Downfall

CHAPTER EIGHT Donnag

Evening found Rig and the others across the city, at the home of Chieftain Donnag, the ruler of all of Blöde.

The manse, a palace Fetch called it, was a little incongruous compared to the buildings that sprawled around it—and to all of the buildings they’d seen so far in Blöten. It was three stories tall, ogre measurement, making it appear nearly five stories to the humans. And it extended across an entire city block. The exterior was in good repair, the stonework patched and painted a bright white that looked pale gray in the continuing drizzle. Orange-painted wooden trim rimmed the corners, carved in the images of dragons with their wings spread and heads to the sky. Ornamental bushes thick with weeds and in desperate need of pruning spread out beneath windows that were fancifully curtained, and thorny vines were trimmed away from a meandering cobblestone walk that led to massive front doors nestled beneath an arched overhang.

Two ogres stood on either side of the doors, attired in pitted armor and carrying halberds longer than Rig’s glaive. Protected from the rain, they were dry and sweating from the summer heat, and they smelled strongly of musk. One stepped forward and pointed to a crate.

“He wants your weapons left outside,” Maldred explained.

“I will not!” Rig stepped back and shook his head. “I’ll not leave myself defenseless in…”

Fiona slid by him, unfastening her swordbelt and placing it in the crate. She pulled a dagger from her boot and added that weapon. After a moment’s thought, she set her helmet next to the crate, combing her hair with her fingers. Dhamon tugged at his sword belt, dangling it and the attached ale skins over the crate as he glanced at the ogre sentries. Then he carefully set it inside. Rikali followed with the ivory-pommeled dagger Dhamon had given her, and Fetch grudgingly deposited his hoopak. The four of them waited for Rig.

“I won’t.”

“Then suit yourself and wait for us out here,” Maldred said. The big man gallantly extended his arm again to Fiona, his eyes sparkling and warm and bringing a slight smile to her heart-shaped face. The Solamnic paused for just a moment before she took his elbow and entered the manse, not giving Rig a second glance.

Rikali waited for Dhamon to copy Maldred’s gracious gesture, pouting when he didn’t and slipping inside just behind him. “Lover,” she whispered as she nudged him. “You should learn better manners. Watch Mal. He knows how to treat a lady.” Fetch had squeezed in just ahead of the pair.

“Awh…” Rig rested his glaive against the front of the manse. “This better be here when I come out,” he warned.

Then he proceeded to drop his more readily visible weapons into the crate and join the others inside.

The interior was impressive. A long cherrywood table dominated the dining room into which they were escorted, ringed by ogre-sized chairs with deeply stuffed cushions and intricately carved backs. None of the furniture was polished or in the best of condition, but it was better than the furniture at Grim Kedar’s and the other places they’d visited. Paintings hung on the walls, rendered by human artists of widespread reknown. Rig’s eyes narrowed and fastened on one. It was painted by Usha Majere, Palin’s wife—he’d seen enough of her work when he’d visited the Tower of Wayreth to recognize it, and he knew she wouldn’t have painted this for an ogre chief. Stolen, he mouthed. Probably like everything else in this room.

A lanky human woman, scantily dressed in pale green scarves, bid them to select a spot at the table, and whispered that they should wait to sit. Then she clapped her hands and an ogress entered with a tray of drinks served in tall wooden cups. Behind the ogress came Donnag.

The chieftain was the largest ogre they’d observed since entering the city. Nearly eleven feet tall, he had wide shoulders on which sat shining bronze disks festooned with military medals—some recognizable from the Dark Knights and Legion of Steel Knights, a few with Nerakan markings. He wore a heavy mail shirt, which glimmered in the light of the thick candles that were spaced evenly throughout the hall, and beneath that an expensive purple tunic. Though dressed as regally as any monarch, he was nonetheless obviously an ogre, with warts and scabs dotting his wide, tanned face. Twin fangs jutted upward from his bottom jaw, and several gold hoops were pierced through his broad nose and his bulbous lower lip. His ears were hidden by a crownlike gold helmet embellished with exquisitely cut gems and grotesquely angled animal talons.

