Jean Rabe - Redemption

“The shadow dragon will keep his word, I promise you that. He’ll leave Riki’s family alone and call off the hobgoblins. I want to see her and the baby safe, too. And if by some chance you do win…”

Maldred leaned back in the chair, which creaked in protest. “He’ll cure you of the scales.” A pause. “You need that cure, Dhamon, and you and I both know you need it soon.”

Dhamon caught Maldred’s stare, holding it for a long silence. Maldred finally looked away as the serving girl brought more ale.

Dhamon glanced at Ragh, who sat there stolidly, watching Maldred.

“Maldred lies. The shadow dragon lies,” Fiona said to Dhamon.

“Aye, Fiona, the shadow dragon surely lies.” Dhamon pushed away from the table and stood, tightly clenching the glaive’s haft. “But I’ve got to try to save my child.” Or die in the trying, he added silently.

Dhamon walked away from his companions. He heard Maldred rise behind him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” There was a hint of threat in Maldred’s voice.

“I’m going to see if I can find out where Sable is, ogre.”

Instantly a mix of fear and irritation crossed Maldred’s angular face. He strained to keep his angry voice down. “You can’t, Dhamon. Not yet. Nura Bint-Drax will determine when the time is right. It’s too soon, we’ve told you that.”

“Well, the naga isn’t here, is she? I don’t remember the shadow dragon mentioning anything about timing. And I’m running out of time.” He glanced around and noticed that many of the patrons had become interested in his and Maldred’s conversation. “But don’t worry. I’ll not fight the Black without you at my side. Sable will kill me if I make the attempt. And I want to make sure you’re there to die, too.” If I don’t choose to kill you first in the alley, he thought. When Dhamon reached for the door, Maldred dropped a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not going anywhere, Dhamon.”

“No? And you’re going to stop me here? With all these people watching?” Dhamon nodded to Ragh, who was intently regarding them. “Wait for me here, the two of you. I shouldn’t be more than a few hours.” He tossed his coin pouch to the draconian, frowned and nodded to Fiona.

Ragh understood. Dhamon was giving the draconian a chance to escape with the Solamnic as soon as Maldred left to follow Dhamon.

“Or do you want to step outside, ogre?” Dhamon opened the door and immediately was greeted by the odors of the city street.

Maldred growled and let him go. The ogre-mage returned to the table, settling himself down with Fiona and Ragh and thumping his empty mug to summon the serving girl. His eyes were on the door, however, and he was clearly seething.

“Aren’t you going to follow him?” Fiona asked.

Maldred shook his head. “Dhamon expects me to, but that wouldn’t be a safe proposition right now.

So I’ll wait for him. You’re here. That means he’ll be back.”

“Will he?” Ragh asked.

Dhamon waited in the alley, expecting Maldred to follow him. He was trying to decide whether to kill the ogre here or later in the bowels of the city, where his corpse might go undiscovered for days. But the ogre didn’t emerge from the tavern, and so after a while Dhamon cut across the street to the stunted tower of the old sage. Maldred had outfoxed him by staying behind.

“At the very least,” Dhamon decided, “I’ll find out if the overlord’s home.”

There were two spawn guards just beyond the stunted tower’s entrance, and Dhamon made quick work of them. He was becoming an expert at fighting the vile creatures, and he knew to jump back after delivering a mortal blow, saving himself from the brunt of their death-throe acid blasts. The glaive was superbly balanced and lightweight, and gave him a good reach. But with every swing he pictured Goldmoon’s face the time he tried to kill her. When this business was done, he’d get rid of the weapon once and for all. It had a magic that nobody could control.

There was only a little light in the corridor, this coming from a pair of guttering fat-soaked torches that had burned down to stubs. When he was last here, the light was reasonably bright and the air fresh.

Now the staleness hung heavy and nested unpleasantly in his lungs, and a thick layer of grime coated the stone floor. Were he not in a hurry and had he not so many other things on his mind, Dhamon would have let the changes bother him, and he might have investigated matters. Now, though, he wanted only to find a way below, and within moments he located a narrow, winding stairway that took him far beneath the city streets.

The stale air turned increasingly foul. Dhamon smelled stagnant water, human waste, and decaying things he’d rather not think about. The corridors became darker the deeper he went, the torches spaced farther apart and many of them burned out. He knew the spawn could see well in the blackness and doubted they cared about providing light for the human prisoners who rotted in the cells he passed. Sable must have some human servants, though, Dhamon guessed, else no one would have bothered with providing any light.

Dhamon slipped down a corridor filled with waist-deep water. The water was cool, and the film that floated on top of it clung to his clothes. Some of the passages were vaguely familiar because of the animal sculptures that served as torch sconces. These had been burning magically before, when the old sage led him to her laboratory. Now the torches were all burned out, save one in each corridor, which gave off an offensive oily smoke—nothing magical about them any more.

A turn and the water deepened to his chest. Another turn and he was sloshing along in a near-river and most certainly lost. He’d let himself become too preoccupied with thoughts of his child and Riki. He hoped Maldred had managed to follow him, or Nura Bint-Drax. The naga had a knack for turning up.

“Damn.” The floor dropped out from under him, and he had to swim now. It was difficult swimming while holding onto the glaive. There was no torchlight here, only scattered patches of luminous moss that clung to the ceiling and helped to guide him. He considered turning around but thought, Maybe that’s what the water was intended to do, dissuade visitors. “I’m a drenched rat in a maze,” he muttered. “I was a fool to think I could find the Black on my own.”

Was it really as simple as Maldred said? The shadow dragon wanted the swamp and didn’t want to fight Sable himself?

“It’s all too simple,” Dhamon decided as he turned down another watery corridor. He didn’t doubt that the shadow dragon wanted the Black dead, but the reason had to be more convoluted than simply desiring the swamp. Things were never so simple as far as dragons were concerned. There had to be another explanation.

“But what?” Dhamon treaded water, finding himself at a juncture of two passageways. “Just what does the damn shadow dragon want? And why does he need me?”

He chose the branch that led off to the right and began swimming a little faster. He heard sibilant voices up ahead, two or three spawn. He could deal with them.

“Did you hear ssssomething?”

“Heard man talking.”

“Where man?”

The spawn voices buzzed, sometimes in the common tongue, sometimes in their odd, hissing language.

“Where man?”

“Man supposssed to be here?”

“Where?”

“Here!” Dhamon shouted as he erupted from the water. He had swum quietly around a curve and entered a cavern, spotting the scaly threesome sitting on a ledge just above the water. He jumped up onto the ledge, swinging the glaive and sending the blade deep into the chest of the closest spawn.

The thing burst into acid before its companions could act, showering Dhamon with the caustic liquid, for he couldn’t jump out of the way in time. Ignoring the pain, he pressed his attack, sweeping the polearm in a wide arc and cutting the second spawn in two. The weapon was indeed enchanted, but Dhamon’s great strength gave it additional power.