by Jean Rabe
“My medallion,” Goldmoon said, releasing Dhamon’s hand and again running her fingers along the medallion’s shiny edges.
The kender’s fingers moved almost nimbly now, and they reached up to grab the precious medallion, with its string-of-stars silver chain. But Blister’s mouth couldn’t help but fall open. Goldmoon placed the medallion in the kender’s hands, but an exact duplicate of the medallion remained around the healer’s neck.
Even the healer was surprised. “By my faith in Mishakal! The medallion can duplicate itself,” Goldmoon whispered.
“Wow,” was all Blister could manage. The kender stared at the two medallions and scratched her head. “They certainly look the same. Hey, I wonder why you couldn’t just have made four of them, so Groller wouldn’t have had to go to Southern Ergoth, and Palin and Feril to the forest.”
“I don’t think it works that way.”
“Oh, I suppose you’re right.” Blister beamed at the healer, her scarred fingers closing tight about the medallion. “I’ll take real good care of this for Palin. Maybe I could wear it until he needs it. Do you think I could?”
Goldmoon nodded, and Blister instantly put the chain around her neck, careful not to let it get caught in her braid. The kender Had a dozen or so more questions, but decided now wasn’t the best time. She turned to Dhamon. “What are you waiting for? Why haven’t you told her about that scale on your leg?”
*
They appeared at the base of the Citadel of Light. Jasper grabbed his stomach, and fought the wave of dizziness that swept over him as Palin’s spell ended. Feril marveled at the sensation, then was quick to inhale the sweet sea air.
“If we had more time, we could have sailed here,” the dwarf told Fiona. “This magical moving about is all so disorienting. Interesting, but definitely disorienting.” He slumped on the bottom step with a deep sigh. “Give me a moment to feel myself again, then I’ll introduce you to Goldmoon”
“The Mistress of the Citadel? I would be honored.” The young Knight of Solamnia grinned down at him. “And this Rig you mentioned, he’s inside?”
“With Dhamon,” Feril said.
“Rig’s here,” the dwarf replied, pointing at the shore where a longboat was tied to a spiky hunk of granite. He gestured out into the bay, where Flint’s Anvil sat. “That’s his ship. I bought it – with a piece of jasper my Uncle Flint gave me. It’s a long story. I’m sure Blister will tell you about it some time. And that’s his first mate sitting on the shore, Groller Dagmar.”
“I’d like to return this to him,” she said, hefting the lance over her right shoulder. She patted the long sword that hung from her left hip. “This isn’t so unwieldy, or heavy, but Rig must be pretty strong if he uses the lance.”
“Hasn’t used it yet,” Jasper said as he pushed himself to his feet and started up the steps. Feril slipped by him, taking the steps two at a time. She was anxious to be with Dhamon again.
“Ah, love,” the dwarf mused. “If they’re with Goldmoon, they’ll be on the top floor. Better get started, it’s a considerable climb. You coming, Groller?”
The half-ogre, who was sitting on the shore with Sageth, didn’t budge. The dwarf cocked his head, and held up his index fingers and crooked them toward His chest. “Coming?” Then he pointed at the door.
Groller shook his head, scratching Fury’s neck. “D’no,” he answered. “Like it here. I’ll sday here a while wid old man.” The half ogre stared at the water and the reflection of the stars that danced on the waves. “Weel wade fer you, Jaz-pear.”
“Suit yourself,” the dwarf said.
“Save myself the climb,” the old man said. He ran his fingers over his beloved day tablet, which he could barely read in the moonlight. “My legs don’t like stairs. Besides, the moon’s low, a perfect night for this. We’ll want to destroy the artifacts on solid ground. Somewhere over there might do.” He pointed his spindly arm to the north side of the island, where a plain stretched, “No buildings around, no people. Maybe Groller could help me pick out a spot”
Jasper balled his right fist and set it down on his open palm, then he brought the left hand up, as if he were giving his fist a helping boost. The dwarf pointed to Sageth and repeated the gesture.
Groller took a last look at the bobbing ship, then assisted Sageth to his feet Til help you,” he said. “We’re going to be a while,” the dwarf called over his shoulder. “Goldmoon and I have a lot of catching up to do. But we’ll find you out there when we’re done chatting.”
