Betrayal

Chapter Twenty-Two Twists and Turns

Dhamon stared down the corridor. It looked different somehow than when they’d followed it to the laboratory, not curved, but angular and narrower in places. The air smelled different, too. There was no trace of the wildflowers as there had been when the old woman was present. Instead, the air was heavy and damp.

Perhaps they’d exited through a different spot than they’d entered the laboratory. He turned to find the wall had closed shut behind him. Fingers working across the stone, neither he nor the sivak could locate a way to reopen the section.

“You should have made the sorceress wait until I woke up,” he told the sivak.

“She would not listen to me,” the sivak said sullenly.

Dhamon let out a deep sigh and started down the corridor. They passed torch after torch, each held by a different wall-sculpture: one an elephant, the torch serving as a trunk, another a baboon. There were several creatures to which they could not put names. They walked for several hundred yards without speaking a word. Dhamon briefly wondered if each sconce was linked to a secret door that led to chambers filled with Maab’s treasures or Sable’s minions. In another lifetime he might have wanted to explore, especially if Mal had been with him. Now all he wanted was to find a way out.

“Should’ve had Mal come in here with us,” he said to the sivak. They traveled, Dhamon suspected, half a mile, but did not come to any other corridor. Nor did they find a stairway that would take them back into Maab’s tower. Dhamon’s ire at the situation was growing, but he did his best to keep it in check—it wasn’t the sivak’s fault they were lost or that the old, mad woman had disappeared.

“Here,” the sivak stated several minutes later. He stopped in front of a sconce that looked like the head of a snub-nosed alligator. “I feel air coming from a crack here.”

Dhamon stared at the sculpture, then at the wall on either side of it. He spotted cracks around two of the bricks, flaws he wouldn’t have noticed before his senses became unnaturally acute. Concentrating, he felt the play of air across his skin. The scent was still oppressive but different. He picked up a faint odor of blood and of human waste. They’d not smelled this on their way down.

“We can’t still be under her tower,” Dhamon mused to himself.

“No,” the sivak answered. “We’ve traveled too far. In what direction?” He shrugged his wide shoulders.

“West, I think,” Dhamon said, stepping forward and pressing on the bricks, watching as a narrow section of wall slid away to reveal a corridor partially filled with stagnant water. “Let’s just get out of here.”

There were no torches in this corridor, though Dhamon suspected that at one time there had been. Elaborate sconces lined the wall, all bearing the visages of dwarves of various nationalities. He tugged the torch out of the alligator’s snout and curiously passed his hand near the flame. As he suspected, it did not give off heat. He brushed by the draconian and edged his foot forward. There were stairs beneath the water. He followed them until he found the corridor floor, the cool, foul water rising to his waist.

They moved quietly, traveling for a few hundred yards before the tunnel branched to the right and left. Dhamon looked over his shoulder. There was a word scrawled in black on the brickwork to the right. “Sorrows” it read. The “s” curved round to make an arrow.

“To the right then,” Dhamon said without hesitation. He could smell the cloying sweet odor of death in that direction, and he could smell nothing but the heavy dampness in the other. Dhamon followed this course only a short way before he climbed more submerged steps that took him into another winding corridor, this one relatively dry. Unfortunately, it dead-ended after another hundred yards.

“Wonderful,” he growled. “We’re a pair of rats in a maze.” He made a move to retrace his steps, then thought better of it. The smell of death hung heavy here, and it had to be coming from somewhere. He passed the torch to Ragh. There were more tiny cracks around two bricks, and he could hear faint hissing voices on the other side of the wall. It sounded like a pair of spawn in the middle of a heated discussion. He drew his sword and pressed on the bricks. The wall pivoted, and he stepped through, coming face to snout with a surprised spawn. Without hesitation, Dhamon drove his sword forward and was greeted with a splash of acid that burned at his clothes and skin. The other speaker, a slightly smaller spawn, retreated down the corridor.

