It wasn’t a tingling. He’d held other enchanted weapons that seemed to vibrate slightly in his grip. But there was… something. A presence almost, a sense that the sword was aware of him. He concentrated intensely and closed his eyes, shut out Donnag’s labored breathing. Dhamon was aware only of the sword now, the metal pommel in his grip, initially cool to the touch, then warming a little.
“Wyrmsbane,” he repeated softly.
What do you seek?
His eyes flew open and stared at the blade. Did he hear the words, or were they just in his head? He glanced at Maldred. His friend was keeping an eye on Donnag, occasionally looking Dhamon’s way. His face would have registered something if he would have heard the blade speak.
What do you seek?
Dhamon swallowed hard and thought quickly. How to test the sword of Tanis Half-Elven? “Wyrmsbane, what is the most valuable bit of jewelry in this room?” There were certainly plenty to pick from. Maybe that crown in the case, Dhamon mused. “What is most valuable?”
The sword did nothing, communicated no message and formed no picture in his head. Perhaps he’d only imagined it speaking to him. What do you seek? Hah! He was so tired, after all. It was nothing more than a waking dream. He saw Maldred watching him, Donnag, too. There was a look of trepidation on the latter’s face— perhaps because he feared Dhamon would get angry if the sword didn’t perform some magical trick. If so, Dhamon might slay him in retaliation.
Donnag saw Dhamon studying him, and the chieftain quickly looked away. So that’s it, Dhamon thought. This sword isn’t the right one either. Sure, it matched the description the old man in Kortal gave him, but it wasn’t especially exquisite—like the other enchanted swords he’d seen had been. A copy? That certainly wasn’t beyond the ogre. Deceiving others came so easily to Donnag.
I just might slay him, Dhamon thought. Maybe with this forgery. He sighed and took a step forward, still pondering whether to leave the chieftain alive. He intended to keep the sword anyway, if only because it was so well balanced. He needed to search about for a suitable scabbard to fit it. Likely Donnag had plenty of them around here, too, studded with jewels.
He turned toward the wall of weapons, then abruptly stopped moving when his palm grew cool, as if he’d thrust his sword hand in a mountain stream. Then his hand began to move, though not of his own volition. The sword he still grasped was moving it, turning Dhamon toward the far reaches of the treasure room where the light was dim. It began to tug him there—gently. He could have easily resisted, dismissed the sensation as part of him being so tired.
What you seek.
Did he just hear those words? Did Donnag and Maldred, too? Had he imagined them again? A trick of his hunger and fatigue? No matter, he took a step in that direction and then another, the sword leading him as if it was a divining rod.
“Dhamon? What are you doing?” Maldred’s voice dripped with curiosity.
“Watch him,” Dhamon answered.
The big man pivoted so he could keep an eye on Donnag and Dhamon, though he realized the ogre chieftain didn’t really need watching—not at the moment, anyway. He was riveted to the spot watching Dhamon handle the sword.
Dhamon stopped amidst shadows thick and ominous. He stood in an alcove brimming with gilded vases as tall as a man and thin pedestals displaying dainty figurines of elves and sprites. He imagined they would be breathtaking, if there was enough light to make out their features. His hand grew cold and dry, as if the pommel he gripped was ice. It was an odd sensation, as the rest of his body was hot from the oppressive heat of the summer, and he was sweating. The sword seemed to be trying to draw him farther into the small room, and after a few deep breaths, he obliged. He realized the place wasn’t an alcove after all, but another cell. His eyes picked through the darkness and spied manacles on the wall, high up and too large to be used on a human, perhaps even too large for an ogre. Had there not been so many valuable trinkets sprinkled here and there, and had there been a proper light source, he might have investigated further out of curiosity.
But the sword was pulling him over to a corner, to a pedestal and a water-damaged black wooden box that rested atop it. Dhamon opened it, running his fingers over the small object inside.
“Beautiful,” he said, imagining what it must look like.
“No!” Donnag moaned.
Maldred swung on the ogre chieftain and with a pointed finger kept him from budging. “Dhamon? What is it?”
Dhamon held the sword with one hand as he reached out with the other to grab a gem about the size of a large lemon. The chill dissipated from his hand, and the gentle urging of Wyrmsbane stopped. He retreated from the alcove and stepped beneath a lantern.
The gem, dangling from a long platinum chain that sparkled like stars, fairly glowed. It was a pale rose in hue, and it was shaped like a teardrop. The light sparkled over its facets.
Donnag made a sound, like a choked sob.
“It’s a diamond, isn’t it?” Dhamon asked. He headed toward Maldred and Donnag.
The ogre chieftain nodded, a great sadness in his eyes. “The Sorrow of Lahue, it’s called. Named for the Woods of Lahue in Lorrinar where it was found. No one knows where it was mined. I came by it…”
“I don’t care how you acquired it,” Dhamon interrupted.
“Don’t take it. Please. Anything else. Whatever you can carry.”
“Flawless,” Dhamon observed.
“Priceless,” Donnag added.
“And now it’s mine.”
The ogre made another move to object, but a glance from Maldred stopped him.
“Consider it my payment for this information,” Dhamon began. “The rain that assaults your kingdom, and all of the Kalkhists, is not natural. It was called down by a being in Sable’s swamp—one who wears the guise of a child. I suspect it is all in retaliation for your forces slaying so many spawn. Or maybe it’s just the dragon’s attempt to enlarge her swamp. The rain has flooded many villages in the foothills. Perhaps it will ultimately wash away Knollsbank.”
Donnag paled, the gem forgotten for the moment. “How do you know this?”
“A vision. From deep inside your mountain.”
“Then the rain, the child, must be stopped. But how?”
Dhamon shrugged. “I’ve no clue. And it doesn’t concern me. I’ve no intention of staying in these mountains, so the rain won’t be bothering me for much longer anyway. Certainly you have sages under your royal thumb who can provide you with more information. Maybe they can tell you how to preserve your kingdom.” He turned to Maldred, tossing him the Sorrow of Lahue.
The big man was quick to catch the impressive gem and thrust it into a pocket.
“Your share in all of this,” Dhamon told him. He hefted the long sword. “I have what I was looking for, and I’ve some shiny knickknacks to amuse Riki. We will meet up again, my good friend. Perhaps in a few months. After you’ve run Donnag’s errand to the mines. And after you’ve finished playing with the Solamnic.”
Maldred nodded. “I’ll stay here a bit longer—with Donnag.”
Dhamon smiled knowingly. “Thank you, Mal.” Then he was taking the rusted stairs two at a time, wanting to quickly put some distance between himself and a very angry Donnag.
The chieftain’s ogre guards, who seemed to be aware of much that transpired in town, revealed that Rikali was at Grim Kedar’s. He stopped by there briefly and discovered she was sleeping.
Dhamon told Grim not to wake the half-elf, and left a leather pouch for her. It was filled with small baubles from Donnag’s treasure room—something shiny to help speed her recovery and to ease any ire she might have because he left her wounded in Rig’s company. Of course, he also tossed a valuable trinket Grim’s way to pay for Rikali’s care. Then Dhamon was moving again.