He moved gracefully and silently, however, gliding to the thronelike chair at the end of the table and folding himself into it. The human woman stood to his right, awaiting his orders. A nod from Donnag, and Maldred pulled out the chair for Fiona, then sat himself. The others followed, with Rig the last to comply. The mariner continued to look suspiciously about the room, noting the paintings and candelabras and knickknacks that were certainly not fashioned for an ogre. A former pirate, Rig was quick to recognize plunder when he saw it.

The mariner’s gaze occasionally rested on Fiona, who did not seem as concerned about her surroundings. But then the mariner reminded himself, she was being ruled by her belief that being here would somehow get her the coins and gems with which she could ransom her brother.

“We have not entertained a Solamnic Knight before,” Donnag began. His voice was deep and scratchy, hinting at advanced years, but his command of the human tongue was precise. “We are honored to have you in our most esteemed presence, Lady Fiona.”

Fiona didn’t reply, although she was surprised he knew her name. And Donnag, perhaps sensing her uncertainty, was quick to continue. “It is good to have you in our humble home again, Maldred, and servant Ilbreth.” The kobold nodded, smiling. “And friend of Maldred… Dhamon Grimwulf. Your glorious exploits are known to us, and we are impressed. And you are…?”

The mariner had been glancing at another painting, one depicting the eastern coast of Mithas, the Black Coast. The artist had rendered an early evening sky, and three moons hung suspended above the water—from a time before the Chaos War when Krynn had three moons. Lost in the painting, which stirred thoughts of the Blood Sea Isles, Rig was unaware the chieftain was talking to him.

“He is called Rig Mer-Krel,” Fiona offered.

“An Ergothian?”

Rig nodded, his attention finally on Donnag. The mariner stifled a chuckle, finding Donnag’s visage, royal speech, and attire greatly at odds.

“You are a long way from home, Ergothian.”

Rig opened his mouth to say something, and then thought better of it. He nodded again and prayed to the absent gods that dinner would go quickly.

“Lady Fiona, our advisors tell us you’ve need of a considerable amount of coins and gems to serve as a ransom for your brother. That the chieftains of the Solamnic Knights will not aid you in this.”

She nodded, another hint of surprise in her eyes that he knew so much about why she was in his city.

“Your brother is being held with other Knights in Shrentak?”

Again a nod.

“And you intend to go to Shrentak? It is a very deadly place.”

She shook her head. “No, Chieftain Donnag. I’ll not need to travel that far into the swamp. One of the Black’s minions, a draconian, will meet me at the ruins of Takar. It is there I must deliver the ransom. My brother will be brought there and handed over to me. Perhaps other Knights will be handed over with him if I can raise enough.”

Donnag cleared his throat. “It is a most admirable task you’ve assigned yourself, as family is most important.” He paused to take a sip of wine and to clear his throat again. “We are not opposed to slavery and the keeping of prisoners. Always the weaker and the unfortunate must serve the stronger. Still, we have no love of the Black and her spreading swamp. Indeed, our army journeyed into the swamp but a month ago and destroyed a growing legion of spawn—my general believed he found a nest where they were being created. The cost was heavy for us, but not one spawn remained. Fortunately for us, the Black was not there at the time.”

Donnag slowly turned his head to make certain everyone was paying attention to him. “And so, because of our love of family and because of our hate of the Black, we will provide you with coins and gems, more than enough to gain the release of your brother.”

“Why?” This came from the mariner.

Donnag looked irritated, as the human woman at his side filled his wine glass to the brim. “Too, we will give her men to accompany her to the ruins of Takar. The swamp is dangerous, and we will help insure she reaches her destination. In aiding her, perhaps we will be striking a blow against the one we call Sable. We can spare forty men.”

“And what’s this gonna cost us?” Rig wished he could swallow those words when he caught the fierce look of the chieftain. Still, he continued, “Everything costs in your country, doesn’t it, your majesty? Licenses, taxes, fees. I understand you even charge humans and dwarves for the water they pull from the wells. Oh, I forgot, you tax half-ogres, too, just not as much.”

