Redemption

Chapter Eight Shadows of the Past

Dhamon was confronted by a vast emptiness, unending black stretching in all directions. There was nothing to hint at shapes or shadows, but he felt as if he was moving, his feet dangling yet touching nothing. He held his arms up, then stretched them out in front of him and to his sides, his fingers feeling only warm, humid air.

It was a startling change from the cool breeze that had wafted into his jail cell and comforted him until it turned into the frightening, cold currents of the Chaos wights.

He tried to call for Maldred but sucked in a fetid taste and scent. He couldn’t hear himself, couldn’t even hear the beating of his own heart. The taste and scent increased.

It was all magic, he knew, and he should have asked, when Maldred cast his spell, that they all be spirited away to Southern Ergoth, to the far coast where the Solamnic outpost stood. But Maldred had acted too fast. Dhamon hadn’t had a chance to tell him where they were going, so now where was he taking them? Perhaps the Qualinesti Forest, perhaps the eastern shore of Nostar. Certainly not back to the ogre lands.

Dhamon was more curious than worried, as any magic created by Maldred was bound to be a positive enchantment. He called out to Fiona, however, on the chance she might be able to hear him, to reassure her that everything was all right and that she had no cause for alarm. He received no reply.

He continued to float in the nothingness, noting that he was feeling increasingly fatigued—either because quite a bit of time was passing or more likely because Maldred’s spell was somehow sapping his energy. Perhaps Maldred was drawing on his energy.

“Maldred,” he tried to call again. This time at least he heard himself.

A change occurred in the air. The temperature grew warmer still and the fetid smell much stronger.

There were variations in the blackness now, suggestions of blues and grays and faint images that resembled shields, as though rows of knights were standing on each other’s shoulders, three or four men high. He shivered, though it was warm, not cold.

“Maldred?”

“Here, Dhamon.”

“Where are we?”

“My spell’s taken us far away from that jail.”

Dhamon heard strange sounds: a rough, constant “shushing”, the flutter of something like leaves blown in the wind, the muted cry of a shrike, and the throaty cry of a burrowing owl.

“Mal, where?”

It was still night, wherever they were. They were no longer near the sea; there was not a trace of salt-tinged air. However, Dhamon thought he detected the sulfurous scent of a blacksmith’s shop, and now he could sense the draconian and the familiar presences of Fiona and of Maldred. The rank smell overpowered everything, however.

“Where have you taken us?”

“Someplace safe.”

Dhamon blinked as the wall of shields began to move, as though the unseen knights were taking two steps forward and then back, repeatedly, keeping rhythm with the shushing. Before he could bring this to Maldred’s attention, the shield-wall slid out of sight, replaced by thick gray patterns intersected by strands of green so dark they looked black. He stopped shivering.

Concentrating, Dhamon stared until he could focus. He discerned that he was inside a cave. The dark patterns were shadows created by outcroppings and recesses in the stone, the green was moss-covered vines that hung down to the ground and were disturbed by a gentle breeze that was stirring. Leaves continued to rustle, from just beyond where the cave mouth must lie. He turned slowly, finding the silhouettes of Fiona and Ragh only a few yards away. He also saw Maldred, who was speaking softly in words he couldn’t understand, no doubt casting another spell. A moment later a globe of light appeared in Maldred’s hand, and as it grew he tossed it toward the ceiling, where it hovered.

The cave was immense, and the light didn’t penetrate the deepest darkness.

“Liar. Liar. Liar,” Fiona hissed as she locked eyes with Maldred. The Solamnic Knight, standing next to the draconian, squeezed her bundled clothes against her chest and glared back and forth between Dhamon and Maldred. “The both of you are liars.”

Dhamon looked at his old friend. “Mal,” he said, “I was planning to come rescue you. Why, if we hadn’t gotten ourselves stranded on that accursed island of Nostar, Ragh and I would’ve finished taking Fiona to Southern Ergoth and then come back looking for you. In fact, if you wouldn’t mind casting another one of those quick spells and taking us to Southern—”

A sharp intake of breath—Fiona’s. A raspy curse from Ragh. The shivering began again, as Dhamon whirled to stare, deep into the cave, toward a soft, yellow glow. The eyes of a dragon! Its massive scales shifted, making a strange hissing.

