Jean Rabe - Betrayal

“Something. Maybe something is watching us, maybe…”

His words trailed off when he heard a high-pitched wail. It was coming from the direction the freed prisoners had gone.

A glance skyward. The spawn and draconians were out of sight. He still heard the flap of wings, however, and the sound of pounding feet and desperate shouts.

“The men you freed have been discovered,” the sivak said. “We had best hide or we will be hunted, too.”

Dhamon didn’t budge, still watching the side-street the slaves had slipped down. He caught a glimpse of a skinny, barely dressed man, one of the last he’d released from the cells. Rig and Fiona were just in front of him, the mariner shouting for everyone to stay together. Fiona called to them to look about for anything they could use as weapons. Though there was only little light from the stars and from a few windows, Dhamon could see the panic on Fiona’s face.

“We have to hide,” the sivak said louder. He gave Dhamon a poke with a claw for emphasis. Behind and above the freed men were a dozen spawn and sivak draconians.

“They’ll be butchered,” Dhamon breathed.

“Yes, and we will too, if we don’t—”

Dhamon unsheathed his sword. Rather than running toward Rig and Fiona, he hurried to the marketplace cages, meeting the charge of the two spawn guards he’d seen. The sivak followed several paces behind him, demanding he come to his senses.

“You’re no good to me dead!” Ragh snapped. “You can’t help me against Nura Bint-Drax if they catch you.”

Dhamon threw his strength behind a sideways sweep of his blade, practically cutting the first spawn in half. He continued on to the second target as the first dissolved in a burst of acid. Two swings this time before the spawn went down, neither creature quick enough to land a blow against Dhamon. He rushed to the pens, raising the sword high over his head and bringing it down on the chain that held the nearest door closed. The metal link parted from the blow, and Dhamon sheathed the sword, fingers fumbling to tug the chain free, then arms bunching to tug open the massive door. A second later, an angry six-legged lizard the size of an elephant trundled out. It was followed by other grotesqueries that Dhamon freed, using his strength to pull at the cage doors now, rather than risk breaking his only weapon.

“What are you doing?” the sivak cried. “Have you gone mad?”

“Guards!” someone shouted. “The menagerie is getting loose! Guards!”

Overhead the flurry of wings increased. From all directions came shouted orders—the voices of spawn and of men who’d thrown their lot in with the dragon and her allies. From well beyond the marketplace came the pounding of feet—other guards Dhamon suspected.

“What are you doing, Dhamon?”

“I’m providing a distraction, Ragh, giving the spawn something to worry about other than a few dozen escaped prisoners. Maybe some of them, maybe Rig and Fiona, can get free of this Abyss.”

The sivak fell to helping Dhamon with the cages, muttering all the while this would be the death of them.

“Keep this up,” Dhamon told him. “You’re strong, pull the bars open. I’m going to find Mal, then we’re going to get out of here.”

“Nura…” the spawn croaked.

“Nura Bint-Drax isn’t my worry, but you’re welcome to stay until she shows up. I’m not going to help you with her, Ragh.”

Dhamon rushed toward the inn, barreling his way through the door. He woke the proprietor, who’d been sleeping in a straight-backed wooden chair behind a stained and pitted desk.

“Maldred. A big man named Maldred got a room here this afternoon.” Dhamon paused to catch his breath.

The proprietor stared at him, eyeing him up and down.

Dhamon’s clothes and hair were slick against him from sweat, and he was riddled with acid burns. He stank of the corridors below, and his features were streaked with dirt.

“A man named Maldred,” Dhamon repeated with urgency. “ A big man. What room?”

The innkeeper shook his head. “No one with that name. No one who looks like that is here.”

“Earlier today,” Dhamon’s words came faster, and he glanced toward the street. The sounds of chaos were growing louder.

The innkeeper heard the ruckus, too, and pushed himself to stand, craning his neck and looking out the open door. “I’d know if a man like that had checked in. Been here all day. I’m always here all day.”

He lumbered away from the desk and to the door so he could get a better look. Dhamon ran to the stairway and shouted. “Mal!” he roared, loud enough to rouse the people on the floor above. “Maldred!”

There was no response.

With a growl, he hurried by the innkeeper back out to the street. Madness greeted him. Spawn and draconians were on the ground, trying to contain both the creatures escaping from the pens and the prisoners, whom the spawn had inadvertently herded to the marketplace. Rig and Fiona were using slats of woods for weapons, trying to defend the weakest of the weaponless men. He didn’t see Ragh, though that didn’t surprise him. He suspected the wingless draconian slipped away and would hide until he found Nura Bint-Drax.

Dhamon raced toward the menagerie cages. A few were still closed. These contained the beast that looked like a horrid cross between an eagle and a bear. Another held the massive manticores. The latter creatures were alternately watching him and watching the battle. Dhamon raised his sword as he neared the cage, brought the blade down hard on the chain, and prayed the sword wouldn’t break.

“I’ll free you!” he shouted, “and you can fly away from this hell. But you’ll fly me with you, understand? And as many men there as you can carry.”

“Please,” the larger repeated, “free.”

“You’ll take us out of here with you?”

The creatures nodded. Three more blows before a link was severed. A heartbeat later and he had the chain off, opening the cage door and motioning the creatures out. They spread their wings and beat them, a keening sound grew louder, almost painful. The spawn covered their ears, quickly followed by the freed men. Dhamon clamped his teeth together. The noise was agonizing.

Free from the confines of their cages, the manticores joined in the fray. Leaning forward on their front paws, they launched a volley of spikes from their long tails. The barbs found their marks in more than one draconian target.

“Rig!” Dhamon shouted when he again spotted his old comrade. He waved wildly to get the mariner’s attention. “Grab Fiona! Now! We’re leaving!”

He glanced about, hoping to spot Maldred. He could not see through the press of bodies and creatures, and he could not hear over the keening sound of the manticore’s wings.

“Can’t see.”

But from a higher vantage point he might.

In a heartbeat he was at the larger manticore’s side, grabbing onto its hide and pulling himself up. Careful not to skewer himself on the spikes that ran along its back, he stood on the creature’s shoulderblades and looked out over the jumble of creatures and men. Nearly half of the men Dhamon had freed were dead to the spawn and draconians. Rig and Fiona were fighting their way toward the manticores, bringing some of the survivors with them. A pair of bozak draconians wrestled with the six-legged lizard, which had its tongue snaked like a lasso about the waist of a spawn. Lights were being lit in windows, and Dhamon saw shapes appear in them, none of them broad-shouldered enough to be Maldred.

“Had he been captured? Killed looking for Nura Bint-Drax?” Dhamon spoke the question aloud, though he hadn’t meant to.

“Probably he has,” said a spawn that was climbing onto the back of the other manticore. From his voice, Dhamon recognized him as Ragh. The sivak had obviously killed a black spawn and assumed its shape.