Chapter Six Family

The three thieves stared at the half-elf. “You heard me. I want in on your little thievin’ gang,” Rikali continued, eyes darting between Elsbeth and Satin and the one who finally had stopped struggling with Maldred’s sword. She dropped it with a loud clang and reached for the long knife on her belt.

“Pigs, but there’s no reason to be unfriendly. I just wanna cut a deal with you ladies.” The last word was drawn out and spat on the floor. “As I see it, you’ve got a great scam runnin’ here. Men come up here lookin’ for a good time, and maybe you give them just what they’re lookin’ for. Then you rob them blind, kill them. I bribed the innkeep downstairs, an’ he said you rented all the rooms up here today, so there’d be no one comin’ by to disturb you. No one to interfere. No one ’cept me, that is.”

Satin glanced over her shoulder, noting Maldred was still unconscious from the drugged ale.

“Listen, elf…”

“Half-elf.” Rikali tossed her hair so they could see the gentle points of her ears.

“Whatever. I don’t know where you came from, woman, but….”

“I came from Blöten. A truly wonderful city.” The sarcasm was thick in her voice. “Dhamon Grimwulf left me stranded there. Said he’d be comin’ back for me.” She paused, huffing and glaring at Dhamon. “Should’ve known he wouldn’t.”

Dhamon tried to budge his ropes, but his arms weren’t working right. All his fingers seemed able to do was twitch feebly. He couldn’t see Rikali, but he could scarcely believe she was talking about joining these women. Did he hear her say to go ahead and kill him and Mal? He opened his mouth to call to her. Only drool came out.

“I saw him in Blöten better’n a week ago, maybe two, him and Mal. They were walkin’ down the main street as big as you please with a column of grubby-lookin’ ogres behind them. Right to Donnag’s palace they went. Then right back out of the city. Didn’t bother to look around for me—and here I was runnin’ down a side street tryin’ to catch up to them.”

Satin smiled. “So you followed them here,” she said.

“Pigs, but I did! But only ’ cause I figure they owe me. Owe me big! And only so I could collect and give them a big piece of my mind. Straight to the Abyss with the both of them!” Rikali spat again, this time in Dhamon’s direction. “So I’d even kill them for you—if you don’t want to get your hands dirty and you’ll let me in your little gang. For a fair share, of course. I figure whatever coin they got, some of it should be mine anyway. Like I said, they owe me.”

“Sorry,” Elsbeth shook her head. “We’re a close-knit family, elf.”

“Half-elf,” Rikali corrected again.

“We don’t need six in our family. The shares are too small as it is.”

The half-elf quickly counted. “I only see three of you.”

Elsbeth chuckled. “Cat and Keesha left a few minutes ago—with the ‘coin’ you’re so interested in.”

“I want what’s due me!” Rikali raised her voice and tightened her grip on the daggers. “I’ve not come all this way for nothin’!”

“All right, I’ll give you what’s due you,” Elsbeth said. “I’ll give you this!” She darted forward, swinging her long knife as she came, then stopped with a shriek as her bare feet made contact with the mirror shards.

The half-elf had no such problem and advanced toward Elsbeth, boots crunching on the glass, daggers jabbing. Behind her a young man suddenly appeared in the doorway. He’d been waiting in the hall. Decked out in dyed green leather, he swung an oaken quarterstaff. Satin stepped up to meet him.

“Pigs!” the half-elf shouted at Elsbeth. “Women’re supposed to be smarter than men, and here you are walkin’ on broken glass! Dumb and fat, you are. I guess Dhamon lost his taste in women when he lost me.”

When Elsbeth spun away, the half-elf slashed with her left dagger, the blade sinking into the surprised thief’s side.

“Satin!” Elsbeth cried. “I’m hit! Bleeding! Help me!”

“Help yourself!” the Ergothian called back. “I’ve got my own worries.” Agile as a dancer, she had ducked beneath the swing of the young man’s quarterstaff. “So you’re fast, pup,” she muttered, “but not as fast as me.” She thrust her knife forward. He jumped back. In the same motion, he brought his staff down, knocking her knife away. “Damn!” she cursed, as she dropped to the floor and rolled toward Maldred’s bed, arm reaching to find the knife.

