The clacking continued and became primitively musical as his long, knobby fingers worked over the obvious wounds and bruises, always returning to the scale. The ministrations reminded Dhamon of Jasper Fireforge, who had healed him more times than he cared to count. Jasper's work had seemed much more caring, however, the actions of the ogre healer were uniform and practiced, yet detached and sometimes almost harsh.
Dhamon fervently wished either Maldred was here or that he, himself, was elsewhere. Then he felt a warmth begin to flow through him. It wasn't the painful sensation associated with the dragon's scale, however, but one similar to the relaxing calm he had felt when Jasper tended him. The ogre stopped his clacking and welcomed Maldred, who had arrived, and who had quite a mastery of the strange language. Dhamon started to drift off toward sleep when the pain intensified all of a sudden. The ogre healer was tugging at Dhamon's scale.
"No!" Dhamon shouted, sitting bolt upright and throwing his hands over the scale. "Leave it!"
Grim tried to press him down again, but Dhamon successfully fought against it, arguing with words he was certain the healer couldn't understand but couldn't mistake their meaning. The pasty ogre shook his head and snarled, pointed to the scale and made a surgical gesture that was clear.
"Remove the scale and you'll die." The words repeated inside Dhamon's head. Then the scale was heating up like a branding iron again, sending agonizing waves through every part of his body. There was no gentle, teasing warmth to warn him this time. The pain struck like a hammer, over and over, seeming to drive him into the table. His muscles constricted and he shook uncontrollably, his teeth grinding together and his hands clenching so tightly that his fingernails cut into his palms. He raised his head and sucked in great gulps of air. He tried not to cry out. But a strangled moan escaped his lips and his head fell back hard against the table.
Rikali was at his side, fingers moving over his face, alternating stern and worried looks between Grim and Maldred.
Maldred's hand was on the scale now, and he was arguing with the healer. Dhamon wished he could understand more of what was being said. Finally Grim backed away, shaking his head and making an almost-human tsk-tsking sound.
"What's going on in here?" Rig's head poked through the beaded curtain, and immediately all eyes were on the mariner.
"Nothing," Maldred said. "Wait outside."
"What are you doing to Dhamon?" The mariner could see Dhamon shaking, the sweat covering Dhamon's limbs and the odd-colored liquid on his chest that had come from the discarded root.
The ogre healer took a step toward Rig, eyes narrowed and a hiss of growled words issued rapidly from his mouth.
"It's all right," Dhamon breathlessly cut in, the episode finally abating. A part of him was bothered that the mariner seemed concerned for his well being. He wanted to sever all his ties with the man.
Rig grumbled, but slipped outside to rejoin Fiona. His eyes grew wide when he realized the beaded curtain he had moved aside wasn't truly beads. It was a collection of painted finger bones.
"Rig's a little jumpy," Dhamon explained to Maldred. "Always has been a jumpy guy. I told you we should have stole their horses again and not let them follow us."
The big man passed Dhamon his clothes. "Feeling any better?"
"Remarkably better." The ogre passed him a cloth. Dhamon wiped the concoction off his chest, eyes widening when he discovered the bruise was gone, and no mark was left behind. Even a few of his old scars had disappeared. "Remarkable," his whispered. "What do I owe this man?"
The ogre healer turned and pointed to the diamond that dangled about Dhamon's neck.
"So you can understand the human tongue after all," Dhamon said, tugging the gem free and passing it over- despite Rikali's protestations. "Will that pay for Mai and Riki too?"
Grim nodded and set to work on the half-elf, while Mal-dred undressed and, with Dhamon's help, climbed on another table. Rikali's wounds were easy to cure and required little time. When Grim finished with her, she glided toward Dhamon and prodded him here and there, pronouncing the healer's work more than satisfactory.
"Mai, what about the wagon?" She was whispering, fearing those in the outer room might hear her. "All those… uhm… our cargo. What did you do with the wagon and…"
Grim waved a hand at the half-elf, trying to silence her as he worked. But Rikali would not be dissuaded. She hovered around Maldred's table, just out of the healer's reach, dodging when he made a move to push her.
The healer snarled when he removed the bandage on the big man's arm and saw traces of gangrene. Dhamon recognized the seriousness of the injury, too, as he had tended many fallen Knights of Takhisis on battlefields and had been forced to amputate limbs. He drew Riki away and held her close as Maldred moaned. The healer busied himself applying another root to the wound.
Grim glanced over his shoulder, meeting Dhamon's gaze. "Tomorrow," he said, the first word he'd spoken in the common tongue. "Come again then. For Maldred. After mid sun." He suggested several reasonably safe areas they might go to pass the time, and then he dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
But Maldred beckoned Dhamon closer, then gave him quick and quiet directions to the wagon. "In the event Grim isn't able to put me wholly right, you'll be on your own with it."
The big man intended to say more, but the ogre healer growled and spun Dhamon away from the table, then forcibly guided him and Rikali through the bead curtain after they'd retrieved their satchels. Fetch was waiting for them atop the counter. Rig stood and put his hands on his hips, as if to say, "well?"
"Maldred needs to rest here a while," Dhamon began, not intending to tell them the big man was most certainly going to have to have his arm amputated. "Rikali and I are going for a long bath, at something that serves as a bathhouse down the street. Then we've some shopping to do-that is provided we can find the right stores and some clothes in Bloten that might fit us."
"Dinner," the half-elf chimed in. "Rare meat and some-thin' sweet." She wrapped her arms about Dhamon's waist and stretched up to nuzzle his shoulder. "And wine, the expensive kind."
"I'm coming!" Fetch decided. Softer, he said. "But ya ain't gonna find anything better here than bitter ale."
"I doubt Rig and Fiona will want to follow us around for the rest of the day," Dhamon said. "So…"
Fiona cleared her throat. "On the contrary, Dhamon. Rig and I wouldn't think of abandoning you and the fair Rikali in this ogre den."
"Thank you for speaking for me," Rig said under his breath. Louder, he said, "A warm bath sounds like a wonderful idea."
The following day found Dhamon in different clothes. They were not new and not the best fit, the pants being too baggy for his lithe frame. Still, they were clean, a dark yellow, the shade of dying birch leaves. He also wore an oddly striped, faded blue-and-red tunic that was overlarge and draped to his knees. With the application of a few steel pieces he'd managed to talk an ogress, who was an adequate seamstress, into fashioning ties about his ankles so the pantlegs ballooned out and fell in folds. A fine leather belt wrapped about his waist only twice. Somehow the seamstress was also able to provide a deerskin vest that fit him nearly perfectly. It showed little wear, and was decorated by polished brass studs that formed a half-moon in the center of the back. Human-sized boots, which he'd spied in her shop, completed his new outfit. He suspected the boots had been taken in a raid or removed from an unfortunate soul who found his way into slavery here. But they were superbly fashioned and would have cost four times as much in a human city.