“Sable!” Dhamon’s heart thundered in his chest. He snarled in fury and glanced anxiously about for a weapon. “Next time, Mal, see if you can find a place safer than Sable’s lair!” He grabbed Fiona and Ragh, pulling them backward, toward where he judged by the slight breeze the cave’s mouth would be.

“Move,” he whispered to them. “Fast.” Although astonished and confused by where they had landed, Dhamon’s companions didn’t hesitate, shuffling along with him. Fiona’s hand drifted to reach for her non-existent sword.

“I once was Sable’s servant,” Ragh whispered. “She might remember my usefulness and let me live.

But I fear you and Fiona…”

Draped in shadows, which blanketed much of its massive body, the dragon did not move or speak. It merely regarded them silently. The impression it gave was of a giant cat studying with mild interest an insignificant group of trespassing mice.

“Mal, you’d better turn around and follow us slowly,” Dhamon cautioned. “Fiona and I don’t have a single sword between us, so we can’t… Mal? Mal?”

Maldred hadn’t retreated an inch or drawn his sword, Dhamon realized. In fact, the big man was slowly moving toward the dragon, arms spread wide as if in supplication.

Dhamon sucked in a breath. “By all that’s…”

“Liar. Liar. Liar,” Fiona chanted behind Dhamon.

“I… I think she’s right,” whispered Ragh. “Dhamon, I think your ogre friend has betrayed us.”

“Betrayed?” Dhamon sounded incredulous. “Brought us here on purpose?” The possibility was too crazy, he quickly dismissed it from his mind, shaking his head. “No. He couldn’t have. Maldred wouldn’t.” Not of his own accord, anyway, Dhamon thought.

Perhaps Sable had captured Maldred in Shrentak, bewitched the ogre-mage, and demanded that Maldred bring Dhamon here. It was the only sane explanation. If so, if Ragh was mistaken, then why was his friend so casually approaching the dragon?

Behind Dhamon, Ragh spoke up again. “Wait, I used to serve Sable. That’s not Sable,” he said in a hushed voice. “Now that I can see it better, that’s not even a black dragon.”

“Maldred,” Dhamon said firmly, hoping to reach a part of his friend the dragon couldn’t influence.

“Leave with us. Back out now.” If the dragon by some chance lets us.

“You’re safe here, my friend,” Maldred said, sounding less than confident of his own words. “I promise, you’re all safe. The dragon won’t hurt you.”

Bathed in pale ochre light from the dragon’s eyes, Maldred, standing directly in front of the beast’s massive snout, bowed stiffly at the waist. “I brought Dhamon here, master. Just as I told you I would.”

Master? “Move, Fiona! Ragh!”

Fiona dug in her heels. “I am a Solamnic Knight,” she said defiantly. “I should fight this dragon. It’s not honorable to run.”

Dhamon cringed. “Not without a sword!”

“Don’t be in such a hurry.” The sultry voice was not Fiona’s, and it came from somewhere behind them all. “You’re not going anywhere, Dhamon Grimwulf. Not you. Not the witless Knight. Not the worn-out sivak. The three of you are flies caught in a web, and I think you’ll discover my master’s the biggest spider of your dreams.”

Recognizing the voice, Dhamon spun around in disbelief, meeting the eyes of Nura Bint-Drax in her snake-woman form. She effectively blocked their retreat, rising up on her tail in the middle of the cave mouth and swaying hypnotically, her scales glimmering. Her magic, more than her intimidating form, held Fiona and Ragh in place.

“None of you are going anywhere until my master permits it,” Nura hissed. “If he permits it.”

No chance at redemption, Dhamon thought. No chance to…

“Dhamon!” The big man, still in front of the dragon, motioned to him. “Come! Join us, Dhamon!”

Join you? By the Dark Queen’s heads, this can’t be happening! This can’t be real!

Dhamon tried to convince himself that this wasn’t happening, but he knew it was.

He’d felt the sensation of dragonfear, and now, looking back and forth from the cave entrance to its depths, he could see the naga swaying and see the eerie yellow of the dragon’s eyes. He could see his traitorous friend, Maldred, in front of the dragon, waiting.

“Ragh,” Dhamon whispered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the draconian shudder as though trying to break the spell of the naga. “Ragh,” he said louder.

“I-I hear you.” The familiar hoarse whisper sounded as though it was straining for power. “Have you some great plan for getting us out of this?”

