Maldred shook his head again. “They are agents of the shadow dragon, as I was an agent. And you say they carry his scales.”
The uncurable scales, Dhamon thought.
“If they carry his scales, there is no hope for them.”
You don’t want them turning into something like me, Dhamon thought. Did you know all along the dragon wasn’t going to cure me?
“Tell me again about the cave opening, Dhamon, and where the ogres are.”
As Dhamon described the cave and the ogres, Maldred knelt and carefully set the glaive down, thrusting his hands against the parched ground, fingers digging in. Soon the ogre-mage started humming, a tune Dhamon had heard a few times before. The melody was simple and haunting, and with it came a glow that ran down the ogre-mage’s arms and swept over the ground surrounding him. The earth was instantly brightened and shone as though it was a mirror reflecting the sun.
Dhamon watched as the glow faded and the hard earth softened and began to ripple, like the surface of a pond disturbed by a gust of wind. The ripples were faint, but he could follow them with his eyes as, arrowlike, they flowed upward.
Maldred interrupted his humming to take a deep breath and lower his face until his chin was inches from the ground. He altered the tune to something new to Dhamon, slower and low-pitched, dissonant and distinctly unpleasant.
With his keen far-seeing, Dhamon watched the cave entrance as the ripples approached, unnoticed, flowed around the ogres, and washed over the wall of the mountain behind them. The stone began to ripple and shimmer. The rock became liquid, and now the liquid rock washed out over the startled ogres, trapping and drowning them within moments, before they had a chance to cry out.
Dhamon almost felt sorry for the ogres, dying like that—smothered by magic. It wasn’t an honorable way to kill them.
“It was quick,” Maldred said, as if reading his thoughts, “and necessary. If they’d seen something….”
“The shadow dragon might have seen it too, through their half-spawn eyes.”
The ogre-mage nodded, creeping forward. “How far can you see inside?”
“Not far.” After a moment, Dhamon added, “Not yet, anyway.” He stepped closer and focused his keen senses on the dark mouth and its shadowy interior, concentrating on picking up any sound or movement. “There’s nothing inside.”
It took them only a few minutes to climb to the cave entrance, for Maldred used his earth magic to make the path easier. Several minutes more and they were inside, moving swiftly and silently despite their size. There was little light here, but Dhamon found that didn’t inhibit his keen eyesight. Like all ogres, Maldred could differentiate objects in the dark by the heat they exuded, so he kept his eyes trained on Dhamon’s back, following the fever that raged within.
The scent of ogres was strong inside, and Dhamon guessed the ones they’d felled had been stationed in the cave for quite some time. Others, too, he decided after a moment—the smell of ogre was everywhere. How many more? Were they elsewhere in this cave complex? Or were they far away on some nefarious errand for the shadow dragon?
They wound their way down a large, endlessly curving corridor. The ogre scent lessened. Soon the only ogre scent Dhamon could be sure of was Maldred’s.
Twice Dhamon thought they were being followed. He heard something behind them, perhaps more of the dragon’s sentries lurking in nooks he’d noticed and dismissed, but whatever was following stayed so far back, he couldn’t make out its scent yet. He couldn’t wait for it, he decided.
They plunged deeper into the mountain cave, with Dhamon watching Maldred warily over his shoulder.
Suddenly Dhamon felt the presence of the shadow dragon, a nudging at the back of his mind. The creature was trying to intrude on his consciousness again, but Dhamon managed to successfully repulse the dragon. He didn’t think the dragon knew they were near, but he didn’t want to take any chances.
“Faster,” he muttered. “Mal, move.”
He heard the ogre-mage’s feet quicken, and Maldred’s breath came quicker.
“Faster,” Dhamon said again, louder, then cursed as he stumbled. His legs burned and felt cumbersome. He felt them growing again, becoming thicker and more muscular still. He felt his chest tightening again, his head beginning to throb. “By the Dark Queen’s heads! How much longer will this torment go on?”
How much longer would his human spirit remain in this foreign body? Did he have time to find the dragon? Time to fight it? Time to learn if Riki and his child had been saved?
“How much time?” he whispered, as he found his footing again, resumed his grueling pace.
He heard Maldred’s labored breathing loud behind him. The ogre-mage was having a difficult time keeping up.
“Not so fast,” Maldred complained, as Dhamon rushed around a wide curve and headed down a steep incline. “I can’t match you.”
As much as Dhamon preferred to keep an eye on the duplicitous ogre-mage, he decided he couldn’t afford to linger.
“Dhamon, slow down!”
It was possible, Dhamon supposed, that Maldred was telling the truth when he said he would never lie to him again. While Dhamon wanted to believe that, in honor of the close friendship they once shared, he couldn’t allow himself that luxury, that wishful leap of faith. Not when he might have only minutes left.
The shadow dragon had worked his wiles against the ogre-mage once. Now, if Maldred was holding out hope of saving the ogre lands, the shadow dragon could again persuade him to turn against Dhamon.
“Dhamon, slow down.”
“I can’t.” Dhamon didn’t believe he had enough time left to slow down, nor could he bring himself to completely trust Maldred. So he practically ran now, as much as possible within the confines of the stony tunnels, fast outdistancing Maldred as he raced toward the chamber far below where he knew the shadow dragon laired.
One more turn, one more slope.
Dhamon guessed he was far below the surface now and heading still deeper underground. It was quite a bit cooler here, and the dry air and dust of the higher terrain was replaced by a dampness heavy with the scent of mold and guano. He looked to his right, eyes parting the darkness, and saw moisture beading up on the stone. A line of silver glistened there. Yes, he remembered that line of silver. He’d noted this during his brief link with the shadow dragon.
“Close,” he said. “I’m getting close.”
Just a brief distance.
“Indeed,” came the unbidden reply. “You are very close.”
From far to Dhamon’s left emanated a dull, yellow glow. It quickly grew and brightened, the light bouncing off a mound of gem-encrusted objects, golden sculptures, and gilded weapons piled in front of the waiting shadow dragon. The light momentarily blinded Dhamon, he’d been so long surrounded by pitch black.
Dhamon felt relief, but also a reckless giddiness, a fear and hope that he might yet save his child. He also felt anger that his whole life had led to this point. Everything came down to this single moment, this confrontation with his nemesis.
Nura Bint-Drax, appearing as a child of five or six with coppery-colored hair, was there too, hovering close by the shadow dragon. Its claws were outstretched, almost supplicating, while the child Nura was in the midst of casting a spell.
Dhamon started toward her, then hesitated. Suddenly he felt a rumbling beneath his scaled feet. There were words in the rumbling, but he missed some.
“You are crafty,” the shadow dragon purred. “My prized ogre minions did not bother to warn me of your approach, Dhamon Grimwulf. Did you kill them?”