“As you said, Ergothian, everything has a price. Including our help,” Donnag said coldly, as he turned his gaze to the Solamnic Knight. “In the hills to the east are goat-herding villages that provide us with milk and meat. We do love milk. One village in particular has been raided heavily, goats carried off in the night. Wolves, we suspect, or a great mountain cat. Nothing to a warrior such as yourself. These villagers are my very loyal subjects, and it troubles us greatly that they are so plagued. If you will visit this village, Knollsbank, and put an end to the raids, a fortune in coins and gems—your ransom—will be yours. Knollsbank is not far, a long day’s travel.”

“You’ve an army of ogres,” Rig cut in. “Why not have them help your very loyal subjects?”

Donnag narrowed his rheumy eyes. The fingers of his left hand clutched the table edge while his right reached for the wine. He downed the glass in one swallow. The woman quickly refilled it. He repeated, eyes fixed on Rig, “As you said, Ergothian, everything has a price. Consider this as a favor to me—a payment in kind.”

The kobold dropped his napkin. He’d only been halfway listening to the exchange. Goats? he mouthed to Maldred. “When did we agree to rescue goats?”

“Yes,” Fiona said. “I will agree to help in exchange for the ransom and the assistance of your forty men.”

“It should take but a few days of your time,” Donnag added. “And the men will be outfitted and ready upon your return.”

“Waitaminit!” Rig rose from the table, tipping over his wine glass. “You can’t be serious, Fiona. Helping a… a… You can’t mean it.”

Fiona glared at him. “I intend to free my brother. And this is my means to do so.” Her tone was quiet but tense, as if she were scolding a little boy. “We need the coins and gems, Rig. You know it.”

“Would that I could go with you into the mountains, Lady Knight,” Maldred offered. “I have other things to tend to in town. But I will look forward to your return.”

Rig sat heavily in the chair as the ogress servant busied herself cleaning up his spilled wine and casting disapproving glances his way. His glass was righted, but not refilled.

Donnag harumphed. “Very well, Lady Fiona. You and the Ergothian will set out in the morning for Knollsbank.” The chieftain pushed himself away from the table. “We’ve eaten already. But our cook has a fine meal ready for you, Maldred, when we are finished. And now perhaps you and Dhamon Grimwulf will join us in our library, so we can discuss other matters.”

Rig continued to stare, refusing to eat any of the sumptuous fare that Donnag provided. “I don’t like this at all,” he muttered. “You’ve no clue who you’re dealing with, Fiona. Donnag’s cruel. He taxes the humans and dwarves who live here to the point of breaking them. What he does is…”

“His concern,” Fiona said. “This is his country. What would you have us do, overthrow him?”

Not such a bad idea, the mariner thought.

The library was at the same time grand and appalling. Three walls were covered with shelves that stretched to the top of a fourteen-foot-high ceiling. Each shelf was crammed with books, the spines of which were labelled in the common tongue, as well as elf, dwarf, kender, and a few languages Dhamon did not recognize. Some were histories, others fanciful tales of fiction. A thick tome embossed with gold was about the art of warfare. On a quick inspection, it appeared none were marked with the buglike characters that could be found on Blöten’s business signs. Perhaps ogres did not write books, Dhamon mused.

The books smelled musty and were covered with dust and cobwebs, hinting that none were ever read, only looked at and possessed. Had they been well cared for, they would have been worth a veritable fortune in any reasonably sized city of Ansalon.

The fourth wall was decorated with helmets of silver and black plate—souvenirs from Solamnic Knights and Dark Knights. A full suit of Dark Knight armor stood vigilant behind an overstuffed armchair that Donnag settled himself into.

Near the chair hung a great two-handed sword, which Maldred lifted down from a rack. Its pommel was shaped like a knobby tree trunk, and chunks of polished onyx were set into the whorls. He checked it for balance and swung it in a level arc, nearly tipping over a pink marble column holding a bust of Huma.

“Take it. The sword is yours, Maldred,” Donnag said. “We give it to you to replace that which Dhamon Grimwulf said you lost in the valley of gemstones.”

Maldred ran his thumb along the blade, cutting the skin and drawing blood.

“And the sword I am seeking, the one I sought this audience for?” Dhamon stood in front of the chieftain, facing him with his hands on his hips.

Donnag cocked his head.

“The sword that belonged to Tanis Half-Elven.”

“Ah, that sword. The one that can find treasure. We have heard of the weapon.”