The third woman had managed to pick up Maldred’s greatsword again and was holding it out in front of her like a lance, keeping the young man at a distance.

“You got no right to intrude,” she hissed at him. “No right!”

Satin groped about under the bed, trying to find the knife. “Can’t reach!” She gave up and jumped to her feet and in three strides was at the window, then climbing out of it. “Elsbeth! Leave them!

Gertie! Lose the big sword and run! We’ve got more riches than we expected! Let’s get out!” she shouted. “Elsbeth!” She dropped out of sight.

“Satin? Satin! No!” Elsbeth looked worried now, as she continued to spar with Rikali.

“Two on two,” the half-elf sneered. “Varek and I are the better two, for certain, so you and your friend Gertie over there better drop your weapons and give up while you’ve still got the chance.”

Elsbeth vehemently shook her head, taking a step back toward the window. “The odds are in our favor, half-elf,” she corrected.

“Think again. Don’t say I didn’t hand you a chance to save your wrinkled neck.” The half-elf darted in.

“I’ll slice through your neck!” Elsbeth returned. The older woman dropped to a crouch, effortlessly parrying Riki’s blades, forcing the half-elf back a few steps. While Riki kept her eyes on the long knife Elsbeth was holding, Elsbeth reached up to her hair and tugged free a wicked-looking hairpin. She held this hidden in her hand until Riki stepped close, then extended her arm, as if to ward off a blow, instead stabbing with the hairpin. The long needle sank into the half-elf’s forearm.

“Pigs!” Riki shouted, glancing down at her arm and the needle in it, blossoming with blood.

“Damn, woman, that hurts. And my dress. This is a new dress! New! Now the sleeve’s gonna be stained for good!” She swung her twin daggers wildly, the tips catching Elsbeth’s clothes and snagging them but unable to catch the flesh beneath.

“Riki…” Dhamon had managed to regain his voice, though the word came out almost unintelligibly. The half-elf glanced over at the bed, saw Dhamon staring at her with a glazed look. She rolled her upper lip back in a snarl, though the expression was lost on him. The distraction cost her. Elsbeth stepped in once more, this time lowering her head, charging forward and smashing her head against Riki’s face and momentarily stunning the half-elf. At the same time, the thief drove her knife forward, the blade slicing into Rikali’s skirt and grazing her hip.

“Pigs, again! My dress!” Riki cried. “You foul woman! You’re a dead woman now, you hear? Dead!

Dead! Dead!”

Dhamon shook his head, still trying to shed the effects of the drugged ale. Pain danced behind his eyes. “Riki.” He blinked, discovering his vision still blurred, but he could make out a few shapes and colors. He could still smell Elsbeth’s Passion of Palanthas. “Riki.” The word was stronger. Concentrating, he bunched the muscles in his arms and pulled on the ropes. The hemp dug painfully into his wrists. He worked at it as Rikali and Elsbeth continued their fight. The ropes were slick with his blood. He knew that the half-elf was good with her blades, and for a moment he wondered if he should wait until she won and cut him loose. He vaguely remembered her saying something about letting the women kill him and Maldred and decided waiting wasn’t a prudent idea.

He pulled harder and found some sensation returning to his legs. He tried to draw his knees up to stretch the ropes tied to his ankles. The bedposts groaned in protest, and he felt the wood, rather than the ropes, start to give.

Across the room, the wench named Gertie was effortlessly wielding Maldred’s great-sword. She edged forward with it, while ducking under the swing of the young man’s staff. She forced him back, until he was cornered against the wall.

“Who are you?” she hissed. “Who are you to interfere in our business? You’ve no right, you insolent pup!” She ran at him then, thrusting the sword forward. Her target moved, but not fast enough. The tip of the greatsword managed to slice his side, cut deep into his tunic, and plunge through to the plaster wall, pinning him like a bug.

“You’re strong!” the young man blurted. “Stronger than you should be!” He glanced at the blade. It was so far into the wall it must be protruding well out into the hallway on the other side.

“Strong?” She released the sword’s pommel, grinning malevolently at his predicament. “You haven’t seen strong.”

