It looked as if Dhamon was having a seizure. The half-elf tugged a skin free from Dhamon's belt, raised his head, and poured the liquor into his mouth, a good portion of it dribbling down his chin and onto his shirt. She massaged the muscles of his throat, helping it go down.
"That won't help him, Riki." Maldred had climbed down from the higher ledge, nudged Rig aside and squatted next to Dhamon. "It just makes him a little numb, is all." He took Dhamon's arm and gripped it as Dhamon gripped him back with all his strength, fingernails digging into the big man's muscles. "That's it," Maldred coaxed, concern etched deeply in the lines around his eyes and mouth. "Ride it out, my friend."
Rikali replaced the skin, pointedly ignoring the mariner and Fiona, who was calling down from above. "It's none of your business about Dhamon," she finally told them.
A few minutes later, Dhamon stopped shaking. He gulped in the damp air and opened his eyes. "I'm all right now," he said, not arguing when Maldred helped him to his feet and helped him strap the quiver and bow on his back. He met Rig's stare. "I am all right," he repeated more strongly.
"The hell you are," the mariner argued. "It's that damned scale, isn't it?"
Maldred brushed by the pair and started climbing again, dropping the rope when he got to the top and bracing himself to lift Dhamon.
"Aye, it's the scale." Dhamon grabbed the rope, relying almost entirely on Maldred's strength to pull him up. The episode had exhausted him.
Rikali motioned for the mariner to go next. "Dhamon has these shakes once in a while. That's all," she said. "He gets over them and is good as new. Mai helps him through it. Mai's his best friend. Dhamon doesn't need your sympathy."
The rest of the climb was in silence, and by late afternoon they reached a narrow plateau, where the goatherders lived. It was a small community, the homes a collection of tiny caves and lean-tos constructed of pine logs and skins set against the side of the mountain, which rose up for at least another four hundred feet. The residents were humans and mountain dwarves, the former short and thin, almost spindly, but obviously agile as monkeys. The latter were ruddy and stocky, somehow equally at home in this high outlook. All the men wore short, pointed beards, as though they had taken on the appearances of their four-legged charges. The air carried a pungent scent of wet goats, wet people, and something unidentifiable-and most unpalatable-that was cooking in a covered fire pit.
Rikali dug about in her satchel for a vial of perfumed oil and liberally applied it, adding a drop beneath her nose. "Better," she pronounced.
"I'm Kulp," an older human said, extending his hand to Dhamon. The two were near the fire pit, where several goatherders had gathered. "I lead this village, called Knollsbank, and I'm the one who sent word to his exalted Lordship Donnag that our herd is dwindling. Our gratitude to the lord for any help you can provide. Truth, though, I am most surprised he sent us aid. His lordship is not known for caring about these villages' well-being."
His lordship? Rig mouthed.
Maldred walked around the village, Fiona at his side, looking for some sign of the dread wolves. They made pleasant small talk with the people as they went, answering questions about the town far below, the styles of dress for the women, the music that was popular, the threat from the Black called Sable, what was going on in the world to the east of the Kalkhists. When Maldred revealed that Fiona was a Solamnic Knight who had stood up to the Dragon Overlords, all attention turned to her and the questions focused on the great dragons. The villagers had all heard of the overlords and knew what they'd done to Krynn. Yet none of them had seen a dragon, save a rare silhouette high overhead, and all of them were in disbelief that Lord Donnag would send someone as important as Fiona to help them.
On the opposite side of the village, Rikali locked her arm with Dhamon's as he introduced himself and the half-elf. "These wolves that are slaughtering your goats, Kulp…"
"Wolves?" The goatherder scrunched his face in a question. "Wolves don't live in these mountains. It's giants. Giants are stealing our goats." There was instantly a great sadness on Kulp's face, as if he had lost a child. "Our herd is half of what it was in the spring. If it continues, by winter we'll be finished. They took four kids last night who were being mothered on that ridge."
Dhamon's mind was working, his fingers drumming against his belt in irritation. "Giants?"
Kulp nodded. "So our messengers told Donnag."
Dhamon drummed faster. Trust Donnag? he said to himself. Maldred said to trust him. Anger flared in his eyes, and Kulp stepped back, startled.
"So they haven't actually hurt you, these giants?" Dhamon finally asked.
Kulp looked shocked. "Hurt? They hurt us most horribly! Taking our goats is hurting us, our livelihood. The goats are all we have. We won't have the goods to pay Donnag's taxes if this continues. We will have nothing to barter with and we will lose our home."
"Pay Donnag?" Rig interrupted. The mariner had been edging over during the conversation.
"We pay the chieftain in milk and meat for the right to live on his mountain. Certainly that is why he sent you-to stop the giants so we can continue to meet his fees and taxes."
"Giants?" The mariner growled and looked about for Fiona. Where was she-she ought to hear this evidence of the ogre chieftain's fiendishness. He spotted her and Maldred leaning over a small pen where a mother goat and three newborns rested.
Dhamon cleared his throat. "And where are these so-called giants…"
"We believe the giants live in those caves, Mister Grimwulf." Kulp was pointing toward a peak that rose up high away from the village. "Some of our young herders fought one and thought they'd killed it. Said it was a massive creature with long arms and wicked claws. It must have only been stunned and then came to, escaping as they tried to drag it here. A few of them tracked it, heading toward that peak." He dropped his gaze and shook his head. "But those young men did not return."
"Tracking the giants now-tracking anything-is not possible," Dhamon said, looking at the ground. What earth there was consisted of broad patches of mud from which sprouted tall grass. There were small gardens, reasonably protected from all the rain by a network of skins and lean-tos. But mostly there was shale and granite and goat droppings.
Dhamon looked toward the lofty peak, squinting through the rain to spot caves where the goat-raiding giants might live. "Kulp, that's another several hours climb, at the very least. We'd like to stay here the rest of the day, get an early start."
The village leader clapped his hands loudly. "We will make accommodations for Donnag's men," Kulp said. "And we will feed them well." Then he was off to evict a family to make room for the companions for the evening.
The rain had stopped for a few hours during the night, and beneath the scant stars that poked through the wispy clouds they were fed a meal of boiled roots, spicy broth, and hard bread. The broth was what had been simmering throughout the day and tasted surprisingly good despite its strong smell. The bread was among the foodstuffs the herders received regularly in barter from Bloten. There was a strong liquor, which the herders made themselves and Dhamon pronounced acceptable.