Redemption

Chapter Twelve Traitors and other Friends

Fiona sat on the bank of the stream, dangling her sword in the water. The sunlight caught the blade and created sparkling motes that rippled along the water’s surface, mesmerizing her. The sword was superbly crafted, probably worth more coins than she’d ever possessed. Yet she was angry at the sword, for the magical weapon hadn’t deigned to speak to her for several hours.

“Damn Dhamon Grimwulf,” she said, looking up and noticing him talking with Ragh and Maldred.

“Damn him for everything.” She blew the gnats away, then turned the blade so she could observe her acid-scarred reflection in it. “I look like a monster, every bit as awful as the three of them.” She stared at her face, not noticing that the runes along the blade had begun to glow faintly blue. “Worse than a monster.”

What you seek, the sword told her, breaking its long silence. The female Knight stood up, feeling the sword tug her away from the stream. What you seek.

She glanced once more at her companions—the traitorous ogre-mage, the wingless draconian, and Dhamon, who did not look so far removed from a black spawn himself now. “Monsters, the lot of them.”

Where was Rig? she wondered.

What you seek.

“Just what do I seek?” Fiona asked the sword.

The female Knight quietly left the clearing, the sword guiding her through a row of young cypress trees, then around a haze-covered bog. It led her almost a mile away. She paused to untangle herself from a vine and glanced over her shoulder. Her companions had evidently not yet noticed her absence.

“What do I seek?” she repeated dully.

Beauty and truth, it replied.

The sword brought her to the edge of a small clearing. There was a blanket of ferns in the center, and a young girl with coppery colored hair sat cross-legged there, her fingers teasing the fronds. The girl looked somehow familiar. Fiona thought she had seen her two or three times before, and in each instance bad things happened, but after all she was just a child, out here all alone, probably afraid, and she awakened Fiona’s maternal instincts. The child beckoned Fiona closer.

What you seek.

“Who are you?” Fiona called.

“I am what you seek,” the child said.

Fiona knelt next to her, and the little girl ran her hands over Fiona’s face. The tiny fingers were warm, and they tingled pleasantly.

“Who are….”

“Magic, Fiona,” the child whispered. “I am magic.”

Insects flitted around the child and the Solamnic Knight but didn’t land on either of them. The child began to hum, a quick tune she interspersed with chirps and clicks. Then her fingers were tugging and pushing at Fiona’s curls, tickling her eyelids, smoothing her tunic. When the tune ended, the child rose and motioned to the Knight to follow her.

Her sword sheathed, Fiona took the girl’s hand and was led to a clear pond beyond the ferns. The child pointed. Fiona tilted her face for a better look.

“Oh! In the name of Vinus Solamnus!” She saw her own face reflected in the still waters, but this Fiona was unblemished, her eyes clear, and her hair looked freshly-combed. She looked younger, too.

Perfect. “I am beautiful.”

“Of course you are beautiful. I made you so.”

Odd, but the little girl didn’t have a little girl’s voice any longer.

“Rig will be happy to see me so beautiful,” Fiona told her.

“Rig can’t be happy,” the child said flatly. “Rig is dead. Very dead.”

Fiona stammered, shaking her head and saying that wasn’t true, that Rig had been with her not too long ago.

“Dead. Dead. Dead,” the child cooed in a sultry seductress’ voice.

“No!” Fiona stepped away, heel catching in a root and falling down. The child stretched out her hands, grabbing her, fingers fluttering over Fiona’s face again, magic boring in. This time the fingers didn’t soothe. This time they gave her a horrible vision, replaying over and over the events of the night in Shrentak when Dhamon had rescued them from the prison cell beneath the city streets.

Again and again she watched Rig boost her up onto the manticore’s back. An arm’s length away from her, he was then cut down, his blood spattering her.

“No!” Fiona buried her face in her hands and sobbed. “Oh, please no.”

“Dead. Dead. Dead.” The child smiled evilly. “And the one who as much as killed him, Dhamon Grimwulf, will be coming to get you soon. Run, Fiona. If he finds you, he’ll kill you, too. Run. Run. Run.

