Jean Rabe - Redemption

A few patrons stared at Dhamon as he steered Fiona toward an empty table. After noting the oddity of his scales, they seemed to lose interest and resumed their eating and drinking. Ragh also drew stares, but the patrons looked away more quickly when he snarled ominously at them.

Dhamon put two steel pieces on the table, propped his glaive against the wall, and nodded to a serving girl. Smiling politely, she was quick to take the coins. The girl was plain looking, though she’d made an attempt to look pretty by daubing some color on her face, arranging her hair atop her head, and cinching the bodice of her dress tight. He guessed her to be in her mid- to late-thirties, though she lacked any wrinkle lines around her eyes and could have been ten years younger. Shrentak exacted a heavy toll on her citizens.

“I smell roast pig,” Dhamon said.

“Yes. It’s very good this evening. Three plates of it, I’ll bring,” she said. “And bread if you like.”

“Aye. But bring four plates,” Dhamon returned. “And ale all around, too.” The steel pieces would more than cover the cost with a handful of coppers left over for the serving girl to take home.

The draconian shook his head after she’d moved away. “That alley just outside, Dhamon. We could have waited and ambushed Maldred there. You were thinking about it. I could read your mind.”

“Aye,” Dhamon admitted. “I was thinking about it. I’m still thinking about it.”

“Its true Maldred has to be dealt with.” Ragh mused in a conspiratorial whisper. “Him and that Nur… Nur…”

“Nura Bint-Drax.” Dhamon met the draconian’s gaze, where there was still no hint of recollection about the snake-woman.

“We’ve got to kill the both of them, Dhamon, if we’re to get out from under the shadow dragon’s claw.”

Dhamon nodded.

“Because we damn well can’t do what that beast wants us to do. We can’t go after Sable. It would be suicide.”

“Aye, suicide.” Dhamon sat silent. “But everyone dies,” he added after a moment. He’d willingly give up his life to save his child, make a stand against the overlord if that’s what it took, but he didn’t care to forfeit Fiona’s and Ragh’s lives, too.

The serving girl returned and set plates in front of all of them, leaving one at the empty chair. She was quick to disappear and come back with tall mugs of ale, nearly tipping over the one she sat in front of Dhamon. Her eyes wide and fixed on Dhamon’s face, she gasped, mumbled an apology, and scampered back to the kitchen. Dhamon ran his thumbs around the lip of his mug and glanced down into its dark surface. His face was faintly reflected, and he noted a scale on his cheek that hadn’t been there just minutes before, when they had entered the place.

When Dhamon looked up, he saw Fiona and Ragh staring at him.

The draconian swallowed hard and dropped his gaze to a whorl on the tabletop. “Going after the Black would be suicide, I repeat,” Ragh raised his voice a notch. “You’re not really thinking about it, are you? Going after the overlord?”

Dhamon resumed staring into the ale. He raised his fingers to his cheek. The skin around the scale was burning hot as though from a fever.

“You’re strong, I’ll grant you that, Dhamon, far stronger than me. And that weapon looks formidable.

I’ll admit the lady here is good with a sword, and she would be a strong warrior—that is if she came to her senses—but we can’t take Sable.”

“I know. Suicide.”

“Suicide. But you’re thinking about it anyway.” After the draconian downed the contents of his mug, Ragh added. “I’ll have no part in your suicide mission, Dhamon. I’m not sure why I came this far with you, why I didn’t just slip off into the swamp after we left the shadow dragon’s cave. Maldred and Nura were watching you, not me. I know you saved me from a spawn-held village, and maybe I feel I owe you for that, but whatever else you did, I don’t…” Ragh’s voice trailed off as he spotted Maldred coming in the door.

The tavern hushed. All eyes turned to watch the blue-skinned ogre-mage. Shrentak was known for odd denizens, but even here Maldred stood out. The ogre returned the stares. When the patrons started to look away, he glided catlike to Dhamon’s table.

Without meeting Dhamon’s glare, Maldred sat and hungrily dug into his meal. Fiona watched him between bites of her own dinner and began rocking back and forth, eyes narrowed to venomous slits. She reached for her mug, took a deep pull of ale, sputtered. She coughed to clear her throat and took another swallow. Around them, most of the other patrons returned to their conversations.

“You tried to make me hate Rig,” Fiona spat, directing her words at Maldred. “You used magic on me and manipulated me.”

The ogre-mage briefly interrupted his eating, looked up from his plate. “That was long months ago Lady Knight.” Indeed Maldred had toyed with her affections when she and Rig kept company for a time with Dhamon and his little band of thieves. It had been a game to Maldred, and he had played it very well. Dhamon hadn’t seemed to object.

“You are a thief,” she continued.

He nodded.

“And you are a liar.”

“And you are a definite liability, Lady Knight,” Maldred replied grimly. He drank the ale in one swallow, then thumped the mug on the table to call for more.

Ragh caught Dhamon’s attention and gestured to a nearby table. The men there seemed particularly interested in the blue-skinned ogre.

“Keep it down the two of you,” Dhamon said to Fiona and Maldred. “Bad enough we look as we do. We don’t need to draw any more attention.” He made a move to push his plate away, then thought better of it. He needed to keep his strength up. He ate quickly, keeping his eyes on Maldred the entire time.

Finished, Dhamon wrapped his fingers around the ale mug and pulled it close. He contemplated taking a drink, then decided not.

He leaned back in his chair. “Why does the shadow dragon want Sable dead? Really?” Dhamon said in a low voice to the ogre-mage.

Maldred steepled his fingers and answered in similarly hushed tones. “He told you. Two dragons of their size cannot exist without deadly rivalry in the same land. The shadow dragon covets this swamp and does not wish to go elsewhere.” Maldred finished a second mug of ale. “Truthfully I think he would be the better dragon for this country. He wouldn’t meddle with the people who live here, wouldn’t try to expand his territory and enlarge the swamp, would leave the ogre lands alone. He would be content with things the way they already are.”

“Would he?” Dhamon said. “Just why does the shadow dragon need mortals to fight for him? He would stand a better chance against the Black than we would.”

Maldred thought a moment. “A better chance, maybe, but he stays safe this way. And you, Dhamon, he feels you are some kind of anointed warrior. He believes you can sneak into the caverns and surprise and defeat Sable.”

Dhamon gave a quiet laugh. “Surprise an overlord? I rode a dragon, ogre. Dragon’s senses are incredible. You can’t surprise them unless they’re in a deep sleep, and not always then.”

“Your senses are also acute,” Maldred countered, “and you’re stronger than any four or five men. I’ve seen what you’re capable of.”

“Sable will kill all of us, ogre.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

Dhamon took a drink then, feeling the ale warm his throat. He relished the sensation, which he had denied himself for too long. But I will die soon to the scales anyway, Dhamon thought, again touching the scale on his cheek. So what difference does the method of my death make? “I know what I know, ogre, but I’d try to fight Sable anyway if I knew for certain my child would be all right.”