The Eve of the Maelstrom

by Jean Rabe

  “Fiona!” Rig called. “Get into the cave, now!”

  Again the Solamnic jabbed at her target, her sword cutting through red scales and lodging deep in the creature’s belly. Not waiting to see if she’d dealt it a mortal blow, she tugged her sword free and retreated. Rig darted into the cave close behind her. The air at the opening was instantly sulphurous, as one of the spawn exploded in a fiery burst.

  “Hot!” Fiona gasped, trying to catch her breath. She fumbled at the catches on her breastplate, fingers flying over the shoulder ties until the armor fell free. “Really hot!” Her arms were blistered from the heat, her shoulders raw where the metal of her breastplate had burned her.

  “My cutlass is out there,” Rig said. He thrust two fingers up the band of his sleeve, pulled out another dagger and crouched at the opening. He let out a low whistle and scooted back. “And it’s staying where it is. We’ve got lots of company. There’s an army out there.”

  Fiona moved forward and stood next to him, watching the cave grow darker as the stone beneath the Kagonesti’s fingers shimmered. The rock seemed to melt into gray butter and then billowed to fill the opening. Through the small gap remaining, a spawn’s face appeared. The creature inhaled. “Move. Hurry,” Feril implored the stone. “Like water.”

  The stone flowed together, sealing them inside the cave. It blanketed them with a cocoon of impenetrable darkness, protecting them from the blast of fire the spawn had loosed. The Kagonesti slumped against the wall, out of breath from the effort.

  “I can hear them outside,” she whispered. “Their feet are clicking against the rocks. There must be dozens now. They’re talking. But I can’t quite make it all out. There’re too many voices.” She drew in a deep breath. “Wait. Something about a man the color of mud, about wanting him. One mentioned Malystryx. Malys wants the mud man and his friends. Dead.”

  “A black man,” Rig said finally. “Me. The spawn weren’t looking for Dhamon. They were looking for us.”

  “That’s impossible,” Fiona replied. No one knows we’re here or what we’re up to.” She was running her fingertips along her arms and shoulders, testing her blisters and burns.

  “Except the villagers. They knew we were coming into the mountains,” Feril said.

  “They wouldn’t have betrayed us,” Fiona snapped.

  “Unless the spawn didn’t give them a choice,” the Kagonesti countered.

  “But the spawn were ahead of us, not following us.”

  The Solamnic thought a moment. “From Dhamon?”

  “He couldn’t have known we were following him. At least I don’t think he could have. Besides, he would’ve fought us himself. He wouldn’t have needed the spawn. Not with that glaive.”

  “Then who? How?” Fiona persisted.

  “I don’t know.”

  “We’ve got to slip out of here and get back to Brukt,” Fiona said. There was fear in the Solamnic knight’s voice. “The village is unprotected, unaware of the spawn. We’ve got to do something so the monsters don’t destroy those people.”

  Rig groaned softly as he shifted his weight back and forth on his feet. His legs throbbed. “If the spawn are after us, running to Brukt will only endanger those people. We’ll lead the spawn right to them.”

  “The spawn will kill them,” Fiona added.

  “And us, too, if we lead them there,” Rig continued “There were at least forty spawn out there in the valley, Fiona. And those were just the ones we could see. We can take a hobble – a small number – sure; bring’em on. But not an army.” The Solamnic knight leaned against him, and he drew an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll leave when Feril’s certain they’re gone,” he said. “We can check on the village, then.”

  “That could be a few hours,” she said.

  “Several, at least,” Feril interjected. Her voice was soft. “I’m exhausted. We’re stuck here, unless you can find another way out of this cave. I can’t make a hole in this rock until I get my strength back.”

  “It’s darker than night in here,” Rig said. “It feels like a tomb.” He and Fiona groped their way toward a wall and slid down it. She put her head on his shoulder, leaning into him. In the still air, they could hear the persistent clicking of spawn’s claws beyond the sealed entrance.

  “Hey, I wonder where Groller and Jasper are?” Fiona mused. “I can’t believe they didn’t hear all this. And they should have been back by now.”

  Chapter 10

  SHADES OF GRAY

  The dragon clung to the shadows deep inside the limestone cave, listening to the footfalls of the intruder. His eyes peered through the darkness and glimpsed the black armor of the order of the Knights of Takhisis.