“Oh no,” Dhamon warned. “You’re not going to get help or sound an alarm.” He sped behind it, feet slapping against the damp stone floor, then he thrust out the sword, skewering the spawn in the back where its wings joined. The creature cried out, turned and lunged, but Dhamon was faster, dropping beneath its outstretched claws and bringing the sword up to slice deep into its abdomen. The spawn shuddered and then dissolved in a burst of acid, just as Dhamon leaped back. The sivak edged into the next corridor behind Dhamon, holding the torch out. There were other torches here, guttering fat-soaked ones hanging from iron holders spaced evenly along the walls. These torches gave off scent and heat and illuminated a ghastly site. Dhamon had entered a hallway lined with cells that were crowded with both emaciated prisoners and rotting corpses.

“By the Dark Queen’s heads, where are we?” Dhamon breathed.

The sivak cautiously moved up. “Dungeons are found throughout Sable’s swamps. Some are Sable’s. Some belong to humans who believe they hold some measure of power here. Though horrid, these cells offer us good news—surely we will find stairs and a way to the surface now.”

Dhamon sheathed his sword and tested the bars of the closest cell, finding them too sturdy for even his considerable strength.

“You can’t think to free these people. Look at them.”

Indeed, Dhamon looked closer. None of those in the first several cells would live beyond the next few days. They’d been either starved nearly to death or beaten so severely that moving them would only hasten their demise. Despite that, he tried the bars one more time.

“You’re no hero,” the draconian told him. “Why are you bothering?”

I used to be, Dhamon thought. I used to be Goldmoon’s champion, and I used to care about things beyond myself. Aloud, he said. “What could they possibly have done to deserve this?”

The sivak offered no answer.

Dhamon hesitated for a moment, deciding whether to retreat back through the hidden passage and take the other fork, the one where he could smell nothing. A trace of a familiar voice stopped him. He hurried farther down the corridor, again drawing the sword.

“Dhamon? Dhamon Grimwulf?”

“Aye,” he said, standing in front of another cell and peering between the bars. “Why does • my life seem so intertwined with yours?”

Beyond were a dozen more prisoners and an equal number of dead. Among the prisoners were Rig and Fiona.

“Aye, Rig. It’s me.”

They looked beaten, and not just physically. There was no life left in their eyes. Fiona’s skin looked as pale as parchment. Rig had lost a considerable amount of weight, and his clothes hung on him.

“You’ve got a sivak…!”

“Time for answers later,” Dhamon said, as he passed the sword to the sivak. He braced himself, gripped the bars of the door, and pulled. Despite his strength, the bars did not budge. He tried to bend the most rusted bars, throwing all his effort into it, muscles bunching, jaw clenching. The veins on his neck and arms stood out like thick cords. When the bars did not yield to his first attempt, Dhamon strained harder. Finally he was rewarded with the groan of metal.

“Dhamon,” growled the sivak. “you are not a hero. Think of yourself.”

“Maybe I’ve been doing a little too much of that lately.”

“Listen,” Ragh continued. “Do you hear—”

“Aye, I can hear them. More spawn’re coming,” Dhamon returned.

“Or draconians,” the sivak said. “You’d best hurry. Free them quickly or let’s move on.”

Dhamon took a deep breath and forced the bars again. The effort caused motes of white to dance behind his closed eyes. The metal moved just enough. Prisoners slipped through into the corridor. Dhamon spun on the draconian and grabbed his sword, looking past the people and down both ways of the corridor.

“Hurry,” Dhamon urged them. “We’re going to have company very soon.”

Rig helped Fiona out. She was so weak he half-carried her.

“Thanks,” Rig muttered. “I never thought I’d be so glad to see you again. I thought we were going to die in there.”

“We still might die,” the sivak shot back. “Look.” He gestured with a claw down the corridor, then brushed by the mariner and Fiona to stand shoulder to shoulder with Dhamon.

“You might want to be a hero,” Ragh told Dhamon through clenched teeth. “All I want is the naga. I don’t want this.”

