Jean Rabe - Redemption

Just as Dhamon reached the shaggybarks the bakali jumped out between the two trees and hurled something at him. Three silvery shards flashed at him like shooting stars. Dhamon veered, but too late. All three found their mark, two in his stomach, one in his shoulder. They were metal barbs that dug through his sorcerer’s robes and bit into his flesh.

As Dhamon darted around the largest tree, the bakali hurled three more of the metal barbs at him, striking with accuracy. Dhamon howled in pain as he raised both hands over his head, bringing the glaive down for a killing blow. The bakali had turned, but the blade clove its back before it could take more than a couple of steps.

Dhamon tugged the glaive free, seeing the bakali was mortally wounded, pathetically clawing at the ground in a useless attempt to escape. He ended its misery.

Then he loped back toward Fiona, who seemed to be losing ground in her fight. He smelled human blood now—hers, his own—and something else. It was a biting scent he couldn’t identify, but one similar to that emanating from the small bakali.

He sniffed, and his pace involuntarily slowed, legs feeling suddenly heavy. Curiously, the constant ache in his limbs had lessened. He was starting to feel numb.

“Poison.” Shouldering the glaive, Dhamon frantically plucked at the several metal barbs stuck in him.

The odd smell was some sort of poison. He noted a residue of white paste on the sharp tips as he pulled them out, one by one, and tossed them away.

“Damn it all,” he muttered. Dhamon forced himself to keep moving, though he felt overcome with sluggishness. He could tell his heart had slowed. He could call for Ragh again, though he knew the raft was probably too far away. “Damn the dragon and damn me.” The poison made him groggy, but he guessed it wouldn’t kill him.

A few steps more and he was at Fiona’s side. He dazedly noted where the bakali had raked her left arm. Fiona barely nodded at him. She was faltering. Fatigue, he decided, or maybe more poison. Tired and wounded, she was losing her fight with the bakali.

Dhamon stepped between her and her foe and took a high grip on his weapon.

“Foul beast,” he cursed. He thrust forward with the glaive, ramming the tip of the blade into the bakali’s stomach. The lizard-creature swung back wildly, grazing him with its claws.

“Again,” Dhamon told himself, summoning all his energy to swing a second time at the determined creature. This hit cut deeper and made the thing yowl. Worry spread across its reptilian visage. Glancing over its scaly shoulder, the bakali saw the fate of its companions.

The bakali chattered at Dhamon as it backed away, working hard to stay beyond the reach of the glaive. Dhamon couldn’t understand what the beast was saying, probably in its native language. Probably it was pleading for its life. Dhamon could smell the stench of its fear. He could taste its fear. Shuddering at the disturbing sensation, Dhamon forced his heavy limbs to move just a little quicker so he could end this struggle.

“You ssshould hunt creatures with four legsss, not two,” he told it. His words were slurred and his tongue thick, but he found his heart beating a little faster from the excitement. He heard Fiona creep up behind him, and he heard her take a deep breath just as he swung hard, putting all his strength behind this final blow. The blade parted the bakali’s thick flesh like parchment, and the creature’s black blood splattered Dhamon. A second swing took the creature’s head off, and at that very moment Fiona acted.

She thrust her enchanted blade deep into Dhamon’s back.

Dhamon screamed at the shock and pain, dropping his weapon even as the female knight pulled her sword out of him for a second blow. He stumbled around, took a step back and tried to retrieve his weapon, but he wasn’t fast enough. Fiona circled in the opposite direction, slashing at him from the side, the blade sliding between his ribs. Either of her blows would have killed a normal man, but Dhamon’s extraordinary strength kept him on his feet. Fiona shouted her frustration. Her third swing had more thrust and caught him in the legs. He fell to his knees and flailed forward, trying to knock her sword away.

It was her madness that was causing this betrayal, he knew, and it was the poison in him that was keeping him from a proper counterattack.

“Fiona, it’sss me, Dhamon! Ssstop!”

His shout was slurred, although it would take more than volume to reach some part of her mind that might still be sane. Dhamon shouted again, more weakly. He barely managed to dodge beneath her next swing, and the next. “Ragh!” he cried. “Ragh!”

“Call for your wingless pet all you like,” Fiona sneered. “Fil kill him, too.”

Dhamon had stood up to draconians, spawn, dragons, and survived all of them. How could he die now, the victim of someone who, in his righteous days, he considered a friend? Move! he told himself.

Get clear, talk some sense into her. Get the glaive. Get help. Help!

He felt the warm stickiness of his blood on his back and side, blood running down his leg. The coppery scent of it grew strong. He guessed her blade had broken his ribs. “Fiona,” he pleaded. “It’sss me. Dhamon. Remember? Ssstop, or you’ll kill me.”

She bared her teeth but stayed her next blow. There was a tempest in her eyes—eyes seething out of control. He felt an uncharacteristic tug of fear at that look.

“It’sss me, Dhamon.”

“Of course I know who you are!” Her words came fast and hard, like lightning and thunder from the storm inside her. “I know! The mighty Dhamon Grimwulf—failed Dark Knight, failed champion of Goldmoon. Failed. Failed. Failed. The only thing you’re successful at is killing people. Killing your friends. By the memory of Vinus Solamnus, Dhamon, I will kill you!”

She darted in, and this time it took all his luck to stay out of her reach. He brought his arms up defensively, but hadn’t the strength anymore to evade her blows. The blood he’d lost and the poison that was coursing through him were taking a heavy toll.

“Rig’s dead, Dhamon,” she said bitterly. Fiona lunged, her blade solidly striking his arm and sending a few scales flying. She was toying with him now—confident she had him and drawing out the end to her own satisfaction. “Rig’s dead, and you killed him!”

Dhamon shook his head, somehow managed to fight his way to his feet. Dizzy, he nearly pitched forward but squared his shoulders and jumped back just in time. She’d have run him through with her fierce swing. He held a hand. “I didn’t kill Rig, Fiona, I…”

“Liar!” She swung her long sword at waist-level now, piercing Dhamon’s robes and drawing another line of blood. “Monster!” she howled, spying the scales on his stomach. “Spawn! You killed Rig as surely as if you’d plunged the blade in his heart. You took us—took him—from the dungeons, but you didn’t do anything to save him.”

“Fiona, listen…”

“We were abandoned in Shrentak, Rig and me. You didn’t care what happened to us. Not you, not your lying ogre friend. You killed Rig, Dhamon Grimwulf, just like you killed everyone else who got too close to you.” The female Knight lunged again, slashing at him, still toying with him, Dhamon knew. He didn’t have the strength anymore.

He dropped to his knees.

“Praying, Dhamon?” Fiona taunted. “Are you praying to the gods to be saved?” She tossed back her head and laughed. “Well, the gods aren’t in this accursed swamp, Dhamon. It’s just you and me, and I’m not going to save you. I’m going to kill you.”

Dhamon didn’t fear death. At times he’d wished for it. But if he was dead he would never meet his child. He would never be able to help Rikali. Ragh! He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Help!