Redemption

Chapter Nineteen Into the Lair of the Shadow Dragon

His senses reeled. The smell of the mountains overwhelmed him—the very stone, the dirt and dust squeezed into the cracks, rotting pine needles from dead trees, the molted feathers of hawks that lined unseen nests. Goats had passed this way not too long ago, he could tell, and at least one wolf that was no doubt tracking them. There was the scent of some kind of carcass inside a crevice.

“A dead rabbit, maybe, hauled up high by an owl,” Dhamon said. He thought he could smell the owl, too, amazed at the intensity of the musky scent. “It’s eating the rabbit.” Dhamon now could hear the owl and the scratching of its claws as it ripped the meat, the tugging sound of its beak as the flesh was pulled away.

He heard the breeze stir the pine needles, those clinging to stubborn little trees wedged in earth-filled cracks, and those that had fallen and were whirling across the rock face. He heard faint taps and after a moment realized they must be the hooves of the goats striking the rocks. How far away were they? He suspected they were a good distance. Just how far can I hear? A bird cried, a jay from the distinctive sound, and there was a sharp intake of breath that was louder than anything. This was accompanied by the repugnant odor of sweat and oil.

“Maldred. I wondered how long it would take you to catch up with me.”

The ogre-mage’s breath was irregular and deep. Maldred didn’t say anything right away. He bent over, hands clamped on his knees, face a darker blue than normal from the exertion. Finally he stood and looked up to meet Dhamon’s eyes.

With wide eyes the ogre studied Dhamon, then finally looked away, finding something on the mountainside in which to be interested.

“Aye, Mal, the dragon’s magic is still changing me.” Dhamon reached a hand up to the left side of his face. There was no human skin there now, only scales. There was no human skin left anywhere on him.

“I’ve got a fire in my chest that’s raging, and it’s taking too much effort to keep the beast out of my head.” He glanced up at the mountains. “I’ve never been afraid of dying, Mal. No man escapes that fate, so why fear it? But I wanted to see my child first. I wanted to say some things to Riki, apologize to her, and to Fiona too….”

Maldred opened his mouth to say something, and then thought better of it.

Dhamon took off running again. He suspected there was an entrance to the dragon’s lair nearby. He could feel the truth of that instinct as he increased his speed and as Maldred’s scent fell behind.

The cave mouth was small as far as dragons were concerned, but effectively cloaked. It was difficult to spot at first. He doubted that it was easily noticed by those men or creatures traveling north from Throt to Gaardlund or Nightlund. Merchants and mercenaries would pass by, none the wiser. The climb was steep and treacherous—even for someone like himself. Further masking the entrance was an irregular overhang that cast a long shadow across a wide swath of broken, jagged rocks. Deep inside that shadow was the opening.

The low roof made a very tight squeeze for the shadow dragon, one that would probably cause it to shed a few scales from its back and belly. Perhaps it was an entrance the dragon rarely used but held in reserve, but because the dragon had known of the entrance, he had inadvertently communicated that information to Dhamon.

Dhamon didn’t know that with a single spell the dragon could turn himself into a shadow—as thin as a sheet of parchment and flowing as smoothly as water. He didn’t know that the shadow dragon could follow wherever the much smaller Nura Bint-Drax was able to go. Dhamon didn’t know that the dragon actually preferred this way in and out of his lair because of its smallness and remoteness.

“Do you see it? A way in?” Maldred had caught up once more and was peering into the shadows and seeing nothing. He was shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand. The other hand was clenched around the haft of the glaive. Dhamon’s hands had changed radically just in the past hour. Now they were claws, similar to Ragh’s, but with longer curled talons that made grasping difficult. Dhamon didn’t object when Maldred claimed the polearm that he had been forced to abandon. He didn’t seem to care that the ogre-mage also carried the pouch with the magical miniature carvings, which Dhamon had discarded when he grew out of his clothes—or rather, burst out of them.

“The cave?” Maldred pressed. “Do you see it?”

“Aye,” Dhamon said in a hush, his voice rich and strange. “There’s a small entrance. It’s our best way in, I believe. It looks too small for such a creature, but I sense the way is not unattended, as I had hoped it would be.”

“There are guards?”

“Aye. Two, I think. That’s all I sense in any event. And they’re relatives of yours.”

Indeed, the guards were a pair of overlarge ogres, crude, muscular brutes who stood outside the cave.