A particularly large spawn had spotted the entourage and was charging down the corridor, webbed feet slapping against the damp stone. Holding his sword like a lance, Dhamon rushed to meet the spawn. Carried forward by its momentum and stupidity, it was unable to stop in time and impaled itself. Dhamon backed up quickly, bumping into Fiona and Rig and avoiding the burst of acid.

“I didn’t think I ever wanted to see you again,” the Solamnic Knight said to Dhamon, “but somehow I knew you’d come here to help us.” She gave him a slight smile. There was the sound of a rainwater barrel crashing over and another burst of acid, signaling another dead spawn, courtesy of Ragh.

“Dhamon, how did you find us?” Rig asked. “How did you know we’d been captured?” The mariner’s overly large clothes were in tatters, torn by what were probably the claws of the spawn. His skin bubbled from acid scars. He had a deep gash on his forearm, and on his neck was a thick ropey scar that glistened pink in the torchlight. Fiona seemed wan and small without her plate mail. Her face was scarred on the left side. Both of them were breathing raggedly. “How’d you even know we were here?” the mariner persisted.

“I wasn’t looking for you,” Dhamon said finally. “I didn’t know you’d been captured. Frankly, I don’t care how you came here. I was here looking for… something.” He waved them along the corridor, eyes flitting down alcoves hoping to find stairs. They passed into a large open area. There were no torches here, though there were elaborate empty sconces.

“Rig, grab a torch from back in the hall, will you?”

The mariner was quick to comply and passed out a few more torches to the freed prisoners.

“Looking for what?”

A narrowed look told the mariner not to ask again.

“Trappers caught us,” Fiona said. “We saw their campfire after we’d left you and Maldred at the silver mine. It looked like they were only trapping animals.”

“The four-legged kind,” Rig interjected.

“We relaxed our guard, and they took us. They captured others on the way here. I think we’ve been down here for… I don’t know how long. Weeks. A month or more. We had no idea what they were going to do to us. If you hadn’t come along and…”

“They would have let you die, from the looks of it,” the draconian said, eyeing the pair of them and the other freed prisoners who were scrambling alongside them. “Or turned you into spawn when your wills were completely broken.”

Rig worked to keep up with Dhamon. “There are prisoners everywhere down here. You and I, we can free them and—”

“You and I,” Dhamon said tersely, “can get out of here with our skins intact. We can’t free the town, Rig. You’re loose only because I’d lost my way down here. Maldred’s somewhere in the city above. I’ve got to reach him, and then he and I will be leaving this place very far behind.”

The mariner’s eyes grew wide. “All these people, Dhamon.”

“I sympathize,” Dhamon said. “I feel for them. I’m not so entirely heartless that I’m not affected by this.” He sped up his pace, the others behind him hurrying to keep up. “But I won’t risk my life saving theirs.”

“The draconian,” Rig said after another hundred yards had passed. “What’s that about?”

“Revenge,” Dhamon replied. “Ragh is about revenge.”

They fell silent as they made their way down one corridor and up the next, sometimes passing cages that contained prisoners, and sometimes passing by cages that contained rotting corpses and skeletons that had been picked clean by rats. At one cell the bars were so rusted that Dhamon gave them a quick yank, and they broke, spilling forth a half-dozen men who could barely walk. They clung to each other and to the walls for support, mumbling their disbelieving thanks.

“What about the others?” one man demanded. “The other cells.”

“Fiona and I will be back for them,” Rig said. “When we’ve weapons and armor and Solamnic Knights.”

Dhamon passed by two other cells, the bars of which were more rust than iron. These, too, he tugged open, then continued on his way without a word.

The freed prisoners, nearly thirty now, were a diverse lot. Some were obviously knights—of Solamnia and the Legion of Steel by the ragged tabards they wore. Others, by their sun-weathered skin and calloused hands, looked like farmers or fishermen. They ranged in age from men barely out of boyhood to in their late fifties. The youngest and fittest said they had been told they were to be made into spawn soon. They stank of sweat and urine, and many had festering sores that were in need of attention. A couple of men, who looked so fit it was obvious they had not been held long, carried an injured comrade between them.

