Redemption

Chapter Eleven Shadow Keep

The grass was soft and cool, and Dhamon thrust his fingers into it until he could feel the damp earth beneath. So he wasn’t dead, not yet. He was mildly saddened at this realization, as death would have solved all of his problems.

Death would have ended the pain from the scales.

If there was a place where spirits found peace, he would rather be there right now. It had been a long time since he’d known any real contentment.

Since he wasn’t dead his problems persisted. He realized some time had passed since the episode in Shrentak, and though his eyes were closed, he could tell it was midday, probably by the amount of light seeping through his eyelids.

He ached from the scales and found himself wishing for a big jug of that ale he’d drunk in the tavern last night. He couldn’t remember when he’d hurt this much following an episode. It felt as if he’d sparred with a few dozen bakali.

His throat was dry his tongue felt swollen, and he had trouble working up some saliva to swallow. He kept his eyes shut and his breathing shallow, deciding he ought to learn more about his surroundings before letting anyone know he was awake.

The breeze felt slightly warm against his face, and he picked up the faint, telltale odor of Ragh, like a blacksmith’s shop. He could smell little else, save a trace of chicory and—something else—sheep. He himself still reeked from the water and sludge he’d waded and swum through to catch a glimpse of Sable.

So he was still in the swamp, he guessed, somewhere outside of Shrentak. He heard the striking song of a heron and the distant snap of a crocodile’s jaws. There were no sounds of city life or of people. He could hear plenty of leaves rustling, and willow branches, as well. He was lying partially in shade, an effort on someone’s part, probably Fiona, believing him to be Rig, to keep him out of the oppressive heat.

Opening his eyes just a crack, he spied sunlight streaming diffusely through a veil of leaves. Wider, and he spotted the draconian’s scaly visage—Ragh bending over him.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to make it,” the draconian said flatly. “This was the worst time, so far. You haven’t moved for hours. I was afraid I’d have to deal with the mad Knight and the blue-skinned ogre all by myself.”

So the draconian hadn’t killed Maldred yet. Too bad. Dhamon propped himself up on his elbows and rolled his head to work out a kink in his neck.

Ragh leaned closer. “How are you feeling?” There was genuine concern in the draconian’s voice, and this distressed Dhamon.

“Fine,” Dhamon said. Then truthfully: “More than a little sore. Did you get me out of the city?

Where’s Fiona?” And where’s Maldred for that matter? he thought.

“Sore. You feel sore. But you feel all right otherwise?”

Dhamon frowned and raised his right hand to push Ragh away so he could stand up. He stopped and swallowed hard. The back of his right hand was entirely covered with scales, and there were pearl-sized scales on his wrist as well. He gaped at his arm, completely covered with scales the size of steel pieces.

His left arm was the same, though the scales hadn’t yet spread to his left hand. He touched the scales on his arm, and only when he pressed down hard did he register the slightest sensation.

“By the vanished gods.” Dhamon jumped up, seeing Fiona and Maldred watching him warily from nearby. He moved away from them to the far side of a willow trunk. Ragh followed him.

He knew the scales were spreading, but this was all happening so fast. It seemed he might only have hours left before his transformation—into what?—was complete. He might not have time to confront the shadow dragon. Dhamon checked out the rest of his body. His legs were almost solid with scales—all the size of coins save for the large one on his thigh. There were also scales on his stomach and chest, and feeling around, he discovered several on his back.

“There’s… more on your neck,” Ragh told him.

Dhamon reached up and touched his neck, where the scales were like a choke collar spreading down to his shoulders. His fingers danced over his face, finding a few more on his cheek, one on his forehead.

Had the shadow dragon out of vengeance sped up the foul magic? Had he learned that Dhamon balked at fighting the Black and was now circling back to the shadow dragon’s lair?

He leaned against the tree, closed his eyes. A sense of hopelessness washed over him. He’d always prided himself on being strong. Alone in life. His only real family had been the Knights of Takhisis, and there was no coddling there. Strong, independent, fearless, and driven—those qualities had directed his life. At this moment, all of those qualities were of no use, all had forsaken him.

If Riki was here she would hold him, tell him everything was all right, that they would find him a cure for all his agony. She would be lying, but her words and warmth would be appreciated, as he had never appreciated them before, when she was actually with him. Palin—he was another one who would fuss over him, poke and prod and make some effort to remedy the situation, then fall to studying him like a specimen in his laboratory. Maldred… the friend Maldred had been… Maldred used to rage against the world with him. But none of those people were here now. He’d never appreciated them anyway. This crisis was his to face alone.

