by Jean Rabe
The image of a bronze draconian slipped into her mind again. She saw a golden collar fall to the floor of the mines. Had she dreamed that? Seeing the creature she was supposed to meet in Takar? Watching him die? Did she kill him? Indeed, how much of what she'd been through was real?
Suddenly Maldred's eyes caught hers, holding them like he had done when he looked human. With a gesture and a concentrated thought, he released her completely from the enchantment, and she blinked furiously, shaking her head to clear it.
Dhamon helped the ogre mage to his feet, astounded by just how large and heavy he really was.
"We will take these people back to Bloten," Maldred said. His voice was deeper and louder now. "Grim Kedar will see that they are healed, at my father's expense. The humans and dwarves will be given a place to stay."
"And then…" Dhamon asked. He intended to press deeper into the swamp, and though his friend was a blue-skinned ogre, he would still prefer to have Maldred at his side. Wyrmsbane had given him visions of the swamp when he asked it for a cure to the scale on his leg. He had no intentions of leaving this place until he was free of the scale and the pain.
"I don't know about the likes of you, but I'm going after the girl," Rig said. "She's got my glaive. And I intend to get it back."
"She's not dead?" Dhamon seemed surprised, was certain he had seen her burned to ashes like the trolls.
Rig shook his head. "Hardly. I see her footprints leading away. And since she's still got my glaive, I'm going to follow them. She's heading west. We're going in the same direction. Toward Shrentak."
Dhamon left Maldred and stepped toward the mariner, who was intently studying the tracks. Wyrms-bane was still in his hand. He felt the pommel tingle, then grow cold.
What you seek.
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Document ID: e5e79478-7c50-46ed-9e2d-2ac26760602b
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