The Eve of the Maelstrom

6 Dismal Futures

“You want to kill him, don’t you?”

Rig shrugged his shoulders. “Fiona, sometimes that’s all I think about. Part of me holds him responsible for Shaon’s death. The dragon who killed her... well, the dragon and Dhamon used to be a team. And Goldmoon. How can I not want revenge?”

The young Solamnic knight peered into Rig’s dark eyes. “What does the other part of you want?”

The pair kept their voices down as they sat on the willow log and watched over their sleeping companions. The mariner had refused the dwarf’s offer to take a turn at watch—he wanted Jasper to get as much rest as possible. And after Groller’s tale of Feril and the snake, Rig didn’t trust the Kagonesti alone. She might wander off and make a home for herself in the swamp. Or she might mistake a hungry alligator for a friendly one, what with the smile and all. Groller and his wolf would take the watch just before dawn, a few hours away. That left Fiona, who had decided to keep the mariner company.

“The other part?” Rig softly chuckled. “The other part just wants to wring Dhamon’s neck—after he tells us why he attacked us and killed Goldmoon. Maybe Palin was right, the scale was responsible. But Palin could be wrong, too. Sorcerers aren’t always right. You know, I halfway liked Dhamon once. Sometimes I even admired him. And I guess... maybe... a small part of me wants him to turn out innocent.”

The Master had contacted them shortly after sunset, magically appearing like a ghost in the center of their camp, announcing that Dhamon Grimwulf and his glaive had been located. Dhamon was on his way to an ogre ruin called Brukt. Gilthanas and Silvara had struck out after him, but considering all the ground the pair had to cover, Rig and the others could get there before the silver dragon without much of a detour to their original course.

Just beyond Brukt stretched the mountains of Blöde, and the ogre ruin was near the Pashin Gap. After dealing with Dhamon—one way or another—they could pass through the mountains to Khur, rent a ship somewhere along the coast, and set sail for Dimernesti. The Master said he was working on finding the exact location of the underwater realm of the elves. “Just so you’ve it found by the time we get to Khur,” Rig had told him. “I don’t want this trip through the swamp to be for nothing.”

“We’ll have a long time of it tomorrow,” Fiona said. “And the next day. And the next.” She brushed at mud on her breastplate. “We’ll have to cover more ground than we’ve been doing, if there’s a chance of catching him. Do you think Master Fireforge is up to it?”

“Jasper’s tough. He’ll make it. But you... you ought to consider leaving that armor behind,” Rig advised. He pointed to the canvas sack that carried the rest of her suit of plate. “It’s heavy, and lugging that around for a couple added hours a day will only wear you out faster. We can’t afford to be slowed for a few hunks of shiny metal.”

“I’ve managed so far. A few more hours a day won’t matter.”

“If you say so.”

“Besides, the armor is part of who I am. The most important part.”

Rig started to say something else, but a muted noise to the south cut him off. It sounded a bit like the snort of a big horse, and whatever made it was coming closer. He put a finger to his lips, unsheathed his sword, and motioned for Fiona to stay put. He disappeared into the foliage without noticing that she had followed him.

The canopy was so dense they could barely see more than a few feet before them, yet the noise became more distinct with every yard they covered. The mariner moved slowly, testing the ground ahead with his feet.

They were only a hundred or so yards distant from the camp when they spotted a clearing ahead. Krynn’s single pale moon shone down on a small moss-covered pond, ringed by a half-dozen grotesqueries.

“Spawn,” Rig whispered to Fiona. “Black ones.”

The young Solamnic stared with wide eyes. She’d heard of them when she listened to Rig’s and Feril’s accounts of battling the spawn they had inadvertently stumbled upon in Khellendros’s lair months ago in the Northern Wastes. But their descriptions didn’t do the creatures justice. Krynn’s moon revealed them in all their freakish horror.

Half of the creatures were vaguely man-shaped with sweeping batlike wings, the tips of which grazed the top of the leather ferns. Their snouts were equine but covered in tiny black scales. The scales were larger elsewhere on their bodies, sparkling darkly in the moonlight. Their eyes were dull yellow, as were their fangs, their talons long, curled, and sharp. A thin ridge of scales started at the back of their heads and ended at the bases of thin, snakelike tails.

The light was too dim to see if the others matched these three. Their noises had no pattern to hint at a language. They seemed reminiscent of pigs snorting.