How long before my soul slips away?

Dhamon opened his eyes and scolded himself. He began to fight his anguish and substitute fury. The damn shadow dragon better speed up the magic even faster, Dhamon thought, better kill me quick before I reach him! Dhamon suspected he was beyond a cure now anyway, but he would force the dragon to spare Riki and his child—and then he would exact some measure of retribution.

The draconian fidgeted in front of him, wanting to say something but quiet behind the invisible barrier Dhamon had erected with his aloof, burning eyes.

“Leave me alone, Ragh.”

The draconian stepped back a pace but continued to stand there, studying Dhamon. Finally he looked away when Dhamon’s gaze became too uncomfortable. Ragh batted at a large insect that landed on his chest. Dhamon watched it fly away, only to be replaced by another.

He can feel the fly bites, Dhamon realized. He couldn’t. Dhamon could feel the breeze blowing against only parts of his skin, not where the scales grew.

“How far are we from Shrentak?”

“Two miles I’d say, Dhamon, maybe three. We came here in a hurry when it was dark so it was hard to tell just how far we—”

“What about Maldred?”

Ragh folded his arms. “Maldred scooped you up after you fell unconscious in the street. Said we had to move quick and get out of the city before Nura came back with reinforcements. Fiona and I started to argue, but then…” The draconian shifted his weight. “Everything got quiet. I mean everything. Lights that were burning in windows started going out. The drunks disappeared. Not even a rat moved in the alley. Maldred said the naga had allies in the city and that it wouldn’t be safe for us to stay. So we stopped arguing and followed him. To tell you the truth, I think Maldred helped you—all of us—out of a bad spot.”

Dhamon rubbed his back against the trunk. There weren’t so many scales on his back. He glanced down at the back of his right hand, opened and closed his fingers.

“They… the scales,” Ragh began. “They started growing even faster, once you were unconscious, spreading like some dark rash. Maldred tried to work some magic to stop them. I think he managed to do something to at least slow them down. We didn’t notice any more cropping up after dawn.”

“Where’s my glaive?”

The draconian glanced around. “Fiona has it. She grabbed it when you dropped it, and she hasn’t let go of it since.”

“I heard a crocodile a while ago. The river has to be near.”

Ragh nodded. “A tributary. My nose’ll lead us right to it.”

“I can’t smell the water.”

“I can’t imagine why not.” There was a wry look on Ragh’s scaly visage. He pointed to the northeast.

Dhamon spent quite a while in the clean water. Not only did he want to scrub away the stink, he wanted time away from his companions’ prying eyes. Doffing his tattered clothes, he discovered more scales—a few on the tops of his feet, under his arms. Each time he touched one he hadn’t noticed before, he silently cursed the shadow dragon and the day he’d first met the mysterious creature. He scrubbed his clothes and found some humor in the notion that since he’d left the Knights of Takhisis he had a hard time keeping any of his garments intact for long. He didn’t quit until enough of the smell was gone from his pants and tunic that he could live with himself. He put them on, climbed out of the river.

The soreness persisted in his limbs. If anything the pain had become worse, a dull throb that was echoed by a pounding in his head. While annoying, the pain would keep him alert and angry and feed his obsession with the shadow dragon.

“Rig!”

Fiona came scurrying toward him, holding the glaive over her shoulder, and smiling widely.

“I had a horrible dream, Rig. I dreamed you died in Shrentak.” She thrust the glaive at Dhamon, then wrapped her arms around him, holding him close and pressing her face against his chest. Dhamon squirmed uncomfortably.

Behind her came Maldred, thick eyebrows raised and mouthing the word, “Rig?”

Dhamon wasn’t sure why he did it, perhaps to unsettle the ogre-mage or perhaps because some of her madness had rubbed off on him through the wight, but now he returned Fiona’s embrace, kissing her forehead. They held each other until Ragh began pacing around them. Dhamon slowly released the Knight.

“It was a horrible dream,” Fiona repeated breathlessly. “I can’t ever lose you, Rig. We shouldn’t go back to that ghastly city.”

“We’re not going back to Shrentak, Fiona. I promise.”

Maldred cleared his throat. “Think otherwise. Just take a look at yourself, all your scales. I know a secret way into the city, not a pleasant one, but our best bet now. We’re going to have to try to defeat the Black if you ever want to be cured of those scales. The shadow dragon—”

“Is going to get an unpleasant surprise,” Dhamon finished. “Now you’re going to prove your friendship by taking me to him.” I’ve a worthy weapon now, Dhamon thought, hefting the glaive over his shoulder. A fine magical one.