Equal numbers of men were left behind because they were dying or too injured to walk or because Dhamon made no effort to tug at the bars. Rig made it clear as he passed that he would do all in his power to come back for as many as he could.

The odors were intense, especially to Dhamon’s acute senses, and he fought to keep from retching.

“Move faster,” he said to no one in particular. “Move or be left behind to rot here.”

They reached a corridor that dead-ended, and Rig was about to motion the entourage to turn around when Dhamon stopped him.

“There’s an air current here.”

Dhamon felt the bricks. He pressed two of them, and the wall swung open. He and Ragh quickly slipped into the corridor beyond, the others following.

“We’re going to have company again,” Dhamon told the sivak. His sharp hearing told him so. Up ahead were the faint sibilant hisses of spawn. There were only two, and in a few moments they were puddles of acid on the floor.

The next tunnel they took was dry and musty. The ceiling was filled with spider webs that were brushed aside by the sivak’s head. They followed it for the better part of an hour as it wove and doubled back. They passed countless magical torches set in sculpted sconces.

“I can’t be sure of the direction any longer,” Dhamon told the sivak, “but it feels as if we’re traveling north. And…” There was a hint of fresh air reaching Dhamon. It was coming from a crevice in the wall. He quickly squeezed through, motioning the others to follow. Several minutes later, they entered a moss-lined cave. The few torches the men carried didn’t shed enough light to reach to all the walls, but the light one man held showed another crevice, this one wider and filled with steps going up. Without a word, Dhamon led them, listening closely, hoping to hear what might lie ahead and instead picking up only the slapping of feet against the steps behind him.

Dhamon found a lone spawn at the top. He rushed forward, swinging before it could react. Two quick blows finished it, acid spraying into a cell full of corpses. Now they entered another corridor, this one easily twenty feet across. More cells opened off it, though all but the one filled with corpses were empty.

“Move.”

Dhamon headed past the cells and through a door he spotted at the end, rushing up another flight of the steps, pausing only long enough to make sure the others were following. He came to another dead end, but the cracks in the bricks were easy to spot, now that he knew what to look for. He listened before pressing them, hearing nothing beyond. The wall swivelled open onto another twisting passage, one barely three feet wide. He rushed through, calling for the others to keep up. They continued to travel the tunnels for nearly an hour before they found themselves in a corridor covered with small glossy black scales—just like the trees had been in the spawn’s village. Dhamon reached a hand up to touch them. They felt sleek, as if they belonged to something alive.

“In the name of the Maelstrom,” Rig whispered.

Dhamon increased his pace. The tunnel rose and doubled back, dipped sharply, then rose again.

“Stairs,” he said, letting out a breath of relief. These were wooden and stretched up to reveal the night sky. “We’re out.”

The freed prisoners gained energy with his words, and within minutes they were all up the stairs and standing in the ruins of what might have been a temple in decades past. Stars winked down.

“Ragh, just where in this damned city are we?”

The sivak poked his head out from behind a crumbling column to get his bearings. “Not far from the market. I suspect we’ve been going in circles.”

“So tired,” Fiona whispered to Rig. “My legs.” She was leaning against him, hair plastered from sweat against the sides of her face.

Dhamon stepped out onto the street. The city looked different at night, when the darkness hid much of its ugliness. He saw no one out and guessed by the position of the stars it was well past midnight. Dawn was only a few hours away. He crossed the road and started down a wood sidewalk, stopping when he spotted something familiar—the dwarven merchant’s. The marketplace was only a few blocks away, and near it the inn where he could find Maldred.

He hurried back to the sivak and the others, and, rubbing his hands on his pants, he addressed the freed prisoners.

“I can’t tell you what to do,” he began. “We’re near the center of town. I suggest all of you leave, climb the rise, and keep going until you run out of swamp.”

“I know the safest way out.” This from a grizzled, middle-aged man. “I was a guard here, before I fell out of favor. To the east is a path no one watches.”

Dhamon nodded.

“Take it, them, and everyone else with you. Rig, Fiona, you go, too. You’re not in any condition to follow me. I’ve Maldred to find, and then I’m leaving, too.”

