Jean Rabe - Redemption

The earth quieted after a few moments. Dhamon stepped back and took a breath. It took several minutes for Ragh and the goblins to come to their senses and many minutes after that for the goblins who’d run away to straggle back.

Dhamon went over to the brook to clean the blood off himself and the glaive. Glancing up, he saw the draconian trying to take the sword away from Fiona.

“It talks to me!” she was shouting madly.

“Let her have it,” Dhamon said, as he walked over to join them.

The draconian raised an eyebrow. “She nearly killed you, Dhamon. Are you as mad as she is to let her keep this weapon?”

Maybe, he thought. Aloud he said, “We’ll rest here an hour, no more, then be on the move again.”

They pressed on until dawn, following the brook that widened into a stream as they proceeded north.

“Yagmurth says the village you want is just around that rise,” Ragh told Dhamon. “They want to know if you’re going to lead them into battle against their hobgoblin cousins. Because you slew the umberhulk, they think you can perform miracles.”

Dhamon didn’t answer at first. He was staring at his reflection in the water. I am a monster, he thought. The fire in his stomach had spread all over his body. For the past several miles it was all he could do to ignore the pain and plod onward.

“You’re getting taller,” Ragh said, glancing at Dhamon warily, then looking over at the Knight, who was still carrying her magic sword and talking to it. “You realize that, don’t you? I’d say by a few inches at least.”

The seams of Dhamon’s ragged garments were stretched over his growing limbs. “Aye, Ragh, I know.”

Dhamon continued to stare at his reflection. His face was different, too, and it took him a few moments to understand how different. His forehead was slightly higher, and a ridge was forming over his eyes. Like Ragh, Dhamon thought his neck was thicker, too, though he couldn’t be sure. His ears were smaller, slightly, as though they were melding against the sides of his head.

“Maldred, ask Sabar if there’s still enough time.”

“Taller,” Ragh commented quietly, “and more forgiving. You let Fiona keep the sword. You call the ogre-mage by name.”

“There’s time,” Maldred replied after several minutes of silence, during which he consulted the magic-woman in the crystal. “But not much. She says to hurry.”

I am hurrying. Dhamon ran his hand through his hair, a shiver racing down his spine when he saw his palms were dark gray like the bottoms of his feet. He stepped back from the stream and looked toward the village. “I need to make sure Riki and the child are safe.” A moment later, “And I can’t let them see me. Not until I’ve forced a cure from the damn shadow dragon. If I can find the dragon in time.”

The old yellow goblin shuffled over, careful to keep a polite distance, waiting until Dhamon was done speaking before it began chattering to Ragh. The other goblins huddled together, watching the exchange between the draconian and their leader.

“Yagmurth asks again if you will lead them in battle against their hobgoblin cousins. He wants very much to fight.” Ragh bent closer to the old goblin, waving a hand in front of his face to ward off the stink.

He growled and snapped in the guttural tongue until Yagmurth seemed happy.

The old goblin squared his shoulders, whipped about, and trundled back to his fellows. Fiona gave the whole bunch a look of loathing, then joined Dhamon and Ragh.

“What did you say to him?” Dhamon watched the goblins chatter happily among themselves, making whooping noises and raising their spears.

Ragh glanced over his shoulder, watching Maldred replace the crystal ball in the makeshift bag. The ogre-mage tied it to his waist. “I told them that I, the greatest of Takhisis’ creations, would lead them into battle against their hobgoblin cousins.” He lowered his voice. “If necessary. If we can’t get Riki and her family out of town any other way. If the crystal is true, and the hobgoblins aren’t there at the shadow dragon’s behest, there might be some problems with a rescue operation.”

“And what about me?”

“I told Yagmurth you had business elsewhere.”

Dhamon shook his head. “No. I—”

“…Have to get your cure before it’s too late. Your child doesn’t need a draconian—or spawn—for a father. Save yourself, Dhamon, and I’ll endeavor to save your woman and child.”

“Ragh, I…”

“I will go with you, sivak.” Fiona put her hand on the pommel of her sword. “I will go with you to help the half-elf Riki. That is an honorable cause.” The Solamnic Knight’s eyes were wide and staring, but the fiery madness seemed temporarily gone. “I will not help Dhamon find a cure, and I will not stay in the company of the ogre-liar, so I will go with you. That is what I should and will do.”

She shrugged and wiped at a stain on her tunic, then looked up with a wild look in her eyes again.

“But when Riki and her family are safe, I will track Dhamon—as high into the mountains as he chances to go.” She turned from the draconian and locked eyes with Dhamon. “And then, Dhamon Grimwulf, we will finish this, you and I. You will pay for Rig’s death—for the deaths of Shaon and Jasper and whomever else you betrayed. You will pay for everything.”

“Riki will be all right, Dhamon. They might not have to fight the hobgoblins to get her out. They might be able to slip in, take her, your child, and Varek too.”

“Aye, maybe.”

It was the first either of them had spoken since they’d left Ragh, Fiona, and the goblins, hours ago.

They were making their way toward the mountain ridge. The wind was strong, cutting across the uneven plain, rustling the tall, dried grass and whipping up small rocks. The sky was cloudless and blue, making the brown landscape seem even more desolate and drab. The few trees that grew on the craggy ledges were thin and barren, save for a lone pine that stretched tall and defiant.

Dhamon lengthened his stride, keeping his eyes on the pine. He’d chosen a route that avoided the cluster of small settlements and farms between Haltigoth and the mountains, and one that roughly paralleled a merchant road to the south.

Maldred maintained his appearance as a blue-skinned ogre-mage. Earlier, Maldred had attempted to don his human guise when two men on horseback rode by, but Dhamon became angry and shouted at the ogre, so Maldred kept his true appearance. The sight of the ogre kept the men on horseback at a distance.

Dhamon didn’t want to be reminded of Maldred as a human, the sun-bronzed friend who once shared many an adventure with him, but as they neared the shadows of the mountains, he realized, too, that he didn’t want Maldred to look human because he, himself, didn’t look human anymore. And unlike Maldred, he couldn’t cast a spell to make himself look like a man again.

Did Sabar speak the truth? he thought. Was there still time to reach the shadow dragon and force the damnable creature to cure him?

He wondered if Maldred would betray him again, warn the shadow dragon somehow of their approach. Would he cut some new deal to save Blöten and the surrounding land? He wouldn’t put it past the ogre-mage. Dhamon would have left Maldred behind with Ragh and Fiona, if he didn’t think the ogre might be needed to find the shadow dragon and if he didn’t need Maldred’s crystal-ball scrying.

“We had some good times,” Maldred said.

“Aye,” Dhamon admitted. “A few.”

It was even cooler in the shadow of the mountains, and the coolness was a welcome antidote to the fever that consumed Dhamon. Dhamon found himself staring up at the mountains and wondering if perhaps the dragon had chosen its lair here wisely after all. The peaks were stark and imposing, like the dragon.