“Dhamon, listen to reason,” Maldred persisted. “We’re going to have to—”

Dhamon flung himself at the ogre-mage, dropping the glaive, fingers spread wide. His nails dug into Maldred like claws, pulling him down, raking him. Before the surprised Maldred could react, Dhamon threw an elbow into his chest, knocking the wind from him. Then he continued his assault, driving a fist into his stomach, pushing him on the ground and slamming his fist into him repeatedly.

Dhamon had his hands around the ogre-mage’s throat. Maldred’s eyes bulged with fear.

The spittle flew from Dhamon’s mouth. “You’re going to lead us to the damn shadow dragon, and you’re going to do it now.”

“Dhamon…” the ogre-mage gasped. “I’ve got Blöde to think about.”

“You’ll have nothing to think about, ogre, if you don’t cooperate. You’ll be dead.” Dhamon’s eyes said he meant it, despite the good times they had shared, despite once thinking Maldred as dear as any brother, and despite the fact that the big thief had pulled him out of a bad scrape or two. “You won’t be able to do anything for your damnable dry homeland if your corpse is rotting in this swamp.”

Fiona had reclaimed the glaive. She eagerly joined in, swinging the big weapon around, leveling the axe-like blade of it straight at Maldred.

“Blue-skinned monster. You’ll do what Rig wants, or I’ll help him kill you.”

Maldred looked between the two with darting eyes and finally nodded, pained resignation clear on his face. Dhamon let him up, and as he did so, he grabbed the ogre’s two-handed sword away from him and passed it to Ragh.

“Bad enough you have magic,” Dhamon told him. “You’re not going to have a weapon, too. Ragh, if you hear him mumble or twitch his fingers, don’t be afraid to poke him with that.” He reached out and took the glaive back from Fiona. “Let’s get going. Maldred’s in a hurry to take us to the shadow dragon.”

The female Knight smiled hopefully. “So you can be cured, Rig.”

“Aye, so I can be cured.” And so I can exact a promise that my child will be safe. Dhamon took her hand, as Maldred started off. The draconian followed right behind the ogre-mage, sword held out in front of him behind Maldred’s back.

They traveled the rest of the day in relative silence. Fiona spoke only to Dhamon, addressing him as Rig the whole time. Her madness was getting worse too, Dhamon told himself. They stopped before sunset on the bank of an inviting fresh stream, and here, with Ragh hovering menacingly at his side, Maldred made another attempt to speak to Dhamon and convince him to turn around.

“The shadow dragon is very powerful, my friend.”

“Aye,” Dhamon admitted. He watched Fiona kneel at the stream and splash water on her face. “All dragons are. And I’m not your friend.”

“I believe he would keep his word about curing you and…”

“I believe all dragons are duplicitous, and I think I should have never agreed to go on his foolish errand to begin with. I wasted precious time. I should have found a way that very night to attack him and to make him cure me and obtain a guarantee that he would leave Riki and my child alone.”

“Dhamon…”

“You’ll have to find your own remedy for Sable, ogre. Exchanging one dragon overlord for another is foolhardy. Idiocy. Oh, the shadow dragon might stop the spread of the swamp, but he very well could do something worse.”

“It’s never good to be under any dragon’s claw,” Ragh interjected.

Maldred hung his head. “Dhamon, my people are desperate. I had to take the chance to save them, and now you’re taking that one hope away from me.”

“Too bad.” Dhamon looked at Fiona. She had the long sword out and was crazily whispering to it.

“Long ago you taught me to look out only for myself, ogre. You were a very good teacher.” He paused, eying the ogre-mage up and down. “To think I once considered you a good friend. Foolish of me.”

Dhamon wore a disgusted look. “How much farther to the lair, ogre?”

“An hour at best.”

“Then let’s move. I don’t want to travel through the swamp in the dark.” Dhamon looked back to the stream and saw that Fiona was gone.

They searched for Fiona until it was too dark for them to see. Dhamon forced Maldred to create some magical light so they could look longer.

They knew she hadn’t been hauled away by some furtive swamp-beast. There were no signs of a struggle near the stream. Her tracks indicated she’d simply strolled away into the undergrowth, but they stopped abruptly after several yards, as if she’d vanished in thin air. There was nothing to indicate she’d climbed a tree or retraced her steps, and there were no other tracks around hers.

