Jean Rabe - Downfall

Maldred's eyes flashed. "Why? They will find their way here soon enough."

She cocked her head. "I suppose they will. But I should go to Rig."

"Why?" Maldred moved closer and took her hands. He gazed into her eyes. "Do you love him so terribly much, Lady Knight?"

She returned his look. Fiona knew she could so easily lose herself in Maldred's enigmatic eyes. "I don't know. Months ago I was certain I did. I had no doubts. But now… I don't know."

"He doesn't deserve you," Maldred said. "He does not appreciate you, so few of his words are filled with compliments." His sonorous voice had turned melodic. "He is so unlike you."

"Unlike me," she repeated softly, still staring into his eyes, wanting him to talk some more just so she could listen to his mesmerizing voice. Rig used to talk to her at length, when he was first trying to impress and woo her.

"You must not marry him," the big man said. "Your heart belongs to me."

"I will not marry him," she repeated. "My heart belongs to you."

Maldred smiled. Had Fiona not questioned her own feelings toward the mariner, the enchantment would be so much more difficult. But her doubt gave him room to manipulate his magic. He bent close to her, brushed her lips with his.

She stepped into his embrace, tracing his jaw with her fingertips, easing away from him finally, almost reluctantly. He extended his arm and nodded to a canopied wooden bench. They walked there together, slowly.

"I will check on Dhamon. Wait for me here, Lady Knight."

"Of course I will wait for you."

Dhamon stood at the base of the stairs, looking out on what served, decades past, as the manse's dungeon. He wondered where the current dungeon in Bloten was-where the ogre chieftain locked away those who crossed him or who fell out of his favor. Or perhaps he simply killed all the scoundrels and saved the paltry expense of housing, feeding, and guarding them.

Dhamon was certainly dressed for a dungeon-his clothes filthy and torn from his arduous trek, his hair dirty and matted, the stubble on his face thick and uneven. He stank of sweat, so strongly that he even offended himself, and his boots were thickly caked with muck.

Iron manacles dangled rusted shut from the tall ceiling and dripped with moisture. In a near corner sat a weathered wooden rack, discolored with what Dhamon was sure was blood, and behind a veil of cobwebs was suspended a cage filled with pieces of a human skeleton.

Just beyond the torture implements were massive chests filled to bursting with steel pieces, elegant golden statues, high vases, and coffers spilling strings of pearls into puddles caused by rainwater seepage. The great chamber was illuminated with expensive crystal oil lamps that glimmered between once-exquisite tapestries that had been irreparably damaged by mold.

Weapons hung on one wall, their blades catching the light. Another wall displayed shelves of baubles and trinkets-carved animals with wings and horns and jeweled eyes, precious shell arrangements crafted by Dimernesti artisans, and vials of exotic perfumes, that-though stoppered-still sweetly scented the air.

And there was more. He padded toward the center of the great room.

Inside the former cells, the doors of which had long ago been removed, more wealth could be observed-coins and carved ivory tusks, ornate chests as valuable as whatever was locked up inside them; gem-encrusted busts of mino-taurs and other creatures.

"This is our main treasure room, Dhamon Grimwulf," the chieftain said proudly. He stepped out from an alcove, taking Dhamon by surprise. The chieftain had not used the same staircase as Dhamon, suggesting the existence of secret passages. "The rough gemstones you gifted to us are being cut as we speak. Then they will be given a good home here among our rare and esteemed collection, some set into fine pieces of platinum and gold that will adorn our fingers. We so like gems. It gives us much pleasure to look at them. Others will be stored away so we can admire them later-when we tire of what we normally wear."

Dhamon looked away from Donnag to study an urn that appeared to be made of solid gold.

"And we can never have too much wealth, can we?" This was not truly a question. Donnag came farther into the room, drawing his cloak up around him before stepping over one of the puddles. He strode toward a platinum-edged throne and eased himself down, sighing and yawning and steepling his big, fleshy fingers. From this position, he could better keep an eye on Dhamon and the array of treasure. "Wealth makes rulers more respected, we think. But it makes us more envied."

Dhamon padded toward a case filled with necklaces and rings. He leaned against it nonchalantly. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Maldred entering the room. The big man must have used the same hidden staircase as Donnag.

"Take as much as you desire-within reason-for you and your half-elf harlot," the ogre chieftain continued. "We do not mind. Indeed, we wish to be generous to you, who have aided Knollsbank. We so love our milk and goat meat."

Dhamon nodded a greeting to Maldred and selected two gold chains, thick and dotted with emeralds and sapphires. He added a pearl and ruby ring, suitably flamboyant for Rikali's tastes, and a thin jade bracelet that was elegant and cool to his touch, something he would prefer she wear. There was a jade egg, the size of his thumb, sitting on a small wooden base. The egg had a colorful green and orange bird painted on it, with dabs of white to simulate clouds. She might like this, too. He tucked them all in a pocket and made a mental note to ask Maldred just how familiar he was with Donnag and the manse-and how friendly.

"You have an eye for what has value, Dhamon Grimwulf," Donnag observed.

Dhamon was picking through a coffer filled with jewels now, selecting a few and holding each up to the nearest lamp. One ruby that caught his eye was the centerpiece of a hammered gold brooch. After a moment's consideration, he claimed this prize, too.

"There will be more. Much more," Donnag said, "after you return from the swamp. Another small errand for us."

Dhamon laughed long and hard, not stopping even when Donnag's eyes narrowed to slits. "You think I'm going on another errand for you, your lordship? You claimed wolves were slaughtering the goats in the mountain villages. And yet, the villagers had informed you about what they believed was the real threat. I don't think I trust you. Your errands are far too deadly."

"We have been very busy," Donnag quickly replied. "And sometimes in our crowded schedule we do not listen closely to messengers from villages. We apologize if we did not communicate the true threat that menaced the village of Knollsbank."

Dhamon selected a dark sapphire cloak clasp, intending to keep this one for himself. "Nor will I join the ogres you're sending with the Solamnic to the ruins of Takar. Believe me, her brother's dead. Rig saw it in a vision inside the mountain. Her trip is a fool's errand."

Donnag's lips formed an exaggerated scowl, looking almost comical with his dangling gold hoops. Then he, too, laughed, the sound echoing oddly off the mounds of riches. "And you think we are sending our men into the swamp at the behest of a woman? To Takar? For her brother, whom we've never met? For a woman? A human woman? Pfah! You are most amusing, Dhamon Grimwulf. We should have you in our lofty presence more often. We have not laughed so hard in a very long time. We like you."

Dhamon pocketed a few small gems, flawless specimens, he believed, and likely more lucrative than all the baubles he'd already claimed. "Then why send the men? And why bother with the Solamnic's ransom?"

Maldred moved closer, his boots crunching softly over scattered coins. Dhamon was preoccupied with inspecting the treasure and did not see the big man and Donnag exchange meaningful glances.