Dragons of a New Age

12 Company

“What’s your name?” Raph huffed.

“Dhamon.”

“That’s it? Just Dhamon?”

“Dhamon Grimwulf.”

“Hmm. Not a very cheery name. Why’d your folks call you that? Must have been in a bad mood, huh? Maybe it was raining. Or maybe a wolf killed all the cows on their farm. Where’re you from?”

Dhamon didn’t answer. Though exhausted, he in fact lengthened his stride, and it was all the two kender could do to stay within several yards of him. The vision of the phantom woman kept playing over in his mind, spurring him on and raising question after question.

“A grand quest,” he muttered half under his breath. “Schallsea. My destiny. Maybe I’m crazy to be doing this, going after a ghost. Maybe I imagined the whole thing.”

“He’s talking to himself again, Blister.”

“Hush. Walk faster, Raph.”

Dhamon had a map of the country. He’d purchased it from a scribe in Crossing and used it to find the tomb. He had intended to stay at the tomb longer, a few days maybe, to meditate, consider what had brought him there, and to think about what he would do with the rest of his life. He hadn’t counted on the ghost.

He looked at the map as he walked. It was an artfully-rendered one, and the mapmaker had taken considerable care to ink sites of historical interest and paths through the woods south of Solace, near the cities of Haven and Qualinost. But Beryl ruled there, and Dhamon was glad the vision was directing him away from the creature and not to it.

The map also showed a road from Solace to New Ports, and unfortunately it looked like a considerable distance. If the mapmaker’s scale was accurate, it would take at least a couple of days to get there.

Maybe I can lose them by then, he thought. He yawned, glanced over his shoulder, and saw the two kender huffing. They’ll have to sleep sometime.

So did Dhamon. Early that evening he selected a clearing by the side of the road, one with a stream nearby so he could bathe and clean the dirt from his clothes. Just a few hours of rest, he told himself. I’ll be up before dawn, and the kender will still be snoring. Maybe I’ll rethink this whole thing then and decide to turn back.

Dhamon’s dreams were filled with images of battlefields, the twisted corpses of men left behind in shallow, unmarked graves, pools of sticky blood scattered across the ground. It was always the same. But tonight was a little different. The phantom woman intruded and floated above the carnage. She neared him and lessened the nightmare. “Schallsea,” she repeated. “Your destiny.” The words echoed in his head until his fatigue took over. He awoke midmorning, to the smell of roast rabbit and fresh berries.

“He even talks to himself in his sleep,” Raph whispered. “I was wondering if he’d ever wake up. And I thought farmers were s’posed to get up with the sun.”

“Hope you slept well!” Blister chirped. “We left the best part of breakfast for you! It’s still plenty warm.”

“Caught it myself,” Raph interjected. “With my spoon of rabbit grabbing!”

“And your snare,” Blister added quietly.

Dhamon’s stomach rumbled. The rabbit smelled better than the dried venison in his pack. “Thank you,” he said, as he helped himself. While he ate, the kender continued to chatter.

“We haven’t been properly introduced.” Raph puffed out his chest and gestured at his companion. “This is Blister Nimblefingers. She’s a lot older than I am. I’m Raph Tanglemop. I’m originally from Zhea Harbor in Southern Ergoth. I don’t know if Zhea Harbor is still called Zhea Harbor, or even if it’s a harbor. There’s lots of ice around it now. I doubt ships could get in. And what’s a harbor without ships? See, this big white dragon moved in—a really big dragon—and the whole country started getting terribly cold. I don’t like the cold. I don’t have warm enough clothes for it. And I’m not particularly fond of dragons—even though I’ve never actually seen one before. I suspect if I saw one I wouldn’t be here. Anyway, I decided I should move out before I froze. So I got on this ship and came here. Well, actually I came to Solace—after landing in Crossing—because the name Solace sounded like it would be a nice place. And I would’ve stayed in Solace for a while. I saw some other kender there. They told me about the tomb and Tasslehoff and everything. That’s where I met you and Blister. I’ve never been to Schallsea. That sounds like it could be a nice place, too.”

“I’m originally from Kendermore,” Blister interrupted as Raph took a gulp of air. “I left home when Malys came. I had to warn the Knights of Solamnia about the Red. After I accomplished my mission, I found I had no home left to return to, thanks to Malys. So, I decided to see the world.” Dhamon offered her a weak smile between the last few bites of the delicious rabbit.

“How about you?” Raph persisted. “Are you a farmer? Blister thinks you’re a farmer. Well, I do anyway, and she probably would agree with me. Do you raise pigs or cows? Or maybe corn? I haven’t figured that part out yet. How’d you come to be at the tomb? And why do you always talk to yourself?”