*
Dhamon wore loose fitting trousers that he tucked into the tops of his boots. Holding his glaive with his left hand, he pulled the trouser leg up with his right, showing the scale.
Goldmoon knelt in front of him and stared at it, her red-tinged face reflecting back at her. A shiver raced down her spine, and she frowned. “By my faith in Mishakal,” she said in a hushed voice. “Magic so dark. It feels...” She tentatively touched the scale and then shuddered, as if she’d pricked herself on a needle. Then she listened in horror to Dhamon’s explanation of how the dying Knight of Takhisis had forced it on him. “This is an incredibly powerful enchantment,” she said, looking up at him. “Dragon magic.”
“He said I’d die if I pulled it off,” Dhamon said.
“Do you think you can fix it?” Blister moved closer, concern showing on her cherubic face. The mariner, equally curious, looked over the kender’s head. He had heard Feril and Dhamon discussing the scale, but until now hadn’t seen it
“I’m not sure,” Goldmoon said, staring into Dhamon’s eyes. “I’d like to try. I don’t think you should keep carrying this... thing... around with you. It could be risky to remove it, but with your permission?”
“Please,” The former Knight of Takhisis looked into her eyes, then felt a presence at the back of his mind, one he’d not felt for several days. The face of the Red Dragon loomed before him, gauzily superimposing herself over the image of the healer’s face.
The scale throbbed, stronger than it ever had before, and he felt his will slipping away and his body growing warmer. He clenched his fist around the glaive handle and clenched his jaws together so tightly that they ached.
“Dhamon, is something wrong?” He heard the mariner ask. It sounded like Rig was far away, the dark man’s voice muffled.
“No!” Dhamon moaned, as he fought to push aside the dream. For an instant the Red’s visage flickered tike flames, but then the dragon’s head came more sharply into focus, the scales glittering, and her dark eyes, like molten pools of magma, boring into his, burning through him, and filling his vision.
You are mine, Dhamon Grimwulf, Malys hissed as she stretched out on her plateau and purred. The dragon’s voice sounded so close and distinct, as though it were coming from Goldmoon.
Dhamon shook his head, trying to clear his senses. Was he asleep? he wondered. Dreaming again?
My pawn, the red dragon hissed. Mine to —
“No one’s pawn,” Dhamon said.
My pawn, the dragon reiterated, louder this time, her voice echoing inside his head. My pawn to control The glaive you hold, use it!
“Dhamon?” Rig stepped forward and pulled Goldmoon and the kender back. He heard footsteps echoing in the stairwell. “I hope that’s Palin,” he said to the pair, feeling suddenly very uneasy.
Dhamon’s eyes glazed red and he let the trouser leg fall back over the scale. He felt his hands grip the glaive, felt the dragon power his limbs. He was a marionette, and Malys was pulling his strings. Flames licked about the Red’s mouth and formed a wreath around her massive head.
The glaive – use it now!
He stepped forward, feeling a strength in his muscles that wasn’t there before, feeling a fresh force guide his arms and legs.
“What are you doing?” Rig shouted, as Dhamon charged forward. The mariner tried to grab the former knight. But Dhamon was already past him, lunging toward Goldmoon who was backing away.
“Stop!” Blister scre
amed. “Dhamon! Leave her alone!”
“My faith will protect me,” Goldmoon breathed as she backed toward the window. “Mishakal will save me.”
Dhamon raised the glaive and rushed toward her.
Feril reached the room just as Rig sped toward Dhamon, barreling into him and sending him sprawling on the marble floor, the glaive clattering away. She was obviously startled and unsure of what was going on. Then she caught sight of Blister loading her sling. Who was the kender aiming at, Rig or Dhamon? Feril wondered. And what had started the ruckus? Below came the footfalls of the dwarf and the Solamnic Knight. What was happening?
“Are you mad?**Rig bellowed. Dhamon had regained the glaive, only to have Rig kick it away. Dhamon shook his head, trying once again from the small faraway place in his mind to take control of himself “Mad?” he heard himself say. It was his voice, but not his words. “I’m for from mad. I’ve finally come to my senses!”