  The intruder was a man. This mildly surprised the shadow dragon; he had thought there was only one surviving knight from the village: the woman commander whom he had left alive to inform Malystryx of the slaughter. Perhaps this man had not come from the village or had fled unseen. No matter; the man was a Knight of Takhisis. He would have to die.

  The Knights of Takhisis, under the banners of various overlords, had grown too strong as far as the shadow dragon was concerned. Slaying them helped restore the balance of things, as did slaying the red dragon earlier. The shadow dragon’s wounds had already healed from that fight, fueled by the energy absorbed from the powerful red.

  Like a lengthening shadow, he edged closer to the man.

  The warrior slumped against the far wall, illuminated by the merest shard of light. The man was exhausted, oblivious to the living blackness. Sweat-soaked blond hair was plastered against the sides of his head and his face was tinged red with exertion. The man released his weapon, a polearm with a curved blade. Gingerly he flexed his fingers the way a dragon might test an injured claw.

  The shadow dragon sensed the magical energy of the weapon. He noticed how the man cupped his hands, as though they were burned from holding it. The dragon concentrated on the weapon, feeling its arcane energy prickle at his senses. The weapon was an instrument of good, ancient and god-made, and it was in the possession of a Knight of Takhisis, an agent of evil.

  Dhamon Grimwulf closed his eyes. His chest ached. His hands throbbed. He had intended to leave the weapon here, then to leave this place. And if then, by some miracle he truly was free, whatever was he to do with himself? What measure of life did he deserve after the acts he had committed? Could he find redemption?

  He found some satisfaction in the thought that if he lost himself to the dragon, he would have earned a moral victory by keeping the glaive from her.

  The shadow dragon crept closer still. Then he placed a claw upon the man’s outstretched legs, pinning him as easily as a child would snare a beetle. Too late Dhamon’s eyes flew open and his hand instinctively shot out to grab the glaive. The warmth pulsing up from the haft and into his palm was nothing compared to the feeling in his legs. The dragon’s immense weight was crushing them.

  Huge gray eyes bore into Dhamon’s, and the dragon’s cold breath washed over his face, sending shivers down his body. The dragon’s mouth opened wide, revealing a cavern filled with jagged quartzlike teeth. A serpentine tongue lolled out, loomed closer, black as night. Dhamon summoned the last of his strength and swept the weapon up from the floor in a clumsy arc that only grazed the dragon. But that was enough. The dragon recoiled in surprise, and Dhamon scurried out from beneath its rising claw, leaping to his feet and shouldering the weapon.

  *

  On a volcano-ringed plateau, the red overlord’s eyes snapped wide. Malystryx had been brooding over the affront she had suffered at Ferno’s death, considering candidates to replace him. She hadn’t stopped Dhamon Grimwulf from running from the village. Indeed, from the back of Dhamon’s mind she had secretly encouraged him. She had no desire for her pawn to die, as had Ferno and her Knights of Takhisis, and she railed against the thought of the shadow dragon gaining the enchanted glaive.

  So Malys had retreated, allowing Dhamon to believe he was free, to run, and th
en to hide in the mountains. She intended to call him to her once more, but only after she had pondered the matter of Ferno’s replacement.

  Now, through his eyes, she saw the loathsome shadow dragon move closer. Through Dhamon’s senses she felt the growing heat of the haft against his flesh and sensed his heart hammering wildly. There was no place for her pawn to run, she realized, and even with the weapon and her aid, he was no match for the shadow dragon.

  The dark wyrm moved to block Dhamon’s exit, obstructing the meager light and blanketing the chamber in darkness.

  *

  As the blackness filled his vision, Dhamon felt the red dragon overpower him once more.

  She forced Dhamon’s arms into action, sweeping the glaive in front of him. The blade connected with the reaching claw, digging through the translucent scales and spilling blood. The dragon moaned softly, a pleasing sound to the Red. Where her lieutenant, Ferno, had failed, perhaps she might find consolation after all. She knew her pawn couldn’t defeat this dragon. But... perhaps... through Dhamon she might hurt the shadow dragon – hurt him badly. She directed Dhamon closer, ordering him to press the attack, and she drew from his mind on all the knightly skills he could muster.

