Jean Rabe - Downfall

"A while ago you were complaining it hadn't rained in weeks."

"Didn't mean I wanted it to rain for weeks."

He tried to slip his arm around her, but she was on her feet and heading toward their borrowed lean-to, from where they watched the rain pound the rocky plateau for the rest of the evening.

Morning was no different, the rain continuing, slapping against the rocks and drenching everything and everyone. Only the goats seemed not to mind. Lightning arced through the sky, and the thunder that chased it sounded loud and eerie in the mountains.

"Up there," Maldred said, pointing toward a series of black holes. "Maybe the giants are in all of them if they're spread out, maybe all bunched together in one-but I hope not. I'd rather deal with them one at a time. In any event, we'll have to search a little until we find them. The dwarves I spoke with last night are certain there are only three because of the tracks they spotted."

"Only three," Rikali murmured. "They're giants. I would think three are plenty more than enough."

"Well, at least we know what we're up against," Dhamon said.

"Have you ever fought giants?" Rikali asked mockingly as he started up the ridge.

"Once. When I was with the Knights of Takhisis. There were two of them, and each had two heads. Ettins, my commander called them."

"Well, you obviously came out on top. You're here. Were they very tough? How big do giants run?"

He shook his head, not caring to answer her stream of questions until they reached level ground again. After a few dozen feet of climbing he motioned to her, pointing to evidence of the giants-the gutted carcass of a goat wedged tightly between two rocks, the bones of another goat some fifty feet above.

Rikali covered her mouth and gagged.

"Messy eaters," Fetch observed as he yanked a twisting horn off the carcass and held it up to his ear as if he might hear the ocean. Picking off a few pieces of rotten flesh, he stuck the horn in his belt. "Parents never taught them to clean up when they were done eating. Bad giants."

"Three caves, and nothing. Nothing but rain and goat bones. They've been here, but they're not here now. Doesn't look like they've been here for a couple of weeks." Rig leaned against the cliff and looked up at Dhamon who was climbing higher, his clothes looking dark as charcoal against the glowering sky. The mariner patted his stomach as it grumbled. "Sky and my gut tell me it's about sunset. An' there isn't much left of the mountain." He tugged a piece of boiled root from his pocket, snapped it in two, and popped a piece in his mouth.

Fetch scampered up after Dhamon, Rikali following him and scolding the kobold about something.

"Perhaps they've moved on," Maldred suggested.

Fiona's shoulders sagged. "I need the reward Donnag promised. I need those forty men."

"Ogres," Rig cut in. "He promised you ogres, Fiona." Softer, he muttered that the chieftain's promise was worth about as much as the goat carcasses they found.

"Ogres are men, Rig," she returned. "And I would welcome their help."

Maldred stepped between the two of them, eyes twinkling at the Solamnic. "You'll get the men, Lady Knight. We will search in one or two more caves and then leave. I will explain to the chieftain that we did our best, and that maybe they've moved on and will pose no more threat to Knollsbank. As long as the menace is gone, Donnag will keep his word about the men."

Will he? the mariner's arched eyebrows asked.

"Up here!" Dhamon called. He was standing on a ledge before a high, narrow slash in the rocks. The cave mouth looked jagged and irregular, as if the talon of some great creature had torn the mountain open.

"Find a trace of them?" Maldred called from below.

Dhamon shook his head. "No trace. But I did find something else very interesting." And then he vanished inside the cave, with Fetch and Rikali behind him.

"Lady Knights first." Maldred bowed to Fiona, who started up the ridge. He made a move to follow her, but Rig put a hand on his shoulder.

"She's my woman," the mariner said simply. "We're gonna be married in a few months. I don't like the way you're always looking at her. And I'm tired of you occupying her time."

Maldred grinned. "I'd say she's her own woman. And you're not married yet." Then he pushed in front of the mariner before the astonished Rig could say anything.

The mariner stood alone on the ridge for several minutes, listening to the rain pattering against the rocks and glancing down at the village, which looked like scattered doll houses, the people and goats merely bugs meandering around in senseless patterns amid the puddles that he hoped would become a lake and swallow Knollsbank up.

Little light filtered in from outside, but it was just enough for Dhamon to see this wasn't a normal cave. He stood inside the tall, narrow entrance, on an ancient mosaic floor made of variously colored stone chips. Six lofty pillars stretched from floor to ceiling, at least forty feet high. They were gigantic tree trunks, practically uniform in girth, and he wondered what engineering feat brought them up this mountain and then fitted them inside this place. They were practically white with age, and carved with the images of dwarves standing atop each others' shoulders. The one at the very top of each column wore a crown, and their upreached arms seemed to support the cavern's roof.

"By my breath!" Rikali slipped in beside him, Fetch sliding between the pair.

"A torch," Dhamon began. "I want to get a better look at this."

"Fee-ohn-a has them in her pack," Rikali said unpleasantly.

When the others finally joined them and a torch was lit, many more dwarven images were revealed. Carved into the walls of the cave, each visage was different and incredibly detailed: men, women, children, some warriors by their helmets and scarred faces, others religious folk by the symbols worn around their necks. A myriad of emotions were displayed on the faces: happiness, pride, grief, love, wonder, and more.

The floor was smooth and level. The chips of painted stone were tiled across it to form the face of a most impressive dwarf, wild hair flaring out to touch the cavern walls, the pillars practically framing an aged, wise-looking leader. The color had faded, but Dhamon surmised the braided beard was bright red at one time, and the beads woven into it were tinged with silver and gold. The wide-set eyes were sunken and black, forming braziers that might have been used in some long-ago ceremony.

"Reorx," Dhamon said, his hand drifting down to the pommel of his sword. The nape of his neck was tingling. Something didn't feel right in this place, but he couldn't identify what was wrong. He stared into the image's eyes. It was like someone was watching him, a sensation he learned to identify when he was with the Knights of Takhisis. He wanted to be back in Bloten, with his new sword and on his way. He glanced away and to the pillars. "This must be one of Reorx's temples."

"Who?" Rikali tugged on his sleeve. "Who is Re-or-ax?"

"You don't know?" This from Fetch.

The half-elf shook her head.

"A god," Dhamon said softly. "A dwarf I once knew, Jasper, told me a lot about him. Jasper considered himself a priest of Reorx. Even after the gods left."

"And this Jasper, did he ever meet Re-or-ax?"

Dhamon shook his head.

Rikali made a tsking sound and whispered it was foolish to revere someone you'd never met. She raised her voice. "Well, did this Re-or-ax accomplish much when he was around? Other than to have temples built to him high in some stupid mountain?"

"According to dwarven tales, Riki, the High God was disturbed at the jumbled chaos all around him. He whittled twenty-one sticks, the stoutest of which became the god Reorx." Dhamon pointed at the image on the floor. "Reorx said he would make a world, round and sturdy, in his own likeness. He was called the Forger, and by striking his hammer at the jumbled chaos, the sparks became stars. The last blow birthed Krynn. I'd say that's accomplishing quite a bit."