Jean Rabe - Downfall

"Why would you-ruler of all of Blode-stoop to help a Solamnic Knight? Or why pretend to?"

Donnag's gaze left Maldred. He grinned. "Why, Dhamon Grimwulf, the Solamnic Knight is helping us, rather than we helping her. We have been told she is exceptionally able in a fight-as good as any two of my best warriors! And therefore she might prove unwittingly useful to us in the swamp. Besides, we so love the thought of a Solamnic Knight at our beck and call. The treasure we gave her to lure her along is insignificant as far as we are concerned. And it will be returned to us anyway. As for the forty men, they are to help us strike at the Black again. You see, we have a plan…"

"… which on second thought really doesn't interest me," Dhamon shot back. "Sorry I asked about it." He stood, smoothing his hands on his leggings and glancing around to see what other items might appeal to him. "However, what does interest me is my sword. I'd like it now."

"I'm interested in your plan, Lord Donnag." This from Maldred.

Donnag nodded to the big man, who had moved to stand between two marble sculptures of dancing faeries, his elbow resting on the head of one. "Ogres used to supervise the humans and dwarves at the Trueheart Mines. Ogres, that at one time, were loyal to us."

Maldred cocked his head.

"The Trueheart Mines. In the swamp. Ogres who have switched their loyalty to the Black are in charge there. Perhaps they crack the whips."

"And what do you intend to do with these traitorous ogres?" Maldred seemed genuinely curious.

"Nothing. We are interested in the ogres' workers. Ogres of our kin have been captured, as we explained before, in vile retaliation for the slaying of many spawn.

They are being slaved to death there, and we will not permit that!"

"So you want those ogres freed," Dhamon observed. "That seems like a reasonable goal." Much softer, he said, "That ought to make the rain continue for at least another month or so." From several feet away, he was eyeing the wall of weapons now. "But Fiona thinks your men are going to Takar," Dhamon added.

Donnag didn't reply. His attention was directed to a silver buckler, in which his toothy visage was clearly reflected.

"Ah, Takar and the mines are in the same general direction," Maldred observed. He was idly rubbing his chin. "Lady Knight has never been to either place, and she won't discover the ruse until it's too late. And then she will be forced to help anyway, as she abhors slavery. Yes, I like this plan. I think I will go on this errand for you, Donnag."

"Maldred, Fiona will believe you are helping her," Dhamon said, his voice cautious. "You told her…"

"… that I am a thief," Maldred finished. "It is her fault if she does not understand that I am also a liar. At least she will have an escort into the swamp, and she has gained what she sought-a ransom for her brother- though it will do her no good, and eventually it will be returned to Lord Donnag. And I will have gained what I prefer, a bit more of her charming company. She is truly easy on my eyes."

"So you want to steal her away from Rig," Dhamon whispered. "Like you stole the merchant's wife. And many others. Always the thief, my large friend. I wonder if you'll keep her any longer than you did the others?"

Maldred smiled warmly and gave a shrug of his big shoulders. He paced down a row of chests. "I saw her fight those trolls. A great swordswoman! Indeed, she must have been truly formidable to have helped you at the Window to the Stars. A swords woman with a fierce heart and fire in her blood! Ah, I do fancy her, Dhamon. Perhaps I will keep her around for a little while."

"And if she shirks off that spell you have cast to win her favor…"

"Then what have I lost? Love is fleeting, after all. Eventually I will let her go anyway, unharmed, in honor of your friendship with her. To you, Dhamon Grimwulf, I have always kept my word.»

"I don't care what you do with her," Dhamon said. "I just want my sword, as promised."

Maldred's face took on a strange expression. "Doesn't it at all bother you, Dhamon, that your Solamnic friend is being so deceived?"

"Former friend." Dhamon edged his way closer to the weapons. "And, no, it doesn't bother me. In fact, I find the whole business amusing." He paused at a coffer brimming with jewels and drew a handful of necklaces from it. He carefully reached behind him and placed them in his satchel, fastened it, and decided he was finished with petty baubles. "The sword, Donnag?"

The ogre chieftain frowned, his attention finally drawn away from his own reflection. "Maldred is going into the swamp at my request. He says you are his friend and partner. We think you should join him. Fight for me, Dhamon Grimwulf, and we will reward you beyond your dreams."

"No thanks. The trolls provided enough exercise. I'm not going along to the mines, or to anywhere else in Sable's domain for that matter." He cast a quick glance at the alcove from which Donnag and Maldred had entered the room. There was no indication of anyone else back there. The three of them were alone.

Donnag raised his hand to object. "But you are a warrior and…"

"The sword. Our deal. Remember? I'm not going to ask again." Dhamon pointed to the wall. "You have the gem-stones from the valley. Knollsbank and the other villages are safe from the ‘wolves. Now I want what's mine. My weapon of choice."

"Very well, Dhamon Grimwulf." Donnag gripped the arms of his throne and pushed himself to his feet. "You shall have our very special sword. As promised." The ogre chieftain walked slowly toward the wall of weapons. His face was somber, his eyes fixed ruefully on the weapons, as if he was loath to give away even one and diminish his fine collection.

They were arranged from left to right, shortest blades to longest. The former included daggers, some of which were no longer than a few inches. The latter would have been impossible for Dhamon to use because of their size, though some of the largest and strongest ogres in Bloten might have managed them. More than a hundred daggers and swords in all, and all valuable either because of the workmanship, materials, or because they were richly enchanted from a time when magic was plentiful in the world. There were a few axes in the mix, also ornate, twin glaives, and a dozen dwarven throwing hammers.

Donnag sighed and reached up and carefully took down one long sword just above his head. He pivoted slowly, as if to let the blade dance in the light of the torches, and held it out. "The sword of Tanis Half-Elven."

Dhamon stepped forward and took the blade, his fingers reverently clutching a pommel that was striped with silver, bronze, and blackened steel. The crosspiece was platinum, formed in the shape of muscular arms that ended in talons grasping bright green emeralds. He passed it back and forth between his hands, feeling its perfect balance and noting the exquisite blade etched with dozens of images-wolves running, eagles in flight, great cats crouching, snakes entwining boars, horses rearing.

"A magnificent weapon," Dhamon said appreciatively. He pivoted, moving the blade with him, as if he were fighting an unseen foe. "A work of art."

"It suits you," Donnag said. "A famous sword for a famous swordsman-for Dhamon Grimwulf, who dared to make a stand against the dragon overlords."

Dhamon continued to work with the sword, then relaxed for a brief moment, holding the long sword parallel to his leg. He tightened his grip on the pommel, and then suddenly leapt forward, clearing in a heartbeat the space between himself and the ogre chieftain, and slamming his elbow into the ogre's massive chest.

Surprised and sputtering, Donnag stumbled, his shoulder striking a coffer and tipping it, sending coins and gems clattering across the floor. Dhamon kicked out as hard as he could at Donnag's unarmored stomach. The blow was enough to completely unbalance the ogre, and he fell heavily to his back, knocking over several small sculptures and shattering crystal vases.