Donnag was breathing hard, rubbing at his throat. “I could give you what you want, but all of it will be stolen from you before you leave these mountains. You and my son are not the only thieves in this country. There are brigands on every trail. Though the two of you are formidable, their numbers will win out.”
“Their numbers or his assassins,” Maldred whispered.
Dhamon slammed his fist on the arm of Donnag’s chair, the wood splintering from the impact. “I want—”
“There’s something better we can offer.”
“Ha! Another of Tanis’s swords? Ha, ha!”
“We have treasure maps,” Donnag said quickly. “There’s a couple in particular I’m thinking of. They are pieces of parchment easily concealed. If you are robbed, so what? Give them the gems. You will have rare maps to guide you to greater riches. No one the wiser. Let me show you my true gratitude. I will give you gems and wagons, but best of all, I will give you rare treasure maps!”
“Any map you have will be as phony as this sword.” Dhamon waved the tip in front of the ogre’s eyes.
Donnag shook his head, the rings on his bottom lip nervously jangling. “No, no, we—”
“Let’s see these maps.” This from Maldred. “I can tell if they’re genuine, Dhamon,” he assured his friend. “I remember years ago he bragged to me about his collection of ancient treasure maps. There might be some truth to his words.”
“Yes.” Donnag nodded. “Let me show them to you!” His eyes were dull, as if Dhamon had forever chased away any trace of the fire and dignity they once held. “They’re below. In our treasure chamber with all the gems and stuff. I’ll summon—”
“No one!” Dhamon shouted. “You’ll escort us to your treasure chamber all by yourself. I don’t want any guards. No serving girls. No bearers. Just you. And I don’t want you out of our sight for even a heartbeat. No tricks.”
* * * * *
Donnag showed them three maps, all so old and brittle their edges had flaked away and the rest of them threatened to crumble to dust.
“This one is of the Teeth of Chaos, the islands north of the Estwilde and Nordmaar. I don’t fancy traveling that far,” Maldred said disapprovingly. “And it’s vague of what we’ll find.”
Dhamon nodded in agreement. “But this one, it’s of the Elian Wilds, the island east of the red overlord’s land. Again, a far distance, but not as far, and I’m in no mood to stay around here. It hints at magical items, and that’s worth a lot now.”
Maldred was scrutinizing the third, a smaller map, older even than the other two, the ink so faded it was practically indiscernible. “This one isn’t so far as either of those. We wouldn’t need to find a sailing ship. And it certainly looks genuine.”
Dhamon joined him, looking over his shoulder while keeping an eye on Donnag, who was nervously waiting on the stairway. “Aye, this indeed looks intriguing, my big friend.”
“The land has changed, but this has to be of the Plains of Dust,” Maldred said. “Due south of here. Through the Black’s swamp. Bah, the map is practically falling apart. Let’s fix it up so it’s a little sturdier.” He started his magic, humming, a throaty tune that rose and fell as his fingers flickered over the map. His eyes glowed pale green, the color intensifying and moving down his arms to his fingers, then covering the map.
“Son! What are you…”
“I’m giving the parchment a little fixing-up, father. It just takes a little of my power away, so little I’ll never miss it.” The glow dissipated as Maldred’s shoulders rounded and he shook his head.
“Magic is so difficult,” he breathed heavily. “Seems harder now than even a few months ago. Good thing I have my masking enchantment down to an art. Looking human is the one spell that’s still easy for me.”
A moment later and he seemed his old self again, briskly rolling up the parchment and putting it in a small bone tube. He thrust this into a deep pocket of his trousers. “Dhamon, you and I will take a much better and closer look at this map later when we’re away from here. See if we can make out some of the writing.” He nodded to his father. “We’ll leave the other two maps. Don’t sell them to anyone. Dhamon and I may want them later. We’ll be back if this one doesn’t work out.”
“I still want those two satchels full of gems,” Dhamon said. He was already filling his pockets to capacity, draping a thick gold chain around his neck and a bracelet around his wrist. Donnag glowered at him. “Done,” he said.
“Then,” Dhamon continued, “I want you to escort us out of town. I don’t want to give you a moment away from us to summon your generals or cadre of assassins. You’d better not have any of your minions follow us. Do you understand?”
A grudging nod.
Dhamon didn’t even let the chieftain change clothes.
* * * * *
Of course, the tale he related to the women didn’t include the fact that Maldred was an ogre mage disguised as a human thanks to a long-lasting spell he had mastered, or that Maldred was Donnag’s son. Of course, he left out where the treasure map led. Too, he made no mention of the scale on his leg. Dhamon simply said that the sword did not function as promised and that he garnered two satchels of gems and a treasure map for Donnag for his trouble and for freeing the slaves.
“So we’re through with Blöten,” Maldred finished. “At least for the time being.” The big man had tossed off the sheet, his body slick with sweat, his movements awkward from the alcohol. His three companions were still fawning over him. One of them took a big gulp of the spiced rum, then kissed Maldred and released the drink into his mouth. He cheerfully nudged her for another swallow.
“Anyway, we wouldn’t be safe there at the moment.” He laughed loudly.
“Aye!” Dhamon laughed too, upending his jug. He steadied himself by leaning back against the rickety headboard, then he passed the empty jug to Elsbeth. “I s’warned you there might be none left if you waited.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
She frowned, then quickly brightened. “It’s getting dark outside. I’ll fetch another bottle. Maybe with a few more sips, you’ll be wanting to…” She let the words hang as she slipped from his side, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before rushing out the door.
“So that’s why you’re in a hurry to get out of Blöde,” Satin said. “Because of how you threatened the ogre chieftain’s life?”
“Aye again,” Dhamon said. “There’s a s’warrant on me, no doubt through this whole damned country now—from Donnag, and from some Legion of Steel Knights we crossed earlier. And s’while every man’s got to die sometime. I’d prefer it not to be in this filthy land. ’Specially not at the hand of Donnag’s men. ’Sides, I s’think I hate these mountains. Time for a s’change of scenery.”
“You are an odd but brave one.” Satin cuddled close.
“So warm,” he said. He ran a finger along her arm, deciding that her skin felt like her name—satin.
“Warm,” he repeated.
“It’s the rum that makes you hot. This summer’s not so bad. Really,” she purred. “We’ve been through worse. I can make you hotter, and I know that you won’t mind one little bit.”
Her fingers drifted to his trousers, but she frowned as once again he batted them away.
“Hey, it’s s’not dark yet,” he said. “It’s not….” He watched Elsbeth return, two more jugs in hand. Maldred climbed out of bed to grab one, quick to return to his women.
“Ale,” Elsbeth said, noting the sour expression on Maldred’s face. “No more spiced rum. You drank the last of it. Sorry.”
Dhamon accepted his jug without comment, however, and took a deep pull. Like the women’s perfume, the ale was cheap and had a bothersome odor, but it was strong enough. His vision had blurred just enough so the crows’ feet around Elsbeth’s eyes had disappeared. She didn’t look quite so plump now. She looked softer, prettier. Dhamon took another long swallow, then passed the bottle over to Satin. He reached out and grabbed Elsbeth’s hair, pulling her face close, then kissing her. Passion of Palanthas wasn’t as annoying any more, and the fragrance seemed to complement whatever Satin had on.