As the others came into the moonlight, Rig and Fiona could see that these three differed from their companions. One had wings, but they were short, scalloped and uneven, extending from the creature’s shoulder blades to just above its waist. Its head was more manlike than equine, and long horns grew upward from the base of its jaw. Its arms were short, ending in misshapen claws where its elbows should be, and its tail was forked and thick.

The remaining two were the largest, easily eight feet tall. Their skin looked leathery, with no trace of scales or wings, though there were malformed nubs on their shoulder blades. They were a dull black, with nothing shiny about them. Their heads were overly large for their bodies, long snouts filled with crooked teeth of vastly uneven lengths that prevented their mouths from shutting entirely. A ribbon of drool ran from the one with the longest snout and disappeared into the ferns with a sizzle. Acid, Rig decided. Their arms were longer than suited their bodies. They reminded the mariner of baboons he’d seen in his youth on the Misty Isle.

“Yesss, drink,” the lead spawn hissed. “Drink, but hurry. We have important work this night.”

The two apelike spawn moved into the shallow water, and Rig’s eyes widened. Their arms didn’t end in claws at all. Their arms looked like snakes tipped with fanged heads that eagerly lapped at the stagnant water.

Rig’s fingers closed about the pommel of his sword. The beasts looked evil, had to be evil, like the blue spawn he had fought. They should be attacked and slain, he knew, to prevent them from inflicting horrors on anyone. They should... He released his grip and motioned to Fiona to retrace her steps.

From a safer distance, they watched the three spawn and the three grotesques drink their fill and then move toward the west.

“We might have been able to take them by surprise,” she whispered when she was certain the creatures were far enough away. “Horrid creatures.”

“Maybe we could have,” Rig quietly answered. Maybe we should have, he said to himself. He spoke aloud. “But there’s three other people back there in the clearing. I’m responsible for them. And we’ve other priorities: Dhamon, his glaive, the Dimernesti crown. I couldn’t risk jeopardizing our mission.” Inwardly he added, Rig Mer-Krel, you’ve changed. And I’m not sure it’s for the better.

It was late the following afternoon when the hair on Fury’s back rose. The wolf’s ears lay flat, his lips curled. He pawed nervously at the ground.

Groller was the first to notice his animal companion’s unease. He motioned to Rig, pointed at the wolf. The half-ogre cupped his hand and scooped at the air, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply.

“The wolf smells something,” Rig said.

“I smell something, too,” Feril whispered. “Something smells wrong”

“I never thought anything about this place smelled right,” Jasper said.

Fiona drew her blade and moved to Rig’s side. He’d been leading the small band in the direction toward where the Master said they’d find the ogre ruin. The ruin should be at least another day away.

“I’m going to scout ahead,” Rig said, his voice low.

“You’re welcome to join me if you leave that sack of armor behind.”

She dropped it on the driest spot of ground she could find.

“I’ll go too,” Feril offered.

Rig scowled. “Next time,” he said.

Groller looked at Rig, brought both hands to his mouth, fingertips touching and covering his lips, then dropped them to his sides, as if he were discarding something.

The mariner nodded. Don’t worry, he signed by shaking his head and rotating his hands in front of his forehead. I’ll be very quiet. Rig drew his cutlass, motioned for Fiona to follow, and quickly disappeared.

“Think it’s Dhamon?” Jasper asked so quietly that Feril had to bend over to hear him.

“We’re not close enough to the ruin,” she answered.

“Yeah, but...”

“Okay, let’s all find out.” She took the trail Rig and Fiona had left.

Jasper started after her, but Groller’s hand fell heavily on his shoulder. The half-ogre whirled his fingers, indicating himself and the dwarf, then pointing to the ground.

“Yeah, Rig wants us to stay here,” Jasper whispered. The dwarf nodded his head in understanding. Then he held his hands in front of his chest, as if he were holding the reins of a horse, pantomiming. “Who put Rig in charge anyway?” the dwarf said. “I want to go see.”

Groller shrugged, picked up Fiona’s sack, and followed the dwarf. The wolf growled softly, padding after them.

Rig, Fiona, and Feril were ahead, crouched behind a thick patch of spike rushes. Beyond them, wending their way through a stand of moss-draped dahoons, were four lizard creatures leading a sorry-looking group of elves.

“Scaly men,” Feril whispered. “Spawn? No. Something different.”

The four creatures were green and covered with thick, raised scales. They were stoop shouldered and had thick chests covered with lighter green leathery plates. Their heads looked like alligators, perched upon short necks. Three of them carried spears festooned with orange and yellow feathers, and they chatted among themselves in a lost tongue. The fourth held a long vine attached to the band of prisoners.