She danced back and forth in front of him, easily avoiding the blows from his staff and watching him amusedly while he struggled to pull free. He couldn’t afford to drop the staff and use both hands to tug out the greatsword, and his leather tunic refused to rip.

“Your clothes are well-made, boy,” Gertie taunted. “You’ll look good, buried in them.” She skittered over to Dhamon’s bed, reached for her knife, and raised it above his throat. “Before you die, boy, you can watch your fellows go first. You and the half-elf can watch.”

“No!” The word sprang from Maldred’s lips. The big man’s eyes were open. He was struggling to shake off the drugged ale and had managed to turn his head toward Dhamon. He balled his fists and tugged on the ropes, but his efforts were too feeble. “Leave him be!”

“Yeah, Gertie, leave him be!” Elsbeth shouted as she slashed again at Rikali. “That one’s mine to kill!”

“Sorry,” Gertie replied with a smile. “He’s mine now.”

“No! Please!” This from Riki, who managed to slip away from the distracted Elsbeth and darted like a flash toward Dhamon. The half-elf swung her knife, cracking Gertie’s blade on the pommel and sending it away just as the tip had reached Dhamon’s throat. The blade drew only a thin line of blood before clanging to the floor a few feet away.

“You’ll not kill Dhamon!” Rikali spat. The half-elf swung again in a wide arc, and Gertie scampered back, laughing.

“Thought you said he owed you, half-elf,” Gertie tittered as she glanced about for an unbroken weapon in easy reach. “Thought you said he owed you, that you didn’t care if he was dead.”

“He owes me, all right!” the half-elf sneered. She returned her attention to Elsbeth, narrowly dodging a swipe of the big woman’s blade. “He’s gonna owe me more for savin’ his damn life!”

“Stay put!” Elsbeth cursed at the half-elf. She stomped her foot in anger, the heel cracking the wood of the floor. “You just stay put so I can kill you and be done with this! I’ve let this tussle go on too long!”

Riki dropped her gaze to the broken floor panel, then raised her eyes to meet Elsbeth’s. The thief’s eyes glimmered darkly like night, the pupils no longer blue. “What are you?” the half-elf breathed.

“Your death,” Elsbeth stated. She stabbed forward just as Riki jumped back. Gertie had moved to the end of Maldred’s bed, one hand on the bedpost. In a heartbeat she’d pulled the post off the bed. A corner of the bed fell to the floor, and the still-drowsy Maldred groaned. The thief wielded the post like a club, advancing on the young man still pinned to the wall. “Elsbeth thinks we need to end this, pup. I suppose she’s right.”

“Who are you?” Rikali shouted again. “The two of you ain’t no—”

Her words were cut off with a loud crash. Maldred had finally shaken off enough of the effects of the drug and had pulled so hard at his bonds that he’d managed to shatter the rest of the bed. The big man fumbled to escape the ropes.

Gertie glanced over her shoulder and scowled. “Elsbeth! Let’s be done with the game and be after Satin!” She hauled back on her makeshift club, dropped beneath the swing of the pinned man’s staff and hit him soundly in the chest. The bedpost was old and cracked from the blow, and she cursed and discarded it.

“Beating the life out of you is going to take too long,” Gertie sneered. She raised her empty hands. As the youth brought his staff down again, she caught it, the wood smacking hard against her open palms. “Blessed!” she shouted in surprise, as her fingers folded tightly around the wood. “That stung! You’re a strapping pup!”

They struggled with the staff for a moment. She pulled him free of the wall, his tunic ripping. He fell on top of her, the staff still between them. They continued to wrestle over it for a moment, then she rolled, pinning him.

“Stop struggling, pup! I’ll kill you quick! I swear! You’re human and not worth selling.”

“You shouldn’t be so strong,” the young man gasped.

Nearby, Maldred had managed to free his wrists and ankles of the ropes and was struggling to sit on the broken bed. “This… is… not… right… at…all,” the big man said. “Something is not right about them.” He tried to get up, but his legs were too heavy and refused to move. It was all he could do to lift his arms.