You mustn’t let Dhamon catch you. You must make certain that Dhamon, Maldred, and that wingless Ragh never see you again. Run!”

Nura Bint-Drax turned and ran playfully through the ferns, casting one last look over her shoulder at the Solamnic Knight. “Flee, beautiful Fiona! Rig is dead, and your enemies come for you!”

It was several minutes before Fiona regained some semblance of composure. Trembling, she tried to turn back to where she thought she’d left her companions. “I must tell them about the strange child and…”

“Fiona!” Maldred called.

The lying ogre.

“Fiona!”

Dhamon must be with him. Now Ragh was calling for her, too.

“Fiona! Where are you?” Maldred’s voice again.

“Fiona!” shouted Dhamon.

“Oh, Rig,” Fiona cried. “Rig, you are dead, and your murderer calls to me.”

Relying on all the skills she’d learned in the Solamnic Knights, she turned and ran, managing to elude her pursuers until dark, when they finally stopped looking for her. When they resumed searching for her the next day, she was already farther away and successfully hid her tracks. She crept close to watch them from time to time, giggling at their foolishness but constantly moving when they neared again. She took great pains to cover her tracks so that even the expert tracker Dhamon wouldn’t have a clue as to her whereabouts.

Finally the three enemies gave up. Finally they headed east.

“I’m safe,” Fiona said to herself. As the little girl had been when Fiona found her in the clearing, the female Knight was all alone.

The child sat on a mountainous rocky ledge, feet dangling over the side and legs idly kicking. She was a few hundred feet above a winding trail, looking down on a small merchant caravan and debating whether she should pay them a visit in her Ergothian seductress guise. There might be something inside one of their wagons that would please her master, and perhaps something that might also please her.

The shadow dragon lay deep inside the mountain, sleeping. He had been sleeping more than usual, his waking intervals shorter. Late yesterday afternoon, he spoke to her only briefly before he fell into one of his fitful slumbers that sent tremors through the chain. It was twilight now, and he still hadn’t awoken.

She watched the wagons until they disappeared from sight, wondering if she had allowed an exotic, tasty morsel or an especially pretty bauble to elude her. She watched as the sky darkened and the stars slowly winked into view. Everything here in Throt was dry and boring. The craggy brown mountains looked like the spine of some massive, dead beast. The air smelled like… nothing. No hint of rain. Nura missed the damp and suffocating warmth of the swamp with its tang of rotting vegetation and assortment of hideous and beautiful beasts. There were birds here, but so little variety to them, all blacks and browns, all with the same annoying chirp. There were lizards—small ones with curly tails, but most of them the drab color of the mountains. Nothing tasty about them.

If Dhamon had not been so seditious, she and the shadow dragon would still be basking in the glorious swamp. If Maldred had been more trustworthy… if only she had anticipated that there would be a problem with that fool.

She brooded about Maldred until the sky lightened and the rocks shuddered beneath her. She jumped to her feet, ran to a wide slash in the mountain. Standing just inside of the opening, she shed her child image and slithered inside the dusty cave as the snake Nura Bint-Drax.

There was scant luster left on the dragon’s scales, and he looked more gray than black.

“Master,” she intoned. “I live to serve you.” Nura Bint-Drax coiled low in front of the shadow dragon, not daring to move again until she felt the ground rumble in response. Then she raised herself high, resting back on her tail, hood flaring far back and eyes wide with pleasure. “Your plan is working?

Tell me, master.” Nura didn’t try to conceal her excitement. “You expected all this. You anticipated it. It is all part of your plan to force Dhamon Grimwulf to slay Sable?”

The dragon shook his massive head, barbels thrumming across the floor. His breath quickened, and the breeze from it struck Nura hot in the face. “Not exactly. I have discovered another way to produce the energy I need to live,” the dragon said.

Nura Bint-Drax slithered back a respectful distance, able to see more of the beautiful shadow dragon from this safer vantage point. This cave was not so dark as the one in the swamp, and that was the only good thing about it as far as she was concerned. She could get a better view of the shadow dragon.