  He used the haft to parry the dragon’s slashes, then twisted the weapon and alternately swept it up and down to keep the shadow dragon from getting too close.

  “You cannot have this man, master of shadows,” Malys said through Dhamon’s mouth. An image of her head superimposed itself over Dhamon’s visage.

  The shadow dragon’s snarl filled the chamber. “I will have what I want,” the shadow dragon hissed. “I will have one more of your knights!”

  On Malystryx’s mountaintop she opened her mouth wide and released a stream of fire into the air. The volcanos rumbled and the peaks trembled.

  Dhamon ducked beneath the swipe of the dragon’s claw, then darted in close to its belly and swung the blade with all the strength Malystryx provided. He heard the glaive slice through the shadow dragon’s thick chest plates and felt the frigid blood spatter his face, seeping into the joints between his armor. As his mind wrestled with Malys’s power, Dhamon prayed with all his heart that the shadow dragon might find a way to slay him.

  The shadow dragon seemed to fold in upon itself, becoming a smaller target that backed away from the offensive weapon. He inhaled deeply and breathed, a cloud of blackness venting from his mouth and rushing forward to overwhelm Dhamon.

  At the same moment, the image of Malystryx’s head sparkled and grew, becoming translucent and filling one side of the chamber. The image magically shielded Dhamon from the cloud of blackness. Malystryx’s mouth opened and drank in the cloud, saving Dhamon from being blinded and weakened.

  “You cannot have this man, master of shadows!” the visage repeated.

  His legs powered by the Red, Dhamon moved closer to the now-retreating shadow dragon. His arms pumped faster, swinging the glaive in wide arcs that hacked away at the creature. Translucent black scales pelted his face, and black blood cascaded down on him. The shadow dragon drew back.

  Dhamon moved toward him over the limestone floor, his legs pounding. Hurt him again, Malys ordered. Hurt him, then run!

  The shadow dragon appeared to cringe, leaning into the cave wall. Dhamon raised the glaive and watched as the shadow dragon’s dark eyes glimmered. An inky claw separated itself from the shadows in the cave and struck out at him.

  Dhamon fell back from the impact. Run! Malystryx screamed in his head. Leave this cave! The Red realized the shadow dragon was not as vulnerable as she had thought. Probably he had only been gauging her pawn’s strength, while toying with Dhamon. Run!

  Dhamon’s body tried futilely to comply, but his feet slid from under him in the pool of slippery black blood – blood he had drawn with the glaive. He fell forward, the burning glaive slipping from his fingers. His hands flailed about, desperately searching for the weapon. His face was in the blood. His eyes filled with it, as he flopped about like a fish.

  Then suddenly his body was stilled, held firmly in place by a shadowy paw. The red dragon within his mind forced his head to the side to keep Dhamon from drowning.

  “You will not win this day, Malystryx,” the shadow dragon whispered. “Although this man hurt me – hurt me far worse than your red dragon puppet did.” His voice was raspy and tinged with venom. “Perhaps you should pick your puppets more wisely – or learn to use them better.” The dragon sat back on his haunches, folding its right claw around Dhamon’s struggling form. It picked him up and brought him closer to its gray eyes.

  Black armor coated with black blood, face and hair black, eyes blinking furiously. The shadow dragon’s tongue lolled out, lapping the blood from Dhamon’s face. Then the dragon allowed itself to grow larger, a deepening shadow filling the chamber. “One more knight to slay today,” the dark dragon observed. “One less knight for you, Malystryx.”

  The shadow dragon brought its other claw up, snaking a curved talon up to Dhamon’s legs and began to pluck away bits of armor.

  “I will bring all of your knights down,” the shadow dragon continued. “One by one, I will peel away your army. I will eat your knights, Malystryx, and slaughter your dragons. From their strength, I will grow stronger and stronger.”

  Dhamon heard the muted clang of his borrowed armor as piece by piece it struck the blood-soaked floor. His black leather tunic followed. He felt the crispness of the air all around his now-naked body, and the coldness of the shadow dragon’s breath.

