“Lots of muscles,” Satin said appreciatively, her fingers drifting down to trace a jagged scar on Dhamon’s stomach. “You might want a man with all his teeth, Els. Me? I’ll always take a man with muscles. Even if he is a little skinny.” She leaned close to Dhamon and whispered something into his ear. He actually smiled then, though it was fleeting, his face returning to its imperturbable mask. Elsbeth was studying the scar on Dhamon’s cheek. “What’d you say your name was, honey? I’m not so good at names.”
“Age does that to you,” Satin cut in. “Ruins your memory.”
“Dhamon Grimwulf,” came a deep voice from across the room. “His name, ladies, is Dhamon Evran Grimwulf. Dragon-fighter, spawn-slayer, treasure-hunter extraordinaire. You’ll find no more handsome rogue in all of Krynn. Except, of course, for me.”
The speaker was a man even more muscular than Dhamon. He was nearly seven feet tall and stretched out on the other bed, a larger one that was threatening to collapse under his considerable weight—and the weight of the three scarcely clad women clinging to him. Their pale skin stood out starkly against his sweaty, sun-bronzed form, and two of them waved in unison to Dhamon, who had lifted his head to regard the others. The third woman was busy twining her fingers in the big man’s chestnut hair and feathering his angular face with kisses.
“And you, sir, are…?” Elsbeth asked, following Dhamon’s glance across the room. “I don’t believe I caught your name either.”
The big man didn’t answer her, pulling the sheet over himself and his companions.
“That’s Maldred,” Dhamon finally said. His voice was thick from the rum, his tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. “Maldred, crown prince of all of Blöten. He isn’t in the least better looking than me. In fact, he’s really blue and…”
“Hey,” Maldred shot back, his face poking out from under the covers. “Watch your tongue, my friend. Dhamon, don’t you have something better to do than talk? Coming here was your idea, after all.”
All the women giggled.
“I don’t mind if he talks, O Crown Prince of Blöten,” Elsbeth said, her voice all silky now and her fingers brushing at the knots in Dhamon’s hair. “You and he can do whatever you please. Talk or…”
The crown prince wasn’t listening to her. He had disappeared again, thoroughly losing himself in the arms of his three ladies, the sheet ballooning and billowing like a full sail. Elsbeth returned her attention to Dhamon, making a face when she saw that Satin was draped around him and that Dhamon’s fingers were moving slowly across the Ergothian’s smooth features.
“I know an Ergothian,” Dhamon was telling her. “A former pirate.” He hiccoughed and scrunched his nose when he smelled his own sour breath. “Name’s Rig Mer-Krel. Ever hear of him?”
“No.” Satin cocked her head and tugged at his short beard and tried futilely to snuggle into an even closer embrace with him. “Ergoth’s a big place, O mighty dragonslayer.”
“Spawn-slayer,” Dhamon corrected. “I’ve never killed a dragon.” Well, there was that sea dragon Brine, he thought, but he had had considerable help with that feat.
“Never heard of your Rig Mer-Krel,” she continued.
“Good,” Dhamon said. “You wouldn’t like Rig anyway. A braggart and a fool. I never cared much for him.”
“I like you,” she returned, managing to insinuate a hand under his neck. “Now how about you take these off?” She tugged at his pants with her other hand.
He shook his head and hiccoughed again.
Elsbeth gave Satin a smug look and leaned over Dhamon. “Then how about taking them off for me, sweetheart? Maybe you do appreciate a woman with a few years on her, one what ain’t so bony. Experience is better’n youth, you know. Like fine wine, I improve with age.”
“And then turn to nasty vinegar,” Satin whispered so softly only Dhamon heard.
“No.” Dhamon shook his head stubbornly and made a move to rise from the bed. Elsbeth held him down. “I think I’ll keep my trousers on, thank you.”
Elsbeth made a throaty sound, which was quickly echoed by Satin.
“You are the odd one,” Satin breathed. “You keep him put,” she said to Elsbeth, “and I’ll go get our spawn-slayer something to loosen his inhibitions. He was liking that spiced rum, right? Maybe the crown prince and our sisters over there would like another drink, too.”
The sultry Ergothian crawled out of bed, grabbing Dhamon’s tunic and slipping it on. Satin glanced at the bed across the room, then turned to wink at Elsbeth before she glided out the door. Elsbeth brushed at the bit of red paste she’d gotten on Dhamon. “You’d be a real looker, Mister Dhamon Evran Grimwulf, if you cleaned yourself up a bit. All fancy with that nice sword…” She turned so she could see the scabbarded blade hanging from the bed post. The sword’s crosspiece was fashioned in the likeness of a falcon’s beak. “Bet it’s valuable.”
She stretched an arm down to a satchel that had been shoved partway under the bed. “This, too. Heard it chink when you dropped it. Like there’re lots o’ coins in it.”
“Not coins,” Dhamon said flatly. “Gems. There are quite a lot of them.”
“We’ve quite a gem here, too,” came a high-pitched voice from across the room. The speaker was hidden by the sheet. “The crown prince—and what he’s wearin’. He’s got himself a big diamond hangin’ around his neck.”
“The Sorrow of Lahue,” Dhamon breathed, recalling that it was named for the Woods of Lahue in Lorrinar where it was found, that it was priceless, and that he’d taken the gem from the ogrechieftain Donnag and offhandedly tossed it to Maldred three months or so ago. Elsbeth sat back, keeping her hands firmly on his chest. “So you are a mighty treasure-hunter indeed, Dhamon Grimwulf. Your friend, too. Hidden treasures under my bed. And gem necklaces!”
Dhamon shrugged, the unexpected motion knocking Elsbeth off him and onto the floor.
“Of all the lousy…” she stopped herself and smiled, then scampered to rejoin him, throwing a leg across him and sitting on his chest to keep him in place. “I’ve got some treasures, too, O mighty spawn-slayer. What say we exchange some?”
Dhamon stared up at the woman. “Maybe we’ll give you ladies a few gems before we leave.”
Softer, he added, “Maybe use them to get out of this gods-forsaken country.”
“You’ll give us gems?”
“Aye. We’ll give you some gems.” But not the best of the lot, he added to himself. The rum hadn’t addled his senses that much. “You can have my damned sword, too, for all I care. Pawn it someplace and buy yourself some better perfume. That blade’s done me little good.”
She eagerly rained kisses on Dhamon’s forehead and cheeks, spreading the red paste. “Honey, we don’t get many folks passing through like you and the crown prince over there. Trappers, thieves, mostly ogres and their half-breed brothers. None o’ them with more than a few coins in their pockets. None o’ them with so many fine gems.” She rocked back on her haunches and fixed her eyes at a spot on his chin, then dropped her gaze to a thick gold chain that hung around his neck.
“So what brought you and the crown prince into—”
“We’re on our way out of Blöde,” Dhamon told her. “We’re done with ogre lands. We’re thieves, dear Elsbeth, like most everyone else who passes through here. But I wouldn’t want to give away too many trade secrets.” He laughed hollowly, draping his hand over his brow. His head was aching, the effects of going too long without a fresh splash of rum. The heat of this summer day was fierce. That, and the heat of Elsbeth’s body rubbing up against him made breathing seem difficult. He wanted another drink.