They were reasonably attentive, however, considering their forsaken post. Great double-axe polearms were propped near them, each larger than the glaive. From the ogres’ waists hung thick-bladed broadswords and long knives. One carried a crossbow. Strapped to their huge thighs were more knives, and lashed to their backs were long quivers filled with javelins.

“Walking armories,” Dhamon mused. He knew he could take these two ogres—he could take a dozen now—but it might be a noisy fight and alert the shadow dragon.

Despite all the weapons, they weren’t wearing armor, making them vulnerable. No shields were in evidence. Each displayed an odd tattoo splayed across his naked chest, and each wore a loincloth made of the hide of some large lizard.

Not a tattoo, Dhamon noted, after a moment. Scales, I think.

Yes, he was certain—they were small patches of scales.

“So the ogres’re pawns of the dragon,” Dhamon whispered. “Just like me.” Would they eventually become spawn or abominations like himself? he wondered. He was still changing, becoming incredibly strong, he realized—he intended to make the shadow dragon regret that mistake, before his soul vacated this grotesque body. He shivered at the thought of what he must look like now. He glanced at Maldred.

The ogre-mage looked quickly away.

“What do you see, Dhamon?” Maldred asked.

“As I told you, I see a pair of your ugly kinsmen guarding our way in.” Dhamon quickly described them. “I don’t believe they have seen us yet. We’re too far away, and they seem very relaxed.” Yet Dhamon was able to see them clearly with his extraordinary vision.

“There are two other ways in, the closest at least a mile from here,” Dhamon said.

“Probably guarded by something else.”

“Aye. Better guarded, I’d wager, if it’s more accessible. Anyway, I don’t want to waste more time searching. I count my life in minutes now, Mal.” Dhamon paused, rubbing his chin. “You swear you have never been here? You don’t know this lair?”

Maldred shook his head, his white mane of hair tangling around his shoulders. “I told you, Dhamon, no more lies. The dragon summoned me to his cave in the swamp, yes. I knew he had more than one lair.

It is said all the dragons do, and Nura Bint-Drax bragged of those she had visited. But I’ve never been here.”

“I wonder if Nura is here, too.” Dhamon said. “The dragon favors her over you.”

“No one favors me,” Maldred said with a nod. “Maybe my father. Now about the two ogres….”

“I suppose you’ll insist they be spared, that all ogre life is sacred. Weeks ago I would have disagreed.” But the changes taking place inside him and all the things that had happened to him had made Dhamon feel that life was a precious thing. “Even ogre life is sacred? Maybe you’re right. I suppose I can lure them out and—”

Maldred shook his head again. “They are agents of the shadow dragon, as I was an agent. And you say they carry his scales.”

The uncurable scales, Dhamon thought.

“If they carry his scales, there is no hope for them.”

You don’t want them turning into something like me, Dhamon thought. Did you know all along the dragon wasn’t going to cure me?

“Tell me again about the cave opening, Dhamon, and where the ogres are.”

As Dhamon described the cave and the ogres, Maldred knelt and carefully set the glaive down, thrusting his hands against the parched ground, fingers digging in. Soon the ogre-mage started humming, a tune Dhamon had heard a few times before. The melody was simple and haunting, and with it came a glow that ran down the ogre-mage’s arms and swept over the ground surrounding him. The earth was instantly brightened and shone as though it was a mirror reflecting the sun.

Dhamon watched as the glow faded and the hard earth softened and began to ripple, like the surface of a pond disturbed by a gust of wind. The ripples were faint, but he could follow them with his eyes as, arrowlike, they flowed upward.

Maldred interrupted his humming to take a deep breath and lower his face until his chin was inches from the ground. He altered the tune to something new to Dhamon, slower and low-pitched, dissonant and distinctly unpleasant.

With his keen far-seeing, Dhamon watched the cave entrance as the ripples approached, unnoticed, flowed around the ogres, and washed over the wall of the mountain behind them. The stone began to ripple and shimmer. The rock became liquid, and now the liquid rock washed out over the startled ogres, trapping and drowning them within moments, before they had a chance to cry out.

Dhamon almost felt sorry for the ogres, dying like that—smothered by magic. It wasn’t an honorable way to kill them.

“It was quick,” Maldred said, as if reading his thoughts, “and necessary. If they’d seen something….”

“The shadow dragon might have seen it too, through their half-spawn eyes.”

The ogre-mage nodded, creeping forward. “How far can you see inside?”