  The visage of the red dragon disappeared from the chamber, and the black mouth of the shadow dragon filled Dhamon’s vision. Quartz teeth loomed closer, clacking open and shut, the harsh sound echoing. From the secret place in his mind, Dhamon felt no fear, only relief that he would no longer be forced to do Malys’s bidding and sadness over the deeds she had forced him to commit. Now there would be no chance for redemption.

  The shadow dragon’s tongue ran up Dhamon’s leg, tasting the blood and salt on his flesh. It touched the red scale on his thigh, then instantly withdrew. “Malystryx,” the dragon whispered, “you control this man through magic.”

  Though she remained silent, the great red overlord seethed in Dhamon’s mind. Lava belched from the volcanoes on her plateau. The blessedly intense heat was doing nothing to ease her temper. And it could do nothing to alleviate the loss of the ancient, precious glaive. The other overlords would have to bring her more magic now. And after she became Takhisis, her very first act would be to slay the shadow dragon, to peel off his skin, as he had shed Dhamon’s armor. She would kill him slowly and painfully.

  “This scale,” the shadow dragon murmured. “An interesting spell.” The dragon held Dhamon up. “Linked to him, you insinuate your mind into his body. You have become a powerful parasite, Malystryx. Remove the scale, break the link, and he dies. But the parasite lives on elsewhere.”

  The shadow dragon let out a deep sigh. He leaned forward, pressed Dhamon down against the floor, into the pool of blood. The dragon held him gently now with one claw. A talon on the other drummed softly against the scale. “Weaken the link, and he lives.”

  Hot white pain shot up Dhamon’s leg. Wave after wave washed through him. He slammed his teeth together and writhed.

  Malystryx threw back her head and released a gout of fire into the sky. The roar of her defeat was echoed by the rumbling of the volcanoes. The mountains thundered, and her plateau shook violently.

  “Damage the scale, and he lives,” the shadow dragon observed.

  The pain intensified, and Dhamon fought to stay conscious.

  Malystryx spread her blood-colored wings, beating them savagely, rose into the sky. She angled her immense head down toward the lava-covered ground, opened her jaws, and released a roaring ball of fire. Flames splashed against the lava to lick at her tail.

  Dhamon screamed in agony as the shadow dragon drew an impossibly sharp talon through the scale on his leg, shearing it in two.

  The knight
thrashed about in the cold blood, squirming and clawing at the stone floor until the pain diminished to a dull throb. He took great gulps of air into his lungs and struggled to sit up.

  He wiped at the blood in his eyes and squinted. The chamber was dark, but a soft gray glow shimmered from the shadow dragon, bathing the cave in a surreal light.

  “It is time to redeem yourself,” the shadow dragon announced.

  “It is time to die, dragon!” came a voice from the mouth of the cave.

  Chapter 11

  DRAGON MAGIC

  Gilthanas stood just inside the cave entrance, sword in hand, blond hair fluttering about his stern face. Behind him, practically filling the entrance, was a silver dragon.

  “Release Dhamon Grimwulf, or you will die!” Gilthanas ordered. The elf, displaying no fear, pointed his sword at the shadow dragon. Gilthanas’s keen elven sight allowed him to see in the near-blackness of the cave, to make out Dhamon sitting naked in a pool of blood inches away from the dragon’s talons.

  Dhamon blinked and turned toward the elf. He opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. His throat was impossibly dry. He struggled to his feet, his legs seeming like lead weights. He took a few slow steps nearer the shadow dragon and steadied himself.

  “Dhamon,” Gilthanas said. “Come toward me.”

  Dhamon shook his head, swallowed hard, and tried again to draw some moisture into his mouth. Gilthanas, he mouthed, wait.

  “I have not harmed this man,” the shadow dragon said, his voice haunting and harsh.

  The voice of an old man, Gilthanas thought. But not the voice of a feeble dragon, the elf knew. He and Silvara had spoken briefly with the blind villagers when they arrived in Brukt to search for Dhamon. There, they had learned how the shadow dragon slaughtered the Knights of Takhisis and that Rig and the others were on Dhamon’s trail.

  “Indeed, I have saved this man,” the shadow dragon continued. “And I will not harm you – unless you force me to do otherwise.” Translucent black-gray scales shimmered, and the dragon seemed to shrink, just enough so he could better maneuver in the chamber. He slid by Dhamon and stretched toward Gilthanas. “I would speak with your silver companion now.”