Jean Rabe - Redemption

As the spell finished, the dragon became Nura’s shadow, moving alongside her unnoticed as she approached the gate. The guards stopped her, of course, but they were not overly alarmed, as she made it clear to them she was alone and carried no weapons. The mage on the parapet could find nothing untoward about her. The dragon’s magic blocked the humans’ pathetic attempts to scry beyond her Ergothian facade.

She was ushered in to see the commander, whose name she’d learned from the Knight of Neraka she’d caught days ago. She was announced as a comely gift from a local warlord. Her sexy appearance had been enhanced with a suggestive spell for good measure. She was taken to the commander’s chambers. There she silently killed him, minutes after the door closed—and minutes after the shadow dragon wormed from the man’s mind how to slip into the vaults below.

It was almost too easy. On another night, Nura might have tripped a glyph or other magical alarm just so she could have the fun of battling some of the keep’s forces, but fun would have to wait for a more propitious time. Tonight it was important to get what they came for and leave without incident.

She gathered the pick of the lot, concentrating on those items that were small and concentrated in energy and felt to her touch to have the most arcane magic in them. Mostly these were rings and other bits of jewelry that she could fasten to herself. She found an exquisite leather backpack—itself cleverly enchanted—and filled it with magical goblets and daggers, one of which contained a spell that burned her fingers; collars and a stunted candle holder; boxes of incense and small vials filled with swirling multicolored oils. She and her shadow passed over items overly large or with too little enchantment to be of value.

They left without ceremony. Nura called upon a simple spell of her own to transport her and her shadow dozens of yards safely away from the keep. Nura was so giddy from her unusual escapade with the shadow dragon, that she vowed to find another such stronghold as soon as possible to share another shadow spell.

“And Dhamon Grimwulf thought he was such a good thief!” she exclaimed, as she climbed upon the shadow dragon’s back and gripped his neck.

“Dhamon must be kept safe,” the shadow dragon reminded her, as he leapt into the night sky and headed back to his new lair. “He is searching for us even now, Nura Bint-Drax. Find him first and make sure no harm comes to him. Indeed every day I feel more strongly that he is the one. He is my last chance.”

“Do you really think this raft is going to hold all of us?” Ragh was helping to wrap twine around a dozen thin logs they’d lashed together, his stubby claws fumbling at the task. “I’m pretty heavy and Maldred’s…”

“Aye, I know. The ogre’s no lightweight,” Dhamon said. “No, I don’t know that this raft will hold us. But all of us can’t damn well swim. We have to try something.”

Ragh gave him a skeptical look, remembering the incident at sea during the storm. “You’re mad, my friend.”

He helped push the makeshift vessel out onto the river and cautiously climbed aboard, setting his great sword carefully down in front of him. The raft didn’t sink when Maldred and Dhamon joined him, but it rested low in the water, tilting precariously in whichever direction someone leaned. Ragh kept a claw on the sword’s pommel so he could hold onto the weapon in case it started to slide off.

Ragh had suggested they walk to the coast, but Dhamon said travel across the overgrown land was impossibly slow, and he needed to get to Throt as quickly as possible. Ever since he’d given up on finding Fiona, and seen the vision of the shadow dragon in the crystal ball, Dhamon had pushed them to take risks. Not one of the three had slept a wink in the past twenty-four hours, but only Dhamon looked alive, alert.

“We could still march to the coast, take shortcuts and…” Ragh swallowed the rest of his words as the wind blew away the edges of Dhamon’s hood. The draconian noticed the right side of Dhamon’s face was almost completely covered in small, black scales, and only a patch on his neck was still flesh. Dhamon’s hands were completely covered, too. The old sorcerer’s garment he was wearing hid most of it from prying eyes.

“No, we’re taking this raft.” Dhamon stood grimly at the back, using the haft of the glaive to pole the raft along in the shallows. The draconian had to admit they were moving considerably faster than would have been possible if they were trudging through the thick grass.

Ragh looked to the east, his interest caught by a trio of lounging crocodiles and the cloud of flies that haloed them. “But this raft won’t make it across the New Sea, you have to admit. It might not even make it to the New Sea.”

“No, this raft won’t, but a ferry will,” Maldred interjected. “That’s what you’re counting on, isn’t it, Dhamon? Finding a ferry along the coast?”

That was indeed Dhamon’s plan, but he didn’t bother to nod to the ogre-mage. He was scanning the river ahead, the thick foliage on both sides. He was thinking about the baby he had seen in Riki’s arms in the crystal ball vision and wondering if it was a boy or a girl and if in some small way its looks favored him. He used to be good-looking, he mused, before these terrible scales began to spread. At least the child would have a family life with Riki and Varek, something Dhamon unfortunately had been deprived of, as far as he knew. Funny, he could remember almost nothing of his boyhood, couldn’t recall his own mother and father—probably he was an orphan.

“If I can make it safe for them, the child will have a good home,” he murmured.

“What did you say, Dhamon?”

“Nothing, ogre.”

Maldred gave a great sigh, hung his head. Within a few moments, he was asleep.

Dhamon couldn’t afford to rest. He wasn’t hungry either, and his forced pace hadn’t allowed his companions any time to eat. They could eat later. Perhaps he’d want food later, too. He didn’t need much rest anymore, or much food. His senses were keen, his strength remarkable. It was amazing what little it took to sustain him.

Most of the time he felt stronger than ever, bristling with energy By the same token, every inch of him dully ached! He was nauseated half the time, and the other half his head throbbed. His feet hurt always, as they were growing and straining the limits of his boots. Damn the shadow dragon! he cursed inwardly with each breath. Thankfully the sleeves were long on this old sorcerer’s robe and helped to conceal his ugly form. When he came upon Riki and the child, he didn’t want them to see what was happening to him. If only I see them while there is still something human about me, he thought.

He knew Ragh stole glances at him, as they followed the winding river under a waning sun. Dhamon was determined not to let the draconian know he was suffering from the shadow dragon’s magic, so he spent his time looking at everything but his two passengers. The view of the Black’s land was better from the river, and he imagined he might actually enjoy the journey were the circumstances different. The leaves of the cypress trees were a vivid emerald and decorated with colorful parrots, their long tails looking like ribbons tied to the branches. Though they were some distance away, he could see the fine detail on the birds, and hear their soft whistles. Their noise ebbed and flowed and at times added to the pounding in his head. He could make out the very edges and veins of the leaves, and hear their rustling, hear the little waves lapping against the raft, against the bank, hear unseen animals pattering through the brush, and by the sounds they made he guessed at what kinds of animals they were. He heard the snarl of a panther, the soft step of a deer, the growl of… something that wasn’t a normal creature.