They rested briefly that night but found no further clues even after the sun came up. When they called for her, they received no reply. Dhamon exerted his heightened senses, listening for her, listening for anything unusual. He tried to pick up her scent, he strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of her through the undergrowth.

At every juncture he cursed himself for not watching out for her more closely, for not keeping her safe, for not being able to rescue Rig in Shrentak.

It was past noon when Ragh, tugging on his tunic, spoke. “We’re not going to find her, Dhamon. Fiona either doesn’t want to be found, or something devoured her. In this place, I’d say it’s probably the latter.”

“No, we’ll find her, my friend.” Dhamon stopped. He’d not called Ragh “friend” before, but the draconian hadn’t betrayed him, like Maldred. Ragh was the closest thing to a friend he had right now.

“We have to find her, Ragh.”

The draconian grabbed Dhamon’s left wrist and forced him to look at his own hand. The entire back of Dhamon’s left hand was covered with scales now, and tiny scales decorated most of his fingers, too.

“How much longer can you afford to tarry?”

Dhamon’s limbs still ached fiercely. All of his worsening troubles could be blamed on the shadow dragon’s heinous magic. “I don’t know.”

“Well, my friend, I know that if we don’t continue after the shadow dragon soon, you won’t be any good to Fiona—even if she’s still alive. You won’t be any good to the child you keep mentioning, and you certainly won’t be any good to yourself. You’re liable to end up looking like some misshapen spawn, and the first swordsman who comes across your path is going to try to cut you in two.”

Dhamon felt oddly stronger today than yesterday, and his senses had become even more acute. He thrust the end of the glaive haft into the ground, looked around to make sure Maldred was in sight, then ran his hand through his sweat-damp hair. “All right. No more searching. For now. I find myself taking your advice, Ragh. Frequently I find myself taking your advice, my friend.”

“I suppose that troubles you.” Ragh gave him a rare lopsided grin. “I’ve been around a long time, Dhamon. I’ve got lots of advice to give, when I’ve a mind to give it. Now, let’s go looking for this shadow dragon before I take some of my own advice and part company with you.”

Because they had ranged several miles in their search for Fiona, it took them until past dawn of the following day to backtrack and reach the large cave mouth concealed by willow leaves that Maldred identified as the shadow dragon’s favorite lair. It didn’t look especially familiar to Dhamon, but then he’d been there at night before. A quick search found old tracks—his, Ragh’s, Fiona’s, Maldred’s. Yes, this was the place. But one set of tracks was more recent. They were smaller tracks, belonging to a child.

“The naga.” Dhamon hurried inside. He headed straight toward the depths of the cave. “Ragh, keep a close watch on the ogre.”

The cave was very dark and heavy with peculiar, fetid odors. Ragh came in behind Dhamon, prodding Maldred forward. “Some light,” the draconian instructed, “and I know the gestures to that spell now, so don’t try anything else.”

Maldred cupped his hand and fluttered his fingers, mumbling a few fast words in an ancient language.

A ball of glowing light appeared. The draconian held the great sword in one hand, cupped his other hand, and copied Maldred. Another glowing sphere appeared, hovering above their heads, following them.

“I’ve got a little magic in me, too, ogre. So watch yourself.” Ragh hoped for a surprised reaction from Maldred, but he didn’t get it.

“I taught a kobold that spell, Ragh. A kobold. It’s easy magic.”

Ragh poked him with the tip of the sword. “Move, ogre.”

They caught up with Dhamon, who was deeper in the cave where the air was still. “Nura got here first and warned the shadow dragon. Now we’re both in a fix, Dhamon. You’ll not get your cure, and the swamp will swallow my homeland.”

Dhamon was peering into the recesses of the cave. “Maybe. But this cave goes on for quite a ways more than I first believed.” He could detect no hint of the dragon, not the slightest stirring of air from its noxious breath, not the faintest glow from its filmy eyes. He couldn’t smell the naga either—she had a distinctive musky odor he’d locked away in his memory. “Let’s see how far it goes.”

“It goes nowhere,” Maldred said. He’d been here a few times before and thought he knew the full extent of the cave, but he allowed the draconian to prod him along.

The cave twisted and turned, heading deeper into the earth. The air grew cooler and more repulsive. They came upon a chamber filled with the skeletons of giant crocodiles, great lizards, and other beasts. Some were half-eaten and rotting, covered with a carpet of feasting insects, others were old, bleached bones.

The cave trail wound farther down, narrowing, and Dhamon still pressed on, though he realized the dragon could not possibly squeeze down here.