“The elves are Silvanesti,” Fiona whispered. “I count a dozen.” Feril nodded.

The fair-haired elves were tied together with ropelike vine. Thorny vines that cut into their skin were wrapped about their wrists and ankles. They were gaunt, and the few clothes they wore were tattered and filthy.

Without a word, Jasper reached into his sack and pulled out the Fist of E’li. The scepter felt good in his hand. Rig caught his eye, and he, too, rose from behind the rushes, brandishing his sword. They dashed toward the creatures. Fury streaked past them, a red blur.

Fiona was quick on their heels. Groller dropped the canvas sack, reached for his belaying pin, and barreled through the rushes. Behind them, still hidden in the spike rushes, Feril had closed her eyes. Her fingers played across the rush blades as a musician might stroke harp strings. She let her mind drift to the swamp and began singing.

The wolf barreled into the first lizard creature, knocking it down into the saw grass.

Rig struck the one directly behind, dropping beneath the jab of the thing’s spear and thrusting forward with his cutlass. The weapon bit into the creature’s thigh, spilling black blood. The lizard thing made no sound, didn’t flinch, and Rig maneuvered a step to find a better opening.

Fiona effortlessly parried a jab by a third lizard creature and slashed at its plated abdomen. The creature was swift, despite its size, and easily dodged her blow.

Rig narrowly sidestepped a well-aimed jab. His sword knocked aside the next stab, while the fingers of his free hand reached into his waistband and retrieved three daggers. He hurled these at Fiona’s target. “Yes!” he shouted. The first two daggers lodged in the creature’s chest. The third missed its intended mark.

“Thanks, but I can fight my own battles!” the young Solamnic called.

“Just trying to help!” Rig returned as he feinted to the right, then drove his blade into his foe’s side. The creature hissed, slimy spittle flying at the mariner’s face. The butt of the lizard man’s spear slammed into Rig’s stomach. The mariner fell back, dazed, and drew three more daggers.

Fiona’s lizard creature struggled to stay on its feet, as black blood poured from its wounds. “Surrender!” she shouted, hoping it could understand her language.

The creature shook its head, but she began to wear it down, shifting from side to side, making repeated jabs and thrusts.

Meanwhile, Groller wrestled with the lizard creature that had been leading the captive elves. The half-ogre was wielding his belaying pin while trying to avoid his enemy’s long, curved dagger. Jasper was busy, too, the Fist in his right hand, distracting the creature with his shouting and whirling.

The creature was no match for the two of them. The half-ogre hammered the belaying pin into the side of the creature’s head. Jasper grinned at the crunch of bone.

The lizard creature sank to its knees, then pitched forward as Jasper and Groller jumped out of the way.

In the rushes, more than a dozen yards away, Feril’s fingers continued to play on the blades of tall grass. “Let this one live, Fury,” she whispered. Her senses raced past the spike rushes and floated above the saw grass toward the wolf.

Fury’s jaws were black with the thing’s blood; he’d been nipping at the lizard man’s stomach, biting through its tough skin plates, keeping the thing on its back. Again and again, the wolf darted beneath its claws, snapping.

“Let this one live.” Feril’s song became louder, her senses touching the tips of the tall saw grass. The blades near the wolf and lizard creature began writhing, randomly at first, and then with a purpose. They twisted about the creature’s legs and arms, throat, pinning it to the soddened ground. Yet, the blades did not touch the wolf.

“Fury!” she called as she distanced her senses.

The wolf looked up, muzzle dripping, then loped toward Rig’s lizard man. The mariner had a dagger between his teeth and two more in his left hand, in his right he held his sword. Taking a few steps back, he tossed the left-hand two daggers at the creature in front of him. Only one found its mark, though, sinking into the lizard man’s stomach. “Losing my touch,” the mariner cursed, as he took the dagger from between his teeth.

Fury leapt at the creature. His jaws clamped tight on the lizard man’s wrist, preventing him from throwing the spear. Rig took advantage of the opening and swung his sword at the creature. Spattered with black blood, the mariner retreated to watch the thing flop onto its back, twitching horribly. Fury vaulted onto the creature’s chest and tore at its throat.

Rig whirled to see Fiona slashing at the remaining lizard man. She dropped below a feeble spear thrust, her long sword slicing into the creature’s waist. The creature emitted the first howl of pain any of them had surrendered. Fiona tugged her sword free, then thrust it up and forward, finishing the thing quickly.

