The ogre mage sagged to the marshy floor, hands pressed against his blue chest as if that might lessen the pain. Dhamon rushed to his side and ripped strips from what was left of his own cloak, pressing them against the wounds.
“I am what I appear, my friend,” Maldred stated, his pained voice difficult to hear.
“It seems you are an expert at deceptions,” Dhamon replied. “You are every bit as accomplished a liar as your father.” He kept his words low, not wanting the others to hear. “I thought you were… are… a man, like me.”
Maldred gasped, fighting for breath. “Sometimes deceptions help to build friendships,” he answered. “But other than the form I wore, I have never lied to you, Dhamon Grimwulf. I think you know that.”
“You just never bothered with the complete truth.” Dhamon continued to blot at the wounds, relying on the skills he learned on numerous battlefields. “Does Rikali know?”
Maldred shook his head. “Fetch did. One of the few secrets he managed to keep.” The ogre’s eyes searched Dhamon’s face. “I’m sorry you had to learn this way. I…”
“Doesn’t matter, I guess,” Dhamon said. “A body’s a shell, after all. Just let me know if you’ve got any more interesting secrets. I hate surprises.”
Rig and Fiona moved toward them, for they too were released from the girl’s magic. The ogres and freed slaves had gathered in a circle around them, a few of the scouts cautious to keep a lookout toward the mines and the ring of cypresses.
“Donnag’s whelp,” the mariner said bitterly. “No wonder you fit in so well in Blöten.” He shook his head, then edged by a group of ogre mercenaries and slipped to where the child had been standing. “Told you he couldn’t be trusted.”
Fiona said nothing, her chest was so tight she couldn’t have talked if she’d wanted to. The Solamnic tried to picture the face of the human Maldred, the one with the mesmerizing eyes. There was only this blue-skinned ogre, which made her shiver in anger and disgust. Her hands trembled, the palms clammy. She tried to grip the pommel of her sword, but her fingers fumbled over it.
The image of a bronze draconian slipped into her mind again. She saw a golden collar fall to the floor of the mines. Had she dreamed that? Seeing the creature she was supposed to meet in Takar? Watching him die? Did she kill him? Indeed, how much of what she’d been through was real?
Suddenly Maldred’s eyes caught hers, holding them like he had done when he looked human. With a gesture and a concentrated thought, he released her completely from the enchantment, and she blinked furiously, shaking her head to clear it.
Dhamon helped the ogre mage to his feet, astounded by just how large and heavy he really was.
“We will take these people back to Blöten,” Maldred said. His voice was deeper and louder now. “Grim Kedar will see that they are healed, at my father’s expense. The humans and dwarves will be given a place to stay.”
“And then…” Dhamon asked. He intended to press deeper into the swamp, and though his friend was a blue-skinned ogre, he would still prefer to have Maldred at his side. Wyrmsbane had given him visions of the swamp when he asked it for a cure to the scale on his leg. He had no intentions of leaving this place until he was free of the scale and the pain.
“I don’t know about the likes of you, but I’m going after the girl,” Rig said. “She’s got my glaive. And I intend to get it back.”
“She’s not dead?” Dhamon seemed surprised, was certain he had seen her burned to ashes like the trolls.
Rig shook his head. “Hardly. I see her footprints leading away. And since she’s still got my glaive, I’m going to follow them. She’s heading west. We’re going in the same direction. Toward Shrentak.”
Dhamon left Maldred and stepped toward the mariner, who was intently studying the tracks. Wyrmsbane was still in his hand. He felt the pommel tingle, then grow cold.
What you seek.