From the cave’s recesses, Maldred called again to Dhamon.

“Well, I have a plan,” Ragh growled. “I plan on us dying, and I prefer to let the dragon kill me. That’ll be quicker than whatever that snake-thing plans to do, is my guess.”

“It’s Nura Bint-Drax, Ragh.”

“Whoever it is, it is ugly.”

“It’s Nura Bint-Drax.” You know her, Dhamon thought.

Since the moment I met you, Ragh, you have been obsessed with killing her. She cut off your wings, bled you to make spawn and abominations. You hate her. “You have seen her in other forms, but you must recognize her.”

“I have never seen her. I would certainly remember her if I had see her before.”

“The Chaos wight,” Dhamon muttered. The Chaos wight had stripped the memory of Nura Bint-Drax from Ragh. That must be it. What memory did the damn wight steal from me?

“Dhamon!” Maldred called again.

It doesn’t matter what the wight stole from me, Dhamon thought. Nothing’s going to matter if we don’t get out of here alive. But his legs didn’t feel like cooperating. In the few moments he’d let his mind wander, the dragonfear had seeped into his bones.

At the same time, the naga moved closer.

The odd, heady smell of her perfumed oil mingled with the foul scent of the swamp. Dhamon felt weak, dizzy, ready to quit. I should’ve let the sea take me in that storm, he thought. This dragon wouldn’t get the satisfaction of killing me now. I’ll never see my child.

“Fight the dragonfear,” he hissed, as much to himself as to Ragh and Fiona, “and the naga’s magic.

Don’t give in. Put up a fight!”

He focused on his anger, a technique he employed when he used to ride a blue dragon and had to deal with its suppressed aura. He focused on the dragonfear. In a blind rage he lurched away from Ragh and Fiona, rushing toward Maldred.

“Ragh,” he called over his shoulder. “It was Nura Bint-Drax who took your wings!”

Dhamon hoped that revelation might arouse the draconian, but he didn’t wait to see what happened.

He grabbed the surprised Maldred, swiftly reached behind the ogre’s back and tugged free the great two-handed sword that was always sheathed there.

“Dhamon, no!” Maldred made a grab for the sword, but Dhamon was on fire with anger. In a few strides Dhamon had put space between him and Maldred and the dragon, steeling himself against the ceaseless aura of fear and readying the sword for action.

The glowing dragon eyes didn’t so much as flicker. The dragon neither spoke nor moved, except for the continual hissing of its scales.

“Dhamon, stop!”

Focusing on the dragon, Dhamon was taken aback by Maldred’s lunge. The ogre struck and knocked him aside. The sword clattered away.

“Dhamon!” The ogre, his voice defiant, held up his arm in a warning gesture. “You must listen to me, Dhamon!”

Dhamon kicked at him, tripping Maldred, and scrambled to regain the sword. “No, you listen to me, Mal! The dragon’s got you under its control! This dragon—”

“This isn’t Sable!” Maldred cried. “This dragon isn’t interested in hurting you!”

Yes, Ragh said the dragon wasn’t Sable.

It wasn’t Sable, but the fetidness still heavy in his mouth, the sounds of the swamp that crept into the cave——all of that told him he was in the Black’s realm. So if it wasn’t Sable, what other dragon was in the overlord’s swamp? Why was Maldred in its thrall?

He lowered the sword a little. “All right. I’m listening,” he told Maldred. “Talk fast.”

From behind him, he heard Nura Bint-Drax hiss as Ragh and Fiona shuffled deeper into the cave, resigned to their fate. So, his words hadn’t aroused the draconian after all.

“I said I was listening, Mal.”

“Dhamon,” Maldred began. “I know I owe you the truth. The dragon isn’t controlling me now—or ever for that matter. But I am… in league… with him. I brought you here at his request. I have my family to consider, my nation, and I…”

Dhamon’s unblinking eyes narrowed and met the film-covered ones of the dragon. There was something familiar about the creature, especially its eyes, those odd-shaped slits. For an instant Dhamon saw himself reflected in them, but a different self—one who was a few years younger, one with wheat-blond hair, one who was righteous and undaunted, one who almost died, a red dragon scale embedded firmly in his thigh.

“The shadow dragon,” he said.