“See? I didn’t need any help,” the knight said, as she tugged her sword free and rubbed it in the grass to wipe off the blood.

Rig touched Fiona on the shoulder, pointing at Feril and Groller. The Kagonesti and half-ogre were working quickly to untie the vines that held the prisoners together. The mariner and knight headed toward them.

“We cannot find the words to thank you,” an emaciated elven woman said. She gazed into Rig’s eyes. “We had no hope left.”

Rig and Fiona carefully set about the task of removing the thorny vines that had hobbled the prisoners. Jasper replaced the Fist in his sack, padded over to study the elves’ wounds, and shook his head.

“The thorns, this place,” he said sadly. “These people need tending. Most of their wounds are infected. This will take me quite some time, if I can do anything at all.”

“I will help,” Feril offered. “No matter how much time it takes.”

“Time isn’t something we have a lot of,” the mariner cut in. “We’ve got to hurry to find Brukt. And Dhamon.”

“These people need rest and tending,” the dwarf persisted. “I’m not going to abandon them in this condition.”

The Kagonesti’s eyes bore into the mariner’s. “None of us will leave them like this.”

“We know where Brukt is,” the thin woman offered. “We could guide you there. We owe you our lives.”

“Then lead us after we’ve healed you,” Feril said.

“How long is this going to take?” Rig softly asked the Kagonesti. He pointed toward the east. “We’ve got a few hours of light left and—”

Fury’s barking cut him off. The wolf was chasing the sole surviving lizard creature, the one Feril had trapped with the help of the grass. Her concentration interrupted, the plants had released their scaly prisoner.

“We need that one alive!” Feril called to Rig, whose legs were churning over the damp ground toward the fleeing creature. “We need some questions answered.”

The mariner closed the distance and slammed the creature hard in the back. The lizard man fell face forward, and Rig was on top of him in a heartbeat, rolling him over and straddling his chest. A blade flashed in the air.

“Alive!” Feril hollered.

“Then you’d better hurry with your questions!” Rig called back. “This thing might not be alive much longer.”

The mariner held the dagger at the lizard man’s throat, staring into its black eyes. “The lady wants some information,” he spat. “You’d better hope you speak her language.”

“I... understand your words... some.” The lizard man’s voice was raspy.

“What are you anyway?” Rig demanded while he waited for the Kagonesti.

The lizard creature’s scaly eye ridges furrowed in puzzlement.

“You’re not spawn. What are you?”

“Bakali,” it said after a moment.

“Never heard of ba-kah-lee,” Rig mumbled. “What’s a ba-kah-lee?”

“I bakali,” the creature returned.

“That’s not what I—”

“What was supposed to happen to these elves?” Feril interrupted.

The mariner pressed the blade harder against the bakali’s throat, creating a line of black blood under its edge. “Loose your forked tongue, ba-kah-lee,” Rig said, stumbling a bit over the unfamiliar word. “Answer her.”

“Spawn,” the creature returned. “Mistress Onysablet wants elves made spawn.”

“That only works on humans,” the mariner said. “We know. So come up with another answer.”

“Spawn,” the creature insisted. “Abominations. Humans make perfect spawn. Elves, ogres make spawn-abominations. Ugly. Corrupt.”

“The creatures by the pond,” Fiona breathed.

“Mistress Onysablet wants abominations. She likes things corrupt.”

“Are there more elves being held somewhere?” Feril edged closer. “Humans? Ogres?”

“Not know,” the creature answered. “Not care.”

“Then where do you take them?” Rig asked.

“Deep swamp. Mistress Onysablet find us there, take prisoners. We hunt more. Return deep swamp. Our lives a circle for the dragon.”

It was Jasper’s turn. “How deep into the swamp?”

The creature tried to shrug. “Don’t know. Until Mistress Onysablet comes.”

“Let’s get out of here,” the dwarf suggested. “If the dragon shows up...”

“Yeah,” Rig said. “If the dragon shows up, we’re dead.”

“Or abominations,” the emaciated elven woman added, nodding toward Feril and Groller.

With a single slash, Rig cut the creature’s throat. The mariner stood, glancing down at the black blood coating much of his clothes.

“You didn’t have to kill him,” Jasper whispered, as Feril gathered the elves and started ministering to them. “He cooperated.”

“If the dragon shows up, let her find only corpses. The dead don’t talk, my friend. Now see if you can help Feril, so we can get going.”