Redemption

Chapter Fifteen Passage

Fiona sat uncomfortably on the shore of the New Sea, in the middle of a patch of sharp-smelling ferns.

Her wrists were bound with a heavy strip of cloth from Dhamon’s robe, with a sweat-stained gag in her mouth. The tip of her own sword prodded her from the back, whenever the female Knight moved a little too much.

Ragh held her weapon, and he was lying concealed in the taller ferns behind her. Dhamon stood wobbly a few yards behind them, effectively cloaked by late afternoon shadows and a veil of willow leaves. Maldred was with Dhamon, watching everything and remaining silent. The ogre-mage had been quiet and busy ever since Dhamon came to at about midnight, a little better than three days after Fiona had attacked him.

Dhamon still ached terribly from the scales, which covered him almost completely now. There were only three significant patches of human skin remaining—on the left side of his face, down his left side, and across the small of his back. Maldred had cast a spell on him, a particularly uncomfortable enchantment that he’d initially objected to out of distrust. Oddly, Ragh had sided with the ogre-mage, saying the spell might stop the spread of the scales. After a fashion, Dhamon relented, and not a single scale had sprouted since the spell. Neither had a single one disappeared.

Dhamon had abandoned his boots because of the scales on the tops of his feet and the thick gray skin tough as boiled leather covering the bottoms of his feet. He barely registered the rocky ground and exposed roots he trod on anymore.

The wound on his back was the worst, but Dhamon’s ability to heal was remarkable, considering how deep Fiona had cut him with her sword. His back wound should have killed him, he knew. It would have instantly killed any normal man. And he hadn’t completely recovered. The fever racing through him could be from that wound or the scales or even Maldred’s spell. Whatever its source, the fever added to his misery.

His fever and the soaking heat threatened to pitch him to the marshy loam. He focused his efforts on remaining alert and leaned on the haft of the glaive for support.

Ragh cast him a worried look.

“I’m all right,” Dhamon muttered. Surprisingly, he found some comfort in the draconian’s concern.

Odd that fate had put him in league with a sivak at this juncture in his life. When he belonged to the Knights of Takhisis they had relied on sivaks as spies and informants, but he never placed any amount of real trust in any of the creatures. Until meeting Ragh, he had loathed the lot of them. “Really, Ragh, I’m all right.”

The draconian gave him a skeptical look, then returned his full attention to Fiona. He crawled forward to wipe the sweat off the Knight’s face, then returned to his post behind her. Dhamon dragged his tattered sleeve down his left cheek, trying to wipe away the trickles of sweat, but this garment was soaked and did nothing to help matters. Thirsty again, he thought. I need more fresh water, maybe more rest. I need to stand on the shore and catch the breeze. Dhamon was not about to allow himself any of those luxuries, for of his three companions, the draconian was the only one he believed he could trust, the only one to his knowledge who had not betrayed him.

Fiona squirmed and tried to spit the gag out of her mouth. Ragh poked her with the tip of the sword again.

“Stay still, Knight,” Ragh warned her with a growl. “Unless you want to—” With his free hand he parted the ferns. “Dhamon! Another boat. This one’s turning to shore.”

Dhamon shifted so he could peer through the leaves and watch the New Sea. The sea was black near the shore from dark algae growths that swirled like oil on the surface. Farther out the water was a brilliant blue, mirroring the color of the cloudless sky. The waves were a little choppy from a slight wind. Sunlight flashed on the surface.

A boat was indeed cutting toward them. It was small and with a single square, dirty-white sail, so, Dhamon guessed, it was a fishing boat. As it neared, he could smell the fish and chum. His sharp eyesight picked out nets gathered along the sides, a long gaff hook propped against the rail, and the open barrels of bait near spools of line.

“Got a nibble,” Ragh said in a hushed voice.

“Don’t be so certain yet,” Dhamon returned. “Let’s see how close it comes.”

Dhamon knew that it must look like a trap. The Solamnic Knight sitting on the shore with her hands tied in front of her and a gag in her mouth. It screamed trap, especially given that she was in the Black’s realm where all manner of malicious men and creatures held sway, none of whom would hesitate to use a beautiful victim to lure others into their savage clutches. And now we take our place among those malicious creatures, Dhamon sadly thought. At the moment we are no different than Sable’s minions.