Yes. It was the shadow dragon who once had healed him with his blood—and with the help of a silver dragon. The dragon’s blood and magic broke Malys’ mastery over him, but turned the large scale on his leg black, his hair black, colored his soul.

He felt a coldness in his heart. He peered closer at the shadow dragon.

Dhamon had changed since that fateful day, but what about this dragon? He was obviously older too, but that was strange. In the span of those few years the dragon shouldn’t have aged much at all. Dragons lived for centuries upon centuries.

A rumble shook the stone and earth, and it took Dhamon a moment to understand that it was the dragon speaking for the first time.

“You remember…?” the dragon said. “In the mountains far from here.”

“Aye, dragon. Long miles away and short years ago.” Dhamon would never forget. Not even the great sorcerer Palin Majere could cure the scale, but the shadow dragon had saved him that day on which Dhamon accidentally stumbled into his cave. The dragon could have killed him then, as he could certainly kill him now, but it had saved his life.

The shadow dragon was not only unaccountably older but larger now, considerably so. Dhamon could tell he must be nearly two hundred feet long. Why had he grown so large? And why did he look so old?

What could have aged it? Magic?

“Aye, dragon. I remember,” was all he said.

The stone floor vibrated again from the strength of the dragon’s voice.

“Aye, you saved my life, dragon, and I admit that I owe you for that.”

“You know this dragon?” Ragh said to Dhamon, as he furtively glanced over his shoulder at Nura Bint-Drax. “You know the dragon and the snake-woman? How can you…?”

Dhamon silenced the draconian and concentrated on the rumbling sounds to make out the dragon’s deep and drawn-out words. Not only older and bigger, the dragon looked weary, Dhamon thought. Old and worn-out, though he should be neither.

“You wish to collect on my debt to you?” Did Dhamon understand the shadow dragon correctly? Had he manipulated Maldred to bring Dhamon here? Debt or no debt, he didn’t have time to help the dragon.

The scales were burning him out. He had to aid Fiona, find Rikali and his child.

“What do you want?” What could a dragon possibly want from a man?

Once more he made an effort to sort through the rumble for the words.

“Kill Sable,” the shadow dragon said. “I want you to kill the Black who rules this swamp.”

“No!” Dhamon felt the color drain from his face. “That isn’t possible!” In fact, this was all impossible—being brought here by his friend Maldred, standing before an old, decrepit dragon who was young and vibrant just a few years ago, having Nura Bint-Drax lurking behind him as a giant snake, being urged to slay an overlord. “One man cannot stand against a dragon,” Dhamon said, “let alone stand against an overlord. No. Dragon, I honor the fact that you saved my life, but I won’t even attempt such a foolish thing.”

“I saved you from the Red only so you would serve me now.” The dragon dug a claw into the cave floor, making an excruciating noise. “I saved others, too, tried to mold them to my purpose, but you are the most promising. You are the one.”

Nura hissed, as Maldred tugged his sword out of the distracted Dhamon’s grip.

“I don’t understand your part in this,” Dhamon said to Maldred bitterly. “You can damn well try to explain it to me later, after we get out of here. Which I intend to do now.” He made a move to leave, but Maldred’s hand closed firmly on his arm.

“You can’t go, Dhamon,” Maldred said. “Not yet. You must agree to kill Sable first.”

“You’re as mad as Fiona!” Dhamon shook off the big man. “Kill an overlord? No man—no army—can kill an overlord. Why does this shadow dragon even want Sable dead?”

“To claim Sable’s realm,” the shadow dragon said in a low rumble. The cave darkened for an instant, as the shadow dragon closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the yellow glow seemed to be aimed directly at Dhamon. A lip curled upward, revealing shadow-gray teeth. The dragon’s tongue snaked out teasingly.

“You can kill Sable. You are the one.” This was spoken by Nura Bint-Drax, who had slithered up behind Dhamon. “I have tested you, Dhamon, and I know the deeds you are capable of performing.”

Dhamon turned to stare up into her cold snake-child face.

“Maldred was testing you, too. He pulled your strings more cleverly than me.”

“I had no choice,” Maldred cut in, as Dhamon furiously wheeled to face the ogre-mage.

“Tested me?”

“Sable… the Black… everyday the swamp grows larger. You know what is happening. You’ve seen it happening. Eventually the swamp is going to swallow all of the ogre lands, my homeland, Dhamon—unless something is done to stop the overlord.”