“Dhamon, this is pointless.”

“Shut up, ogre.”

“Stop calling me that.”

Dhamon whirled. The light from the ball of light above Maldred threw shadows upward along the planes and angles of his wide, blue face. “That’s what you are, isn’t it, an ogre? That’s why you betrayed me, because you’re an ogre. Because you had to find a way to save your precious ogre lands. Well, ogre, as you said—it’s pointless—and your lands aren’t going to be saved, are they?” And neither will my child if I can’t find the damn shadow dragon, he thought.

“I’m sorry”

“Maybe if you’d come to me as a friend, I would’ve helped you. Maybe I would’ve marched straight into Sable’s lair, with whatever forces we could muster. Maybe I would’ve done that for the Maldred I thought I knew. But not for the ogre I can’t stomach. Not for the ogre who put my child at risk and who is at least in part responsible for Fiona wandering somewhere blindly in this wretched swamp.”

His tirade finished, Dhamon turned around and started retracing his steps. “You said this was the shadow dragon’s favorite lair. Where are its other hiding holes?”

Maldred didn’t answer until Ragh poked him sharply with the sword. “Nura led me to believe there are a few, but I’ve not been summoned to any others.”

“So where would the dragon go?” Dhamon thought back to the cave high in the mountains where he first encountered the shadow dragon. Maybe there, but he hoped not. He’d stumbled into the cave by accident and had no way of finding it again.

“I don’t know.”

“Not good enough.” This came from Ragh, who warily watched Dhamon.

Dhamon was feeling his way along a wall that was a mix of earth and stone. Ragh nudged Maldred closer, and the twin globes of light revealed a side passage.

“I thought I felt air blowing in.” The passage was too narrow for the three of them, and after several feet yielded to a natural staircase that wound its way up into darkness. The dragon certainly couldn’t have fit in here, Dhamon decided, but the naga might have. If she’d been this way, perhaps he should let the naga lead him to the dragon.

“Dhamon,” Ragh cautioned.

“I know, but do you have a better idea at the moment?” Without waiting for an answer, Dhamon slipped into the passage and started up the stairs. The other two followed him, single file, with the draconian at the rear prodding Maldred. Dhamon’s legs ached with each step and he felt a burning sensation on his back, which he suspected was more scales sprouting. “Damn all the dragons in the world.” His head pounded.

The steps were worn away in several places, but a stream of water trickled down and disappeared in a wide crack. The light globes revealed handholds here and there and deteriorated carvings and etchings.

Dhamon traced one with his finger. It looked like the image of some kind of draconian or perhaps a bakali, and there was a smaller bulbous-nosed creature flying above it. The other creatures were too faint to make out.

It was a tight squeeze at the very end. As Dhamon stepped out into a worked stone chamber, he felt the floor give way beneath him. Reflexes like lightning, he sprang forward, rolled, and stood up again just as Maldred forced himself through the entrance and lost his balance, throwing his arms out at the last minute to catch himself from falling through a widening gap. The ogre-mage looked down and saw jagged iron spikes a few feet below. He wormed his way past, as Ragh carefully stepped into the room, scraping his shoulders on the rocks.

The floor was tiled, alternating squares of slate and black-veined rose marble, with a thick layer of dust making them look fuzzy and out of focus. Dhamon prodded Maldred ahead of him with the butt of the glaive, finding two more places that gave way, with spikes at the bottom of each one’s long drop.

“Why would Nura come up here?” Maldred wondered aloud. A quick gesture and a few words and he changed his light globe, making it larger and brighter. Behind him, Ragh did the same. Their light revealed a hexagonal room littered with benches and bookcases and a half-dozen shadowed alcoves.

Dhamon edged forward, careful to test each tile in the floor with the glaive. He found another loose one, but rather than collapsing into a pit of spikes, this one upon his touch produced a gout of hot, blue flame.

“A sorcerer’s den,” Dhamon spat. “A damn evil sorcerer if you want my guess.”

Still, he turned and turned, eyeing the place.

Ragh shifted away from Maldred, keeping an eye on the ogre-mage. He was using the great sword to prod the stones, and he employed his extraordinary draconian senses to detect anything unusual.

“Dhamon. I smell magic that is still alive.”

“Alive?” Maldred gave the draconian a disbelieving look.

Ragh waved a claw toward a knickknack-littered table. “It’s old magic but it still carries some energy. Some type of ward, I think.”

Maldred raised an eyebrow and started to say something. Dhamon cut him off.

“Shut up. I don’t trust you, ogre.”

