Jean Rabe - Redemption

“…who was unaware of me in this chamber,” the woman finished.

“Oh, yes,” said Maldred, surprised at this information. “That dragon.”

The woman twirled like a dancer, the dark purple of her robes flying out and resembling a spinning flower, stirring the lavender mist and filling the crystal with a swirling purple smoke. There was a flash of green, the winking of her eyes, then the smoke disappeared and a cavern materialized to fill the small globe.

Dhamon and Ragh spoke excitedly, but Maldred pushed their words to the background of his consciousness so he could concentrating on the magic in the globe. The crystal continued to sing to him, and he beseeched it to show him more.

The image in the ball changed, the view shifting inside the cavern, showing parts that were dark but vastly different than the opening of the cave. The stone here was orange and brown and dry. There was no hint of the moss and no standing water. Soon they could see a very large, shadowy dragon stretched out at the back of a high-domed chamber. The dragon’s eyes flickered open, and Maldred urged the woman in the crystal ball to pull back. He couldn’t risk the chance that the dragon might discover he was being spied on. Magical creatures might somehow be able to use the magic to see who was scrying them.

The image shifted again, showing the exterior of the cave, then showing the mountain in which the cave was nestled.

“Where is this lair?” Maldred asked.

The entire mountain range came into view, then a singular peak, a river tributary in the distance, and a row of spindly trees—distinctive features in the landscape.

“Throt,” he said in a strangled voice. “The dragon must be in Throt.”

“You can find this place?” Dhamon leaned closer to Maldred. He held onto the tabletop, gazing into the crystal, feeling his knees weaken. Throt was far from here, and he was certain his body would be completely covered with scales long before they reached this other lair. He was certain he would be dead, his soul gone.

“Yes.” Maldred sagged on the table. The crystal was sapping his strength.

“And my child. Ask it about my child.”

Maldred remembered the scrying pool of the Black Robes that had stolen Fetch’s life, and he briefly wondered if this crystal ball would kill him.

“Dhamon’s child,” Maldred requested.

The woman in the crystal complied, eyes brightening and sapping more of Maldred’s strength. She revealed the same village the shadow dragon had showed them on his wall of fog, but it was daylight this time, and there were humans milling about and tending to various ordinary chores. There were a few elves in the mix, and Dhamon spotted Varek, Riki’s husband, talking to a young elven man.

“Riki and my child,” Dhamon insisted.

Maldred gritted his teeth and asked the crystal again. His mind instantly propelled him through the lavender mist and inside a small building where the silvery-haired half-elf sat in a straight-backed chair, nursing an infant.

Dhamon gripped the table edge harder and stared, wanting to memorize every detail of the baby’s face. The innocent he might never see. Unlike him, the child would have a family, a mother and father—even though Varek wasn’t the true father.

“Are they safe? Where are the hobgoblins?”

Again Maldred passed this message and his strength to the crystal, and the vision moved to the outskirts of the village where the hobgoblins camped. There weren’t quite as many of them, but this time Dhamon spotted three Dark Knights.

“The dragon might have been bluffing me,” Dhamon said. He wasn’t certain the dragon was allied with the Dark Knights. If that were true, the dragon could have deployed a legion of Knights against Sable, or at least he would have offered to lend a force to accompany Dhamon. “The hobgoblins are with the Dark Knights, not with the shadow dragon.”

“So the shadow dragon was lying?” Ragh mused. “He couldn’t really threaten your child?”

“Perhaps,” Maldred said weakly. “Maybe they’re not the dragon’s forces, but maybe they have some agreement with the dragon for this dark purpose.”

“But they’re still alive,” Dhamon said. “Riki and my child. Ask—where is this village?”

Maldred entreated the woman in the crystal ball. The village shrank, and now it was as though the watchers were flying above the village.

“This place is also in Throt,” Maldred said after a few moments. The vision rose higher above the ground. “In Haltigoth, I think. Many, many miles from the shadow dragon’s new lair.” He made a move to push away from the table, but Dhamon held him in place, pressing a hand against the center of his back.

“One more thing,” Dhamon said. “Ask the crystal ball about Fiona, too.”

Maldred gasped, but relented, in part out of his own fondness for the Solamnic Knight. It was true he played a game with her, but he didn’t care to see her die out of her madness. He fed the question to the woman in purple, who twirled again as the image changed. This time the lavender wisps paled, then turned white, swirling like clouds. The woman’s eyes dimmed and flickered, and the globe showed nothing. “Dead,” the ogre-mage said sadly. “Fiona must be dead.”

Dhamon slammed his fist on the table, jarring the crystal ball. The spell was broken, Maldred kept the magical artifact from rolling off its crown pedestal.

“It’s not your fault,” Ragh told Dhamon.

“Sabar,” Maldred whispered.

“O Sagacious One, we will meet again.” The woman loomed large for just a moment, extended her hands beneficently, and Maldred felt instantly refreshed, all the energy taken from him restored in a rush.

The crystal went clear.

“Dead,” Dhamon muttered. Fiona, Rig, Fetch, Jasper, Shaon, Raph, and all those others with whom he had served in the Knights of Takhisis. Comrades all dead. Had he acted otherwise at important moments, he probably could have saved each one. To know me is to risk death, Dhamon thought.

But his child would not die, Dhamon wouldn’t make any more mistakes.

“We’re going to Throt,” he announced. “Now. While I can still think. While I’m still in control.”

He went through the wardrobe, searching the garments until he found a robe that would fit him, and a pair of leggings. He sliced off the robe so it would hang to just above his knees. The fates knew how sorcerers managed to move about in all this voluminous cloth. He dressed hurriedly and fashioned a bag out of a cloak he cut in two. This he tossed to Maldred.

“For that crystal ball,” he said. “We’re not leaving it here. We might need it again.”

Maldred carefully placed the ball in the makeshift bag and tied it to his belt. He would have an opportunity after all to scry upon Blöde. “All right, Dhamon, we’ll go to Throt. We’ll do all we can…

Dhamon!”

Dhamon was doubled over, clutching his stomach, retching. A moment more and he was on his knees, convulsed.

Ragh leveled the great sword at Maldred.

“Don’t move. Don’t move until Dhamon’s up and moving again,” the draconian said.

It was a brief episode this time but an agonizing one—long minutes during which Ragh and Maldred watched Dhamon writhe on the ground in pain. The ogre stood without moving all that time, the great sword pointed at his heart. Finally, a shaky Dhamon got to his feet. Without another word between the three of them, the trio carefully left the old sorcery chamber, threaded their way down the staircase and through the rank cavern, then stepped back out into the swamp.

Fiona sat on the bank of the stream, dangling her sword in the water. The sunlight caught the blade and created sparkling motes that rippled along the water’s surface, mesmerizing her. The sword was superbly crafted, probably worth more coins than she’d ever possessed. Yet she was angry at the sword, for the magical weapon hadn’t deigned to speak to her for several hours.