“Even if saving us was an accident, I’m grateful for it.” The mariner extended his hand, and Dhamon shook it.

Dhamon moved away, the sivak on his heels, running where the shadows were thickest, heading toward the ramshackle inn past the marketplace. The freed prisoners mirrored their course, though not moving as quickly and taking the other side of the street. Dhamon watched the grizzled man lead them.

Just as the marketplace came into view, Dhamon saw the man lead them down a side street to the east. Overhead Dhamon heard the flap of wings, and glanced up to see a spawn flying overhead. Against the stars he saw other shapes, spawn or draconians patrolling the city.

“The inn,” Ragh announced, stopping at the end of the sidewalk and pointing beyond the market’s collection of cages. A few lights burned in the lowest windows. There were a few lights elsewhere, too, but not near the number Dhamon expected for a town of this size. He started toward the inn but stopped at the line of cages. The hair prickled on the back of his neck.

“Something’s not right,” Dhamon whispered.

“In this town,” the sivak whispered back, “nothing is right.”

“No. There’s more to it than that.” Dhamon scanned the cages. A few of the creatures were sleeping, curled tightly in their close confines. Some were awake. The gold-flecked eyes of the huge owl were wide and watchful. The manticores were awake, too, the larger looking Dhamon’s way. Two spawn patrolled the market—on this side. Dhamon suspected there were more.

“Something. Maybe something is watching us, maybe…”

His words trailed off when he heard a high-pitched wail. It was coming from the direction the freed prisoners had gone.

A glance skyward. The spawn and draconians were out of sight. He still heard the flap of wings, however, and the sound of pounding feet and desperate shouts.

“The men you freed have been discovered,” the sivak said. “We had best hide or we will be hunted, too.”

Dhamon didn’t budge, still watching the side-street the slaves had slipped down. He caught a glimpse of a skinny, barely dressed man, one of the last he’d released from the cells. Rig and Fiona were just in front of him, the mariner shouting for everyone to stay together. Fiona called to them to look about for anything they could use as weapons. Though there was only little light from the stars and from a few windows, Dhamon could see the panic on Fiona’s face.

“We have to hide,” the sivak said louder. He gave Dhamon a poke with a claw for emphasis. Behind and above the freed men were a dozen spawn and sivak draconians.

“They’ll be butchered,” Dhamon breathed.

“Yes, and we will too, if we don’t—”

Dhamon unsheathed his sword. Rather than running toward Rig and Fiona, he hurried to the marketplace cages, meeting the charge of the two spawn guards he’d seen. The sivak followed several paces behind him, demanding he come to his senses.

“You’re no good to me dead!” Ragh snapped. “You can’t help me against Nura Bint-Drax if they catch you.”

Dhamon threw his strength behind a sideways sweep of his blade, practically cutting the first spawn in half. He continued on to the second target as the first dissolved in a burst of acid. Two swings this time before the spawn went down, neither creature quick enough to land a blow against Dhamon. He rushed to the pens, raising the sword high over his head and bringing it down on the chain that held the nearest door closed. The metal link parted from the blow, and Dhamon sheathed the sword, fingers fumbling to tug the chain free, then arms bunching to tug open the massive door. A second later, an angry six-legged lizard the size of an elephant trundled out. It was followed by other grotesqueries that Dhamon freed, using his strength to pull at the cage doors now, rather than risk breaking his only weapon.

“What are you doing?” the sivak cried. “Have you gone mad?”

“Guards!” someone shouted. “The menagerie is getting loose! Guards!”

Overhead the flurry of wings increased. From all directions came shouted orders—the voices of spawn and of men who’d thrown their lot in with the dragon and her allies. From well beyond the marketplace came the pounding of feet—other guards Dhamon suspected.

“What are you doing, Dhamon?”

“I’m providing a distraction, Ragh, giving the spawn something to worry about other than a few dozen escaped prisoners. Maybe some of them, maybe Rig and Fiona, can get free of this Abyss.”