Maldred glowered.

“Let him cast his spell,” said Ragh. “It can’t hurt, and maybe it’ll help.”

Maldred resumed his mumbled spellcasting. There was a melody to his words, though a dissonant melody, and when the words quickened, glowing patterns appeared on a workbench, in the air in front of a high shelf, in a dozen places on the floor, and at various heights in the alcoves.

“Lots of wards,” Ragh said.

“So what?” Dhamon demanded an explanation.

“Magical traps,” Maldred explained. “Spells used to catch intruders—hurt them or kill them. Maybe they’re too old. They haven’t done anything so far, but I can’t tell what they are supposed to do.”

“Can you destroy their enchantment?” Ragh asked.

“I thought you had a little magic about you?” Maldred taunted. “Why don’t you do it?”

“This wasn’t in any spellbook I perused,” Ragh returned testily.

“I’ll bet you never looked at a single spellbook.” Maldred started humming, and Dhamon moved close, ready to use the glaive if the big man tried anything suspicious. This magical tune was more complex and drawn out. After several minutes passed, the glowing symbols started to disappear. When Maldred was finished, all but three were gone, and these were high over alcoves.

“Can’t break those for some reason,” he murmured. The sweat was thick on his brow, showing the spell had taken considerable effort. “Stay away from those alcoves. I said I don’t know what the wards do. Maybe they cause more of those blue flames. Maybe worse. Probably worse. I can’t identify the magic.”

“Because it’s old,” Ragh said.

“And thereby dangerous,” Dhamon added. He’d lost a friend, a scraggly kobold named Fetch, to old magic—an enchanted pool that had belonged to Black Robe sorcerers some decades or centuries past.

“I’ve wasted our time. Let’s get—”

“Maybe not.” Ragh forgot Maldred. The draconian had moved over and was engrossed in a collection of small objects on a shelf. He gathered them up in his free hand and set them on a table. He hunched over the table and blew, trying to clear away some of the dust, then he went back to the shelf, gathering more objects.

Dhamon pushed the ogre-mage forward, although the big thief was not eager to come close to the curious objects. “What did you find, Ragh?”

“This and that,” Ragh said. “I don’t know their names. Well, I’m sure a sorcerer would know what to call them. Things. I’ve found magical things.” He started spreading them out. They were carved wooden figurines the size of a child’s thumb, and all depicted a woman in flowing robes. “There’s a word on the bottom of each one. ‘Sabar’. It could be the carver’s name. Could be the name of the woman. My fingers tingle, so I’d say they certainly do… something magical.”

“Well, what?” Dhamon was losing patience. He was running out of time.

The draconian shrugged, looking around until he found a leather pouch. He put the figures in them.

“I’ll have to figure out what, later.” He poked through the rest of the objects, which included an ivory hair ornament, a thick jade ring, which he slipped on his smallest claw, and a collection of a dozen round glass and ceramic globes.

“Okay, take all of those,” Dhamon said. “Maybe they’ll prove useful.” He found another pouch and scooped a handful of dust into it for padding the objects in case they were fragile. “Put them in here, and be careful. I saw Palin with something like those glass beads once. If they’re the same things I remember, they burst into fire when they strike something.”

Ragh filled the pouch and passed it to Dhamon. “There might be some other things here, too, but I don’t know how much time we should spend looking around. And Maldred…”

“Ogre!” Dhamon’s hand shot out, but Maldred had slipped out of his reach. The ogre-mage stood at a narrow wardrobe, the door of which lay broken on the floor. Inside were musty clothes, but what was on top of the wardrobe intrigued him.

“Can you use a crystal?” Maldred asked. The draconian hurried over, too engrossed to pay attention to where he was walking. He nearly fell through the floor when a tile gave way Maldred growled and pulled him onto firmer ground.

“Maybe I can figure out how to use it,” Maldred said, stretching up to reach the crystal on top of the wardrobe. “I haven’t seen one of these in quite a while. An old friend of mine, a healer in Blöten named Grim Kedar, used to have one.” He pulled it down reverently and set it carefully on the table.

Dhamon had heard of crystal balls, in fact had seen Palin hunched over one once. This one was much smaller than Palin’s, about the size of an orange, and it sat on a base that looked like a miniature jeweled crown. It was the jewels that caught his eye. Even through the cobwebs and dust they shimmered—rubies and jacinths, all set in gold. There was a word in silver filigree, where the base touched the ball—Sabar.

“Again—Sabar,” Maldred said, reading it.