“Khellendros, called Skie by men,” the shadow dragon began. “He once tried to craft a body for his love, Kitiara. Word among the dragons was he initially hoped to place her spirit in the body of a blue spawn. When that failed, he tried to rob Malys of her soul, intending to let Kitiara step into the body of the Red.”

The snake-woman’s eyes sparkled in fascination. “More, master. Tell me more.” Such tales, known only by dragons, were what Nura lived for.

“Khellendros might have succeeded, had things fallen into place properly. But I will succeed with Dhamon Grimwulf. I will not make Khellendros’ mistakes.”

“I don’t understand.” Nura Bint-Drax furrowed her brow, thinking. Dhamon was supposed to kill Sable, so the shadow dragon, whose physical form was dying, could use his magic to transfer his spirit inside the Black’s body.

“You forget, I can hear your thoughts,” the dragon rumbled with a rare chuckle. The dragon stretched as much as was comfortable within the confines of the cave, drawing a talon out toward the naga and scratching at the stony floor. “No, that was never the intent, Nura Bint-Drax. Dhamon… and the others I was cultivating… the best specimen was going to house my spirit when this body deteriorated. Dhamon has proven the strongest. He has adapted best to my magic. He is the one.”

“But Sable….?” The bewilderment was clear on her face.

“Sable was always just a means to an end. I intended to use the energy released from the overlord’s death to help power my spell. I am dying, Nura Bint-Drax. Living inside Dhamon’s shell is my best recourse.”

She gasped. “So it is Dhamon’s body that will save you!”

“Yes.”

“Your spirit will displace his.”

The dragon gave a slight nod. “Energy from the god Chaos birthed me, and energy from the dragons’ deaths in the Abyss nurtured me. Magic expended from the deaths during the dragonpurge strengthened me. And now…”

“I see. The energy from Sable’s death will help you live in the body of Dhamon Grimwulf.” Nura searched the dragon’s visage and saw her reflection in its dull eyes. She hung her head ruefully. “I would have gladly housed your spirit, master,” she said. “I would have gladly—”

“I know,” the shadow dragon returned, “but you are more valuable, to me, and to this world. Dhamon can be sacrificed.”

This pleased the naga, and she glided forward to caress the shadow dragon’s jaw. “Tell me more, please,” she entreated. “What are your plans? What should I do? What must we do to Dhamon Grimwulf?”

“At the moment, protect him.”

The shadow dragon briefly closed his eyes, and she feared he would fall into a deep sleep again, but he merely was taking pleasure from her ministrations. After a few moments his eyes again bathed the cave with their dull yellow glow.

“There is some interesting magic in the ogre-mage Maldred,” the dragon said, “and in the weapons he and Dhamon carry. There is magic in the wingless sivak. The deaths of Maldred and the sivak should release the necessary energy, combined with the destruction of enchanted trinkets I have gathered since the Chaos War.”

“Will that be enough?” Nura Bint-Drax asked skeptically.

“Not so much as the magic that beats in Sable’s heart,” the dragon quickly returned, its words sending more tremors through the rock. “But I only half-expected Dhamon to slay Sable. I had to buy time until his body was ready for my spirit. The magic will have to be enough. Meanwhile we will gather more to be certain.”

“Oh, I see. How very clever, master. We will begin with the horde hidden away in the Knights of Neraka’s stronghold in the Dargaard Mountains!” Nura had wondered why, when first they arrived in Throt, the shadow dragon had asked her to capture a Knight from those mountains and bring him to this cave.

“Yes. From that stronghold. The Knight has… told me of their vault.”

“Will it be difficult to obtain, master?”

“Not for you, my Nura.”

They left the following evening, when dusk overtook Throt and before the stars came out in the sky.

The dragon looked like a dark rain cloud moving swiftly with the wind. Nura rode on his back in her Ergothian female form. It wasn’t her favorite guise, but at times it well suited her purpose, and the human arms and legs were useful in gripping the dragon’s neck. It felt cold this high above the earth, and Nura endured no little measure of unaccustomed discomfort. She found herself wishing for the frail human trappings of furs.