“Somethin’s not right?” the half-elf parroted from across the room. “Whatever gave you that idea, Mal? They drive swords through plaster walls, rip posts off beds. They’re as strong as bulls!

Somethin’s not right, indeed! Mal, I ought to—ow!”

Elsbeth had managed to cut the half-elf again, and Rikali was forced to put all her effort now into parrying Elsbeth’s blows.

“Dhamon! Dhamon!” Maldred called across the room to his friend. “Move!”

Dhamon pawed awkwardly at his ropes, all the while watching the fight between Rikali and Elsbeth. The older woman had the half-elf against the wall and drove her fist forward. Rikali moved her head just in time, and Elsbeth’s fist instead struck the thick plaster wall, knocking a hole in it. The half-elf’s mouth dropped open, and she stared in shock as the woman easily pulled her arm free and blew at the plaster dust coating her knuckles.

“I… I… I don’t know what you are,” Rikali stammered, “but you ain’t no common thief.”

“Not common for certain,” Elsbeth retorted as her knife cut through a sleeve and deep into the halfelf’s upper arm. “Maybe Gertie’s right. Maybe I should stop playing with you and end this farce!

But I don’t want to hurt you too badly. You’re not human and could be worth good coin.”

“Pigs! Pigs on you!” Rikali’s arm was numb, and she cursed again when her dagger slipped from her fingers. Her dress sleeve was dark with blood. “You cut me good that time, you lousy… lousy… whatever you are!” The half-elf darted left, then spun forward and right. The move took Elsbeth by surprise, and she retreated.

Rikali raced to the end of Dhamon’s bed, turned, and brought her remaining dagger down hard on the rope that bound one of Dhamon’s ankles. Two more quick moves and she’d cut it enough for him to break free. She hurried to the far side of the bed and hacked at the rope binding the other ankle. Broken glass from the mirror covered the floor here, but Elsbeth was no longer slow to follow.

The big woman charged across the room, crying out as the glass cut into the bottoms of her feet. The half-elf barely turned to meet her in time, bringing up the dagger to block Elsbeth’s knife. Elsbeth stepped closer and jabbed at her, swung her around and forced her toward the window. Dhamon broke away from the bed, smashing the headboard. It took him three attempts to sit up. The room was spinning, but he was able to get a good look at the half-elf now. He noticed how different she looked. She used to wear overly tight clothes. Now she wore an ample dress that fell to her ankles. Her face used to be painted—lips, eyes, cheeks, eyelashes thick with kohl—all of it in sharp contrast to her pale skin. Now she wasn’t wearing any makeup, and her face had a softness, almost a fragility to it, like a ceramic doll. Her hair was the same, a mass of silvery-white curls that fanned away, but there was less of it, falling only to her shoulders.

“C’mon,” he told himself. “Get up.” His feet were suddenly on the floor, and he was standing. The dark blurs came into focus. He could make out the window and a glow, tiny, which he recognized as a candle. Lantern light spilled through the open door.

Dhamon heard a woman gasp. Rikali?

“I could use some help here, Dhamon, Mal!” came the reply. “I didn’t know women could fight so well!”

Neither did I, Dhamon thought. Though his head was still muddled, he saw that Elsbeth was still fighting Rikali. Gertie was struggling on the floor with the young man. Maldred had made it to his knees and was twirling his fingers in the air. Casting a spell, Dhamon knew. Dhamon reached behind him, to the broken bedpost where he’d hung Wyrmsbane, finding nothing. A part of him remembered that the Ergothian named Satin had taken the sword, and that she was no longer here. He swore softly as he tugged free a board of wood to use as a weapon. Dhamon shuffled forward and raised his makeshift club, bringing it down with as much strength as he could summon and soundly clipping Elsbeth’s shoulder. Unfazed, the whore continued to press the half-elf toward the window.

“Help Varek!” Riki shouted. “That bitch is gonna kill Varek! Dhamon!”

“Varek?” Dhamon glanced down at the floor. Gertie had her hands around the young man’s throat. His face was red, and his eyes were bulging wide. Dhamon swayed back and forth on his feet as he took a step toward the pair. He raised the makeshift club and watched the room spin around him. Several feet away Maldred continued his spell. In his half-drugged state, the enchantment came slowly for him, but he refused to give up. He concentrated on his fingers, which were becoming warmer—comfortably warmer at first, then almost painfully so.