The sivak fell to helping Dhamon with the cages, muttering all the while this would be the death of them.

“Keep this up,” Dhamon told him. “You’re strong, pull the bars open. I’m going to find Mal, then we’re going to get out of here.”

“Nura…” the spawn croaked.

“Nura Bint-Drax isn’t my worry, but you’re welcome to stay until she shows up. I’m not going to help you with her, Ragh.”

Dhamon rushed toward the inn, barreling his way through the door. He woke the proprietor, who’d been sleeping in a straight-backed wooden chair behind a stained and pitted desk.

“Maldred. A big man named Maldred got a room here this afternoon.” Dhamon paused to catch his breath.

The proprietor stared at him, eyeing him up and down.

Dhamon’s clothes and hair were slick against him from sweat, and he was riddled with acid burns. He stank of the corridors below, and his features were streaked with dirt.

“A man named Maldred,” Dhamon repeated with urgency. “A big man. What room?”

The innkeeper shook his head. “No one with that name. No one who looks like that is here.”

“Earlier today,” Dhamon’s words came faster, and he glanced toward the street. The sounds of chaos were growing louder.

The innkeeper heard the ruckus, too, and pushed himself to stand, craning his neck and looking out the open door. “I’d know if a man like that had checked in. Been here all day. I’m always here all day.”

He lumbered away from the desk and to the door so he could get a better look. Dhamon ran to the stairway and shouted. “Mal!” he roared, loud enough to rouse the people on the floor above. “Maldred!”

There was no response.

With a growl, he hurried by the innkeeper back out to the street. Madness greeted him. Spawn and draconians were on the ground, trying to contain both the creatures escaping from the pens and the prisoners, whom the spawn had inadvertently herded to the marketplace. Rig and Fiona were using slats of woods for weapons, trying to defend the weakest of the weaponless men. He didn’t see Ragh, though that didn’t surprise him. He suspected the wingless draconian slipped away and would hide until he found Nura Bint-Drax.

Dhamon raced toward the menagerie cages. A few were still closed. These contained the beast that looked like a horrid cross between an eagle and a bear. Another held the massive manticores. The latter creatures were alternately watching him and watching the battle. Dhamon raised his sword as he neared the cage, brought the blade down hard on the chain, and prayed the sword wouldn’t break.

“I’ll free you!” he shouted, “and you can fly away from this hell. But you’ll fly me with you, understand? And as many men there as you can carry.”

“Please,” the larger repeated, “free.”

“You’ll take us out of here with you?”

The creatures nodded. Three more blows before a link was severed. A heartbeat later and he had the chain off, opening the cage door and motioning the creatures out. They spread their wings and beat them, a keening sound grew louder, almost painful. The spawn covered their ears, quickly followed by the freed men. Dhamon clamped his teeth together. The noise was agonizing.

Free from the confines of their cages, the manticores joined in the fray. Leaning forward on their front paws, they launched a volley of spikes from their long tails. The barbs found their marks in more than one draconian target.

“Rig!” Dhamon shouted when he again spotted his old comrade. He waved wildly to get the mariner’s attention. “Grab Fiona! Now! We’re leaving!”

He glanced about, hoping to spot Maldred. He could not see through the press of bodies and creatures, and he could not hear over the keening sound of the manticore’s wings.

“Can’t see.”

But from a higher vantage point he might.

In a heartbeat he was at the larger manticore’s side, grabbing onto its hide and pulling himself up. Careful not to skewer himself on the spikes that ran along its back, he stood on the creature’s shoulderblades and looked out over the jumble of creatures and men. Nearly half of the men Dhamon had freed were dead to the spawn and draconians. Rig and Fiona were fighting their way toward the manticores, bringing some of the survivors with them. A pair of bozak draconians wrestled with the six-legged lizard, which had its tongue snaked like a lasso about the waist of a spawn. Lights were being lit in windows, and Dhamon saw shapes appear in them, none of them broad-shouldered enough to be Maldred.

“Had he been captured? Killed looking for Nura Bint-Drax?” Dhamon spoke the question aloud, though he hadn’t meant to.