But what choice did he have, he reminded himself. Fiona would not willingly help them gain passage, and she had to be treated as a renegade. Fiona… unblemished Fiona. After he’d regained consciousness, he had asked her why she attacked him and also what unearthly force had healed the acid scars on her face and neck. To the first question she replied, “Seeking justice.” To the second she said simply, “The sword healed me.” Dhamon knew the sword was not capable of restoring her looks, so the mystery persisted.

Repeatedly he had pleaded with her to help them attract the attention of a ship. “Never, never, never,” was her reply.

So she was helping unwillingly. He would not permit Maldred to don his human guise.

“No, let no one be deceived as I was,” he bitterly told his onetime friend. “You are an ogre.”

He or Ragh, with their scales, would scare away any passing ship, so they had settled on this plan, this obvious trap that might catch some chivalrous soul’s attention.

They’d been waiting since dawn and finally had snared this small fishing boat.

Come closer, Dhamon willed it.

Three other ships had drifted near earlier, one a ferry and the other two piled with merchant crates.

All wisely steered clear. Dhamon had considered swimming out and taking one over by force, but he was still too weak for such adventurousness.

This boat was coming closer still. He saw only four men on the deck. The man on the bow looked to be giving the orders. He had some years on him, his hair was a mix of black and gray, and his close-cropped beard showed white streaks, but the sun-weathered skin of his face didn’t sag and his eyes were clear. He watched the Solamnic Knight, his jaw set firm.

“Aye, a man with some age to him, but not an old man. A chivalrous man too, from the look of him,”

Dhamon whispered.

The man certainly carried himself proudly, though Dhamon noticed he paced about the deck with a limp.

“C’mon,” Dhamon urged. “Come and rescue the poor woman. That’s it. Closer.” He glanced at Ragh, hoping the draconian would keep in hiding until the last possible moment. This was a perfect boat, small enough to sail on their own. “Closer now.”

Fiona wriggled against her bonds, and Ragh prodded her again. “Don’t move,” the draconian whispered. “Don’t move or I’ll cut you like you did Dhamon.”

Long moments passed, the boat was close enough now for Dhamon to hear the captain without expending much effort. The captain directed his men to be wary, urging one to scan the trees and shallows, another to listen closely for any suspicious sounds.

“It’s a trap, Eben,” one of the men warned.

“Obviously,” Dhamon muttered under his breath.

The captain nodded. “Probably,” he said, drawing a long knife from his belt. “I doubt that whatever beasties tied her up and set her there just walked away. They’re hiding.”

“We should walk away, Eben. It’s a trap.”

The captain firmly shook his head. “I’ll not let whatever foul creatures set that trap keep the girl.

We’ll get her free.”

“We’re fishermen, Eben,” another cut in. “We’re not warriors. We’re not heroes.”

“Heroes? Fishermen? We’re men, aren’t we?” the captain returned. “You can stay on the boat, the three of you cowards. I’ll go in for the girl and take care of it m’self if I have to.”

Chivalrous and foolish, Dhamon thought, and good for us that he is. “C’mon. Closer,” he breathed.

One of the four fishermen was a half-elf, who was paying particular attention to the trees where Dhamon hid. Dhamon sucked in his breath and glanced at Maldred with narrowed eyes. The ogre-mage sighed and looked away. Dhamon still didn’t trust him.

“I don’t see anything, Eben.” This was the half-elf, who continued to stare at the foliage. He snatched up the gaff hook. “That doesn’t mean there’s nothing there.”

“Oh something’s there, Keesh. I’m sure of it,” the captain returned flatly. “Probably some lizardmen or bakali. There’s enough of either of them around here. Maybe some slavers working for the Black—using one human as bait to catch more. Doesn’t matter, though, let’s get this wreck closer.

Maybe whatever’s there won’t put up much of a fight. Maybe we can chase them off. Let’s get the girl and be away from this place.”

They dropped sail and lowered anchor about forty feet out, at the edge of the blanket of black algae.

Dhamon watched as the captain released a deep breath and gave a shake of his head, as if scolding himself for what he was about to do. Then he awkwardly heaved himself over the side, knife still in one hand. Two of his fellows elected to follow. But the one who’d objected so strongly to the risky endeavor hesitated a moment before announcing loudly what a big dose of stupidity this was and reluctantly joining them.

