"Aven," she whispered. It will be all right, all of this, she told herself, if she could gain his freedom. Time enough to atone for her deeds after her brother was at her side.
Still… second thoughts were nagging at her sensibilities. Perhaps she should give up on all of this now.
"Fiona!" Maldred called to her. He was emerging from Donnag's palace and jogging toward her, a smile spread wide across his face. "Dhamon is all right, and is on his way here."
She pushed her concerns to the back of her mind and waited for him. He rested a hand on her shoulder.
"That is good news," she returned, looking up into his clean-shaven face. "I am glad no misfortune befell him in the cave-in." Despite her words, Fiona seemed unruffled by the news. She was making it a point to appear stoic and detached in front of her ogre troops. "And you know this about Dhamon because…"
"Remember? I am a thief who dabbles in magic." Mal-dred's eyes locked onto hers. "Dhamon found a way out of the mountain many miles away from where we came out. He will be at least another day or two in arriving here."
"And Rig?"
Maldred's lips tugged downward. "The mariner is trailing behind him. He is all right, too. Do not concern yourself with him."
"I will not concern myself with him," she echoed softly.
In fact, it was two mornings later, the rain slowing to nearly a drizzle, when Maldred came out of Donnag's palace and approached Fiona in the ogre chieftain's garden. There were no flowers, just a myriad of weeds nurtured by the rains. Most were thorny, with twisting gray-green vines that tried to claw their way up the few statues scattered about or that sent runners across the cobblestone paths. The garden filled a circular courtyard off Donnag's grand dining room, and it scented the air with a mix of pleasant and pungent fragrances.
She had been summoned to meet Maldred here, and he softly touched her cheek to get her attention. "Dhamon was spotted entering the south gate a few hours ago. He is meeting with Chieftain Donnag as we speak."
She stood straight, her eyes wide. "And Rig? Is he with Dhamon?"
Maldred shook his head. "It seems Rikali is injured. The sentry reports that Rig arrived later and took her to Grim Kedar's."
The Solamnic looked a little puzzled that they would not all be together. She pursed her lips, thinking for a moment. "What about the kobold?"
"Dead," said Maldred, rubbing his chin ruefully.
"I must go to Grim Kedar's, then," she said finally. "If Rig is there, I certainly should…"
Maldred's eyes flashed. "Why? They will find their way here soon enough."
She cocked her head. "I suppose they will. But I should go to Rig."
"Why?" Maldred moved closer and took her hands. He gazed into her eyes. "Do you love him so terribly much, Lady Knight?"
She returned his look. Fiona knew she could so easily lose herself in Maldred's enigmatic eyes. "I don't know. Months ago I was certain I did. I had no doubts. But now… I don't know."
"He doesn't deserve you," Maldred said. "He does not appreciate you, so few of his words are filled with compliments." His sonorous voice had turned melodic. "He is so unlike you."
"Unlike me," she repeated softly, still staring into his eyes, wanting him to talk some more just so she could listen to his mesmerizing voice. Rig used to talk to her at length, when he was first trying to impress and woo her.
"You must not marry him," the big man said. "Your heart belongs to me."
"I will not marry him," she repeated. "My heart belongs to you."
Maldred smiled. Had Fiona not questioned her own feelings toward the mariner, the enchantment would be so much more difficult. But her doubt gave him room to manipulate his magic. He bent close to her, brushed her lips with his.
She stepped into his embrace, tracing his jaw with her fingertips, easing away from him finally, almost reluctantly. He extended his arm and nodded to a canopied wooden bench. They walked there together, slowly.
"I will check on Dhamon. Wait for me here, Lady Knight."
"Of course I will wait for you."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Donnag's Promise
Dhamon stood at the base of the stairs, looking out on what served, decades past, as the manse's dungeon. He wondered where the current dungeon in Bloten was-where the ogre chieftain locked away those who crossed him or who fell out of his favor. Or perhaps he simply killed all the scoundrels and saved the paltry expense of housing, feeding, and guarding them.
Dhamon was certainly dressed for a dungeon-his clothes filthy and torn from his arduous trek, his hair dirty and matted, the stubble on his face thick and uneven. He stank of sweat, so strongly that he even offended himself, and his boots were thickly caked with muck.
Iron manacles dangled rusted shut from the tall ceiling and dripped with moisture. In a near corner sat a weathered wooden rack, discolored with what Dhamon was sure was blood, and behind a veil of cobwebs was suspended a cage filled with pieces of a human skeleton.
Just beyond the torture implements were massive chests filled to bursting with steel pieces, elegant golden statues, high vases, and coffers spilling strings of pearls into puddles caused by rainwater seepage. The great chamber was illuminated with expensive crystal oil lamps that glimmered between once-exquisite tapestries that had been irreparably damaged by mold.
Weapons hung on one wall, their blades catching the light. Another wall displayed shelves of baubles and trinkets-carved animals with wings and horns and jeweled eyes, precious shell arrangements crafted by Dimernesti artisans, and vials of exotic perfumes, that-though stoppered-still sweetly scented the air.
And there was more. He padded toward the center of the great room.
Inside the former cells, the doors of which had long ago been removed, more wealth could be observed-coins and carved ivory tusks, ornate chests as valuable as whatever was locked up inside them; gem-encrusted busts of mino-taurs and other creatures.
"This is our main treasure room, Dhamon Grimwulf," the chieftain said proudly. He stepped out from an alcove, taking Dhamon by surprise. The chieftain had not used the same staircase as Dhamon, suggesting the existence of secret passages. "The rough gemstones you gifted to us are being cut as we speak. Then they will be given a good home here among our rare and esteemed collection, some set into fine pieces of platinum and gold that will adorn our fingers. We so like gems. It gives us much pleasure to look at them. Others will be stored away so we can admire them later-when we tire of what we normally wear."
Dhamon looked away from Donnag to study an urn that appeared to be made of solid gold.
"And we can never have too much wealth, can we?" This was not truly a question. Donnag came farther into the room, drawing his cloak up around him before stepping over one of the puddles. He strode toward a platinum-edged throne and eased himself down, sighing and yawning and steepling his big, fleshy fingers. From this position, he could better keep an eye on Dhamon and the array of treasure. "Wealth makes rulers more respected, we think. But it makes us more envied."
Dhamon padded toward a case filled with necklaces and rings. He leaned against it nonchalantly. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Maldred entering the room. The big man must have used the same hidden staircase as Donnag.
"Take as much as you desire-within reason-for you and your half-elf harlot," the ogre chieftain continued. "We do not mind. Indeed, we wish to be generous to you, who have aided Knollsbank. We so love our milk and goat meat."