“Yes, O Sagacious One,” whispered a deep, lyrical voice.

The voice caught them all off guard, and Maldred nearly knocked the ball off its pedestal in his astonishment. “Sabar?” he repeated.

“Yes, O Sagacious One.”

He drew his face down to the crystal, seeing wisps of pale lavender weaving themselves into artful designs.

“What kind of a crystal ball is it?” Ragh pressed closer.

Maldred gave a shrug of his broad shoulders.

Dhamon leaned closer too, curious but also impatient to be on their way. He didn’t know that the best crystal ball in the world would be of much use to him if he was going to fight the shadow dragon. He thought it would be more worthwhile to continue following Nura’s tracks.

Maldred raised his face, then quickly dropped his gaze to the crystal again. “Crystal balls were fashioned by sorcerers long ago to do all sorts of things. Some supposedly looked to the future, but Grim said that was only a fallacy. Some could be used to look to faraway places. Others might…” He looked up, this time deliberately catching Dhamon’s stare. “Find lost things.”

Dhamon thrust a finger at the crystal. “Use it,” he demanded. “Make it find Fiona! Make it find my child. Make it find the shadow dragon!”

“If I can.”

“You’d better succeed, ogre.” The threat was heavy in Dhamon’s voice.

Maldred sighed deeply and steepled his fingers in front of the ball. He closed his eyes and stretched out with his mind, touching the crystal without physically touching it, feeling its cool smoothness, hearing it sing softly with each brush against his skin. Then he felt the lavender wisps, breathing them and smelling their wildflower smell. Intoxicating. A woman appeared in the mists, dressed in robes of dark purple and wearing a tiara similar to that which served as the base of the crystal ball. She looked vaguely like the carvings, beautiful and exotic.

“Sabar,” Maldred whispered.

“O Sagacious One, you call and I come to you.” The woman bowed her head. “What may my humble self show you?”

Dhamon and Ragh watched in wonder. Maldred’s knees trembled as the crystal drew energy from him to work its magic. The woman’s complexion brightened as the ogre-mage grew weaker. Her eyes sparkled like perfectly cut emeralds.

“Sabar, show me….” He first wanted to see Blöde, to check on his father’s kingdom and the spreading swamp that threatened to consume his native land, but he knew that would have to wait. There would be time for that later, hopefully, when Dhamon was preoccupied. “The shadow dragon,” Maldred said. “The beast which laired in the cave below…”

“…who was unaware of me in this chamber,” the woman finished.

“Oh, yes,” said Maldred, surprised at this information. “That dragon.”

The woman twirled like a dancer, the dark purple of her robes flying out and resembling a spinning flower, stirring the lavender mist and filling the crystal with a swirling purple smoke. There was a flash of green, the winking of her eyes, then the smoke disappeared and a cavern materialized to fill the small globe.

Dhamon and Ragh spoke excitedly, but Maldred pushed their words to the background of his consciousness so he could concentrating on the magic in the globe. The crystal continued to sing to him, and he beseeched it to show him more.

The image in the ball changed, the view shifting inside the cavern, showing parts that were dark but vastly different than the opening of the cave. The stone here was orange and brown and dry. There was no hint of the moss and no standing water. Soon they could see a very large, shadowy dragon stretched out at the back of a high-domed chamber. The dragon’s eyes flickered open, and Maldred urged the woman in the crystal ball to pull back. He couldn’t risk the chance that the dragon might discover he was being spied on. Magical creatures might somehow be able to use the magic to see who was scrying them.

The image shifted again, showing the exterior of the cave, then showing the mountain in which the cave was nestled.

“Where is this lair?” Maldred asked.

The entire mountain range came into view, then a singular peak, a river tributary in the distance, and a row of spindly trees—distinctive features in the landscape.

“Throt,” he said in a strangled voice. “The dragon must be in Throt.”

“You can find this place?” Dhamon leaned closer to Maldred. He held onto the tabletop, gazing into the crystal, feeling his knees weaken. Throt was far from here, and he was certain his body would be completely covered with scales long before they reached this other lair. He was certain he would be dead, his soul gone.

“Yes.” Maldred sagged on the table. The crystal was sapping his strength.

“And my child. Ask it about my child.”

Maldred remembered the scrying pool of the Black Robes that had stolen Fetch’s life, and he briefly wondered if this crystal ball would kill him.

“Dhamon’s child,” Maldred requested.