“Not far.” After a moment, Dhamon added, “Not yet, anyway.” He stepped closer and focused his keen senses on the dark mouth and its shadowy interior, concentrating on picking up any sound or movement. “There’s nothing inside.”

It took them only a few minutes to climb to the cave entrance, for Maldred used his earth magic to make the path easier. Several minutes more and they were inside, moving swiftly and silently despite their size. There was little light here, but Dhamon found that didn’t inhibit his keen eyesight. Like all ogres, Maldred could differentiate objects in the dark by the heat they exuded, so he kept his eyes trained on Dhamon’s back, following the fever that raged within.

The scent of ogres was strong inside, and Dhamon guessed the ones they’d felled had been stationed in the cave for quite some time. Others, too, he decided after a moment—the smell of ogre was everywhere. How many more? Were they elsewhere in this cave complex? Or were they far away on some nefarious errand for the shadow dragon?

They wound their way down a large, endlessly curving corridor. The ogre scent lessened. Soon the only ogre scent Dhamon could be sure of was Maldred’s.

Twice Dhamon thought they were being followed. He heard something behind them, perhaps more of the dragon’s sentries lurking in nooks he’d noticed and dismissed, but whatever was following stayed so far back, he couldn’t make out its scent yet. He couldn’t wait for it, he decided.

They plunged deeper into the mountain cave, with Dhamon watching Maldred warily over his shoulder.

Suddenly Dhamon felt the presence of the shadow dragon, a nudging at the back of his mind. The creature was trying to intrude on his consciousness again, but Dhamon managed to successfully repulse the dragon. He didn’t think the dragon knew they were near, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

“Faster,” he muttered. “Mal, move.”

He heard the ogre-mage’s feet quicken, and Maldred’s breath came quicker.

“Faster,” Dhamon said again, louder, then cursed as he stumbled. His legs burned and felt cumbersome. He felt them growing again, becoming thicker and more muscular still. He felt his chest tightening again, his head beginning to throb. “By the Dark Queen’s heads! How much longer will this torment go on?”

How much longer would his human spirit remain in this foreign body? Did he have time to find the dragon? Time to fight it? Time to learn if Riki and his child had been saved?

“How much time?” he whispered, as he found his footing again, resumed his grueling pace.

He heard Maldred’s labored breathing loud behind him. The ogre-mage was having a difficult time keeping up.

“Not so fast,” Maldred complained, as Dhamon rushed around a wide curve and headed down a steep incline. “I can’t match you.”

As much as Dhamon preferred to keep an eye on the duplicitous ogre-mage, he decided he couldn’t afford to linger.

“Dhamon, slow down!”

It was possible, Dhamon supposed, that Maldred was telling the truth when he said he would never lie to him again. While Dhamon wanted to believe that, in honor of the close friendship they once shared, he couldn’t allow himself that luxury, that wishful leap of faith. Not when he might have only minutes left.

The shadow dragon had worked his wiles against the ogre-mage once. Now, if Maldred was holding out hope of saving the ogre lands, the shadow dragon could again persuade him to turn against Dhamon.

“Dhamon, slow down.”

“I can’t.” Dhamon didn’t believe he had enough time left to slow down, nor could he bring himself to completely trust Maldred. So he practically ran now, as much as possible within the confines of the stony tunnels, fast outdistancing Maldred as he raced toward the chamber far below where he knew the shadow dragon laired.

One more turn, one more slope.

Dhamon guessed he was far below the surface now and heading still deeper underground. It was quite a bit cooler here, and the dry air and dust of the higher terrain was replaced by a dampness heavy with the scent of mold and guano. He looked to his right, eyes parting the darkness, and saw moisture beading up on the stone. A line of silver glistened there. Yes, he remembered that line of silver. He’d noted this during his brief link with the shadow dragon.

“Close,” he said. “I’m getting close.”

Just a brief distance.

“Indeed,” came the unbidden reply. “You are very close.”

From far to Dhamon’s left emanated a dull, yellow glow. It quickly grew and brightened, the light bouncing off a mound of gem-encrusted objects, golden sculptures, and gilded weapons piled in front of the waiting shadow dragon. The light momentarily blinded Dhamon, he’d been so long surrounded by pitch black.

Dhamon felt relief, but also a reckless giddiness, a fear and hope that he might yet save his child. He also felt anger that his whole life had led to this point. Everything came down to this single moment, this confrontation with his nemesis.

