.”

“They were—”

“Undead. Yes, I know. Without an enchanted blade I could do nothing against them.”

“My sword…”

“Probably isn’t enchanted any longer. It seems they robbed you of your magic. They were drinking it like a mob dying from thirst.”

“No. My magic.” Maldred propped himself up on his elbows. He closed his eyes and his brow wrinkled in concentration. “The spark. There has always been this spark inside of me, a fire that I called on to cast spells. It’s gone, Dhamon. I can’t even cast the simplest of enchantments. The one that lets me look human—that magic is gone.”

Dhamon had gone back inside the building and was moving the rocks that pinned Varek. He thought he’d find the young man dead or his ribs crushed, but Varek was breathing regularly, though unconscious. A deep gash across his forehead had been caused by a rock. Dhamon checked his eyes.

“You’ll live,” he said.

The heaviest of the rocks had fallen on Varek’s legs, and when Dhamon moved the last of the rubble aside, he grimaced.

“Maybe better that you had died,” he said. One of Varek’s legs was crushed. From the knee down it was a pulpy mass of blood and tissue. “Maybe I should let you bleed to death. Your spirit might thank me for it.”

For a moment Dhamon considered doing just that, then closed his eyes, let out a deep breath, and carried the unconscious Varek out into the cavern.

Maldred had managed to sit up. His hands were balled into fists, and he was pressing them against his chest.

“Gone,” he repeated. “All of it.” His expression changed from pity for himself to concern for Varek.

“By my father!”

“That leg has to go,” Dhamon said matter-of-factly. “Part of it anyway. If not he’ll bleed to death, or his body will become so badly infected he’ll die that way.”

Dhamon stepped away from the young man and walked to the nearest ship, tugging free a few dry pieces of railing.

“We’ll need a fire,” he explained as he worked, “so we can cauterize it when I’m done. I’ll use your sword, if you don’t mind.”

Maldred was pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll do my part. They took my magic, but not my strength. Where’s my sword?”

Dhamon nodded toward the building. “Now, Varek, if you’ll only stay asleep until this is all over it will go much… wonderful.”

Varek’s eyes fluttered opened, and his face twisted in pain. He started shaking, and Dhamon put his hands on the youth’s shoulders.

“You’re hurt,” Dhamon said.

“C-c-c-cold,” Varek stammered. “I feel so cold.” Beads of sweat dotted his face and arms, and he felt clammy to Dhamon’s touch.

“You’re in shock,” Dhamon told him. “You’ve lost a good bit of blood. We’ll take care of you, but you need to—”

Varek screamed. “Monster! Dhamon there’s a…”

Dhamon glanced over his shoulder to see Maldred coming out of the building, greatsword in hand. His clothes were in tatters, hanging on his giant frame.

“He’s not a monster, Varek,” Dhamon said. He positioned his face over Varek’s to help blot out the sight of Maldred’s ogre body. “It’s Maldred. We’ll tell you all about it later. Just close your eyes.”

Varek refused and, tossing his head from side to side, tried to rise. He screamed again, this time in excruciating pain. “My leg, I…”

Dhamon kept one hand on a shoulder, relying on his strength to hold Varek down. The other drifted to the knife in his belt, the pommel of which he thrust between Varek’s teeth to quiet him. “Now, Mal! Just above the knee.”

Maldred raised his greatsword above Varek. The young man’s eyes went wide with fear. He saw the blade descending and felt it sunder his limb. Varek’s teeth clamped down on the knife pommel, and darkness claimed him.

Dhamon thrust the Solamnic long sword in the fire, and when the steel was hot he applied it to the end of Varek’s leg.

“You’ve done this before,” Maldred stated.

A nod. “When I was with the Dark Knights.” Dhamon added, “Most of the men didn’t make it. They’d lost too much blood or had other injuries. I think Varek will live through it.”

“He’s young.” Maldred shook his head. “My loss of magic seems inconsequential next to that.”

“We’ll stay here until he comes to again and get him drunk on that wine we saw. Got to be enough alcohol left to put him in a haze. Then we’ll drag him out of here.”

“Riki…” Maldred sighed.

“She’ll handle this,” Dhamon said. “She’s tough. Now, let’s find something reasonably clean and make a bandage. After that, we’ll see what’s worth hauling out of here with him.”

“I’m going to bring something along I think Varek will need,” Maldred said. His hulking blue body disappeared into the gaping hole of a caravel’s hull.

* * * * *

Rikali screamed and jumped to her feet, waving her arm at the blue-skinned ogre who had barely managed to scrape his way through the crevice, dragging a big canvas bag behind him and holding a lantern high in one meaty hand.

Ragh was up in a second, claws flashing, trying to put the half-elf behind him.

“M-m-monster,” Rikali cried, hand flying to the dagger on her waist, pulling it free. She spun from behind the sivak and crouched, ready to meet the creature. Her eyes narrowed when she spotted Maldred’s greatsword strapped to the ogre-mage’s back.

Dhamon emerged from the crevice, tugging a still-unconscious Varek. Rikali screamed again at the sight of her battered husband.

It took the better part of an hour to calm her down and to explain what had happened to Varek and to Maldred and to tell her who and what Maldred was. All the while her fingers stroked Varek’s too-pale face.

“This is my fault,” she moaned, “I told you to follow them. It’s my fault. Oh, Varek, your leg.”

