Jean Rabe - Downfall

"Are you all right, Lady? Not that I mind."

"I don't look like much of a lady in these clothes," she said. He'd managed to convince the Solamnic to leave her plate mail at Donnag's, since it was not proper attire for climbing mountains. She had staunchly disagreed, and Rig voted with her just to side against Maldred, but then, she got a good look at just how sheer and dangerous the mountain was. And so she was wearing a pair of tan breeches and a long-sleeved black tunic, man's garb, tucked in at the waist. Rikali had grudgingly offered to share her more fine and more colorful clothes, and was secretly pleased to discover them too small for the muscular Knight. "In fact, Maldred, I look like an old field hand."

"You do not take compliments well, Lady Knight," he said, dropping the rope over the side. "Perhaps that is because the company you've been keeping does not think to offer them. And perhaps they do not have the good sense to realize what they have in their presence. I mean the big stupid mariner-Rig. You cannot marry him, Fiona."

"People really live up there?" she asked, changing the subject. Her eyes remained locked on Maldred.

"Goatherders in the village of Knollsbank-and from other smaller villages. They know better ways around these mountains than I, and likely would have chosen a much simpler path. Chieftain Donnag says they climb these rocks easier than most people walk. And, of course, goats live up here too."

"And wolves, apparently," Rig added. The mariner was the next to arrive, using the rope primarily as security, climbing as Maldred had done, as if he was born to the activity. Like scaling the masts of a ship, he fondly mused as he finished with this portion of the ascent. He was weighted down with his weapons, the glaive strapped to his back. Dhamon followed him, Fetch on his shoulders.

Maldred started up the next section of rock, Fetch accompanying him this time, while Dhamon stayed behind to wait for Rikali. The half-elf skittered up the mountain like a spider, not needing the rope, as her fingers and sandaled feet found cracks and crevices the others had somehow missed. It was a skill she learned from the thieves' guild in Sanction, fitting her fingers and toes into the narrow crevices between the bricks that made up the exteriors of the nobles' walled houses. Dhamon helped her up on the ledge, just as Fiona turned to go.

Just then, the mountain rumbled slightly, as it had a few times since they began their climb. Rikali clung to Dhamon, feigning fright and then becoming genuinely afraid when the tremor continued unabated. Her hands nervously massaged the muscles in Dhamon's arms. When the tremor finally passed, she let out a deep breath and grinned slyly.

The rain had continued steadily for the past several days, at times pounding down, and at other times, like now, a fine drizzle, the sole purpose of which seemed to keep them from bearing the brunt of the otherwise hot day. Rikali now turned her face up to catch some of the rainwater in her mouth, then dropped her chin to his chest again. "Dhamon Grimwulf, I love you."

"Rikali, I…"

"You lovebirds joining us?" Rig had made it up to the next ledge and was peering down at the two. Fetch was at his shoulder, red eyes twinkling mischievously.

Dhamon reached for the rope, not noticing the clouded expression on the half-elf's face. He had nearly made it to the next ledge when he felt his leg tingle with warmth from the scale. It gave him little warning this time, turning instantly to a fiery heat. He gripped the rope, his eyes squeezing shut, teeth digging into his bottom lip. He tasted blood in his mouth, then put all of his effort into simply hanging on as he was wracked by wave after wave of intense heat and bone-numbing cold.

Each time the pain was profound. And each time it was different, hotter, then so cold, shifting violently back and forth. Now from behind his eyelids he saw nothing but red, the flames of a fire, the breath of the dragon overlord who had cursed him with the scale on his leg. He fought to focus on something besides the flames, real or imaginary, it didn't matter. Anything that might lessen the pain. For an instant he saw the face of a Kagonesti, soft and beautiful. But then the red overwhelmed it and he saw a pair of blinking red eyes.

"Dreaming," he croaked. He bit down hard, almost relishing that pain.

"Dhamon?" Rig was looking over the side, waiting to hoist him up.

Rikali was nervously prancing about on the ledge below, realizing what was happening.

"Dhamon!" Rig shouted.

"You leave him be!" she hissed to Rig. She started up the rockface. "Hold on," she urged him. "Lover, you just hold on." The half-elf caught up with him, reached out and grabbed the belt that held his sword and ale skins. His trembling threatened to pull her off the cliff face.

In the span of a few heartbeats Dhamon started shaking even more. Rig pulled on the rope, Rikali climbing up with it, one hand in a vertical crevice, the other still clutching Dhamon's belt. Between the two of them, they were able to drag him up to the ledge, where they tugged free his bow and quiver and laid him down away from the lip. Rikali hovered over him and pushed Rig away, clucking like a mother hen. "You keep going," she told the mariner, waving her arm. "Dhamon and I will be just fine here. We'll catch up in a few minutes." Then she quickly thought better of the situation. "Mai!" she screamed. "He needs help!"

It looked as if Dhamon was having a seizure. The half-elf tugged a skin free from Dhamon's belt, raised his head, and poured the liquor into his mouth, a good portion of it dribbling down his chin and onto his shirt. She massaged the muscles of his throat, helping it go down.

"That won't help him, Riki." Maldred had climbed down from the higher ledge, nudged Rig aside and squatted next to Dhamon. "It just makes him a little numb, is all." He took Dhamon's arm and gripped it as Dhamon gripped him back with all his strength, fingernails digging into the big man's muscles. "That's it," Maldred coaxed, concern etched deeply in the lines around his eyes and mouth. "Ride it out, my friend."

Rikali replaced the skin, pointedly ignoring the mariner and Fiona, who was calling down from above. "It's none of your business about Dhamon," she finally told them.

A few minutes later, Dhamon stopped shaking. He gulped in the damp air and opened his eyes. "I'm all right now," he said, not arguing when Maldred helped him to his feet and helped him strap the quiver and bow on his back. He met Rig's stare. "I am all right," he repeated more strongly.

"The hell you are," the mariner argued. "It's that damned scale, isn't it?"

Maldred brushed by the pair and started climbing again, dropping the rope when he got to the top and bracing himself to lift Dhamon.

"Aye, it's the scale." Dhamon grabbed the rope, relying almost entirely on Maldred's strength to pull him up. The episode had exhausted him.

Rikali motioned for the mariner to go next. "Dhamon has these shakes once in a while. That's all," she said. "He gets over them and is good as new. Mai helps him through it. Mai's his best friend. Dhamon doesn't need your sympathy."

The rest of the climb was in silence, and by late afternoon they reached a narrow plateau, where the goatherders lived. It was a small community, the homes a collection of tiny caves and lean-tos constructed of pine logs and skins set against the side of the mountain, which rose up for at least another four hundred feet. The residents were humans and mountain dwarves, the former short and thin, almost spindly, but obviously agile as monkeys. The latter were ruddy and stocky, somehow equally at home in this high outlook. All the men wore short, pointed beards, as though they had taken on the appearances of their four-legged charges. The air carried a pungent scent of wet goats, wet people, and something unidentifiable-and most unpalatable-that was cooking in a covered fire pit.