No? Dhamon wondered. Did the dragon scream the word no?
The beast roared again, buffeting the marsh, bending small trees with the force of the wind it had created and sending water everywhere. Again and again it roared. Dhamon locked his arm around a bony horn and plunged his knife into another socket.
“Dhamon!” Suddenly Maldred was slogging toward him, leading with his greatsword, his eyes nervously darting around.
“Dragon!” Dhamon shouted, his voice barely able to be heard above the beating of the creature’s wings. “Leave us or I’ll destroy more!”
There was a great commotion, a horrible, sloshing sound, as the dragon crept closer, catlike, its eyes opening wide.
“Come no closer!” Dhamon held the blade in front of another socket.
“What are you doing?” Maldred said in a hush.
“You said this tower was magical,” Dhamon shot back. “I’m betting the dragon doesn’t want it destroyed—by my knife or its acid breath.” To the dragon, he repeated, “No closer!”
Incredibly, the dragon paused, lips turned up in a feral sneer, acid spilling out into the marsh water, hissing and raising a curl of steam.
“I am listening, human,” the dragon said after a lengthy silence. Its voice was gruff and grating, the words drawn out.
Maldred took a turn, leveling his greatsword at an eye socket. “We want safe passage from hers, dragon,” he stated. “If you promise…”
The black’s eyes narrowed.
“Safe passage,” Maldred repeated. “Out of this salt marsh and well beyond it.” He edged the sword tip in.
“Given,” the dragon replied.
“Don’t trust the dragon,” Dhamon warned.
“We don’t have much choice, do we?”
The dragon made a noise that sounded like a cackle, but it was loud and unnerving, sending shivers down their backs.
“Sable has other totems,” came the reply. “Destroying this will not diminish her strength.”
“Well, then…” Dhamon cleared his throat and thrust the blade deep into a socket. The pale blue glow that had emanated from the skull died when he pierced the brain. “Safe passage,” he said sternly. “Or I’ll wager I can put out quite a few more of these lights before you can kill me.”
“Done.”
Dhamon stared at the black dragon, watching as it turned and rose from the water, beating its wings and gliding across the marsh surface, then rising as it banked west and cleared the plant wall.
“Now, let’s get out of here,” Maldred said, backing away from the totem and toward where Varek waited, “before it comes back. Let’s find Riki and get out of this damn swamp.”
Dhamon lingered for a moment, sensing in his mind the dragon retreating, feeling the warmth of the scale on his leg diminish but sensing also that the dragon was still nearby. Perhaps it was keeping its part of the bargain and was waiting to see if they would leave the tower alone. Was the tower that important to the overlord?
“Dhamon… joining us?” Maldred was standing impatiently at the weave. Dhamon followed his companions through the thick wall of wood that surrounded the saltwater marsh.
Chapter Nine
The Tears of Kiri-Jolith
The ground was a slick swath of mud, and the trunks of the trees were varying shades of charcoal. Even the sky overhead, adding to the gloom, was dark and oppressive and threatened rain. An involuntary shiver ran down Dhamon’s back when he paused to take a good look at everything.
“Mal…” Dhamon pointed to what, judging by its form, likely once had been a willow-birch. It was not covered with normal bark. Instead, it was completely clad in scales, smooth and supple like the skin of a snake. Dhamon reached out and tentatively touched it. Indeed, it felt like scales and was cool despite the oppressive heat. There was a thin coat of moisture on it from the humidity. Even the branches were covered with the snakeskin, and what few leaves grew were also in the shape of scales, as black as a starless sky. The dark roots, protruding from the mud here and there, were all angular, straight, and disturbing looking.
“Bones,” Dhamon whispered. What he could see of the roots looked eerily like charred human arm and leg bones. The thinnest of branches bumped together in the slight breeze. Some of the trees had vines hanging from them, and the vines looked like snakes, their ends like bulbous heads grazing the ground. Other trees were draped in bands of discarded snakeskin. He could see no birds in the trees, though he spotted a few large parrots flying high overhead, oddly colorful amid all this drabness. There was no evidence of animals, save a few unnaturally large black water snakes coiled at the edge of a stagnant pond.
There were only a scattering of bushes, leafless and looking like collections of blackened finger bones fitted together. A pair of corpses stood out stark white against their surroundings, propped against a tree trunk.
“This place makes my skin crawl,” Dhamon said. He breathed as shallowly as possible. The smell of the place made him nauseous. The breeze was laced with sulfur, becoming stronger the farther east they traveled, the acrid scent lodging deep in Dhamon’s lungs. He coughed and was rewarded with an even greater concentration of the stuff. He glanced at his companions. Varek looked ill, and Maldred had cupped his hand over his nose and mouth.
“Yes, this is a lovely place,” Maldred mused.
“This was your idea,” Dhamon growled, “going after Riki. I’ve only got a knife for a weapon, and Varek dropped his staff in the marsh. This was your idea, your very bad idea, my friend.” Dhamon craned his neck around a thick scaly tree and drew his lips into a thin line. “Aye, a truly lovely place we’ve come to,” he added.
An expanse of dark water curved around a marshy island, which was cluttered with more of the serpent-trees. The sky was overcast, and it looked as if it was raining in the distance. Dhamon’s keen eyesight managed to pick through the drab darkness. He could see just enough to tell him there were buildings of a sort on the island.
“I think we’ve found your spawn village,” Dhamon said, studying the water. “By the vanished gods, this water smells like a Palanthas sewer.” He let out a low whistle. “Check that magical map of yours to be certain this is the place.”
He trundled toward the water’s edge, sliding down the last of the muddy slope and weaving around the thinning scale-covered trees. Dhamon stopped just short of the bank, noting a profusion of fatbellied crocodiles and alligators so coated with mud it looked as though they had camouflaged themselves.
“Riki isn’t worth this,” he whispered. “No one’s worth this.”
Maldred looked at the map briefly to be sure they’d come to the right place. They walked a halfmile along the curving bank, until they were southeast of the island and had come to a weathered, moss-covered dock that jutted out into the water, one side of it tilting precariously. There was a second dock, across from it, and tied to this was a pair of large rowboats.
“Well and truly wonderful,” Dhamon said, as he glanced down at a long yellow-brown crocodile.
“Any ideas?”
“Actually, yes,” Maldred replied. He knelt on the muddy bank, one eye on the crocodiles which were showing growing interest in the trio. Maldred thrust his fingers into the earth and mumbled something in the ogre tongue.
“What’s he doing?” Varek hovered nearby, shifting nervously back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“Magic,” Dhamon said flatly. “He’s casting a spell.”
Varek pointed to the island. “You think Riki’s really there?”
Dhamon gave a shrug. “According to Mal’s map, Polagnar’s there. Supposedly that’s where the thieves were taking her. So yeah, I think she’s there.”