Jean Rabe - Redemption

Because they had ranged several miles in their search for Fiona, it took them until past dawn of the following day to backtrack and reach the large cave mouth concealed by willow leaves that Maldred identified as the shadow dragon’s favorite lair. It didn’t look especially familiar to Dhamon, but then he’d been there at night before. A quick search found old tracks—his, Ragh’s, Fiona’s, Maldred’s. Yes, this was the place. But one set of tracks was more recent. They were smaller tracks, belonging to a child.

“The naga.” Dhamon hurried inside. He headed straight toward the depths of the cave. “Ragh, keep a close watch on the ogre.”

The cave was very dark and heavy with peculiar, fetid odors. Ragh came in behind Dhamon, prodding Maldred forward. “Some light,” the draconian instructed, “and I know the gestures to that spell now, so don’t try anything else.”

Maldred cupped his hand and fluttered his fingers, mumbling a few fast words in an ancient language.

A ball of glowing light appeared. The draconian held the great sword in one hand, cupped his other hand, and copied Maldred. Another glowing sphere appeared, hovering above their heads, following them.

“I’ve got a little magic in me, too, ogre. So watch yourself.” Ragh hoped for a surprised reaction from Maldred, but he didn’t get it.

“I taught a kobold that spell, Ragh. A kobold. It’s easy magic.”

Ragh poked him with the tip of the sword. “Move, ogre.”

They caught up with Dhamon, who was deeper in the cave where the air was still. “Nura got here first and warned the shadow dragon. Now we’re both in a fix, Dhamon. You’ll not get your cure, and the swamp will swallow my homeland.”

Dhamon was peering into the recesses of the cave. “Maybe. But this cave goes on for quite a ways more than I first believed.” He could detect no hint of the dragon, not the slightest stirring of air from its noxious breath, not the faintest glow from its filmy eyes. He couldn’t smell the naga either—she had a distinctive musky odor he’d locked away in his memory. “Let’s see how far it goes.”

“It goes nowhere,” Maldred said. He’d been here a few times before and thought he knew the full extent of the cave, but he allowed the draconian to prod him along.

The cave twisted and turned, heading deeper into the earth. The air grew cooler and more repulsive. They came upon a chamber filled with the skeletons of giant crocodiles, great lizards, and other beasts. Some were half-eaten and rotting, covered with a carpet of feasting insects, others were old, bleached bones.

The cave trail wound farther down, narrowing, and Dhamon still pressed on, though he realized the dragon could not possibly squeeze down here.

“Dhamon, this is pointless.”

“Shut up, ogre.”

“Stop calling me that.”

Dhamon whirled. The light from the ball of light above Maldred threw shadows upward along the planes and angles of his wide, blue face. “That’s what you are, isn’t it, an ogre? That’s why you betrayed me, because you’re an ogre. Because you had to find a way to save your precious ogre lands. Well, ogre, as you said—it’s pointless—and your lands aren’t going to be saved, are they?” And neither will my child if I can’t find the damn shadow dragon, he thought.

“I’m sorry”

“Maybe if you’d come to me as a friend, I would’ve helped you. Maybe I would’ve marched straight into Sable’s lair, with whatever forces we could muster. Maybe I would’ve done that for the Maldred I thought I knew. But not for the ogre I can’t stomach. Not for the ogre who put my child at risk and who is at least in part responsible for Fiona wandering somewhere blindly in this wretched swamp.”

His tirade finished, Dhamon turned around and started retracing his steps. “You said this was the shadow dragon’s favorite lair. Where are its other hiding holes?”

Maldred didn’t answer until Ragh poked him sharply with the sword. “Nura led me to believe there are a few, but I’ve not been summoned to any others.”

“So where would the dragon go?” Dhamon thought back to the cave high in the mountains where he first encountered the shadow dragon. Maybe there, but he hoped not. He’d stumbled into the cave by accident and had no way of finding it again.

“I don’t know.”

“Not good enough.” This came from Ragh, who warily watched Dhamon.

Dhamon was feeling his way along a wall that was a mix of earth and stone. Ragh nudged Maldred closer, and the twin globes of light revealed a side passage.

“I thought I felt air blowing in.” The passage was too narrow for the three of them, and after several feet yielded to a natural staircase that wound its way up into darkness. The dragon certainly couldn’t have fit in here, Dhamon decided, but the naga might have. If she’d been this way, perhaps he should let the naga lead him to the dragon.

“Dhamon,” Ragh cautioned.

“I know, but do you have a better idea at the moment?” Without waiting for an answer, Dhamon slipped into the passage and started up the stairs. The other two followed him, single file, with the draconian at the rear prodding Maldred. Dhamon’s legs ached with each step and he felt a burning sensation on his back, which he suspected was more scales sprouting. “Damn all the dragons in the world.” His head pounded.

The steps were worn away in several places, but a stream of water trickled down and disappeared in a wide crack. The light globes revealed handholds here and there and deteriorated carvings and etchings.

Dhamon traced one with his finger. It looked like the image of some kind of draconian or perhaps a bakali, and there was a smaller bulbous-nosed creature flying above it. The other creatures were too faint to make out.

It was a tight squeeze at the very end. As Dhamon stepped out into a worked stone chamber, he felt the floor give way beneath him. Reflexes like lightning, he sprang forward, rolled, and stood up again just as Maldred forced himself through the entrance and lost his balance, throwing his arms out at the last minute to catch himself from falling through a widening gap. The ogre-mage looked down and saw jagged iron spikes a few feet below. He wormed his way past, as Ragh carefully stepped into the room, scraping his shoulders on the rocks.

The floor was tiled, alternating squares of slate and black-veined rose marble, with a thick layer of dust making them look fuzzy and out of focus. Dhamon prodded Maldred ahead of him with the butt of the glaive, finding two more places that gave way, with spikes at the bottom of each one’s long drop.

“Why would Nura come up here?” Maldred wondered aloud. A quick gesture and a few words and he changed his light globe, making it larger and brighter. Behind him, Ragh did the same. Their light revealed a hexagonal room littered with benches and bookcases and a half-dozen shadowed alcoves.

Dhamon edged forward, careful to test each tile in the floor with the glaive. He found another loose one, but rather than collapsing into a pit of spikes, this one upon his touch produced a gout of hot, blue flame.

“A sorcerer’s den,” Dhamon spat. “A damn evil sorcerer if you want my guess.”

Still, he turned and turned, eyeing the place.

Ragh shifted away from Maldred, keeping an eye on the ogre-mage. He was using the great sword to prod the stones, and he employed his extraordinary draconian senses to detect anything unusual.

“Dhamon. I smell magic that is still alive.”

“Alive?” Maldred gave the draconian a disbelieving look.

Ragh waved a claw toward a knickknack-littered table. “It’s old magic but it still carries some energy. Some type of ward, I think.”