Dhamon didn’t say anything, knowing his words of sympathy would ring hollow. Without a word, the sivak shouldered the canvas bag, picked up one of the lanterns, and started down the corridor.

“Wait for me,” Maldred said, following the sivak.

“Monster,” Riki said, as she watched Maldred head down the corridor.

“Dhamon.” Tears streamed from the half-elf’s face. “Varek is…”

“Going to live at least,” he said.

“He’s maimed,” she sobbed, “and Maldred’s a… a monster. Should’ve never saved you from them thieves, Dhamon. I should’ve never talked Varek into coming after you and Mal. Should’ve let them women kill you.”

She brushed at the tears, streaking dirt across her face. “My husband’s maimed for life!”

“Riki, be grateful he’s alive.” Dhamon looked down the corridor, seeing the light from the sivak’s lantern fading. He picked up the remaining lantern and gestured for her to go first. “Be grateful you still have a husband for your baby.”

She seethed. “It’s my fault. I sent him after you and Mal. It’s my fault I made him fall in love with me, marry me.” She choked back a sob. “The baby’s not his, you know. Not that you or I will ever tell him the truth.”

Dhamon’s eyes were saucers.

“It’s yours, you fool. You left me pregnant and alone in Blöten, Dhamon Grimwulf.”

She slid by him and hurried down the corridor.

Dhamon stood stunned for several minutes before he slowly picked his way after her.

* * * * *

When Varek finally came to, Dhamon had to explain all over again about Maldred being an ogre mage. The young man took the news better than Riki had, perhaps because he was preoccupied with dealing with his leg.

“You’ll be able to walk on your own again,” Maldred said reassuringly. Fishing about in the canvas sack they’d brought back, he pulled out a mahogany peg-leg inlaid with bronze and silver. “There’s two more in the bag. You can take your pick.”

Varek groaned and lay back on Rikali’s lap.

The half-elf watched Maldred and the sivak gather up the treasure and place it beneath the hole. Dhamon hovered near them, though most of the time he watched Riki. She stared at him impassively and stroked Varek’s face.

“You climb up first, Dhamon,” Maldred suggested, “We’ll tie some of these bundles to the rope and you can pull them up. We’ll take these.” The ogre mage gestured at the choicest assortment.

“Between us, we can manage this. I’ll follow you. Ragh can bring Varek and—”

“Seal up the hole,” Dhamon said numbly.

“Yes, and we come back for the rest later. With a wagon.”

“My book?”

“It’s here.” Maldred pointed to a satchel.

“Not so fast,” Riki said, easing Varek’s head onto the floor. “I’m going first. Ragh’ll bring Varek, and then we’ll pull the treasure up. I’m not taking the chance you’ll leave us here.”

Dhamon didn’t argue. Instead, he picked her up and held her so she could grab the rope. A moment later she was out of view, tugging the rope after her and tying Dhamon’s sail to it. It was several minutes before it dropped back down.

“She wanted us to stew a bit,” Maldred said.

Dhamon nodded to the sivak. Varek had his arms locked around Ragh’s neck as the creature started up.

“Hope they’re not too heavy,” Maldred mused. “I wouldn’t want to be trapped down here.”

The bags of loot came next, save for the satchel containing Abraim’s magical book, which Dhamon strapped to his back.

“You first, my friend,” Maldred said.

Dhamon complied.

Yet when the ogre mage emerged from the hole a few minutes later, he was greeted by an unexpected sight.

Three dozen Legion of Steel Knights stood at attention. Another half-dozen had Dhamon and the sivak in custody, with thick ropes wrapped around them. A commander held Rikali’s wrists with one hand. The other hand held a dagger at her throat.

“Should we just kill the draconian?” one of the Knights called. The commander shook his head. “Commander Lawlor’s in Wheatland. He’ll want to question the creature first. It might have some valuable information about the dragons around here.” After a moment, he added, “Tie the ogre up, too. Lawlor can decide what to do with it.”

A dozen Knights came forward to handle this task.

“Put the lot of them on that wagon,” the commander growled.

There were two wagons. The other held the loot that Dhamon and the others had gathered.

“A fine treasure,” the Knight commander beamed.

“I’ll wager there’s a lot more treasure down in that hole.” The voice was smooth and feminine and came from a slim Ergothian, who stepped out from behind a line of Knights.

“Satin,” Dhamon said.

The dark-skinned woman was still wearing Dhamon’s tunic, and Wyrmsbane, his magical long sword, was scabbarded on her hip. She smiled slyly at him.

Three more familiar forms joined her: the other thieves who had stolen from them and nearly killed them in Blöde.

“Should be more than enough treasure to feed and house an army of your Knights, Commander,” said Satin. “For a long while.”

The commander nodded. “My thanks, lady, for telling us where to find these thieves. The reward for Dhamon Grimwulf is substantial.”

Satin chuckled. “I’ll just take this if you’ve no objection,” she said, fishing about in a small bag on the wagon and tugging free a handful of baubles, including the necklace made of black pearls and volcanic glass beads. “More than enough.” She waved to the other women. “C’mon girls. We can settle down with this.”

Rikali was unceremoniously shoved onto the wagon bench, a Knight pressing a dagger to her side to make sure Dhamon and Maldred, who were relegated to the back of the wagon, caused no trouble. Varek was stretched out between the two men.

The commander waved a sheet of parchment. It was a wanted poster, like the ones tacked on the wall in Graelor’s End.

“It’s about time someone caught you,” he said. “Well past time you paid for your crimes.”