“In your stables is a wagon loaded with…”

“Uncut gems from our valley,” Donnag finished. “We know. Our guards informed us before dinner. A most admirable haul. We are quite pleased. And impressed.”

“And it’s more than enough to purchase the sword that tales say is in your possession.”

Donnag drummed his long fingers against the arms of the chair. Dhamon noted the fabric was frayed in places and bits of stuffing threatened to spill out. “Indeed, the tales are true. We have the sword of Tanis Half-Elven.”

Dhamon waited patiently.

“But why should we give up a sword that can find treasure? We love gold.”

“I’ve brought…”

Donnag waved a ring-encrusted hand to silence him. “Yes, yes, you’ve brought us more than enough for its purchase. Indeed, we will be glad to be rid of the thing. We fear if you learned of it, others will, too. We do not wish the notoriety nor the steady stream of humans, elves, and whoever else might deign to come here in search of it—and who might demand it by force rather than offer to pay. We are too busy to cope with such nonsense.” Almost as an afterthought, Donnag said, “Besides, our hands are too large to wield it. We prefer weapons of greater substance.” The chieftain glanced at the sword Maldred was still admiring. “And we haven’t the time to plod through ruins trying to use it to gain more wealth.”

After a moment more, Maldred eased the two-handed sword into the latticed sheath on his back. “How did you come by it? This sword Dhamon wants?”

A deep chuckle escaped from Donnag’s doughy lips. “We come by many treasures. This one from a little thief with no spine. He stole from the dead rather than from the living. And then he sought to sell his prize to me.” Softer, he added, as a smile spread across his stern face, “The little thief is with the dead now.”

Donnag rose to tower over Dhamon. Dhamon didn’t flinch, tilting his head up to meet the steely gaze of the chieftain. “We will consider this fabled sword yours, Dhamon Grimwulf—more because you are a friend of Maldred, whom we accept as one of our own, than because of your wagonful of gems. Still, before we hand it over, we must require an errand of you.”

“And what is this errand?”

“We want you to accompany your two human friends into the mountains. To the goatherders’ village, Knollsbank. We want you to make sure they live up to their word of stopping the raids. Help your friends deal with the wolves.”

“Rig and Fiona are not my friends.”

“But they are your kind,” Donnag swiftly returned.

“I’ve no desire to remain in their company. All I want is the sword. You’ve said I more than met your price.”

“But we do not trust the Knight and the dark-skinned man. If they indeed make good on their word of helping the village, we will give the Knight her ransom—only because her notion of buying her brother’s freedom amuses us. Then, too, we will give you the sword.”

Dhamon frowned.

“And more,” Donnag continued. “We will give you a few other trinkets from my treasury to sweeten the deal. For your trouble of helping my loyal subjects in Knollsbank.”

Dhamon’s jaw clenched. His eyes darkened and narrowed and his voice grew threatening. “I’ll take the sword now and accompany Fiona and Rig. But I want the sword up front.”

Donnag shook his head. “We make the rules in this city, Dhamon Grimwulf. You can demand nothing of us.”

“You do not trust them,” Dhamon said evenly. “How can I trust you?”

“Oh, you can trust him.” This came from Maldred, who stepped from behind the ogre to join them. “On my word, Dhamon Grimwulf, you can trust Chieftain Donnag.”

“Done, then,” Dhamon said, extending his hand. “We will tend to your village of goatherders, and then we’ll conclude our deal.” He pivoted on the balls of his feet and strode quickly from the room.

When he was out of sight, Maldred turned to Donnag. “I don’t understand. Why the interest in helping a village of goatherders? I’ve never known you to be so concerned about the peasants in the mountains. Or to be concerned about anyone, for that matter.”

“We are not concerned,” Donnag returned, gesturing with his fingers as if he were shooing away an insect.

“Then why…”

“You are not to go with Dhamon Grimwulf and the others. Do you understand? Neither is Ilbreth. Stay here, Maldred, in our palace.”

Lines of curiosity spread across Maldred’s forehead.

“Those three will not be returning from Knollsbank,” Donnag continued. “We’ve sent them to their deaths. We will keep the precious gemstones and the sword of Tanis Half-Elven, and we will rid ourselves of all of those bothersome people in the process.”