Jean Rabe - Redemption

“Spawn, giving their word?” the half-elf raised his upper lip in a sneer. “I think you’ll kill us anyway.

I think—”

“The woman,” Eben said, hushing the half-elf with a wave of his hand. “What do you intend to do with the woman…?”

“We intend to get help for her,” Dhamon answered, “but it’s a long story and too long to tell you.”

Behind them, they heard the noise of a chain, the anchor being pulled up. Dhamon was angered that Eben had not ordered the man to stay.

“What we need is safe passage. That’s all. Across the New Sea and to the coast of Throt.” Dhamon nodded to Ragh, glancing at the fishing boat.

Ragh waved the long sword threateningly at the half-elf, then brushed by him, sloshing toward the boat. The frantic fisherman was fumbling with the sail now and had managed to get it half-way raised before the rigging became tangled.

“Passage for us. Then you’re free to go about your business.”

“You’ll not harm my crew.”

It wasn’t a question. “No, I’ll not harm any of you—if you cooperate.”

Ragh was climbing up the side of the boat, as the fisherman edged to the other side of the deck, knife flashing. “Just passage, and perhaps some of whatever food and water you’ve on board.”

“For the two of you?” Eben gestured to Fiona. “And her?”

“Her name’s Fiona. Aye, the two of us, Fiona, and one more passenger.” Dhamon glanced over his shoulder. “Ogre! Bring Fiona, we’ve got a way to Throt!”

There was not much wind, and so they didn’t reach their destination until a little more than two days later. It was twilight when they arrived, and the pale purple sky striped gray with bands of clouds, took some of the harshness away from the stark land of Throt. The grass of the uneven plains that stretched before them was dry and brittle, and the bushes that grew in clumps had shed most of their leaves. There was a stand of pines that looked a little out of place, the trees all relatively small. To the east, and running almost straight north and south, was a jagged chain of mountains. The shadow dragon was there somewhere, if the magic in the crystal ball spoke true. The mountains were not particularly impressive or high or what Dhamon imagined a dragon would choose for its lair, but he had the impression they looked like the spikes on a dragon’s back.

It won’t be long now, Dhamon thought. The village near Haltigoth, where Riki and his child were waiting, couldn’t be too far. If they pushed, they should reach it by sometime tomorrow. He was slightly familiar with Throt, having been in a few skirmishes in the country when he served in the Knights of Takhisis in years past. Admittedly he had not spent much time on the ground, as he was fighting from the back of a blue dragon named Gale, but between his memory and the crystal ball, he was hopeful they would find their way.

He had not hurt the fishermen, as he’d promised. It turned out Eben was a former Solamnic Knight who had left the order more than a decade ago when he was seriously injured during a skirmish with hobgoblins. The man still had a pronounced limp from the encounter. Dhamon considered leaving Fiona with him and telling him she was safe with the Solamnics, but he had the notion that the mad Knight might find a way to overpower the fishermen and come after him again. Better that he take Fiona into the village and leave her with Riki and Varek until the shadow dragon was dealt with. Then he’d return and take her to some Solamnic citadel, provided he had enough time left in his life.

“You had no right, Dhamon.”

Maldred’s harsh tone roused Dhamon from his musings. Dhamon gave a curt laugh. “What? No right to give up your big sword to the fishermen? Aye, ogre, I had every right.”

Maldred’s eyes became slits. “My father gave me that sword.”

Dhamon waved to the captain of the fishing boat. The boat was pulling away from the rocky shore, aiming for the deeper waters of the New Sea. The grinning Captain Eben waved the sword.

“We needed to pay for our passage, pay for those fishermen’s time and discomfort. We cost them a few days’ work and no manner of worry. We ate their food and drank their water and spirits. They were all so nervous I don’t think one of them slept the entire time we were on board. It was fortunate for us the sword was valuable.”

Maldred snarled, his lower fangs protruding from bulbous lips. “Valuable? That sword was worth more than their entire boat, Dhamon, and you well know it. He could buy a large new boat with that prize, two or three in fact, and hire more men. Very charitable of you.”

Dhamon couldn’t help but smile.

“There was an enchantment about my sword. You could have given them that damn glaive—tainted with Gold-moon’s blood. Or Fiona’s sword. My father gave me that sword.”

Dhamon turned away, looking at Fiona. The draconian was still wielding the Solamnic Knight’s sword, keeping it trained on her.

“Take the gag out of her mouth, Ragh,” Dhamon said.

“You want to hear more of her insane prattle?” The draconian shook his head. He stared into the wild eyes of the female Knight. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to untie you,” Ragh said. “I would never be so foolish as that. But I will take the gag out of your mouth—if you promise to keep quiet this time.”

Fiona only glared at him.

“Swear.”

She defiantly shook her head.

“No, the gag stays, Dhamon. Unless you want to watch her.” Ragh was surprised that Dhamon didn’t argue. “Remember when we took it off to let her eat on the boat….” The draconian paused, cocked his head. He heard something. The gentle rustling of dried branches, a hushed and indistinct voice. He and Dhamon looked to the northeast, staring into the spreading twilight, searching for the source of the ominous noise.

“Whoever they are,” Ragh said, “I think they’re hiding behind those pines.”

“Whatever they are,” Dhamon corrected. He stared at the trees, shutting out the soft voices of his companions and focusing on the distant noise. There was the rustling of bushes and the faint sound of pine branches rubbing against each other. And there were voices, at least four distinct ones that he could make out. “Whatever they are,” he repeated. “They aren’t human.” They certainly didn’t sound human to his extra-keen ears. They were talking in a guttural rasp he didn’t recognize.

Ragh listened intently for a few minutes, cocking his head. “I agree—odd voices. Something I recognize there. A word: blessed. Another: Takhisis.”

As the rustling persisted, a small shape darted out from behind the pine trees.

“I can make out at least six voices,” Dhamon said. He pointed at the one running.

“Goblins.” Ragh spat the word. The draconian couldn’t be entirely sure of the shape of the creature, which skittered behind a clump of scraggly bushes, but he finally recognized the language. He had spent enough time on Krynn to know goblin when he heard it spoken. “Big rats.”

Ragh stood silent, watching Dhamon for some signal, glancing at Maldred and Fiona to make sure they weren’t causing problems. The Solamnic Knight, struggling with the ties at her wrists, caught his gaze and stopped, shrugging.

“If there are only six of them, we could just ignore them,” Ragh suggested.

“There’s more than six,” Maldred said. The ogre-mage had come up behind them and was looking at the pines, too. “You might not hear more than that, but goblins don’t travel in such small numbers. There must be at least twice that many.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem, no matter the numbers.” Dhamon propped the glaive over his right shoulder and gripped the great sword in his left hand. “I’ve found that goblins are little more than a nuisance. Oversized rats, just as Ragh said. And they die quickly.”