Jean Rabe - Redemption

They wound their way down a large, endlessly curving corridor. The ogre scent lessened. Soon the only ogre scent Dhamon could be sure of was Maldred’s.

Twice Dhamon thought they were being followed. He heard something behind them, perhaps more of the dragon’s sentries lurking in nooks he’d noticed and dismissed, but whatever was following stayed so far back, he couldn’t make out its scent yet. He couldn’t wait for it, he decided.

They plunged deeper into the mountain cave, with Dhamon watching Maldred warily over his shoulder.

Suddenly Dhamon felt the presence of the shadow dragon, a nudging at the back of his mind. The creature was trying to intrude on his consciousness again, but Dhamon managed to successfully repulse the dragon. He didn’t think the dragon knew they were near, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

“Faster,” he muttered. “Mal, move.”

He heard the ogre-mage’s feet quicken, and Maldred’s breath came quicker.

“Faster,” Dhamon said again, louder, then cursed as he stumbled. His legs burned and felt cumbersome. He felt them growing again, becoming thicker and more muscular still. He felt his chest tightening again, his head beginning to throb. “By the Dark Queen’s heads! How much longer will this torment go on?”

How much longer would his human spirit remain in this foreign body? Did he have time to find the dragon? Time to fight it? Time to learn if Riki and his child had been saved?

“How much time?” he whispered, as he found his footing again, resumed his grueling pace.

He heard Maldred’s labored breathing loud behind him. The ogre-mage was having a difficult time keeping up.

“Not so fast,” Maldred complained, as Dhamon rushed around a wide curve and headed down a steep incline. “I can’t match you.”

As much as Dhamon preferred to keep an eye on the duplicitous ogre-mage, he decided he couldn’t afford to linger.

“Dhamon, slow down!”

It was possible, Dhamon supposed, that Maldred was telling the truth when he said he would never lie to him again. While Dhamon wanted to believe that, in honor of the close friendship they once shared, he couldn’t allow himself that luxury, that wishful leap of faith. Not when he might have only minutes left.

The shadow dragon had worked his wiles against the ogre-mage once. Now, if Maldred was holding out hope of saving the ogre lands, the shadow dragon could again persuade him to turn against Dhamon.

“Dhamon, slow down.”

“I can’t.” Dhamon didn’t believe he had enough time left to slow down, nor could he bring himself to completely trust Maldred. So he practically ran now, as much as possible within the confines of the stony tunnels, fast outdistancing Maldred as he raced toward the chamber far below where he knew the shadow dragon laired.

One more turn, one more slope.

Dhamon guessed he was far below the surface now and heading still deeper underground. It was quite a bit cooler here, and the dry air and dust of the higher terrain was replaced by a dampness heavy with the scent of mold and guano. He looked to his right, eyes parting the darkness, and saw moisture beading up on the stone. A line of silver glistened there. Yes, he remembered that line of silver. He’d noted this during his brief link with the shadow dragon.

“Close,” he said. “I’m getting close.”

Just a brief distance.

“Indeed,” came the unbidden reply. “You are very close.”

From far to Dhamon’s left emanated a dull, yellow glow. It quickly grew and brightened, the light bouncing off a mound of gem-encrusted objects, golden sculptures, and gilded weapons piled in front of the waiting shadow dragon. The light momentarily blinded Dhamon, he’d been so long surrounded by pitch black.

Dhamon felt relief, but also a reckless giddiness, a fear and hope that he might yet save his child. He also felt anger that his whole life had led to this point. Everything came down to this single moment, this confrontation with his nemesis.

Nura Bint-Drax, appearing as a child of five or six with coppery-colored hair, was there too, hovering close by the shadow dragon. Its claws were outstretched, almost supplicating, while the child Nura was in the midst of casting a spell.

Dhamon started toward her, then hesitated. Suddenly he felt a rumbling beneath his scaled feet. There were words in the rumbling, but he missed some.

“You are crafty,” the shadow dragon purred. “My prized ogre minions did not bother to warn me of your approach, Dhamon Grimwulf. Did you kill them?”

“They are better off dead,” Dhamon retorted.

The dragon curiously raised the ridge above one eye.

Dhamon edged forward, slowly, cautiously, keeping an eye on Nura and still keeping the shadow dragon mentally at bay. “I won’t call myself Dhamon Grimwulf any longer. I stopped being Dhamon Grimwulf when the last of my flesh disappeared. Now I’m just some foul creature you’ve created to destroy. A spawn, though not so perfectly formed as the ones Sable birthed. I’ve no wings, dragon. Only stubs. Your creation is flawed. I’m an abomination.”

The dragon roared, the sound harsh and metallic like a thousand clanging bells. Dhamon couldn’t tell if the dragon was laughing or voicing its fury.

“But your flawed and ugly creation is strong,” Dhamon continued, inching closer. “I intend to show you just how strong.” Swiftly bunching the muscles in his legs, Dhamon leaped but didn’t make it more than a few yards before he slammed into an invisible barrier. He suspected by the wide grin on Nura Bint-Drax’s face that it had been erected by her spell. The wind knocked out of him, Dhamon could do nothing about Nura’s next lightning-fast enchantment.

A huge, invisible fist slammed down on him from above, crushing him to the stone floor, pinning him there and forcing the air from his lungs.

“Hurry, master,” Nura said nervously. “I cannot hold him long. He is indeed very strong, and he seems able to fight my greatest magic.”

“I require only a little time, Nura Bint-Drax,” the dragon rumbled in response. “Hold him still, and I shall vanquish his spirit.”

“You can’t hold me!” Dhamon shouted at the naga, “and you can’t defeat me.” Dhamon pressed his clawed hands against the stone ground and drew on his hate as well as his strength to push himself against the force, which yielded only slightly. He redoubled his efforts. “I won’t let you beat me, you damn snake!”

He heard the stone crack beneath his claws, heard Nura whispering encouragements to the dragon, heard the dragon speak in drawn-out syllables foreign to him, also heard the slapping of footsteps.

Dhamon inhaled deeply, picking up the nearby scent of the ogre-mage. Even if he arrived in time, would Maldred help him, Dhamon wondered as he pushed harder against Nura’s unseen force.

Could he help himself?

The dragon continued its strange recitation. The noise jarred against the leathery palms of Dhamon’s clawed hands. He tried to understand the words, which were obviously part of a spell. Dhamon raised his head slightly and, turning it, managed to see the shadow dragon’s massive eyes shimmering darkly. Motes of light gleamed in the centers like birthing stars. A moment more and the magical glitter spilled out like tears to coat the treasure nestled between the dragon’s claws.

“Hurry, master,” Nura urged. “I am still holding him!”

“No,” Dhamon grunted, refusing to surrender. He made more headway against the force and finally managed to crawl to his knees. “You won’t hold me.”

He didn’t know what the shadow dragon was trying to do, but it had to be dangerous enough to require outside magic—clearly the mound of magical treasures was powering the dragon’s spell.