“I don’t want to hurt you, woman,” Maldred said, trying to get Gertie’s attention, “but I can’t let you just kill that young man.”

She ignored him.

“I’m warning you…” Maldred continued, aiming his fingers at the woman. She dug her nails harder into the young man’s throat.

“That’s it.” Maldred released his enchantment. Streaks of fire flashed toward her, striking her in the chest and stomach.

She didn’t react, so he sent another fiery volley. This got her attention, and she released her grip, stumbled to her feet, starting toward Maldred. Her scant clothes were smoking, the skin beneath charred from the magical assault.

“I’d give up if I were you,” Maldred said. The young man she’d been throttling gasped for air and rubbed his throat. “Stay where you are. Woman, don’t you listen?”

He shook his head and spread his hands wide, mouthing a string of words in Ogrish. A sheet of flame shot from his hands. It struck the thief at waist level, and in an instant she was engulfed, writhing and screaming in a deep, harsh voice that sent chill waves down Maldred’s back. Maldred forced himself to his feet just in time, as she fell forward onto his broken bed, still writhing, the fire spreading to the sheets. In a few steps Maldred was at Varek’s side, extending a hand and helping him up. At the same time, he steadied Dhamon.

“Room’s burning,” Maldred said.

“Aye, we better get out of here,” Dhamon’s words were still slurred, his tongue thick, but his head was a little clearer, and when he shook it, he was happy to note the room was now stable.

“Riki?” The word cracked from the young man’s mouth. “Where’s Riki?”

Dhamon and Maldred glanced about. There was no sign of the half-elf. Elsbeth was gone as well.

“Must’ve already cleared out,” Dhamon said. “She knows when to run.”

Maldred shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He pointed to the window, where the curtains fluttered, their edges tinged with blood. There was more blood on the sill. “I saw them near the window.”

Oblivious to the spreading flames, the big man snatched up his trousers and struggled into them as he stumbled toward the window and stuck his head out.

“Nothing,” he said after a moment. “No sign of them.”

“The wenches had this well planned,” Dhamon said. “They drugged us, robbed us, and were going to kill us.”

“Riki saved you.” This came from the young man. “You two’d be dead if she hadn’t come here. We must find her.”

Dhamon glanced at the stranger but didn’t reply. He had the looks of a woodsman, dressed in a green leather tunic and thigh-high boots, with leggings that were a darker shade of green. His hair was thin and blond, falling straight to his jawline, and his eyes were an odd color, a gray the shade of ashes.

“Gotta get out of here,” Maldred said, pushing himself away from the window, nudging Dhamon and the woodsman toward the door. The fire had spread to the remains of the bed frames and had started to lap up the wall. “Gotta get out now. Then we’ll worry about Riki.” He grabbed his boots and tunic in one hand, then with the other tugged until his sword came loose from the wall.

“Riki,” the young man persisted. “We have to find my wife.” He edged by the two surprised men and started down the stairs.

“Wife?” Dhamon asked to the stranger’s back. There was no answer, and he put away the thought for the moment. “Maybe she went after the big wench,” he suggested to Maldred. “Out the window, but more likely out this door. Those women… there was something not right about them.”

“Riki wouldn’t have climbed out a window in her condition,” the young man said over his shoulder, “and she wouldn’t have chased after any of those women.”

“She was wounded,” Maldred agreed. “I don’t think she went anywhere on her own.” The big man coughed as the smoke started to billow out of the room. He brushed by Dhamon and took the stairs two at a time. “We’ll find her.”

The stairway opened into a large room in which a dozen ogres were sitting, drinking from massive wooden mugs and tossing brightly painted shells and rocks in the center of a pair of big round tables. All of them stopped to stare at the wounded trio, pointing and mumbling in their guttural tongue when they saw smoke seep down the stairwell.

Behind the bar was a spindly middle-aged human with a greasy shock of salt-and-pepper hair that fell over one eye. He was polishing a glass with a dirty rag and trying hard not to look toward the stairway. He hadn’t noticed the smoke.

