The draconian glanced around. “Fiona has it. She grabbed it when you dropped it, and she hasn’t let go of it since.”
“I heard a crocodile a while ago. The river has to be near.”
Ragh nodded. “A tributary. My nose’ll lead us right to it.”
“I can’t smell the water.”
“I can’t imagine why not.” There was a wry look on Ragh’s scaly visage. He pointed to the northeast.
Dhamon spent quite a while in the clean water. Not only did he want to scrub away the stink, he wanted time away from his companions’ prying eyes. Doffing his tattered clothes, he discovered more scales—a few on the tops of his feet, under his arms. Each time he touched one he hadn’t noticed before, he silently cursed the shadow dragon and the day he’d first met the mysterious creature. He scrubbed his clothes and found some humor in the notion that since he’d left the Knights of Takhisis he had a hard time keeping any of his garments intact for long. He didn’t quit until enough of the smell was gone from his pants and tunic that he could live with himself. He put them on, climbed out of the river.
The soreness persisted in his limbs. If anything the pain had become worse, a dull throb that was echoed by a pounding in his head. While annoying, the pain would keep him alert and angry and feed his obsession with the shadow dragon.
“Rig!”
Fiona came scurrying toward him, holding the glaive over her shoulder, and smiling widely.
“I had a horrible dream, Rig. I dreamed you died in Shrentak.” She thrust the glaive at Dhamon, then wrapped her arms around him, holding him close and pressing her face against his chest. Dhamon squirmed uncomfortably.
Behind her came Maldred, thick eyebrows raised and mouthing the word, “Rig?”
Dhamon wasn’t sure why he did it, perhaps to unsettle the ogre-mage or perhaps because some of her madness had rubbed off on him through the wight, but now he returned Fiona’s embrace, kissing her forehead. They held each other until Ragh began pacing around them. Dhamon slowly released the Knight.
“It was a horrible dream,” Fiona repeated breathlessly. “I can’t ever lose you, Rig. We shouldn’t go back to that ghastly city.”
“We’re not going back to Shrentak, Fiona. I promise.”
Maldred cleared his throat. “Think otherwise. Just take a look at yourself, all your scales. I know a secret way into the city, not a pleasant one, but our best bet now. We’re going to have to try to defeat the Black if you ever want to be cured of those scales. The shadow dragon—”
“Is going to get an unpleasant surprise,” Dhamon finished. “Now you’re going to prove your friendship by taking me to him.” I’ve a worthy weapon now, Dhamon thought, hefting the glaive over his shoulder. A fine magical one.
“Dhamon, listen to reason,” Maldred persisted. “We’re going to have to—”
Dhamon flung himself at the ogre-mage, dropping the glaive, fingers spread wide. His nails dug into Maldred like claws, pulling him down, raking him. Before the surprised Maldred could react, Dhamon threw an elbow into his chest, knocking the wind from him. Then he continued his assault, driving a fist into his stomach, pushing him on the ground and slamming his fist into him repeatedly.
Dhamon had his hands around the ogre-mage’s throat. Maldred’s eyes bulged with fear.
The spittle flew from Dhamon’s mouth. “You’re going to lead us to the damn shadow dragon, and you’re going to do it now.”
“Dhamon…” the ogre-mage gasped. “I’ve got Blöde to think about.”
“You’ll have nothing to think about, ogre, if you don’t cooperate. You’ll be dead.” Dhamon’s eyes said he meant it, despite the good times they had shared, despite once thinking Maldred as dear as any brother, and despite the fact that the big thief had pulled him out of a bad scrape or two. “You won’t be able to do anything for your damnable dry homeland if your corpse is rotting in this swamp.”
Fiona had reclaimed the glaive. She eagerly joined in, swinging the big weapon around, leveling the axe-like blade of it straight at Maldred.
“Blue-skinned monster. You’ll do what Rig wants, or I’ll help him kill you.”
Maldred looked between the two with darting eyes and finally nodded, pained resignation clear on his face. Dhamon let him up, and as he did so, he grabbed the ogre’s two-handed sword away from him and passed it to Ragh.
“Bad enough you have magic,” Dhamon told him. “You’re not going to have a weapon, too. Ragh, if you hear him mumble or twitch his fingers, don’t be afraid to poke him with that.” He reached out and took the glaive back from Fiona. “Let’s get going. Maldred’s in a hurry to take us to the shadow dragon.”
The female Knight smiled hopefully. “So you can be cured, Rig.”
“Aye, so I can be cured.” And so I can exact a promise that my child will be safe. Dhamon took her hand, as Maldred started off. The draconian followed right behind the ogre-mage, sword held out in front of him behind Maldred’s back.
They traveled the rest of the day in relative silence. Fiona spoke only to Dhamon, addressing him as Rig the whole time. Her madness was getting worse too, Dhamon told himself. They stopped before sunset on the bank of an inviting fresh stream, and here, with Ragh hovering menacingly at his side, Maldred made another attempt to speak to Dhamon and convince him to turn around.
“The shadow dragon is very powerful, my friend.”
“Aye,” Dhamon admitted. He watched Fiona kneel at the stream and splash water on her face. “All dragons are. And I’m not your friend.”
“I believe he would keep his word about curing you and…”
“I believe all dragons are duplicitous, and I think I should have never agreed to go on his foolish errand to begin with. I wasted precious time. I should have found a way that very night to attack him and to make him cure me and obtain a guarantee that he would leave Riki and my child alone.”
“Dhamon…”
“You’ll have to find your own remedy for Sable, ogre. Exchanging one dragon overlord for another is foolhardy. Idiocy. Oh, the shadow dragon might stop the spread of the swamp, but he very well could do something worse.”
“It’s never good to be under any dragon’s claw,” Ragh interjected.
Maldred hung his head. “Dhamon, my people are desperate. I had to take the chance to save them, and now you’re taking that one hope away from me.”
“Too bad.” Dhamon looked at Fiona. She had the long sword out and was crazily whispering to it.
“Long ago you taught me to look out only for myself, ogre. You were a very good teacher.” He paused, eying the ogre-mage up and down. “To think I once considered you a good friend. Foolish of me.”
Dhamon wore a disgusted look. “How much farther to the lair, ogre?”
“An hour at best.”
“Then let’s move. I don’t want to travel through the swamp in the dark.” Dhamon looked back to the stream and saw that Fiona was gone.
They searched for Fiona until it was too dark for them to see. Dhamon forced Maldred to create some magical light so they could look longer.
They knew she hadn’t been hauled away by some furtive swamp-beast. There were no signs of a struggle near the stream. Her tracks indicated she’d simply strolled away into the undergrowth, but they stopped abruptly after several yards, as if she’d vanished in thin air. There was nothing to indicate she’d climbed a tree or retraced her steps, and there were no other tracks around hers.
They rested briefly that night but found no further clues even after the sun came up. When they called for her, they received no reply. Dhamon exerted his heightened senses, listening for her, listening for anything unusual. He tried to pick up her scent, he strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of her through the undergrowth.