It took them three days of travel, for when the sun rose each day the shadow dragon had to seek refuge from the light. Once they were fortunate to find a big enough cave. On the other days the shadow dragon used its magic to hollow out the earth at the base of hillsides, creating a makeshift lair more like a pit. Nura stood watch during the brightest daylight, encountering people only once—a band of scouts for a Dark Knight company. She dispatched them quickly, confident that the company would march elsewhere when the scouts failed to report.

Food was scarce, but Nura was able to use her magic to snare a half-dozen wild pigs. The shadow dragon ate these only at her urging, as he was so obsessed with his mission he thought little of his own needs.

On the third day, in the quiet hour before midnight when even the nightbirds and nocturnal beasts seem to melt away, they descended near the keep of the Knights of Takhisis.

The moonlight showed that the place was well guarded. Knights patrolled the barren, hardscrabble ground where the keep was wedged into the base of the Dargaards. A Dark Knight sorcerer was stationed on a crenelated portion between two archers, and there were certainly other guards whom they could not spot.

“You are right. It should not be difficult at all, master.” Nura stood back from the keep, arranging her scant clothes and fussing with her hair—the way she’d seen human women do in every town she’d visited. When she was certain her looks would please the men, she nodded to the dragon. “Ready, master.”

The naga gazed rapturously at the shadow dragon as her master drew a symbol in the ground with a shadowy talon. It was part of a spell it had learned from one of its first minions, a sorcerer who did not take to its scales as easily as Dhamon and who died when the dragon tried to force its magic. There were words to the enchantment, but the shadow dragon simply chanted them in its head, thought of Nura and their magical link, and slowly folded in on itself.

As the spell took effect, the dragon began to deflate, became flat, like a piece of cloth cut from the night sky. Then the strange cloth shaped itself and flowed like oil, running across the ground until it brushed Nura’s heel.

As the spell finished, the dragon became Nura’s shadow, moving alongside her unnoticed as she approached the gate. The guards stopped her, of course, but they were not overly alarmed, as she made it clear to them she was alone and carried no weapons. The mage on the parapet could find nothing untoward about her. The dragon’s magic blocked the humans’ pathetic attempts to scry beyond her Ergothian facade.

She was ushered in to see the commander, whose name she’d learned from the Knight of Neraka she’d caught days ago. She was announced as a comely gift from a local warlord. Her sexy appearance had been enhanced with a suggestive spell for good measure. She was taken to the commander’s chambers. There she silently killed him, minutes after the door closed—and minutes after the shadow dragon wormed from the man’s mind how to slip into the vaults below.

It was almost too easy. On another night, Nura might have tripped a glyph or other magical alarm just so she could have the fun of battling some of the keep’s forces, but fun would have to wait for a more propitious time. Tonight it was important to get what they came for and leave without incident.

She gathered the pick of the lot, concentrating on those items that were small and concentrated in energy and felt to her touch to have the most arcane magic in them. Mostly these were rings and other bits of jewelry that she could fasten to herself. She found an exquisite leather backpack—itself cleverly enchanted—and filled it with magical goblets and daggers, one of which contained a spell that burned her fingers; collars and a stunted candle holder; boxes of incense and small vials filled with swirling multicolored oils. She and her shadow passed over items overly large or with too little enchantment to be of value.

They left without ceremony. Nura called upon a simple spell of her own to transport her and her shadow dozens of yards safely away from the keep. Nura was so giddy from her unusual escapade with the shadow dragon, that she vowed to find another such stronghold as soon as possible to share another shadow spell.

“And Dhamon Grimwulf thought he was such a good thief!” she exclaimed, as she climbed upon the shadow dragon’s back and gripped his neck.

“Dhamon must be kept safe,” the shadow dragon reminded her, as he leapt into the night sky and headed back to his new lair. “He is searching for us even now, Nura Bint-Drax. Find him first and make sure no harm comes to him. Indeed every day I feel more strongly that he is the one. He is my last chance.”