Jean Rabe - Downfall

Rig frowned. "I don't believe you can trust Sable's minion-this old draconian. He might not be waiting for you at Takar. He might have given up waiting. Or he might have been lying to you and the council all along, which is what I suspect. I don't trust or like his Lordship Donnag. I certainly don't like Maldred-he admitted to being a thief. And I don't like Dhamon. Not anymore."

"Did you ever?" Her voice had an edge to it. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Maldred's approach drew her attention.

He was dressed in black leather armor, and a dark green cloak hung from his massive shoulders. A two-handed sword stuck out behind his neck. His hair was cropped close to his head, making his face seem even more angular and striking.

Dhamon was at his side, wearing a green leather vest, dark and embellished with an intricate leaf pattern. It was laced across the front, but was open enough to reveal the muscles of his chest. His trousers were short, ending at mid-thigh and made of a tightly woven canvas dyed black. Dhamon was making no attempt to hide the scale on his leg. His cloak was made of an olive-hued reptile hide, thin and supple. His hair had been trimmed a little shorter, just below his jawline, and his face was clean-shaven. A long sword hung from a tooled black leather scabbard, and Dhamon kept one hand on the pommel as he walked. The other hand had a bandage wrapped around it.

"I am glad you changed your mind," Maldred said to Dhamon.

"I haven't… exactly." Dhamon had explained to Maldred a few minutes ago about his question to the sword and the vision it gave him of the swamp.

"Nevertheless, I'm glad you're coming with us-even though it was Wyrmsbane that apparently convinced you."

Dhamon shrugged. "I'll come with you for a time."

Maldred glanced at the sword. "Until it gives you more information?"

Dhamon nodded. "The sword hints that I need to journey into the swamp. And I'd rather do that with company. Aye, at least for a time. So I'm swallowing my words. I'll help you with the mines first. And then we'll part company, and I'll pursue my own quest."

Maldred lowered his voice when he caught Rig watching them. "We'll not be parting company, my friend. I am with you to the end. We will find a remedy for that scale that vexes you. So after the mines, with or without the fair Solamnic at my side, I'll follow wherever that sword might lead you."

Dhamon caught the mariner's stare, then pivoted so he faced away from Rig. "We'll discuss this sword and where it might lead later…"

"When we're far from Donnag," Maldred finished.

"Aye, I fear he will seek retaliation."

"His lordship will do nothing at all to you," Maldred said. "He'll not raise a hand against you. But he'll likely never make another deal with you."

"That is a certainty on my part."

"In any event, Donnag and I had several long talks over the past two days-while Grim Kedar was summoned on and off to tend to him. About how you had the sword you wanted, and he had his life. About keeping one's word, and the price for deceiving others."

Dhamon raised an eyebrow.

"He deceived me too, my friend. Wolves. Hah!" Maldred grinned slyly. "And if he wants to keep our friendship, leaving you alone is the price."

"He is full of lies." Dhamon's voice was flat. He was watching Donnag out of the corner of his eye. The ogre chieftain was parading in front of his mercenaries again.

Maldred softly chuckled. "Well, here's one lie you'll find amusing. He told Grim he tumbled down the stairs in his manse and broke his jaw. And Donnag told his guards the same tale." Maldred reached up and fingered a platinum chain that hung about his neck and extended under his leather tunic. There was a bulge on his chest, where the Sorrow of Lahue was nested. "It wouldn't do for the ruler of all of Blode to admit to being tromped by a lowly human."

"Still," Dhamon began, "I'll feel better away from here."

Maldred slapped his friend on the back. "And what of Rikali?"

"She's still mending at Grim's. The injuries she suffered from the fall were evidently worse than I thought. She'll be there another few days."

"And does she know you're not waiting, that you're leaving with us?"

Dhamon nodded. "Aye. And she's not too happy about it."

Maldred's expression clouded. "Does she know you're not coming back?"

Dhamon knew from a brief conversation with Rig that the half-elf had drifted in and out of consciousness on her return trip to Bloten and wasn't aware Dhamon had left her behind. Rig hadn't told her, apparently considering the whole matter none of his business. Dhamon visited with her late last night at the ogre healer's, and told her he would see her when they returned to Bloten from their trip into the swamp.

"No," he answered. "She doesn't know. And at least I don't have to worry about her following us. She hates the notion of slogging through a swamp."

"To the bottom layer of the Abyss with you, Dhamon Grimwulf," Rig whispered. The mariner had crept close enough to hear the last bit of their conversation.

The swamp closed about them. It was muggy, hot, and stifling, and though what little they could see of the sky was notably overcast, it was devoid of the rain that was continuing to batter the mountains. Fiona struggled to stay in step with the ogres. Her Solamnic armor made her miserable. Still, she refused to remove it. Not even Mal-dred could convince her.

Their lungs felt saturated with the heady fragrance of lianas mingled with the fetid odor of stagnant pools. Hundreds of eyes watched them-snakes that dripped like vines from cypress branches, bright red and yellow parrots that flitted down from high above to pass just above their heads before disappearing again in the foliage.

Green became their world-vines, leaves, moss, ferns, even the green scum resting on the pools of water. The huge trees formed a vast canopy, and on the rare days when the sun poked through the clouds in the afternoon, only diffuse rays made their way down to the boggy forest floor. Sometimes the ogre mercenaries resorted to torches, as the swamp was so close and dark it seemed perpetually night. Dhamon wondered how anything managed to grow here. Dragon magic, he decided.

Lizards darted out from under their feet. Something in the brush moved to the side of the ogre column, unseen but obviously paralleling their course. A great black cat lounged on a low-hanging branch, yellow eyes trained on them, giving a yawn. There were noises that hinted at other watchers. The chitter of monkeys, the snarl and snap of an alligator, the mournful cry of an unfamiliar creature that sounded uncomfortably close. There were a few tracks of massive creatures with webbed feet. The ogres talked about hunting giant crocodiles come evening, wanting to supplement the rations Donnag had provided with fresh meat.

A mist hung above the ground everywhere. This, too, was green and was birthed by the summer's heat evaporating some of the swamp's moisture. It put Dhamon on his guard, as he suspected it could hide all manner of things. The swamp took on an almost haunted appearance, the mist a chorus of pale green ghosts they had to walk through.

Dhamon spent the first few days trailing behind the ogres, who were forging their path through the foliage. He queried the sword each day, asking it again about a cure. Sometimes he received nothing. And sometimes he gained more visions of the swamp, mirror images of what he first pictured in that Bloten alley.

Fiona was at the head of the column. She was paying far more attention to Maldred than to Rig, who sometimes drifted back to walk with Dhamon, though they did not speak. Often Rig stayed toward the center of the column, where he could keep an eye on the Solamnic Knight, and take occasional glances over his shoulder to watch Dhamon.