Nura Bint-Drax, appearing as a child of five or six with coppery-colored hair, was there too, hovering close by the shadow dragon. Its claws were outstretched, almost supplicating, while the child Nura was in the midst of casting a spell.

Dhamon started toward her, then hesitated. Suddenly he felt a rumbling beneath his scaled feet. There were words in the rumbling, but he missed some.

“You are crafty,” the shadow dragon purred. “My prized ogre minions did not bother to warn me of your approach, Dhamon Grimwulf. Did you kill them?”

“They are better off dead,” Dhamon retorted.

The dragon curiously raised the ridge above one eye.

Dhamon edged forward, slowly, cautiously, keeping an eye on Nura and still keeping the shadow dragon mentally at bay. “I won’t call myself Dhamon Grimwulf any longer. I stopped being Dhamon Grimwulf when the last of my flesh disappeared. Now I’m just some foul creature you’ve created to destroy. A spawn, though not so perfectly formed as the ones Sable birthed. I’ve no wings, dragon. Only stubs. Your creation is flawed. I’m an abomination.”

The dragon roared, the sound harsh and metallic like a thousand clanging bells. Dhamon couldn’t tell if the dragon was laughing or voicing its fury.

“But your flawed and ugly creation is strong,” Dhamon continued, inching closer. “I intend to show you just how strong.” Swiftly bunching the muscles in his legs, Dhamon leaped but didn’t make it more than a few yards before he slammed into an invisible barrier. He suspected by the wide grin on Nura Bint-Drax’s face that it had been erected by her spell. The wind knocked out of him, Dhamon could do nothing about Nura’s next lightning-fast enchantment.

A huge, invisible fist slammed down on him from above, crushing him to the stone floor, pinning him there and forcing the air from his lungs.

“Hurry, master,” Nura said nervously. “I cannot hold him long. He is indeed very strong, and he seems able to fight my greatest magic.”

“I require only a little time, Nura Bint-Drax,” the dragon rumbled in response. “Hold him still, and I shall vanquish his spirit.”

“You can’t hold me!” Dhamon shouted at the naga, “and you can’t defeat me.” Dhamon pressed his clawed hands against the stone ground and drew on his hate as well as his strength to push himself against the force, which yielded only slightly. He redoubled his efforts. “I won’t let you beat me, you damn snake!”

He heard the stone crack beneath his claws, heard Nura whispering encouragements to the dragon, heard the dragon speak in drawn-out syllables foreign to him, also heard the slapping of footsteps.

Dhamon inhaled deeply, picking up the nearby scent of the ogre-mage. Even if he arrived in time, would Maldred help him, Dhamon wondered as he pushed harder against Nura’s unseen force.

Could he help himself?

The dragon continued its strange recitation. The noise jarred against the leathery palms of Dhamon’s clawed hands. He tried to understand the words, which were obviously part of a spell. Dhamon raised his head slightly and, turning it, managed to see the shadow dragon’s massive eyes shimmering darkly. Motes of light gleamed in the centers like birthing stars. A moment more and the magical glitter spilled out like tears to coat the treasure nestled between the dragon’s claws.

“Hurry, master,” Nura urged. “I am still holding him!”

“No,” Dhamon grunted, refusing to surrender. He made more headway against the force and finally managed to crawl to his knees. “You won’t hold me.”

He didn’t know what the shadow dragon was trying to do, but it had to be dangerous enough to require outside magic—clearly the mound of magical treasures was powering the dragon’s spell.

Dhamon’d seen it done many times when in the company of Maldred and Palin and, once, when the red overlord, Malys, tried to use the eldritch energy of ancient artifacts to power her ascension to godhood.

“I can’t let you win.”

“The master will triumph.” Now Nura spoke in her woman voice. “He will live forever, and I will live at his side.”

Dhamon hadn’t noticed her approach, but there she was, inches away—looking cherubic and innocent and cupping her hand as if she were holding him in her palm.

“You cannot best my master, Dhamon Grimwulf. You would do well to surrender and avoid the suffering. Oblivion would end all your pain.”

“Never!” The strangled cry echoed off the cavern walls. “He will not rob me of my spirit and transform me into a damnable abomination! He will not!”

“You already are an abomination, Dhamon. It’s a pity you can’t see yourself. So much more impressive than your weak, human body, but an abomination!” Her face took on a peculiar softness.

“Relax, Dhamon. Let your spirit find oblivion. Make it easy for us and yourself.”

“I will die before I let that happen!”

