Jean Rabe - Redemption

A sharp intake of breath—Fiona’s. A raspy curse from Ragh. The shivering began again, as Dhamon whirled to stare, deep into the cave, toward a soft, yellow glow. The eyes of a dragon! Its massive scales shifted, making a strange hissing.

“Sable!” Dhamon’s heart thundered in his chest. He snarled in fury and glanced anxiously about for a weapon. “Next time, Mal, see if you can find a place safer than Sable’s lair!” He grabbed Fiona and Ragh, pulling them backward, toward where he judged by the slight breeze the cave’s mouth would be.

“Move,” he whispered to them. “Fast.” Although astonished and confused by where they had landed, Dhamon’s companions didn’t hesitate, shuffling along with him. Fiona’s hand drifted to reach for her non-existent sword.

“I once was Sable’s servant,” Ragh whispered. “She might remember my usefulness and let me live.

But I fear you and Fiona…”

Draped in shadows, which blanketed much of its massive body, the dragon did not move or speak. It merely regarded them silently. The impression it gave was of a giant cat studying with mild interest an insignificant group of trespassing mice.

“Mal, you’d better turn around and follow us slowly,” Dhamon cautioned. “Fiona and I don’t have a single sword between us, so we can’t… Mal? Mal?”

Maldred hadn’t retreated an inch or drawn his sword, Dhamon realized. In fact, the big man was slowly moving toward the dragon, arms spread wide as if in supplication.

Dhamon sucked in a breath. “By all that’s…”

“Liar. Liar. Liar,” Fiona chanted behind Dhamon.

“I… I think she’s right,” whispered Ragh. “Dhamon, I think your ogre friend has betrayed us.”

“Betrayed?” Dhamon sounded incredulous. “Brought us here on purpose?” The possibility was too crazy, he quickly dismissed it from his mind, shaking his head. “No. He couldn’t have. Maldred wouldn’t.” Not of his own accord, anyway, Dhamon thought.

Perhaps Sable had captured Maldred in Shrentak, bewitched the ogre-mage, and demanded that Maldred bring Dhamon here. It was the only sane explanation. If so, if Ragh was mistaken, then why was his friend so casually approaching the dragon?

Behind Dhamon, Ragh spoke up again. “Wait, I used to serve Sable. That’s not Sable,” he said in a hushed voice. “Now that I can see it better, that’s not even a black dragon.”

“Maldred,” Dhamon said firmly, hoping to reach a part of his friend the dragon couldn’t influence.

“Leave with us. Back out now.” If the dragon by some chance lets us.

“You’re safe here, my friend,” Maldred said, sounding less than confident of his own words. “I promise, you’re all safe. The dragon won’t hurt you.”

Bathed in pale ochre light from the dragon’s eyes, Maldred, standing directly in front of the beast’s massive snout, bowed stiffly at the waist. “I brought Dhamon here, master. Just as I told you I would.”

Master? “Move, Fiona! Ragh!”

Fiona dug in her heels. “I am a Solamnic Knight,” she said defiantly. “I should fight this dragon. It’s not honorable to run.”

Dhamon cringed. “Not without a sword!”

“Don’t be in such a hurry.” The sultry voice was not Fiona’s, and it came from somewhere behind them all. “You’re not going anywhere, Dhamon Grimwulf. Not you. Not the witless Knight. Not the worn-out sivak. The three of you are flies caught in a web, and I think you’ll discover my master’s the biggest spider of your dreams.”

Recognizing the voice, Dhamon spun around in disbelief, meeting the eyes of Nura Bint-Drax in her snake-woman form. She effectively blocked their retreat, rising up on her tail in the middle of the cave mouth and swaying hypnotically, her scales glimmering. Her magic, more than her intimidating form, held Fiona and Ragh in place.

“None of you are going anywhere until my master permits it,” Nura hissed. “If he permits it.”

No chance at redemption, Dhamon thought. No chance to…

“Dhamon!” The big man, still in front of the dragon, motioned to him. “Come! Join us, Dhamon!”

Join you? By the Dark Queen’s heads, this can’t be happening! This can’t be real!

Dhamon tried to convince himself that this wasn’t happening, but he knew it was.

He’d felt the sensation of dragonfear, and now, looking back and forth from the cave entrance to its depths, he could see the naga swaying and see the eerie yellow of the dragon’s eyes. He could see his traitorous friend, Maldred, in front of the dragon, waiting.

“Ragh,” Dhamon whispered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the draconian shudder as though trying to break the spell of the naga. “Ragh,” he said louder.

“I-I hear you.” The familiar hoarse whisper sounded as though it was straining for power. “Have you some great plan for getting us out of this?”

From the cave’s recesses, Maldred called again to Dhamon.

“Well, I have a plan,” Ragh growled. “I plan on us dying, and I prefer to let the dragon kill me. That’ll be quicker than whatever that snake-thing plans to do, is my guess.”

“It’s Nura Bint-Drax, Ragh.”

“Whoever it is, it is ugly.”

“It’s Nura Bint-Drax.” You know her, Dhamon thought.

Since the moment I met you, Ragh, you have been obsessed with killing her. She cut off your wings, bled you to make spawn and abominations. You hate her. “You have seen her in other forms, but you must recognize her.”

“I have never seen her. I would certainly remember her if I had see her before.”

“The Chaos wight,” Dhamon muttered. The Chaos wight had stripped the memory of Nura Bint-Drax from Ragh. That must be it. What memory did the damn wight steal from me?

“Dhamon!” Maldred called again.

It doesn’t matter what the wight stole from me, Dhamon thought. Nothing’s going to matter if we don’t get out of here alive. But his legs didn’t feel like cooperating. In the few moments he’d let his mind wander, the dragonfear had seeped into his bones.

At the same time, the naga moved closer.

The odd, heady smell of her perfumed oil mingled with the foul scent of the swamp. Dhamon felt weak, dizzy, ready to quit. I should’ve let the sea take me in that storm, he thought. This dragon wouldn’t get the satisfaction of killing me now. I’ll never see my child.

“Fight the dragonfear,” he hissed, as much to himself as to Ragh and Fiona, “and the naga’s magic.

Don’t give in. Put up a fight!”

He focused on his anger, a technique he employed when he used to ride a blue dragon and had to deal with its suppressed aura. He focused on the dragonfear. In a blind rage he lurched away from Ragh and Fiona, rushing toward Maldred.

“Ragh,” he called over his shoulder. “It was Nura Bint-Drax who took your wings!”

Dhamon hoped that revelation might arouse the draconian, but he didn’t wait to see what happened.

He grabbed the surprised Maldred, swiftly reached behind the ogre’s back and tugged free the great two-handed sword that was always sheathed there.

“Dhamon, no!” Maldred made a grab for the sword, but Dhamon was on fire with anger. In a few strides Dhamon had put space between him and Maldred and the dragon, steeling himself against the ceaseless aura of fear and readying the sword for action.

The glowing dragon eyes didn’t so much as flicker. The dragon neither spoke nor moved, except for the continual hissing of its scales.

“Dhamon, stop!”

Focusing on the dragon, Dhamon was taken aback by Maldred’s lunge. The ogre struck and knocked him aside. The sword clattered away.

“Dhamon!” The ogre, his voice defiant, held up his arm in a warning gesture. “You must listen to me, Dhamon!”