“Did a half-elf come down here?” the young man asked the bartender. When the man didn’t answer, he stretched over the counter and laid his quarterstaff across it. “I said, did a half-elf come down here?”

The man polished faster and gave the stranger a puzzled look. “Half-elf?”

“How about a fat wench? One of the ladies who paid you to ignore what they were doin’ upstairs.”

The man shrugged and tossed the rag over his shoulder. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. Haven’t seen anyone.”

Varek grabbed the bartender’s chin, and in surprise he dropped the glass. Dhamon spun to keep an eye on the ogres, half of whom were keeping their seats, intently watching the barkeep as if he were the nightly entertainment.

Varek tugged the little man’s head forward and twisted his chin until it pointed toward the stairway. Dark gray smoke was gathering at the top, thick tendrils creeping down. The scent of burning wood was beginning to overpower the other smells of the place—filth, sweat, and spilled ale.

“Fire!” the man shouted. “My place’s on fire!”

Varek held him fast. “You’ll burn with it if you don’t tell me about the half-elf.”

“I didn’t see anything!” There was fear in the man’s eyes but also the look of truth. Varek squeezed his chin hard before releasing him and rushing outside.

The barkeep ducked behind the counter, his hands a blur as he grabbed a few valuables and a coin box.

“Whole place is going to burn fast,” Dhamon observed. He was coughing, too, and making his way toward the door. He paused when he saw Maldred wasn’t moving.

The big man had his sword out, eyes locked onto the face of the largest ogre. Most of the other ogres were shuffling toward the door, grabbing up their shells and coins, a few toting their ale mugs along. All of them were cursing.

“The human women,” Maldred said in Ogrish, leveling the greatsword in front of him. “Did you see them? Did you see a half-elf?”

The largest ogre shook his head and took a step toward the door. Maldred shifted his position to put himself between the ogre and the way out.

Smoke hung like a cloud now below the ceiling of the big room. There were spots of orange here and there, hinting that the fire had spread across the floor. Over by the stairs, a plank of the ceiling groaned, blackened, and fell to the floor.

“The women,” Maldred repeated.

The ogre growled and stepped forward, dropping his shells and extending clawlike hands.

“Mal…” This came from Dhamon. “Mal, let’s get out of here. Riki’s a survivor.”

Maldred ignored his friend and released one of his hands from the sword’s pommel. He pointed an index finger at the large ogre and mumbled a string of words shot through with Ogrish. There was a musical quality to them, and when he finished, the ogre shouted in surprise. A ball of flame had appeared in the air a hair’s breadth from Maldred’s finger. It spun and crackled and followed his gesture, moving slowly toward the ogre.

The smoke cloud was growing thicker. Dhamon backed toward the door, calling for his friend to join him. The building creaked in protest around them, and the flames snapped and popped louder. There were “thunks” coming from above, signaling beams falling. From outside, came shouts:

“Fire!” “Thatcher’s place is burning!” “Riki!” The latter was frenetically repeated.

“Mal…” Dhamon urged.

Tears were running from Maldred’s eyes because of the smoke. He coughed and gestured, making the ball of flame grow larger.

“The women.” This time the words were accompanied with a snarl. “You have to know something.”

Still the ogre said nothing. Maldred pointed to the floor, and the ball of fire dropped, breaking as if it were a globe of water. Flames spread across the floor in a line between Maldred and the ogre. The ogre howled, and Dhamon cursed. “Mal! This place is going to fall down around us.”

“The half-elf!” Maldred shouted above the angry snaps and pops of the fire.

“They’d have taken her to sell!” the ogre shouted. “At the spawn village. That’s what they do with elves. Sell them in Polagnar.”

Maldred spun away, following Dhamon out the door. The large ogre was behind them, leaping over the line of fire and barreling past them.

