“I’d better be on my way,” Dhamon said as he reached for his backpack. He stood and strapped on his sword. “I suppose you’re joining me?”
“Of course!” Blister and Raph answered practically in unison.
“You’re not going anywhere—yet.”
The three whirled to see a pair of grisly men, bandits from the looks of them. The pair had snuck up behind Dhamon and the two kender during the steady stream of conversation. Their clothes were worn and dirty, but they had on expensive new boots and carried clean satchels, spoils of their previous victims perhaps. The swords they waved were in good repair. The taller one’s blade had a fine filigreed hilt edged in gold that hinted it once belonged to a gentleman.
“There’s a toll for using this road,” the tall one said. A fresh scar ran from just below his eye to the bottom of his jaw, and he was missing the little finger on his right hand. “The toll is whatever you have that’s valuable.”
“Then, provided we’re satisfied, you can be on about your business,” the other sneered. He was several years younger than his companion, and his scars were less noticeable.
“I have spoons,” Raph offered nervously. He fumbled in his pouch and held up a tarnished one.
The tall man was quick. He spun forward and kicked the pouch from Raph’s grasp. A dozen spoons went flying, spinning in the air and clattering to the ground. Raph scooted back and tried to hide behind Blister.
“We don’t want spoons!” the younger bandit shouted. He grinned, revealing a row of yellowed teeth. “We want steel coins. Give them up—Now!”
“No!” As the word erupted from Dhamon’s mouth, he leapt backward and drew his long sword. The blade arced above his head, flashing in the morning sun, and came down hard on the older bandit’s sword hand. He struck with only the flat of the blade, but the force was enough to disarm the man, whom Dhamon guessed was the greater threat.
The younger bandit stepped forward, slicing the air to keep Dhamon at a distance. But Dhamon brought his sword up to arrest the swing, and the blades met loudly.
“I like a challenge!” the young man jeered.
“I’d have thought you’d like to live,” Dhamon retorted. “We can end this now, and you and your friend can leave. No one will get hurt. And I’ll forget this happened.”
The young man laughed and darted in, slashing at Dhamon’s legs and cleaving only air.
“Look out!” Blister cried. She fluttered her short arms in the direction of the older bandit, who’d stooped to retrieve his weapon.
A growl escaped Dhamon’s lips. He pivoted to his right and swept his blade in a wide arc. The young bandit was unprepared, still moving forward. Dhamon’s weapon passed over his opponent’s sword and sliced deep into the young bandit’s chest. An expression of surprise etched on his face, the bandit dropped his blade and fell to his knees, clutching at the growing line of red on his tunic. A moment later he pitched forward, his face falling in the dying embers of the cookfire.
Dhamon stepped over the body to meet the charge of the older man. “I’ll repeat my offer,” he hissed between clenched teeth. He brought his blade up to parry a vicious stroke. “End this now and walk away.”
“I’ll end it by killing you!” The bandit pushed forward, trying to make Dhamon trip over the dead man behind him.
But Dhamon jumped to the side. The bandit was so close Dhamon could smell the pungent, old sweat that clung to the man’s clothes.
The bandit pressed again, and Dhamon held his breath to avoid the stench. He dropped to a crouch, watching the fancy sword pass over his head. In that moment, he brought his own blade up, thrusting it hard through the man’s stomach. He pulled it free as the body fell heavily.
Dhamon shook his head sadly, then knelt between the bodies. He hung his head, laid his sword on the ground, and clasped his hands in front of him. The soft breeze teased the stray strands of hair that had come loose from his ponytail. He mumbled reverently.
“Is he praying?” Raph whispered.
“I think so,” Blister said.
“Doesn’t he know the gods are gone? There’s no one to hear him.”
Blister drew a gloved finger to her mouth, encouraging Raph to be quiet.
“There’s not a scratch on Dhamon,” Raph whispered. “He just killed two men and he didn’t even get dirty. And now he’s praying over them. They were evil, and he’s praying.”
Dhamon rose, picked up his sword, and strode toward the stream. He washed the blood off the old blade, sheathed it, then retied his hair.
“You’re not a farmer, are you?” Blister asked.
“No,” Dhamon answered.
Behind him Raph was chattering again and rummaging through the dead men’s possessions. He pocketed most of the coins and the other interesting odds and ends that were pulled from the bodies.
“You want this fancy sword, Dhamon?” Raph asked. “You earned it. And it’s too long for me.”
Dhamon shook his head.
“Bet it’s worth something,” Raph mumbled softly.
“It’s probably at least worth passage to Schallsea,” Blister said. “Look, Dhamon’s leaving! Let’s go.”
“Wait! I gotta get my spoons!”
13
The Path to the Silver Stair
New Ports was perched on a thumb-shaped bay of the New Sea. It was a bustling town, growing with the addition of elves who’d left the Qualinesti forest when the Green moved in. Not all the elves left the forest, nor did all those who left come here. But those who did swelled the population and made it look as if the town was thriving.
The town was built like a wheel. The oldest residential section formed the hub, and from it radiated spokelike streets filled with homes and businesses. The newest buildings were those farthest from the center of town, except for a stretch of old buildings on the coast.
It was easy to distinguish the older section of town from the new. The center of the city was comprised of sturdy stone buildings with thatch roofs. The shutters and window boxes were worn and covered with chipping paint. To the west, the buildings were smaller, made of wood, and covered in new paint—or no paint at all. Some looked like they had been thrown together, and their walls smelled of freshly cut pine. Between them were shacks and lean-tos, occupied by people who did not yet have permanent homes. It looked like a city that was swelling, prospering, perhaps growing too quickly.
But despite appearances, New Ports wasn’t flourishing. Beggars clustered between buildings. Urchins played by the back doors of inns, hoping to find tasty morsels amid the trash or to receive handouts from the cooks. Several businesses were closed or looked dusty and vacant inside.
Raph struck up a conversation with a street merchant who explained that most businesses were faring poorly, and some closed their doors because it took more coins to stay open than they could make in a day. People were simply saving their money in the event the Green expanded her territory east to the town and they needed to buy passage to another land where it might be safer. Most of the residents were uneasy, though they hid it well under smiling facades.
The fishermen were the only truly happy folk around, the merchant said. Now that the far part of New Sea was a marsh due to the Black’s alteration of the climate, the warm weather had extended to the west and touched this stretch of the water and fishing was considerably better. People had to eat, so the fishermen were profiting because New Ports had more mouths to feed.
Dhamon paused at a corner and bought an apple from a gnome. The kender did likewise, then they were quick on his heels toward the waterfront.
The salty sea air was strong and not unpleasant. The breeze stirred it with the scents of freshly-caught fish, crabs, and lobster. Dhamon spied several men fishing with nets and poles from an old, narrow dock that stretched out into the sparkling bay. A few ships were moored to the larger docks where the water was darker and deeper. It was midday, so most of the fishing boats would be out for several more hours.