The former Knight of Takhisis leaped up and slammed both fists into the mariner’s stomach. The blow was strong, enhanced by his link with the Red, and it caused the mariner to double over and drop to his knees.
A volley of rocks shot toward Dhamon, expertly hurled from Blister’s sling. But the former knight’s reactions were heightened, and he dodged them, stepping toward the glaive.
“Dhamon!” Feril rushed toward him. “What’s happening?”
His fingers closed about the haft, and he felt a burning sensation on his palms. The weapon was scalding him.
A weapon of good, Malys hissed to him. And your acts, dear pawn, are far from good now.
Dhamon concentrated, trying to force his fingers to release their grip on the haft, praying that Rig would get up, that Feril would stop him.
No, you don’t, Malys communicated. Your skin will heal, and you’ll hold onto this weapon, I’ll make you master the pain. You, and the glaive, are mine. Use it! Slay the elf!
“No!” Dhamon screamed as his arms swept in an arc, angling the glaive at the charging Kagonesti, A look of horror crossed Feril’s face as she dropped to her stomach to avoid the blow. And from the small place in his mind, he watched in terror as he brought the butt-end of the haft down on the back of her head.
Feril crumpled.
“Guards! Guards!” Blister screamed, looking towards the stairway. “Dhamon, please stop!” But Dhamon didn’t stop. He was moving toward Rig, who was rising and drawing his cutlass.
“Never cared much for you,” the mariner said between clenched teeth. “Put up with you because of Feril and Palin. Former Knight of Takhisis? You had us all fooled.” He danced to his right as Dhamon swept the glaive toward him. The blade passed through the mariner’s voluminous sleeve and sliced his arm. Pain jolted the mariner’s shoulder and spread to his chest. He fought to keep hold of his cutlass. “Better not have killed her,” he said as he dodged a second blow and risked a glance at Feril.
Dhamon was forced to sidestep this time, as Rig jabbed forward with his cutlass. As the mariner retreated, he balanced his blade in his right hand, and thrust his left into the V neck of his shirt He retrieved two daggers, hefted them, then threw them as Dhamon closed.
The first blade flew over Dhamon’s shoulder, clattering impotently on the floor near Goldmoon, who seemed to be in the midst of a prayer or spell. The second lodged in the former knight’s left shoulder. Dhamon felt the pain, still felt the intense burning sensation in his hands from the glaive, but Malys allowed him no further hesitation. She forced his body forward, and he swung the weapon again.
This time the glaive grazed the mariner’s stomach, drawing a glistening line of blood. The mariner’s left hand flew to the wound, and he backed up several steps.
“By Reorx’s beard! What’s going on here!” Jasper cried.
“It’s Dhamon! Go get some guards!” Blister squealed, as she let loose with another volley of stones. Her aim was true, and they pelted Dhamon’s chest. “We’ve got to stop him!”
More pain. Dhamon wanted to double over from the pain, crawl away and heal and get Malys out of his head. He wanted Feril to be all right. And he didn’t want to hurt anyone else.
The former knight turned toward Goldmoon. “The healer!” Malys hissed with Dhamon’s voice. With her back against the window, Goldmoon stood and stared defiantly. “Fight this,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. “Whatever’s taken hold of you. I’ve looked into your spirit You’re strong and good. You can fight this!”
Not strong enough, Malys communicated to Dhamon. I want her dead.
Stiffly Dhamon took a step toward her, and another. Behind him he heard Rig moving again. With incredibly sensitive hearing, he followed the mariner’s soft footfalls over the marble. Without warning, the former knight drove the butt-end of the glaive backward – straight into the already wounded stomach of the dark man.
The sensitive ears heard the mariner groan, the cutlass clatter to the floor, and the big man drop. Dhamon now heard the pounding of the dwarf’s feet, and of another’s – someone he couldn’t place. He heard the shush of more rocks being hurled at him, felt them rake the side of his face.
His body ached terribly, he shouldn’t even be standing. But Malys gave him superhuman strength. The healer! Slay her!
“Dhamon! That’s Goldmoon! Are you out of your mind?” Jasper was running now, sliding across the marble and interposing himself between Dhamon and Goldmoon.
