It took some maneuvering to turn the wagons around in the pass and point them west. While Maldred, Dhamon, and Fetch handled that job, Rikali inspected the metal-eating creature. "Gonna sell you, I am," she told it. "Buy me some fine rings with the coin. Someone'll want a peculiar beastie like you. Rich people're always wantin' peculiar things. Ruffels. Gonna change your name first. Call you Fee-ohn-a, I think. Yeah, I like that. Fee-ohn-a the peculiar beastie."
"This won't be enough either, eh?" Dhamon had been in the wagons, eyeing the contents, picking up objects and running his fingers over them. He noted makers' marks on some, which in some circles added to their value. But he could find nothing especially worth all the trouble.
"Valuable, to be certain, but not wildly so. And not what we need to deal with a certain man. We'll still need to visit the valley. But… I know a bandit camp where we can sell all of this. Should give Rikali and Fetch enough to stop complaining for a while," Maldred told Dhamon as they made sure the merchants' horses were tied tightly. "We might make more in a town."
"No." Dhamon drew his lips into a thin line, his dark eyes flashing. "We don't want to risk running into people who saw these merchants earlier-or saw others we've run across."
Maldred nodded his agreement. "Very well, then. We'll keep one of these wagons, or get a new one-which is my preference. In the bandit camp. We'll need at least one good wagon for the valley."
"The gems you mentioned, and the mine…" Dhamon's face became serious, his eyes intense. He brought a hand up to scratch at the stubble on his chin, then he met Maldred's gaze.
"If fortune favors us, we'll be done with robbing merchants for a while. This is the first time one of these caravans has put up a fight. Next time we might come across mercenaries."
"I'm spoiling for a good fight!" Fetch was dancing around the big man and twirling his hoopak. "We can take on anything. Can't we Dhamon? You've never lost a fight!"
Dhamon ignored the kobold, jumping into the second wagon. There was a large water barrel inside, and he nudged the lid open, drank deep, and splashed water on his face and chest. Then he began prying at the crates that Fetch couldn't open, while Maldred retrieved their horses and tied them to the last wagon.
A scream interrupted them.
Rikali stood in the middle of the trail, yelling at the metal-eating creature and waving her fists. The buckles on her boots were gone, so was the bracelet about her knee and the gold armband. Her right hand was devoid of rings. "I'll kill it!" she hissed. "My jewelry. Quick as a rabbit that cursed beastie grabbed and ate it!"
The creature's nose twitched, and its tongue snaked out to lick its lips. It trundled toward her, eyes locked onto the rings that still sparkled from her left hand.
"Dhamon!" She swung at it wildly, clawlike fingernails raking the beast's tender skin. The creature made a sniffling sound and skittered back a few feet, but its nose continued to twitch. "Dhamon, get over here!"
He peered out of the wagon, grinning at her predicament. "Fetch!" The kobold hurried over. "You've got nothing metal on. Take that thing and tie it back in the wagon where you found it."
Fetch grumpily did so, getting some help from Maldred to boost the creature up and under the canvas, keeping away from its front legs and its metal-devouring mouth. This wagon was held together with wooden nails and there wasn't a trace of metal anywhere on it. "We don't keep this wagon," the big man said. "Or this creature for long. Let's get moving."
Dhamon picked his way along the mountain trail, scouting ahead as the sun melted into the horizon, painting the Kalkhists with a soft orange glow. He relished his time alone, no one to badger him with small talk and questions he didn't want to answer. No one to make any demands of him.
When he was in the company of Maldred and Rikali he often ranged ahead, as he was doing now, seeing if there were any obstacles along the course they would take in the morning. Or if there were any strangers in the area who might bother them during the night. It was his excuse for some silence and peace.
Despite the approaching evening, the heat didn't seem to be letting up. The air was thin this high in the mountains, and coupled with the temperature, Dhamon found it a little discomfiting. He paused to rest on a flat rock, fishing about in his pocket for a piece of candy. Fetch had found a small bag filled with sweets in one of the merchant wagons, and Dhamon made sure it was divided-before the kobold could manage to devour it all.
He stared at the vanishing sun for several moments, breathing as deep as was comfortable and savoring the sugar on his tongue. Then he glanced down the trail. It was just wide enough for the wagon. They would be taking the fork to the north, according to Maldred's directions. The man he needed to see was to the south, but there was the matter of gaining more treasure before they could take that trail.
The north fork appeared less-used, with scrub growing in patches here and there, and wheel ruts so shallow he could barely make them out. Dhamon scooted off the rock and headed north. Just for a few minutes, he told himself, just for a little more time alone.
It wasn't that Dhamon didn't like his current company, he simply believed he needed some solitude once in a while. Maldred had become his closest comrade and partner, and Fetch had a few endearing and useful qualities. Rikali… well, she wasn't at all like Feril, the elf he used to keep company with and whom he often thought of. But when he looked past the cosmetic paint and her constant prattle, Rikali was all right. She was here, and Feril was…
"Gone," he stated softly. He was staring at the ground, at a feather from a jay that had fluttered to the side of the path. Feril had a tattoo of a bluejay feather on her face. Dhamon closed his eyes and pictured the Kagonesti, the memory bittersweet. A part of him wished she was with him. But she wouldn't approve of his current lifestyle. She might like Maldred, however, he mused.
Dhamon scowled as he continued to follow the trail around a bend and discovered it was blocked by fallen rocks. The tremors likely had caused it, he decided, as he clambered up the pile and peered over the top, trying to see just how much of the trail was obstructed. A rock wall rose on the east side of the path, and much of its face had crumbled loose to block the way. Dhamon could tell it should pose little problem beyond this point-after this pile was cleared.
Maldred was strong. Between him and Dhamon, and with some help from Rikali and Fetch they should be able to manage it without too much trouble. And provided there weren't any more tremors in this section of the mountains. The tremors had bothered him more than a little, as a force of nature was something he couldn't stand up to. But apparently the tremors were something he had to put up with here, including the results-such as this blocked path.
Dhamon bent to the task of clearing the way himself, the activity feeling good and keeping his mind off Feril and all manner of other things that festered at him when he grew introspective. He worked until dark, the heat letting up only a little. He hadn't cleared all of it, but the worst was out of the way. He could tackle it again in the morning to finish the job. Exhausted, sweat-soaked, and very hungry, he retraced his steps along the trail and back to where he'd left the others to make camp.
Night didn't soften Dhamon's features. The angles of his face still looked hard, his eyes were dark, his demeanor as usual unreadable. His stubble had thickened, and he rubbed his fingertips across it, making an almost imperceptible sound. His jaw worked and the muscles in his sword arm tensed and relaxed as he considered the plunder from the wagon and the sale of the goods. He was silently cursing the merchants for not having more wagons or anything of extraordinary value inside.