The woman in the crystal complied, eyes brightening and sapping more of Maldred’s strength. She revealed the same village the shadow dragon had showed them on his wall of fog, but it was daylight this time, and there were humans milling about and tending to various ordinary chores. There were a few elves in the mix, and Dhamon spotted Varek, Riki’s husband, talking to a young elven man.

“Riki and my child,” Dhamon insisted.

Maldred gritted his teeth and asked the crystal again. His mind instantly propelled him through the lavender mist and inside a small building where the silvery-haired half-elf sat in a straight-backed chair, nursing an infant.

Dhamon gripped the table edge harder and stared, wanting to memorize every detail of the baby’s face. The innocent he might never see. Unlike him, the child would have a family, a mother and father—even though Varek wasn’t the true father.

“Are they safe? Where are the hobgoblins?”

Again Maldred passed this message and his strength to the crystal, and the vision moved to the outskirts of the village where the hobgoblins camped. There weren’t quite as many of them, but this time Dhamon spotted three Dark Knights.

“The dragon might have been bluffing me,” Dhamon said. He wasn’t certain the dragon was allied with the Dark Knights. If that were true, the dragon could have deployed a legion of Knights against Sable, or at least he would have offered to lend a force to accompany Dhamon. “The hobgoblins are with the Dark Knights, not with the shadow dragon.”

“So the shadow dragon was lying?” Ragh mused. “He couldn’t really threaten your child?”

“Perhaps,” Maldred said weakly. “Maybe they’re not the dragon’s forces, but maybe they have some agreement with the dragon for this dark purpose.”

“But they’re still alive,” Dhamon said. “Riki and my child. Ask—where is this village?”

Maldred entreated the woman in the crystal ball. The village shrank, and now it was as though the watchers were flying above the village.

“This place is also in Throt,” Maldred said after a few moments. The vision rose higher above the ground. “In Haltigoth, I think. Many, many miles from the shadow dragon’s new lair.” He made a move to push away from the table, but Dhamon held him in place, pressing a hand against the center of his back.

“One more thing,” Dhamon said. “Ask the crystal ball about Fiona, too.”

Maldred gasped, but relented, in part out of his own fondness for the Solamnic Knight. It was true he played a game with her, but he didn’t care to see her die out of her madness. He fed the question to the woman in purple, who twirled again as the image changed. This time the lavender wisps paled, then turned white, swirling like clouds. The woman’s eyes dimmed and flickered, and the globe showed nothing. “Dead,” the ogre-mage said sadly. “Fiona must be dead.”

Dhamon slammed his fist on the table, jarring the crystal ball. The spell was broken, Maldred kept the magical artifact from rolling off its crown pedestal.

“It’s not your fault,” Ragh told Dhamon.

“Sabar,” Maldred whispered.

“O Sagacious One, we will meet again.” The woman loomed large for just a moment, extended her hands beneficently, and Maldred felt instantly refreshed, all the energy taken from him restored in a rush.

The crystal went clear.

“Dead,” Dhamon muttered. Fiona, Rig, Fetch, Jasper, Shaon, Raph, and all those others with whom he had served in the Knights of Takhisis. Comrades all dead. Had he acted otherwise at important moments, he probably could have saved each one. To know me is to risk death, Dhamon thought.

But his child would not die, Dhamon wouldn’t make any more mistakes.

“We’re going to Throt,” he announced. “Now. While I can still think. While I’m still in control.”

He went through the wardrobe, searching the garments until he found a robe that would fit him, and a pair of leggings. He sliced off the robe so it would hang to just above his knees. The fates knew how sorcerers managed to move about in all this voluminous cloth. He dressed hurriedly and fashioned a bag out of a cloak he cut in two. This he tossed to Maldred.

“For that crystal ball,” he said. “We’re not leaving it here. We might need it again.”

Maldred carefully placed the ball in the makeshift bag and tied it to his belt. He would have an opportunity after all to scry upon Blöde. “All right, Dhamon, we’ll go to Throt. We’ll do all we can…

Dhamon!”

Dhamon was doubled over, clutching his stomach, retching. A moment more and he was on his knees, convulsed.

Ragh leveled the great sword at Maldred.

“Don’t move. Don’t move until Dhamon’s up and moving again,” the draconian said.

It was a brief episode this time but an agonizing one—long minutes during which Ragh and Maldred watched Dhamon writhe on the ground in pain. The ogre stood without moving all that time, the great sword pointed at his heart. Finally, a shaky Dhamon got to his feet. Without another word between the three of them, the trio carefully left the old sorcery chamber, threaded their way down the staircase and through the rank cavern, then stepped back out into the swamp.