Blister was running too. It was no great feat for him to thrust out his leg, connect the heel of his boot with her face, and send her flying backward. At the same moment, his arms were moving up and forward, swinging the burning, magical glaive.
Then the blade was arcing down, reflecting the light of the stars that shone through the window, dancing toward the dwarf’s chest.
Jasper raised his hammer, trying to ward off the blow, but it was useless. Jasper hadn’t been in the dealing to see Dhamon’s weapon slice through the swords of the Knights of Takhisis and their armor like cloth.
The dwarf saw the weapon arc down, saw his hammer rise up to defend himself and Goldmoon, saw the glaive slice through the thick metal and continue on its deadly path. Jasper felt the blade pierce his chest, then felt excruciating pain, and his own blood splattered everywhere. The dwarf sobbed involuntarily and clutched his chest, warm and wet. Then he suddenly felt very cold, and all he saw was darkness.
“My faith will protect me,” Goldmoon, her eyes closed, whispered as Dhamon took a step closer.
Malys was moving her pawn’s legs very slowly now, savoring this moment. From behind him, Dhamon heard the sharp hiss of a sword being drawn, heard the frantic breathing of a woman. Who?
Dhamon turned his head. Malys wanted to see who was there. A woman, young and uncertain, clad in the hated armor of the Solamnic Knights. She crouched and waved the blade in front of her.
Kill her, Malys ordered.
Dhamon stared at the armor, at the crown and kingfisher etched into the breastplate. Sir Geoffrey Quick had saved him years ago, turned him from a life of evil. Could this Solamnic save him now, run him through before he killed again?
You can’t fight me! Malys hissed inside his head. You are mine!
The woman edged to her right, started circling. She glanced down at the dwarf, noted Rig and Feril and Blister, all still
“You’ll not kill Goldmoon!” Fiona Quinti spat. “Whoever you are, you’re done with killing!” She had maneuvered herself in front of Goldmoon, and now she raised her blade, bringing it down in one smooth motion toward Dhamon’s chest But the former Knight of Takhisis was quicker. He parried with the glaive, slicing the woman’s long sword in two. Then he swept forward with his leg, catching her ankles and knocking her to the floor.
In two more steps he was upon Goldmoon, raising the glaive and bringing it down one last time.
No! Dhamon cried from the small place in his mind as he watched the blade cleave deeply into her shoulder. By all the gods! He watched the healer fall, a blossom of red forming on
her white tunic and spreading over the floor. No!
On her plateau high in what had once been called the Goodlund Peninsula, Malystryx roared in pleasure. Her mountain trembled, her volcanoes erupted, and the small army of red spawn who stood about her struggled to retain their balance.
“You are mine, Dhamon Grimwulf.” Malys cried in her sibilant inhuman voice. “Come to me, my pawn. And bring your enchanted weapon “
I am damned, Dhamon thought As his feet rushed across the blood-covered floor, and his hands continued to burn, he caught a last glimpse of his fallen comrades. How many of them had he killed? How many were only injured? Feril? His feet were flying down the curving staircase, through the lower levels of the Citadel of Light, then across the shore and toward the longboat
From somewhere behind him his keen senses picked up more footfalls, a large man. The mariner. Rig still lived.
He jumped in the boat and pushed off from the shore, laying the glaive in the bottom of the boat. Dhamon was thankful to set aside the burning thing. The skin of his hands was cracked and red, but the Red forced them to close around the oars and to head out to the ship.
On the shore, he spotted the mariner. Rig was screaming something, vile words that he knew he deserved. The mariner charged into the water, fists raised and shouting. But the dark man couldn’t catch Dhamon, and eventually Rig retreated, returned to the Citadel and disappeared inside.
Dhamon was near the Flint’s Anvil now, could see the few deckhands at the rail. They were calling out questions, but the dragon ignored them, wouldn’t let Dhamon reply. She directed Dhamon to again grab the hurtful weapon, to aim it at the ship, at the waterline. Blow after blow landed against the prow, shattering the hull and eliciting cries from the startled deckhands. Again and again the glaive cleaved through the wood as if it were cloth. Water poured in, the ship listed. Only when the dragon was certain the ship was doomed and when a rain of arrows from an archer on deck started to fall upon the former knight, did she have Dhamon row away.
