Jean Rabe - Redemption

“Dhamon, we can wait here a moment, ask Sabar to look in on Riki, to see if the Knight and draconian have accomplished anything.”

Dhamon shook his head. He didn’t want to know that, not at this juncture anyway. They’d traveled too far to turn back now. He couldn’t afford to be distracted either by Ragh’s success or failure. Dhamon needed to concentrate on confronting the shadow dragon. He’d put his trust in Ragh, and that was that.

He suspected the ogre-mage had volunteered to use the crystal because it would afford him a moment of rest. Dhamon had been driving them pretty hard, and neither man had slept in nearly two days.

“Look in on the shadow dragon instead,” Dhamon suggested. “Try to pinpoint the exact location of his cave. If you can’t get us a good idea of where he is, we’ll spend days wandering around here.” And I don’t have the time, Dhamon thought. Softly, he added, “Or maybe you prefer us to wander around.

Maybe you don’t want me to find the cave until it is too late. Maybe you want the shadow dragon to win.” The fever hadn’t lessened. If anything the fire in his stomach and across his back was more intense.

Just walking was a chore.

While Maldred was summoning the image of Sabar into the crystal ball, Dhamon closed his eyes. He focused all his thoughts on the heat and pain, attempting to use his willpower to shut them down, but it didn’t work.

Dhamon stared at the mountains. The dragon was somewhere up there, hidden in some massive cave.

He gazed toward the south, where the peaks were the highest, then suddenly felt a spasm of fiery pain and almost buckled.

“Dhamon?”

“I’m fine,” he said tersely. A few deep breaths and the worst of it passed, but his chest ached now.

He tore his robe at the neck, then ripped it open down to his waist. Leaning on the glaive for support, he rubbed his chest and his ribs with his free hand. His left side was now covered with scales that burned to the touch. As his fingers moved over his abdomen, he felt another fiery jolt. There was a similar sensation low on his back, and he knew that more skin was disappearing.

How much of my skin remains? he wondered. There was a stream nearby. He wanted to look at his reflection, but perhaps it was better if he didn’t know.

“Dhamon.”

“I said I’m fine.” He turned to face Maldred, seeing the ogre-mage seated on the hard ground, the crystal between his knees. Maldred stared at him with wide eyes. Dhamon reached up to feel his face.

There was a slight popping sound, and he felt his jaw extend outward and the scales under his chin thicken. “Is there…”

“Time yet? A chance for your cure?” Maldred dropped his gaze to the purple-clad woman in the crystal ball. “Sabar says there is time—very little.”

“Does she really say that?” Another streak of fire raced across his face. “Or are you just telling me what I want to hear? Are you playing some game?”

Maldred didn’t look up. “I’m not lying to you, Dhamon. Not now. Not ever again.” He ran one of his hands across the crystal globe’s surface. “I know I made a mistake in allying myself with the shadow dragon, a very serious mistake. I was so frantic to save my people and my homeland that I took the first good opportunity that came along. You can damn me for my stupidity and desperation, but don’t damn me for putting the ogre nation before one man. Even a friend.”

“It was your father’s idea. Wasn’t it? For you to side with the naga and the shadow dragon?”

“Yes.”

“And like the dutiful son you are, you bought into it.”

“I thought at the time the idea had merit. I should have looked for another way. I well know that now.

I should have asked your help. Instead I deceived my best friend and lost your friendship, and I’ve done my father and his kingdom no good. There might be no saving them now.”

“There might be no saving any of us if these cursed dragons go unchecked,” Dhamon said. “The shadow dragon….”

Maldred turned his attention to the crystal, seeming to caress it, and in response the woman inside conjured up an image of a mountain range. One high peak melted away to show a great dark slash.

“O Sagacious One,” she breathed. “This is the one you look for.” Sabar twirled, her purple skirts sparkling and filling up the whole of the ball. When she stopped moving, the vision shifted again, this time showing the inside of a cave at the top of the peak.

Dhamon peered closer. The image flowed inside the mountain. The passage was wide and steep, angling downward and twisting like a serpent as Sabar took them deeper into the cave. Dhamon imagined it smelled dry and stale—it certainly looked that way. Dust and clay were everywhere. There were tiny, curly-tailed lizards on ledges, and several varieties of bats clung to the walls and gently beat their wings.

Sabar led them deeper, and what little light they saw was pale and tinted purplish-red. There was moisture on the wall, and a faint glimmer suggesting veins of silver. Then the wall disappeared and a great cavern loomed. It was lit by a dull yellow glow, and Dhamon knew this came from the eyes of the shadow dragon.

The great creature was curled almost like a cat, its tail wrapped tight against its body, the tip of the tail disappearing beneath its head. Dhamon wondered if Nura Bint-Drax had managed to reach her “master’s” side here in this remote mountain. But he couldn’t tell if there was anyone else inside the cave.

The shadow dragon was awake and seemed to be studying something, its scaly visage intent, its eyes unblinking and fixed on… something faraway.

“It sees us,” Dhamon said.

“Not possible,” Sabar replied.

“It sees us,” Dhamon repeated.

Maldred slowly nodded. “I think you’re right.”

“You used the crystal too much, Mal. Somehow that damnable dragon knows we’re coming, that we’re nearby” As he spoke, the shadow dragon’s eyes moved ever so slightly, narrowing, and its lip curled up viciously.

“In the name of my father!” Maldred clamped his hands around the crystal, blotting out the image of the dragon and instantly dismissing Sabar from view. “You’re right, Dhamon, but I didn’t think the dragon would see us so easily.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No. I said no more lies.”

Dhamon gave him a withering look, then turned toward the far mountains. He wasn’t sure exactly where the shadow dragon’s lair was, but he knew from the crystal ball they couldn’t be more than twenty or thirty miles away.

His steps were fast and determined. He had no intention of waiting for Maldred. In fact, he was mulling over the possibility of losing the ogre somewhere in the craggy peaks. Dhamon didn’t for a moment believe Maldred’s claim that there would be no more treachery He didn’t for a moment…

Dhamon stopped in mid-stride, feeling a tightening in his chest. The fire on his back grew hotter still, his fever was raging. He gasped for air, found his mouth and throat parched. No sound came out. He heard his heart hammering, and he heard a pounding—Maldred racing toward him. He heard the ogre-mage’s labored breathing, heard the cool, dry wind that whipped around him. Then, as suddenly as the tightening sensation began, it abated, leaving only the heat.

“Dhamon…”

“I’m all right, I tell you!”

“You’re not all right. Let me try the spell again. It slowed the scales earlier.”

Dhamon brusquely dismissed this suggestion and resumed his brutal pace. With a sigh, Maldred followed as best he could.

“I believe we should head toward the north,” Maldred said, catching up. He was staring up at the mountains, thinking he’d seen this place in Sabar’s vision.