The fishermen cautiously sloshed toward Fiona, who was squirming vigorously despite Ragh’s prodding. The half-elf was in the lead, still intensely scanning the ferns and trees. His eyes widened as he spotted a flash of silver—the sun caught the blade held by Ragh.

“There, Eben!” The half-elf pointed with the gaff hook. “Something in the ferns behind the woman.”

At that moment Ragh exploded from his hiding spot, dashing by Fiona and purposefully knocking her over as he went, clawed feet tearing up the marshy ground. In a heartbeat he was in the water and plunging toward the half-elf, who was wading forward to meet him, twirling the gaff hook.

“There’s no reason to kill them!” This was shouted by Maldred.

Dhamon glared. “Don’t you move, ogre. Stay put until this is done.” He snapped up the great sword in one hand and hefted the glaive in the other. Both were two-handed weapons, but despite his wounds he felt agile enough to wield them both.

“There’s no reason to kill them,” Maldred repeated.

I’ve no intention of doing so, Dhamon thought. He pounded across the ground, rushing toward the fishermen.

“Monsters!” the half-elf shouted. “Two of them!”

Dhamon shuddered at being called a monster.

“A pair of draconians,” the one named Eben cried. He waved his long knife in the air and rushed up to the half-elf’s side. “Such creatures are dangerous, my friends. Worse than lizardmen. On your toes!”

Ragh brought the long sword up to parry the gaff hook, then gripped the pommel tight and twisted the weapon while bringing up a clawed foot and kicking the half-elf in the stomach. The half-elf fell back into the water, stunned and disarmed.

“Don’t…” Dhamon started to admonish.

“I wasn’t planning to kill them,” Ragh answered as he ducked beneath the sweep of Eben’s long, glittering knife, “though I think their intentions are otherwise.”

When the fishermen saw Dhamon, registering his scaly appearance, one of them whirled and headed back toward the boat, nearly knocking over the half-elf in his rush.

“Captain!” Dhamon shouted, sweeping the glaive menacingly just above the water. “Drop your knife!” Dhamon gestured toward the other armed man. “You, too.”

Both men hesitated.

“We could easily kill all of you,” Dhamon threatened, “and I think you know it, but we’d prefer to let you live.”

When the captain hesitated another moment, the half-elf made a move for the abandoned gaff hook.

Ragh was quicker, grabbing the makeshift weapon and hurling it a few yards away. The half-elf didn’t quit, pulling a knife from his belt.

“We won’t hurt you, I say!” Dhamon continued.

“Damn draconians,” the captain spat.

“That one’s a spawn,” the half-elf said, indicating Dhamon.

“Drop the knife, Keesh, William,” Eben advised the fishermen. “We’ve no choice.” He lowered his own knife. “My fault, men.”

“We shouldn’t’ve come in to shore,” the half-elf said with angry eyes fixed on the captain. “You knew it was a trap. You’re a fisherman now, remember? You’re not a Knight anymore.”

“I had no choice,” Eben repeated.

“Drop the knives,” Dhamon warned again. He pointed the great sword at the captain. “I’m in a considerable hurry, and I’ll not ask politely again.”

The older man shook his head. He thrust the knife in his belt. His two companions copied the move.

“Good enough,” Dhamon said. “We’ll not hurt you. I give you my word.” He looked to see the retreating fisherman climbing on board the boat. “Keep that one from leaving, Captain.”

“If you want to live,” Ragh interjected.

“Spawn, giving their word?” the half-elf raised his upper lip in a sneer. “I think you’ll kill us anyway.

I think—”

“The woman,” Eben said, hushing the half-elf with a wave of his hand. “What do you intend to do with the woman…?”

“We intend to get help for her,” Dhamon answered, “but it’s a long story and too long to tell you.”

Behind them, they heard the noise of a chain, the anchor being pulled up. Dhamon was angered that Eben had not ordered the man to stay.

“What we need is safe passage. That’s all. Across the New Sea and to the coast of Throt.” Dhamon nodded to Ragh, glancing at the fishing boat.

Ragh waved the long sword threateningly at the half-elf, then brushed by him, sloshing toward the boat. The frantic fisherman was fumbling with the sail now and had managed to get it half-way raised before the rigging became tangled.

