Jean Rabe - Redemption

“Aye,” Dhamon said. “To the north. And up.”

Maldred said something else, but Dhamon pushed the words away and focused on the whistling of the mountain wind. He prayed the wind would blow colder still and abate some of the burning fever in his body, and at the same time he knew that nothing—save a cure, or death—would stop the pain and fever.

Miles passed. Dhamon put distance between himself and Maldred, who was not able to keep up the relentless pace. They began to ascend when Dhamon recognized a gnarled spire of rock, high up, that looked like a hawk’s beak.

“Not too much farther,” Dhamon muttered hopefully to himself. They continued to climb, continued north. Shards of rock constantly bit into Dhamon’s feet. He almost welcomed the sensation, as the scaly pads on his feet were so thick he’d barely registered the roughness of the terrain. It felt good to feel something.

Dhamon paused here and there to check his bearings. During one such interval the ogre-mage trudged up from behind. Good. He wanted Maldred to make sure they were on the right course. And it was like the days of old, as if Maldred could read his mind.

“Dhamon, let’s check our position again,” the ogre-mage suggested.

A nod of agreement, and the ogre-mage gratefully sat down. He took several deep breaths and rubbed his thighs. “You’re making fast time, Dhamon. You go too fast for me.”

“I need to go fast. I’m in a hurry, remember?” The tone was more sharp than Dhamon had intended.

Maldred carefully pulled the crystal ball from the pouch. He set it on a tablelike section of rock, spread his fingers around the base, but before he could say anything the mountain suddenly trembled all around them with the force of a small earthquake. The crystal rolled off its crown perch and began to tumble down the slope.

“By the Dark Queen’s heads! No!” Dhamon leaped for the crystal ball. “I have been a fool! You have caused the quake! You do mean to keep me from the dragon until it is too late! You did this!”

Dhamon’s fingers closed on air as the crystal ball rolled down the slope. The mountain continued to shake, rock cracking and pebbles cascading.

Maldred had lost his footing and was flailing about for any foothold. His blue skin was soon lacerated from rocks, and his hands and arms were bloodied. The rocky outcropping above them broke off and smashed into him as it bounced down the slope.

“Look out, Dhamon!” Maldred managed to cry out in warning.

Stronger and more agile, Dhamon dodged the rockslide and managed to stay on his feet as he raced down the incline, trying recklessly to reach the crystal.

“It wasn’t my doing!” Maldred shouted, his voice all but drowned out by the crumbling of the mountain range. “I swear it wasn’t my magic!”

The tremor persisted for several minutes, during which time Dhamon reached a lower level and there discovered the shattered fragments of the magic crystal. Pathetically he pawed at a small piece of lavender cloth.

“By all the gods, no!” he screamed.

In anger and frustration, his fingers dug into the pouch at his side, pulling out two of the carved figurines Ragh had found in the sorcerer’s laboratory back in the Black’s swamp. He hurled them as high and as hard as he could. They struck the cliffs above, and there was a flash of bright red light and the crack of thunder. The mountain shook again, rock shards raining down the slopes.

Dhamon reached into the pouch again, intending to rid himself of all these accursed, unreliable magical items, but the ogre-mage came stumbling up behind him, and Maldred’s big blue hand shot out and closed on Dhamon’s wrist.

“Stop!” Maldred looked beaten, bruised, and bloodied. He was panting. “Dhamon, stop!”

Dhamon paused, eyes gleaming furiously.

“It wasn’t my doing, honestly. The quake. I didn’t—”

“I know. I believe you.”

Maldred looked astonished. He released Dhamon. “I told you, no more deceit. I want to help save you, Dhamon. I need to save… something.”

Now that he was calmer, Dhamon knew Maldred wouldn’t have risked destroying the precious crystal ball. The enchanted item was far too precious for the thief who was also a sorcerer.

“I know. It was the shadow dragon,” Dhamon said. He dropped the piece of lavender cloth in Maldred’s palm. “He has great magic, I know, and I am certain he used it. Obviously he wants to keep me away. He fears me, Maldred.”

The ogre-mage stared at the cloth, remembering Sabar draped in it, twirling in the lavender mist. Was the magic-woman shattered, too? Or was she entirely illusion?

His breath caught, and he turned to look Dhamon directly in the eyes. “No.” The ogre-mage swallowed hard. “That’s not entirely true. I have no doubt he caused the quake, but he doesn’t want to keep you away. He wants you to find him. I know it. But he doesn’t want you getting close until he’s ready. He’s delaying you. The scales on you, he wants the scales to…”

He’s delaying me while my body becomes more grotesque, Dhamon realized. “Yes, he’s delaying me until it’s too late. As punishment he’s delaying me until I become a spawn or a draconian or some mad meld of the fiendish creatures. Until I’ve lost my mind and my soul and am no longer any threat.”

“Let’s get going, then,” Maldred said, looking up the mountainside. “Let’s not allow the shadow dragon to win.”

Dhamon took the lead again. The quake had altered the face of the mountain, and Dhamon worried that the mouth of the cave had been erased.

They climbed for a few hours. Dhamon felt increasingly concerned that they were irretrievably lost.

He thought of Riki and the child—and of Varek, too, who would have to act as the father of Dhamon’s child. He wondered if they were all safe, and wondered if Riki ever thought of him, wondered if in some small way the child favored him. Wondered if…

You will never know those things, Dhamon Grimwulf.

His eyes flew wide, as these were not his words, but he heard them clearly inside of his head.

You will never see them… Riki, the baby… you will never let them see your scale-ridden self. You will never touch your child.

“No!” Dhamon shouted. “That’s not true!” He screamed in rage, then he screamed again—this time in sudden, sharp pain. He felt as though flames had attacked every inch of his body, burning away his tattered clothes. He dropped the glaive, and his fingers ripped at his clothes, pulling them off and tossing them aside. His hands flew to his ears, trying to drown out the words that persisted.

You will never let them see that there’s nothing human about you anymore. You will never let them see the creature you have become.

“No, you damnable beast! I will see them!”

Maldred, close behind, shouted at Dhamon, but he couldn’t hear anything except the words inside his head. He forced himself to walk, despite the agony and the taunts in his head. With each step he felt his bones crack and stretch, felt his skin burn away to be replaced by scales. He reached to his back, felt something growing.

Wings, the voice said. Spawn have wings, Dhamon Grimwulf.

His fingers registered a snout forming on his face. He opened his mouth to scream a protest, but his tongue felt thick and foreign.

There is no humanity left in you, Dhamon Grimwulf, and soon you will have no soul.

Dhamon reeled. He tried to imagine what he must look like. He turned around and saw Maldred gape, take a step back away from him. Even Maldred was shocked, afraid.

I have no intention of turning into one, no intention of sharing Ragh’s existence. I still have my mind, he thought. If for only a while longer. While I can yet think on my own, I can always take the glaive, end my life.