“This is all about Blöde? This is about the stinking mountains and your father’s damnable kingdom? I thought you despised your father.”

“My people’s land. And… I fear for my father’s safety, if the overlord succeeds.”

“This is all about this swamp?”

A nod.

“What in the world do you expect of me? Me! If you and your ugly relatives want the Black dead, you can damn well go to war against the dragon yourself. I want no part of it.”

Maldred shook his head sadly. “My people are not the greatest of warriors. Not anymore. We need someone who is fearless, someone who has extraordinary reserves of strength and resolve—”

“You’ve been testing me?”

“To make sure you are the one,” Nura interjected.

“And these tests…”

“My sisters and I,” she said amusedly. The naga was referring to a group of cutthroat women who tried to kill Dhamon and Maldred in the Blöde foothills. “Giant spiders. The Legion of Steel who tried to hang you. All of that and more. It was all our doing, all part of the test. You should be proud, human. You passed every test… so far.”

The veins stood out like cords on Dhamon’s neck.

Hands clenched, he seethed with rage, staring bitterly at Maldred. “Friend.” Dhamon spat the word.

“I called you friend, Maldred! I considered you as close as a brother. As much as one man can love another, Mal, I loved you. I risked my life for yours a dozen times over, and…”

“Dhamon….”

“You manipulated me? Deceived me! For your damnable ogre race?” The words were hard and fast, daggers hurled at the big man.

Maldred tried to say something, but Dhamon didn’t give him a chance. “I’m done with the dragons, ogre. And I’m done with you. I never want to see you or your friends again.” Dhamon’s throat grew dry, as the air constricted around him. He fought for breath.

“Nura,” Maldred cautioned. “Let him alone.”

The naga slid forward and twisted her tail around Dhamon’s legs, coiling herself as she squeezed his throat. Her eyes glowed faintly green. The glow spread down her body, melting into Dhamon and fixing him to the spot. The glow spread to Ragh and Fiona.

The naga, wrapped completely around Dhamon, turned to face the shadow dragon. The eyes of the dragon closed momentarily After another suffocating squeeze, the naga uncoiled and retreated. “He is the one, master,” she said silkily, “but he seems unwilling to participate.”

The shadow dragon lowered his head, barbels spreading on the floor as he stretched his neck forward.

His dry breath struck Dhamon like a strong desert wind, but it carried no scent.

“I am the one to make him willing.” The dragon extended a charcoal gray talon, drawing it down Dhamon’s pant leg and parting the material as though it was thin parchment. The large black scale—and all of the lesser scales—gleamed darkly in the light reflected by the dragon’s eyes. “The scales grow because of my magic, human. The scales pain you because of my magic. They’re killing you.”

The dragon glanced at Nura, and the naga retreated farther so that Dhamon could now breathe easier.

“I promise to stop the scales and the pain,” the dragon continued, “if you slay Sable. I will provide the cure you so desperately seek. I will let you live, and I will make you wholly human again, without any further interference from me.”

Dhamon felt his limbs tingle as he regained control of them. Over his shoulder he saw that Ragh and Fiona also had been restored to normality.

Dhamon stayed silent for several minutes. A cure? While the shadow dragon probably told the truth, Dhamon wondered if there was any cure for the accursed scale. He would die soon enough, for the scales were multiplying like an unchecked rash. But he couldn’t agree to try to kill Sable. That would be a suicide faster than any death from the scales.

He glanced at the Solamnic. She was staring wide-eyed at the dragon, but her thoughts couldn’t be fathomed. He looked at Ragh, who characteristically shrugged. It was up to him, Ragh was saying. The damn draconian couldn’t even remember his vendetta against the naga. Wights! What else had they stolen from Ragh?

Dhamon glared at Maldred. “You know that it is not within one man’s power to slay a dragon.”

The shadow dragon’s voice vibrated. “You will have help. My servants Maldred and Nura are both magically powerful. Your friends called Fiona and…”

“Ragh,” Nura supplied. She seemed puzzled and offended the draconian had not recognized her.

“Wingless Ragh and the Solamnic Knight Fiona.”

“And you, human,” rumbled the dragon. “You have powers you have yet to discover.”