“I’d better be on my way,” Dhamon said as he reached for his backpack. He stood and strapped on his sword. “I suppose you’re joining me?”

“Of course!” Blister and Raph answered practically in unison.

“You’re not going anywhere—yet.”

The three whirled to see a pair of grisly men, bandits from the looks of them. The pair had snuck up behind Dhamon and the two kender during the steady stream of conversation. Their clothes were worn and dirty, but they had on expensive new boots and carried clean satchels, spoils of their previous victims perhaps. The swords they waved were in good repair. The taller one’s blade had a fine filigreed hilt edged in gold that hinted it once belonged to a gentleman.

“There’s a toll for using this road,” the tall one said. A fresh scar ran from just below his eye to the bottom of his jaw, and he was missing the little finger on his right hand. “The toll is whatever you have that’s valuable.”

“Then, provided we’re satisfied, you can be on about your business,” the other sneered. He was several years younger than his companion, and his scars were less noticeable.

“I have spoons,” Raph offered nervously. He fumbled in his pouch and held up a tarnished one.

The tall man was quick. He spun forward and kicked the pouch from Raph’s grasp. A dozen spoons went flying, spinning in the air and clattering to the ground. Raph scooted back and tried to hide behind Blister.

“We don’t want spoons!” the younger bandit shouted. He grinned, revealing a row of yellowed teeth. “We want steel coins. Give them up—Now!”

“No!” As the word erupted from Dhamon’s mouth, he leapt backward and drew his long sword. The blade arced above his head, flashing in the morning sun, and came down hard on the older bandit’s sword hand. He struck with only the flat of the blade, but the force was enough to disarm the man, whom Dhamon guessed was the greater threat.

The younger bandit stepped forward, slicing the air to keep Dhamon at a distance. But Dhamon brought his sword up to arrest the swing, and the blades met loudly.

“I like a challenge!” the young man jeered.

“I’d have thought you’d like to live,” Dhamon retorted. “We can end this now, and you and your friend can leave. No one will get hurt. And I’ll forget this happened.”

The young man laughed and darted in, slashing at Dhamon’s legs and cleaving only air.

“Look out!” Blister cried. She fluttered her short arms in the direction of the older bandit, who’d stooped to retrieve his weapon.

A growl escaped Dhamon’s lips. He pivoted to his right and swept his blade in a wide arc. The young bandit was unprepared, still moving forward. Dhamon’s weapon passed over his opponent’s sword and sliced deep into the young bandit’s chest. An expression of surprise etched on his face, the bandit dropped his blade and fell to his knees, clutching at the growing line of red on his tunic. A moment later he pitched forward, his face falling in the dying embers of the cookfire.

Dhamon stepped over the body to meet the charge of the older man. “I’ll repeat my offer,” he hissed between clenched teeth. He brought his blade up to parry a vicious stroke. “End this now and walk away.”

“I’ll end it by killing you!” The bandit pushed forward, trying to make Dhamon trip over the dead man behind him.

But Dhamon jumped to the side. The bandit was so close Dhamon could smell the pungent, old sweat that clung to the man’s clothes.

The bandit pressed again, and Dhamon held his breath to avoid the stench. He dropped to a crouch, watching the fancy sword pass over his head. In that moment, he brought his own blade up, thrusting it hard through the man’s stomach. He pulled it free as the body fell heavily.

Dhamon shook his head sadly, then knelt between the bodies. He hung his head, laid his sword on the ground, and clasped his hands in front of him. The soft breeze teased the stray strands of hair that had come loose from his ponytail. He mumbled reverently.

“Is he praying?” Raph whispered.

“I think so,” Blister said.

“Doesn’t he know the gods are gone? There’s no one to hear him.”

Blister drew a gloved finger to her mouth, encouraging Raph to be quiet.

“There’s not a scratch on Dhamon,” Raph whispered. “He just killed two men and he didn’t even get dirty. And now he’s praying over them. They were evil, and he’s praying.”

Dhamon rose, picked up his sword, and strode toward the stream. He washed the blood off the old blade, sheathed it, then retied his hair.

“You’re not a farmer, are you?” Blister asked.

“No,” Dhamon answered.

Behind him Raph was chattering again and rummaging through the dead men’s possessions. He pocketed most of the coins and the other interesting odds and ends that were pulled from the bodies.

“You want this fancy sword, Dhamon?” Raph asked. “You earned it. And it’s too long for me.”

Dhamon shook his head.

“Bet it’s worth something,” Raph mumbled softly.

“It’s probably at least worth passage to Schallsea,” Blister said. “Look, Dhamon’s leaving! Let’s go.”

“Wait! I gotta get my spoons!”