Jean Rabe - Betrayal

“A hand, Dhamon.” Dhamon barely heard the words amid the cacophony. It was Rig, passing up an emaciated young man. Dhamon grabbed the man’s wrists and pulled him up, settled him between two of the manticore’s back spikes, and told him to hang on.

“You’re next!” Dhamon yelled to Rig. “More guards are coming—human and otherwise. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Fiona first!” Rig grabbed her about the waist, and she dropped the bloodied plank she’d been wielding. “Take her!”

Dhamon leaned over and scooped her up beneath her arms. She was so light, and her skin was clammy. He settled her right behind him, then motioned Rig to the other manticore. “That’s Ragh,” he called, “the sivak.”

The mariner shook his head but ushered two more men in front of him to the other manticore. He was helping the first up, Ragh assisting, when the second wave of Sable’s minions arrived. These were a mix of spawn and men, the latter wielding swords and spears and hurling daggers at anything that looked like it was trying to escape—the freed men and the bizarre creatures particularly.

“Hurry!” Dhamon shouted. He settled himself in front of Fiona, between a pair of spikes, and grabbed two handfuls of manticore hide. “Rig, move! Maldred! Maallllldred!”

The mariner boosted another man up onto the other manticore, which was beating its wings faster now. Rig was nearly knocked off his feet by the force of the wind. He grabbed the manticore and climbed. He had nearly reached the top of the beast’s back when a spear found him. Through the din, Dhamon heard the mariner cry out. He saw a second spear plunge into Rig’s back, saw the mariner fall like a broken doll, blood trickling from his mouth, his neck twisted from the fall.

“Rig!”

Fiona looked on in disbelief. “Dhamon?”

“Rig!” Dhamon shouted again, but the mariner didn’t move. Dhamon knew he would not move again. He swallowed hard and dug his knees into the manticore’s back.

“Fly!” he shouted. “Get us out of here!”

The beasts were quick to comply, each carrying three riders. Fiona tried to scramble off, however, reaching futilely toward Rig. Dhamon had to twist about to grab her and keep her in place.

“Rig,” she said, her face ashen, eyes filled with tears. “Rig’s down there. I’ve got to go to Rig.”

Dhamon managed to pull her in front of him, holding her tight even as she tried to fight him.

“I’ve got to go to him,” she sobbed. “I love him Dhamon. I have to tell him that I love him.”

She buried her head in Dhamon’s chest as the manticore rose higher. “We’re to be married.”

“He’s gone, Fiona.” Dhamon found his own eyes filling with tears. “Rig’s gone.” He peered one last time over the manticore’s side, catching a last glimpse at the mariner’s body. He saw spawn swarming around the remaining men, and he saw the bizarre creatures of the menagerie being shoved back into their cages. The curious residents were coming out onto the street now that things seemed a little safer.

Dhamon did not see a young girl standing behind a spire on a nearby roof. She was no more than five or six, with copper-colored hair that fluttered about her shoulders in the breeze. Nor did Dhamon see another familiar figure, this one stepping from a night-dark doorway only a few dozen yards away from where the fight had broke out. Maldred had watched the scene from the beginning—Dhamon bringing freed men to the surface, helping them by unleashing chaos in the marketplace as a distraction, tugging the Solamnic Knight up onto the back of the manticore. Rig dying. Dhamon now flying away.

He’d watched everything and kept his distance. Done nothing.

He balled his fists, turned back to the doorway, and entered the night-dark room beyond. Above, a dozen spawn tried to follow the manticores, but the great creatures were too fast and quickly left the swamp-held town behind. Dhamon hugged Fiona with his right arm, and with his left he leaned forward and managed to grab a handful of mane. He tugged on it to get the manticore’s attention.

“We need to land,” he said, practically shouting. “I need to see to these men here.” He did his best to find a clearing that was far enough from the town to suit him.

It took Dhamon nearly an hour to bind the wounds on the three men they’d brought with them, using what he could salvage from their clothes and his tunic. Even Ragh helped. They would live, though they needed rest and food. Dhamon vowed to make sure the manticores deposited them somewhere reasonably safe and beyond the swamp. That task handled, he turned to the Solamnic Knight. Fiona’s eyes were dull, emotionless. “Rig,” Dhamon began. “I’m sorry about Rig, about him dying. I didn’t always get along with him, but he was a good man, Fiona, and—”

“Rig?” She looked up to meet his sad gaze, illuminated by the stars that so faintly winked down in a lightening sky. “We’ll see Rig again very soon, Dhamon. We’re to be married next month. You’ll have to come to the wedding. It will be grand. I’m sure Rig will want you to be there.”

Dhamon stared deeper into her eyes and saw madness there.

“Rig’s dead,” Dhamon said patiently.

She laughed eerily. “Don’t be silly. Rig’s waiting for me, Dhamon. In New Ports, at the harbor. He’s going to captain a ferry there. We’ll live along the bluff where we have a nice view of the sea. The wedding will be on the shore, I think. Rig will like that. You’ll see how good everything will be for us.”

Dhamon guided her to the larger manticore, helped her up, then helped up the three men up on the other manticore—he’d never bothered to ask their names. He walked around to the front of the creatures, staring up into its too-human eyes.

“I’ve another request of you,” he said. “Another place to take us. You’ll be truly free after that. Though I suppose you can refuse this.”

The smaller beast bent its head down to better regard Dhamon.

“Where?” was all it said.

“These men need to be taken to Schallsea Island. There’s a community of mystics there who won’t turn them away.”

Dhamon climbed up behind Fiona on the larger manticore.

“There’s a Solamnic fortress in Southern Ergoth,” he said, as he grabbed a handful of the creature’s mane. “It’s very far from here, but it’s where Fiona’s from. I want to take her there. The other Knights will help her, take care of her. The people there can get word out for me. About Rig’s death. Palin Majere should be told, and some others. Will you do this?”

Almost in unison, the great creatures flapped their wings, making the hurtful keening sound again. As one they rose from the clearing and headed west.

I will return here, Dhamon vowed to himself. I left Maldred somewhere in that foul town. My closest and dearest friend. I will come back for him.

* * * * *

Not far to the east of the town was a massive cave. The darkness inside it was an almost palpable blanket that comfortably cloaked the creature that laired within. Only its breath gave the creature’s presence away. Its breath was raspy and uneven and echoed against the stone walls. The breeze teased the copper curls of the child who stood just inside the entrance. Nura Bint-Drax appeared as a cherubic girl of no more than five or six, clothed in a diaphanous dress that shimmered as though it was made of magic.

“Master?” she said in her child-voice as she came forward. She knew this cave by heart. As she walked her form changed, becoming that of a young Ergothian woman with close-cropped hair. She was clad in a black leather tunic now, one that had once belonged to Dhamon Grimwulf. “Master.”