The moon was full, making it easy to see the ramshackle town in the foothills. The place consisted of roughly two dozen buildings, all of them wooden and most of them looking as if they might topple before the year was out. A few were businesses—a stable, something that passed for a foodstore, another a seamstress and bootery, a closed-down weaponsmith and blacksmith. There was one tavern at the end of the dusty street. The tavern they’d just left was merrily burning. The remainder of the buildings were either homes and flophouses or abandoned. There was a loud groan as the building, thoroughly engulfed, collapsed in on itself. There were loud shouts as flames leaped to the adjacent bootery. The barkeep was trying to rally his former patrons to go after Maldred. Nearby, Varek called for Riki.

“He did it!” the barkeep was hollering and pointing Maldred’s way. “He set it to burning. Kill him!”

“I’ve no weapon,” Dhamon said at Maldred’s shoulder. “There’s too many of them.”

Maldred grunted. “The summer’s made this place like prime kindling. We don’t need weapons.” He pointed at a building across from the burning inn, from the looks of it something that passed for a general store. Flames licked the columns that supported a shingled overhang. Another gesture from Maldred and flames were sparking on the roof of the stable.

“He’ll burn down the town!” the barkeep shouted. The man was gasping for breath and waving his arms. “Kill him! Kill him and his friends!”

“Kill the humans!” a barrel-chested ogre shouted.

“See to your town!” Maldred shouted back, “or I will burn all of it!”

He backed up, Dhamon still at his side. Varek, still shouting for Riki, joined them.

“My wife,” the young man said. His eyes were daggers. “I’ve got to find her. She’s—”

“Not here,” Maldred finished. “But I know where she is. C’mon!”

They hurried from the town, not slowing until the crackling of flames and the shouts of the ogres were memories.

“Where is she?” Varek shot at Maldred when he stopped to catch his breath. “Where’s my Riki?”

“My Riki? Just who are you?” Dhamon interrupted.

The young man sputtered, red-faced. “Varek. Varek Lockwood. Riki’s my wife, and I mean to find her. She insisted on coming here to find you and—”

“She’s in a place called Polagnar,” Maldred said, reaching into the pocket of his trousers and pulling out a bone scroll tube. “Or, rather, she’s heading there.”

Dhamon breathed a deep sigh of relief when he saw the tube. “The thieves got our gems, but they didn’t get everything.”

Maldred grinned. “No. They didn’t get our map.” He uncurled it and addressed the parchment.

“Polagnar.” A section of the map glowed, and a green smudge brightened. Images of trees and parrots appeared and swirled around the spot, then were displaced by the visage of a broken-toothed spawn with gleaming black eyes. Maldred noted the position on the map, and traced an invisible line from it to where they were now.

“Rikali’s being taken to this village called Polagnar. If we move quickly, we might catch up to her and Elsbeth before they get there.” Maldred replaced the scroll, then put the tube back in his pocket.

“Fine.” Dhamon shook his head. “Let Varek here go after his wife. It’s well out of our way. There’s the Screaming Valley to consider, Mal. The sage I need to find.” Dhamon’s eyes were unblinking, his jaw firm. “We’re not going into the swamp after Riki. She’d understand.”

Varek cut Dhamon a withering glare and gripped his quarterstaff tight. “Ungrateful,” he snorted. He set off down the road at a jog, heading in the direction of Polagnar, using the moonlight to guide him.

“Wife,” Dhamon muttered sarcastically. “I’ll just bet they’re husband and wife. He’s dreaming. Riki would no more marry that boy than—”

“We’re going with him, Dhamon,” Maldred cut in. “To Polagnar. We’re going to find Riki. Maybe she is his wife. Maybe she isn’t. But she’s family to us.”

“No. No, we’re not. We’re going straight south.” Dhamon shook his head again. “Mal, I—”

The big man growled and whirled on his friend, hand shooting out and grabbing a hank of Dhamon’s hair and pulling him close.

“What are you thinking?” The words were spat out forcefully and with a trace of venom. “Not go after Riki? She saved our lives by coming to that ogre town. Saved your life when that wench was going to slit your throat. You owe her. We owe her.”

Dhamon’s jaw worked and his hands knotted into tight fists, but he said nothing.

“We’ll get through the Screaming Valley and find the treasure. Then we’ll find the sage,” Maldred continued, “but not until we find Riki.” He released Dhamon and tromped after Varek, not looking to see if his friend was following.

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