“Probably he has,” said a spawn that was climbing onto the back of the other manticore. From his voice, Dhamon recognized him as Ragh. The sivak had obviously killed a black spawn and assumed its shape.

“A hand, Dhamon.” Dhamon barely heard the words amid the cacophony. It was Rig, passing up an emaciated young man. Dhamon grabbed the man’s wrists and pulled him up, settled him between two of the manticore’s back spikes, and told him to hang on.

“You’re next!” Dhamon yelled to Rig. “More guards are coming—human and otherwise. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Fiona first!” Rig grabbed her about the waist, and she dropped the bloodied plank she’d been wielding. “Take her!”

Dhamon leaned over and scooped her up beneath her arms. She was so light, and her skin was clammy. He settled her right behind him, then motioned Rig to the other manticore. “That’s Ragh,” he called, “the sivak.”

The mariner shook his head but ushered two more men in front of him to the other manticore. He was helping the first up, Ragh assisting, when the second wave of Sable’s minions arrived. These were a mix of spawn and men, the latter wielding swords and spears and hurling daggers at anything that looked like it was trying to escape—the freed men and the bizarre creatures particularly.

“Hurry!” Dhamon shouted. He settled himself in front of Fiona, between a pair of spikes, and grabbed two handfuls of manticore hide. “Rig, move! Maldred! Maallllldred!”

The mariner boosted another man up onto the other manticore, which was beating its wings faster now. Rig was nearly knocked off his feet by the force of the wind. He grabbed the manticore and climbed. He had nearly reached the top of the beast’s back when a spear found him. Through the din, Dhamon heard the mariner cry out. He saw a second spear plunge into Rig’s back, saw the mariner fall like a broken doll, blood trickling from his mouth, his neck twisted from the fall.

“Rig!”

Fiona looked on in disbelief. “Dhamon?”

“Rig!” Dhamon shouted again, but the mariner didn’t move. Dhamon knew he would not move again. He swallowed hard and dug his knees into the manticore’s back.

“Fly!” he shouted. “Get us out of here!”

The beasts were quick to comply, each carrying three riders. Fiona tried to scramble off, however, reaching futilely toward Rig. Dhamon had to twist about to grab her and keep her in place.

“Rig,” she said, her face ashen, eyes filled with tears. “Rig’s down there. I’ve got to go to Rig.”

Dhamon managed to pull her in front of him, holding her tight even as she tried to fight him.

“I’ve got to go to him,” she sobbed. “I love him Dhamon. I have to tell him that I love him.”

She buried her head in Dhamon’s chest as the manticore rose higher. “We’re to be married.”

“He’s gone, Fiona.” Dhamon found his own eyes filling with tears. “Rig’s gone.” He peered one last time over the manticore’s side, catching a last glimpse at the mariner’s body. He saw spawn swarming around the remaining men, and he saw the bizarre creatures of the menagerie being shoved back into their cages. The curious residents were coming out onto the street now that things seemed a little safer.

Dhamon did not see a young girl standing behind a spire on a nearby roof. She was no more than five or six, with copper-colored hair that fluttered about her shoulders in the breeze. Nor did Dhamon see another familiar figure, this one stepping from a night-dark doorway only a few dozen yards away from where the fight had broke out. Maldred had watched the scene from the beginning—Dhamon bringing freed men to the surface, helping them by unleashing chaos in the marketplace as a distraction, tugging the Solamnic Knight up onto the back of the manticore. Rig dying. Dhamon now flying away.

He’d watched everything and kept his distance. Done nothing.

He balled his fists, turned back to the doorway, and entered the night-dark room beyond. Above, a dozen spawn tried to follow the manticores, but the great creatures were too fast and quickly left the swamp-held town behind. Dhamon hugged Fiona with his right arm, and with his left he leaned forward and managed to grab a handful of mane. He tugged on it to get the manticore’s attention.

“We need to land,” he said, practically shouting. “I need to see to these men here.” He did his best to find a clearing that was far enough from the town to suit him.