Nura laughed, the sound of crystal windchimes. “An abomination! But, Dhamon Grimwulf, my master is merciful and won’t let you die—not entirely. He will take over your body and displace your spirit, no matter how hard you fight.”

She laughed again, soft and long, and when she stopped this time her eyes twinkled with a merry malice that made Dhamon involuntarily shudder.

He continued to push against the invisible field while searching inward. The furnace in his chest was fiery, and the heat stretched from his chest and stomach down to his arms and legs and feet. The heat beat out a pulse, and as Dhamon concentrated and searched inward, the pulse became a thunder in his ears.

He dug his claws into the stone. Into the stone, he realized. The force of his claws alone had split the rock.

“You feel it, don’t you, Dhamon Grimwulf? You realize it finally? You know what my master is doing. What he would have done weeks ago, if your body had progressed faster, if you had accepted all the changes sooner. If you had managed to slay Sable…”

“…which would have permitted the magical energy dissipated from the Black overlord’s death to power the shadow dragon’s spell.” This came from Maldred. The ogre-mage was standing at the entrance to the chamber, warily watching the shadow dragon, and Nura as she hovered over Dhamon.

Maldred tried to look away, not wanting to stare at Dhamon’s ultimate form, but he couldn’t help but be fascinated. His gaze kept returning to his onetime friend—now a pathetic, misshapen creature, an abomination.

“Well, Prince,” Nura purred, “I see Dhamon got away from you again. You’re not very good at keeping your charge in check.”

With a snarl, Maldred rushed forward, but he also struck an invisible wall. The child raised her hand, fingers sparkling like her eyes, mouth moving in unheard words. The magical glaive flew from Maldred’s grasp, soaring through the air to land in the pile of treasure melting in front of the shadow dragon.

“Where did your precious sword go, Prince? Your wonderful, magical greatsword? The one your father gave you? And Fiona—where is that blade? The sword I had specially crafted? I want all those magic weapons, and I want them now!”

Maldred beat his fists against the invisible barrier, tossed back his head, and howled his rage.

“Won’t let the dragon win,” Dhamon muttered to himself, still pushing, pushing.

“Oh, but you will. You have no choice, Dhamon,” Nura said, returning her attention to Dhamon. She squatted next to him, outside the barrier. “Powered by the death of Sable, or powered by the magic in the treasures, it really doesn’t matter. The master will soon have the energy to complete your body. The master will live.”

“Fight it, Dhamon!” Maldred shouted. “Fight it with everything you’ve got!”

Nura leaned her face down close to Dhamon’s, her warm breath seeping through the barrier. “Power the spell and displace your rebellious spirit…. and place his soul inside your beautiful, new scaly shell.”

“No!” Dhamon screamed, straining his leg muscles.

“The master is dying, Dhamon Grimwulf,” Nura persisted. “The Chaos energy that birthed and nurtured him is fading away, but he will be renewed, through you. He will live a long time, because I was right after all—you are the one.”

“Never!” Dhamon pushed heroically, managed to get to his feet. He stood, woozy and weak. And still the invisible force pushed down on him, pinning him.

“You are beginning to understand, aren’t you?” Nura’s tone was almost sympathetic as she tipped her head back. “You understand it all?”

“Aye,” Dhamon croaked. His voice sounded stranger and stranger. “I am the one, right? The only vessel your bloated master could find to change with his magic?”

Her smug expression wavered almost imperceptibly.

“The only one. What? How many others did he try? How many others did he manipulate, fail to create, destroy with his foul ambition?”

She gave him a curt nod. “Our tests proved you were the only one strong enough to handle the magic, Dhamon, thanks to the dragon magic already inside you.”

Because of the blasted scale from the Red that had been thrust upon him a few years back. Dhamon understood. Because of the magic the shadow dragon and the silver dragon had used to break the Red’s control. Oh yes, he had plenty of the accursed dragon magic inside of him.

Nura smiled as she watched him struggle under the pressure. “The master always said your mind was stronger than your body. I disagreed, though you are indeed perceptive and clever. It is a pity that your mind won’t be yours any longer. A pity that all of that cleverness—”

Her words were swallowed by the shadow dragon’s mighty roar, as the cavern trembled. The spell was completed, and the magical treasures became a mass of pale, colorful light before dwindling to nothing. The cavern burst with brightness, with the force of the new magic, and Dhamon felt a wave of energy surge through Nura’s invisible wall, washing over him.