Jean Rabe - Redemption

The low roof made a very tight squeeze for the shadow dragon, one that would probably cause it to shed a few scales from its back and belly. Perhaps it was an entrance the dragon rarely used but held in reserve, but because the dragon had known of the entrance, he had inadvertently communicated that information to Dhamon.

Dhamon didn’t know that with a single spell the dragon could turn himself into a shadow—as thin as a sheet of parchment and flowing as smoothly as water. He didn’t know that the shadow dragon could follow wherever the much smaller Nura Bint-Drax was able to go. Dhamon didn’t know that the dragon actually preferred this way in and out of his lair because of its smallness and remoteness.

“Do you see it? A way in?” Maldred had caught up once more and was peering into the shadows and seeing nothing. He was shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand. The other hand was clenched around the haft of the glaive. Dhamon’s hands had changed radically just in the past hour. Now they were claws, similar to Ragh’s, but with longer curled talons that made grasping difficult. Dhamon didn’t object when Maldred claimed the polearm that he had been forced to abandon. He didn’t seem to care that the ogre-mage also carried the pouch with the magical miniature carvings, which Dhamon had discarded when he grew out of his clothes—or rather, burst out of them.

“The cave?” Maldred pressed. “Do you see it?”

“Aye,” Dhamon said in a hush, his voice rich and strange. “There’s a small entrance. It’s our best way in, I believe. It looks too small for such a creature, but I sense the way is not unattended, as I had hoped it would be.”

“There are guards?”

“Aye. Two, I think. That’s all I sense in any event. And they’re relatives of yours.”

Indeed, the guards were a pair of overlarge ogres, crude, muscular brutes who stood outside the cave.

They were reasonably attentive, however, considering their forsaken post. Great double-axe polearms were propped near them, each larger than the glaive. From the ogres’ waists hung thick-bladed broadswords and long knives. One carried a crossbow. Strapped to their huge thighs were more knives, and lashed to their backs were long quivers filled with javelins.

“Walking armories,” Dhamon mused. He knew he could take these two ogres—he could take a dozen now—but it might be a noisy fight and alert the shadow dragon.

Despite all the weapons, they weren’t wearing armor, making them vulnerable. No shields were in evidence. Each displayed an odd tattoo splayed across his naked chest, and each wore a loincloth made of the hide of some large lizard.

Not a tattoo, Dhamon noted, after a moment. Scales, I think.

Yes, he was certain—they were small patches of scales.

“So the ogres’re pawns of the dragon,” Dhamon whispered. “Just like me.” Would they eventually become spawn or abominations like himself? he wondered. He was still changing, becoming incredibly strong, he realized—he intended to make the shadow dragon regret that mistake, before his soul vacated this grotesque body. He shivered at the thought of what he must look like now. He glanced at Maldred.

The ogre-mage looked quickly away.

“What do you see, Dhamon?” Maldred asked.

“As I told you, I see a pair of your ugly kinsmen guarding our way in.” Dhamon quickly described them. “I don’t believe they have seen us yet. We’re too far away, and they seem very relaxed.” Yet Dhamon was able to see them clearly with his extraordinary vision.

“There are two other ways in, the closest at least a mile from here,” Dhamon said.

“Probably guarded by something else.”

“Aye. Better guarded, I’d wager, if it’s more accessible. Anyway, I don’t want to waste more time searching. I count my life in minutes now, Mal.” Dhamon paused, rubbing his chin. “You swear you have never been here? You don’t know this lair?”

Maldred shook his head, his white mane of hair tangling around his shoulders. “I told you, Dhamon, no more lies. The dragon summoned me to his cave in the swamp, yes. I knew he had more than one lair.

It is said all the dragons do, and Nura Bint-Drax bragged of those she had visited. But I’ve never been here.”

“I wonder if Nura is here, too.” Dhamon said. “The dragon favors her over you.”

“No one favors me,” Maldred said with a nod. “Maybe my father. Now about the two ogres….”

“I suppose you’ll insist they be spared, that all ogre life is sacred. Weeks ago I would have disagreed.” But the changes taking place inside him and all the things that had happened to him had made Dhamon feel that life was a precious thing. “Even ogre life is sacred? Maybe you’re right. I suppose I can lure them out and—”

Maldred shook his head again. “They are agents of the shadow dragon, as I was an agent. And you say they carry his scales.”

The uncurable scales, Dhamon thought.

“If they carry his scales, there is no hope for them.”

You don’t want them turning into something like me, Dhamon thought. Did you know all along the dragon wasn’t going to cure me?

“Tell me again about the cave opening, Dhamon, and where the ogres are.”

As Dhamon described the cave and the ogres, Maldred knelt and carefully set the glaive down, thrusting his hands against the parched ground, fingers digging in. Soon the ogre-mage started humming, a tune Dhamon had heard a few times before. The melody was simple and haunting, and with it came a glow that ran down the ogre-mage’s arms and swept over the ground surrounding him. The earth was instantly brightened and shone as though it was a mirror reflecting the sun.

Dhamon watched as the glow faded and the hard earth softened and began to ripple, like the surface of a pond disturbed by a gust of wind. The ripples were faint, but he could follow them with his eyes as, arrowlike, they flowed upward.

Maldred interrupted his humming to take a deep breath and lower his face until his chin was inches from the ground. He altered the tune to something new to Dhamon, slower and low-pitched, dissonant and distinctly unpleasant.

With his keen far-seeing, Dhamon watched the cave entrance as the ripples approached, unnoticed, flowed around the ogres, and washed over the wall of the mountain behind them. The stone began to ripple and shimmer. The rock became liquid, and now the liquid rock washed out over the startled ogres, trapping and drowning them within moments, before they had a chance to cry out.

Dhamon almost felt sorry for the ogres, dying like that—smothered by magic. It wasn’t an honorable way to kill them.

“It was quick,” Maldred said, as if reading his thoughts, “and necessary. If they’d seen something….”

“The shadow dragon might have seen it too, through their half-spawn eyes.”

The ogre-mage nodded, creeping forward. “How far can you see inside?”

“Not far.” After a moment, Dhamon added, “Not yet, anyway.” He stepped closer and focused his keen senses on the dark mouth and its shadowy interior, concentrating on picking up any sound or movement. “There’s nothing inside.”

It took them only a few minutes to climb to the cave entrance, for Maldred used his earth magic to make the path easier. Several minutes more and they were inside, moving swiftly and silently despite their size. There was little light here, but Dhamon found that didn’t inhibit his keen eyesight. Like all ogres, Maldred could differentiate objects in the dark by the heat they exuded, so he kept his eyes trained on Dhamon’s back, following the fever that raged within.

The scent of ogres was strong inside, and Dhamon guessed the ones they’d felled had been stationed in the cave for quite some time. Others, too, he decided after a moment—the smell of ogre was everywhere. How many more? Were they elsewhere in this cave complex? Or were they far away on some nefarious errand for the shadow dragon?