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He steadied himself and listened to the village spokesman protesting to his fellows that Dhamon should be stopped, shouldn’t be allowed to take anything from the huts that soon enough would be occupied by spawn, Sable’s precious children. Nura Bint-Drax would see that Polagnar was repopulated with the creatures. She would see that the dark-haired defiler and his friends were punished.

To spite the man, Dhamon headed back inside the hut and tugged out several packs. Digging through them in full view of the villagers, he found clothes that would fit, and he changed into trousers and a Solamnic tunic that were worn but well made. The tunic he turned inside-out so the emblem would not show. He stuffed a few changes of clothes into a soft leather pack, including two shirts that looked like they were practically new, and slung the pack over his shoulder, then he headed toward the fire.

In an instant the villagers were on their feet, darting nervous glances. The villagers stopped whispering when Dhamon dropped his free hand to the pommel of his sword.

“You’ve a fresh water supply here. Somewhere.” He was addressing the spokesman, staring ominously into the man’s eyes. “There are at least a dozen empty skins back in that hut.” He gestured to the building he’d been looting. “I want them all filled with fresh water before dawn. I want two satchels of food. Fruits and nuts preferably, not that snake flesh you seem to be so fond of preparing.”

The youngest of the villagers puffed out his chest. “W-we’ll do no such thing. W-w-we’ll not help the likes of someone who goes against Nura Bint-Drax! Doom to you!”

Dhamon moved his menacing gaze to the man. “You’ll attend to it now, boy. Or maybe you’d like to share the fate of those others.” He nodded toward the corpses and tapped his thumb against his sword’s pommel. “You take care of our supplies, and we’ll be on our way soon enough. You’ll keep your skins intact, and Polagnar will be yours again. You can tidy up for the next batch of spawn that comes along.”

“Nura Bint-Drax will hunt you down,” the youngest said softly. His voice trembled, but his eyes showed defiance. “She’ll make you pay for what you’ve done. She’ll feed you to the dragon.”

“Perhaps I’ll hunt Nura Bint-Drax instead,” Dhamon returned, as he finished the wine and dropped the empty bottle at their feet. “Dawn’s only a few hours away. I’d hurry to those tasks if I were you.”

He spun on his heel and searched through the huts he hadn’t yet visited, taking his time, and occasionally glancing at the villagers make sure they were indeed gathering the supplies he’d asked for. He found several more Solamnic shields and weapons, as well as tabards and cloaks that had been made into bedding. All bore the emblems of the Order of the Rose and the Order of the Sword. There were only a few pieces of intact armor, and these were leg and arm pieces pitted from the spawns’ acid. There were other Solamnic garments riddled with holes and cuts made by claws rather than swords. It was obvious one or two units of Solamnic Knights had fought the spawn. Perhaps any Knights who had survived had been transformed into the foul creatures. Dhamon shrugged, dismissing it all as beyond his concern and continuing to poke through the Knights’ belongings. He discovered a half-dozen more silver medallions of Kiri-Jolith. One with diamonds he decided to keep. There were nearly twenty rings with roses engraved on them, all made of gold. All found their way into his pouches. He tied one pouch to his belt, then stuffed another into his pocket—this one brimming with steel pieces.

He made a return trip to the crates of wine. He carefully padded six bottles in a backpack, and took a seventh with him to his companions’ hut. He tugged the cork free with his teeth and took a deep swallow, grateful that it cut the stench of this place. Dhamon suddenly remembered the pack filled with wine that he’d dropped behind the shadblow bush, but he knew there was no reason to retrieve that when he had plenty here.

Maldred and Varek were still snoring. Rikali woke again and watched as Dhamon retrieved a small chest that sat at the foot of her bed. He beckoned her outside, and she followed him, careful not to wake Varek as she went.

The sky was lightening, and the half-elf looked up to see a trio of blue herons fly over the clearing and out of sight.

“Daybreak,” she whispered. “I think I like this time best. The sky all rosy for a brief time, like a kiss. Then the sky’s all blue.” She dropped her gaze to Dhamon, who was sitting on the ground and prying at the lock of the chest with a coral-handled dagger.

With little effort he managed to open the lid and began rifling through the gems he found inside. Rikali had taught him how to spot flaws in jewels, and he picked out the most valuable—primarily garnets, sapphires and emeralds. A thumb-sized jacinth caught his eye. He stuffed them into the empty pouch, then tied it on his belt. He filled his other pocket with smaller gems, then snatched up a hammered gold bracer studded with pieces of jade and tourmaline and fitted it on his arm. A thick gold chain quickly found its way around his neck.

“They’re pretty.” Riki stared at the gems as if she were mesmerized, but she made no move to take anything. “They’re not worth much, really,” she continued.

Dhamon held up a topaz that was about the size of a plum. “Aye, its pretty, but definitely flawed. Still, you can’t have too many gems. And so…”

This and several others he added to the second pouch of coins that lay loose at his side. He came across a hammered silver bracelet set with jade chips, and this he tossed to the half-elf.

“No use leaving this here. The villagers don’t need it.” Or deserve it, he added to himself. Riki held the bracelet almost reverently, turning it over and over in her acid-scarred fingers before putting it around her wrist. She squeezed it to make it a little tighter so it wouldn’t fall off.

“We all could’ve died here, Dhamon,” she said softly. “All of us.” .

“How old is he, Riki?”

Dhamon’s question threw her. “What?”

“How old is Varek?”

“You weren’t comin’ back for me, Dhamon Grimwulf. I wanted to be with someone. An’ he loves me. A lot. Spent every last coin he had on a pretty little ring for me.” She waggled her hand at him.

“How old?” he persisted.

“Nineteen.”

“He’s a boy, Riki. What were you thinking?”

“What was I thinkin’?” She lowered her voice. “I certainly wasn’t thinkin’ about you anymore, was I? You wouldn’t ever have married me, Dhamon Grimwulf.”

He didn’t catch the twinge of sadness in her voice.

“You wouldn’t have even settled down with me for a little while.”

“No,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t have.”

“Then why should you care what I do?” The sadness was gone, replaced by controlled anger. “Why should you care how old he is?”

“You’re older than me. You’re nearly twice his age. Think about it, Riki—pinning him down so young. Not just with a wife, but with a family. It won’t last.”

She shook her head, her curls catching the light and gleaming. “He’s not a boy, Dhamon Grimwulf. He’s a young man. A young man who loves me very, very much. Besides, what do you care?”

“I don’t.” He picked up a cracked jacinth, examined and discarded it. “I really don’t, Riki.”