Rot! But Dhamon felt he had no choice but to agree. Later, away from the shadow dragon’s cave, he could hope for an opportunity to escape from Maldred and the naga—or kill them both. Later, he, Fiona, and Ragh might have a chance. But now…

“All right,” Dhamon said solemnly. “I’ll go after Sable for you. And if by some twist of fate I win, you’ll grant me this cure.”

The dragon raised his lip in approximation of a smile. “Of course,” he rumbled. “I will cure you, and I will grant you more than a cure.” The creature lifted his head, staring toward the entrance of the cave, where a wall of mist was forming. “I will grant you the safety and well-being of your family.”

An image appeared on the mist, of a torchlit village in a dry land. Scrub grass and stunted trees grew along a road. A snort from the dragon, and the scene shifted to the interior of a small building. A silvery-haired half-elf was propped up on a weathered bed.

“Riki,” Dhamon said with emotion that surprised him, falling to his knees.

Riki was covered in furs and attended by three human women, one of them wiping the sweat from her forehead and trying to calm her.

“Pigs, but this hurts!” Dhamon heard the half-elf’s familiar curse. “Where’s Varek?”

“Outside,” one of them answered. “We’ll call him in soon. After the child comes.”

Riki tossed her head back and moaned.

The image shifted again, pulling away from the village. Beyond the meager treeline was a crude military encampment that circled a large bonfire. Dozens of hobgoblins milled around. A particularly large one sat on a wooden crate, sharpening his spear.

The cry of a baby cut across the encampment, and the magical image wavered. The mist in the cave disappeared.

“The hobgoblins are my pawns,” the dragon said in his rumbling voice. “They’ll leave the newborn baby—and the half-elf and her husband—alive, if you do my bidding.”

Dhamon stared the dragon. “I said I’d go after Sable,” he said through clenched teeth. “I keep my word.”

“I know you will,” the shadow dragon returned. “Nura, will you give them some special weapons with which to slay Sable?”

The naga slithered away, reappearing minutes later no longer as a snake but in her Ergothian guise. Dhamon’s old tunic was belted around her. In one hand she carried an elegant long sword, one Dhamon once had turned over a fortune in gems to obtain. He had bought it from the ogre chieftain, Maldred’s father, who claimed it once had belonged to Tanis Half-Elven. The naga stole it from Dhamon during one of her tests. It was supposed to have hidden magical powers. Rather than handing the sword to Dhamon, Nura gave it to Fiona, who stared at her reflection in the polished blade.

In her other hand the naga carried an impressive polearm with an axe edge that caught the light from the dragon’s eyes. A few years past, a bronze dragon had presented this weapon to Dhamon to aid him in his struggles against the overlords. A magical artifact, the glaive cut through metal armor. Dhamon had nearly killed Goldmoon with the glaive, back when he was under Malys’ control. He’d wanted no part of it thereafter. Dhamon had tossed it aside, and Rig was quick to claim the magical glaive. The mariner had loved exquisite weapons. The glaive, too, had disappeared during Dhamon’s tests.

Now Nura thrust the glaive at him, nodding when he reluctantly accepted the magical weapon. The dragon meanwhile plucked a small scale off its body and passed it to Maldred. “When the deed is finished,” the dragon said, “use this to return here.”

“What about him?” Nura asked the dragon, indicating Ragh.

“I don’t need anything,” the draconian snorted quickly, before the dragon could say anything. “I go where Dhamon goes, and I have my own special… resources.”

Maldred tucked the scale under his tunic and motioned for Dhamon and his companions to follow Nura Bint-Drax.

“What if Sable kills us?” Dhamon thought to ask the shadow dragon before leaving the cave.

“You should make sure Sable does not,” came the low-rumbling reply. “But… for trying I will spare your child. Only the child, however.”

“You’d better make sure you’re successful, Dhamon Grimwulf,” Nura hissed.

Dhamon took one last glance at the shadow dragon, trying to read the obscure meaning in his film-covered eyes. Then he walked out behind the others.

“I hope you know we’ll get ourselves killed going up against Sable,” Ragh muttered, as they stepped out of the cave into the night-drenched swamp.

“Everyone dies,” Fiona said indifferently. She sheathed the sword in her belt and reached for Dhamon, slipping into the crook of his arm and staring admiringly up at the glaive’s blade. It caught the moonlight that spilled in through a gap in the branches. She smiled warmly. “It is good to be together again. I’ve missed you so very much, Rig.”