Jean Rabe - Redemption

“Beautiful,” Ragh admitted, staring wide-eyed at the Dhamon-dragon now. “He—it’s a beautiful creature, to be sure. Incredible.”

“Beautiful or not, it will die,” Fiona hissed. She had edged close and now raised her sword and continued inching toward the dragon. The dragon was moving sluggishly. The spell was still working its last vestiges of magic. “Now is the time to strike! While the beautiful beast is still vulnerable.”

“Nooooo!” Nura howled. The naga had been watching with pride, awestruck by the final transformation, but now she belatedly roused herself to action. “You’ll not scratch my master’s new body! You’ll not hurt him, you wretched woman!”

Nura raced toward Fiona, changing as she went, becoming taller, her legs melding together to form her hideous snake-body, stretching twenty feet from the top of her head to her tail. Her coppery hair fanned away to form a hood.

Ragh simultaneously leaped into action. Dhamon can take care of himself against Fiona, he thought, but the naga is dangerous.

The draconian shot at the snake-woman.

At that very moment, the dead body of the shadow dragon gave a twitch.

Maldred noted it and stopped the incantation he had begun. He had to take a second look because he was so astonished—he had thought the shadow dragon dead.

“Ragh! Fiona!” Maldred boomed. “The shadow dragon controls both forms! We’ve got two dragons to deal with here, not one!”

The ogre-mage halted the one spell and thrust his fingers into his pouch, closing on the last figurine he had left. He ran forward, hurling the carving. Maldred had aimed it at the shadow dragon, but his aim was off. It struck the cave wall, sending chunks of rock flying and a piece of the ceiling crashing down. The vibrations threw Maldred to the ground.

In the haze of debris Maldred thought he’d actually struck his target, but then the dust and rocks settled, and the shadow dragon moved again, more noticeably this time.

The sleek, new dragon tried to move, but was still sluggish. It seemed the shadow dragon could not effectively power both bodies at the same time.

Dhamon opened his mouth and roared his rage.

The shadow dragon howled in return.

“Kill the shadow dragon! The shadow dragon!” Maldred shouted as he pushed himself to his feet. “Kill it and we might break the spell. We might save Dhamon!” He picked up the glaive, and madly charged toward the dragon to whom he owed his own debt of revenge.

The cavern rocked from all the energy—from Maldred’s enchanted carvings, the shadow dragon’s and Nura’s spells, and the release of magic from the treasure horde.

The noise and constant quakes finally proved too much for Nura Bint-Drax. She spun one way, then the next, as if tortured by her choices. She whirled against unseen foes, stretched toward the shadow dragon, considered an enchantment, then dismissed it while thinking of another.

In her moment of indecision, Ragh’s fingers closed around the hood of her snake-throat.

“Dhamon thinks I should know and hate you, snake-woman,” the draconian spat. “Well, I do hate you, but I don’t want to know something so foul as you.” He squeezed, wrapping his legs against the sides of her snake body and holding on. “I just want you dead.”

Yards away Fiona stood suddenly frozen, her own indecision mirroring her divided soul. Her Knight’s honor bound her to attack the shadow dragon, but she desperately wanted to pursue her revenge against Dhamon.

“Where have you gone, Dhamon Grimwulf?” she screamed. “Where is my revenge?” A tear streaked her dust-covered face. “How do I know who I should fight?”

A part of her recognized the sparkle in the dragon’s eyes, the sparkle of his dark, mysterious gaze. It was the same sparkle she’d noticed in the baby she held in her arms hours ago. Rig’s eyes had been dark, too. Oh, how she missed the mariner.

“I will never have my own child,” she said, lowering her sword slightly. “I will never have….”

In that instant, Dhamon finally moved, creeping forward. He still felt as though his soul was plunging toward the darkness, but he fought against oblivion with the few ounces of humanity left in him.

I can’t let you win, he told the shadow dragon. Not just for Riki and his child’s sake, but for Fiona and Ragh and Maldred, and for the countless others who had fallen and would fall to this reborn shadow dragon in the centuries it would roam the face of Krynn. Perhaps this is my sole chance at redemption, Dhamon thought, sending his thoughts to the shadow dragon. To stop you from walking the face of this world.

The shadow dragon fought back mentally, his strength divided between two forms.

In Dhamon’s mind two dragons fought—one mirror-black scales and supple lines, the other a large, gray beast, sluggish and depleted, but nevertheless formidable.

The old one lashed out with a great taloned claw, slashing at the new dragon. “Surrender,” the old one hissed. “You’ve no choice. And you only anger me by resisting.”

The new dragon roared a word that sounded like “Never,” a word that echoed in the confines of Dhamon’s mind. The new dragon reached out with a claw, too, batting away the old creature, not hurting the shadow dragon, but keeping it at bay.

As Dhamon shook off his thick dazedness, his goal became increasingly clear.

You took on too much, Dhamon told the shadow dragon bitterly.

I will best your spirit, the shadow dragon returned. Then I will best your companions.

In Dhamon’s mind the old dragon dove toward the mirrored one, both claws outstretched, mouth opened wide, showing rows of jagged, shadowy teeth. A serpentine tongue snaked out, whipping the air, then lashing at the snout of the new dragon.

Dhamon recoiled from the image in his mind. You’ve no more magical items, dragon, he cursed vehemently. There’s nothing to power your dying spell.

But I do, the shadow dragon instantly returned. There’s magic in the wingless sivak, and more in the ogre-mage. The naga, too. Their deaths will release the energy I need.

Then the shadow dragon began to retreat back into his old body.

“There is time to vanquish your spirit later, Dhamon Grimwulf,” the shadow dragon hissed. “First I must collect more of the necessary essence—starting with your friends.”

So you don’t have enough power yet to wipe out my humanity, Dhamon said. There must be something about me that is too difficult to overcome. What?

Why was the shadow dragon having so much trouble? Dhamon wondered. Could it be he carried a touch of Fiona’s madness, bequeathed to Dhamon by the Chaos wight who had invaded his mind? The shadow dragon might not be able to cope with that unexpected fragment of madness lodged within the body he had been nurturing for his own ends.

Yes, that madness is the final barrier, the shadow dragon admitted. But with more magic, I will defeat the madness. After your friends are dead, their energy will be mine. When they are gone, I will come again. And then you will be destroyed.

Maldred slashed with his claws at the bloated shadow dragon. He’d used magic to sharpen his claws, and now he began to slice through the dragon’s scales and draw shadow-dark blood. “Killing this dragon is the key!” he cried exultantly. “I’m sure of it!”

The draconian struggled with the naga, his clawed fingers tightening around her neck. The Solamnic Knight was slowly backing away from Ragh and Dhamon, watching as though mesmerized as the shadow dragon came alive and raised a claw and batted Maldred away as though he was but a cornhusk doll. The shadow dragon spread forward, dull yellow eyes locked on Ragh, its jaws opening.

“Rig is dead,” Fiona murmured dully to herself. “Shaon and Raph and Jasper. All dead. Soon Ragh will be dead. And Maldred too. Everyone dead.”