“Passage for us. Then you’re free to go about your business.”

“You’ll not harm my crew.”

It wasn’t a question. “No, I’ll not harm any of you—if you cooperate.”

Ragh was climbing up the side of the boat, as the fisherman edged to the other side of the deck, knife flashing. “Just passage, and perhaps some of whatever food and water you’ve on board.”

“For the two of you?” Eben gestured to Fiona. “And her?”

“Her name’s Fiona. Aye, the two of us, Fiona, and one more passenger.” Dhamon glanced over his shoulder. “Ogre! Bring Fiona, we’ve got a way to Throt!”

There was not much wind, and so they didn’t reach their destination until a little more than two days later. It was twilight when they arrived, and the pale purple sky striped gray with bands of clouds, took some of the harshness away from the stark land of Throt. The grass of the uneven plains that stretched before them was dry and brittle, and the bushes that grew in clumps had shed most of their leaves. There was a stand of pines that looked a little out of place, the trees all relatively small. To the east, and running almost straight north and south, was a jagged chain of mountains. The shadow dragon was there somewhere, if the magic in the crystal ball spoke true. The mountains were not particularly impressive or high or what Dhamon imagined a dragon would choose for its lair, but he had the impression they looked like the spikes on a dragon’s back.

It won’t be long now, Dhamon thought. The village near Haltigoth, where Riki and his child were waiting, couldn’t be too far. If they pushed, they should reach it by sometime tomorrow. He was slightly familiar with Throt, having been in a few skirmishes in the country when he served in the Knights of Takhisis in years past. Admittedly he had not spent much time on the ground, as he was fighting from the back of a blue dragon named Gale, but between his memory and the crystal ball, he was hopeful they would find their way.

He had not hurt the fishermen, as he’d promised. It turned out Eben was a former Solamnic Knight who had left the order more than a decade ago when he was seriously injured during a skirmish with hobgoblins. The man still had a pronounced limp from the encounter. Dhamon considered leaving Fiona with him and telling him she was safe with the Solamnics, but he had the notion that the mad Knight might find a way to overpower the fishermen and come after him again. Better that he take Fiona into the village and leave her with Riki and Varek until the shadow dragon was dealt with. Then he’d return and take her to some Solamnic citadel, provided he had enough time left in his life.

“You had no right, Dhamon.”

Maldred’s harsh tone roused Dhamon from his musings. Dhamon gave a curt laugh. “What? No right to give up your big sword to the fishermen? Aye, ogre, I had every right.”

Maldred’s eyes became slits. “My father gave me that sword.”

Dhamon waved to the captain of the fishing boat. The boat was pulling away from the rocky shore, aiming for the deeper waters of the New Sea. The grinning Captain Eben waved the sword.

“We needed to pay for our passage, pay for those fishermen’s time and discomfort. We cost them a few days’ work and no manner of worry. We ate their food and drank their water and spirits. They were all so nervous I don’t think one of them slept the entire time we were on board. It was fortunate for us the sword was valuable.”

Maldred snarled, his lower fangs protruding from bulbous lips. “Valuable? That sword was worth more than their entire boat, Dhamon, and you well know it. He could buy a large new boat with that prize, two or three in fact, and hire more men. Very charitable of you.”

Dhamon couldn’t help but smile.

“There was an enchantment about my sword. You could have given them that damn glaive—tainted with Gold-moon’s blood. Or Fiona’s sword. My father gave me that sword.”

Dhamon turned away, looking at Fiona. The draconian was still wielding the Solamnic Knight’s sword, keeping it trained on her.

“Take the gag out of her mouth, Ragh,” Dhamon said.

“You want to hear more of her insane prattle?” The draconian shook his head. He stared into the wild eyes of the female Knight. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to untie you,” Ragh said. “I would never be so foolish as that. But I will take the gag out of your mouth—if you promise to keep quiet this time.”

Fiona only glared at him.

“Swear.”

She defiantly shook her head.

“No, the gag stays, Dhamon. Unless you want to watch her.” Ragh was surprised that Dhamon didn’t argue. “Remember when we took it off to let her eat on the boat….” The draconian paused, cocked his head. He heard something. The gentle rustling of dried branches, a hushed and indistinct voice. He and Dhamon looked to the northeast, staring into the spreading twilight, searching for the source of the ominous noise.