He moved gracefully and silently, however, gliding to the thronelike chair at the end of the table and folding himself into it. The human woman stood to his right, awaiting his orders. A nod from Donnag, and Maldred pulled out the chair for Fiona, then sat himself. The others followed, with Rig the last to comply. The mariner continued to look suspiciously about the room, noting the paintings and candelabras and knickknacks that were certainly not fashioned for an ogre. A former pirate, Rig was quick to recognize plunder when he saw it.
The mariner’s gaze occasionally rested on Fiona, who did not seem as concerned about her surroundings. But then the mariner reminded himself, she was being ruled by her belief that being here would somehow get her the coins and gems with which she could ransom her brother.
“We have not entertained a Solamnic Knight before,” Donnag began. His voice was deep and scratchy, hinting at advanced years, but his command of the human tongue was precise. “We are honored to have you in our most esteemed presence, Lady Fiona.”
Fiona didn’t reply, although she was surprised he knew her name. And Donnag, perhaps sensing her uncertainty, was quick to continue. “It is good to have you in our humble home again, Maldred, and servant Ilbreth.” The kobold nodded, smiling. “And friend of Maldred… Dhamon Grimwulf. Your glorious exploits are known to us, and we are impressed. And you are…?”
The mariner had been glancing at another painting, one depicting the eastern coast of Mithas, the Black Coast. The artist had rendered an early evening sky, and three moons hung suspended above the water—from a time before the Chaos War when Krynn had three moons. Lost in the painting, which stirred thoughts of the Blood Sea Isles, Rig was unaware the chieftain was talking to him.
“He is called Rig Mer-Krel,” Fiona offered.
“An Ergothian?”
Rig nodded, his attention finally on Donnag. The mariner stifled a chuckle, finding Donnag’s visage, royal speech, and attire greatly at odds.
“You are a long way from home, Ergothian.”
Rig opened his mouth to say something, and then thought better of it. He nodded again and prayed to the absent gods that dinner would go quickly.
“Lady Fiona, our advisors tell us you’ve need of a considerable amount of coins and gems to serve as a ransom for your brother. That the chieftains of the Solamnic Knights will not aid you in this.”
She nodded, another hint of surprise in her eyes that he knew so much about why she was in his city.
“Your brother is being held with other Knights in Shrentak?”
Again a nod.
“And you intend to go to Shrentak? It is a very deadly place.”
She shook her head. “No, Chieftain Donnag. I’ll not need to travel that far into the swamp. One of the Black’s minions, a draconian, will meet me at the ruins of Takar. It is there I must deliver the ransom. My brother will be brought there and handed over to me. Perhaps other Knights will be handed over with him if I can raise enough.”
Donnag cleared his throat. “It is a most admirable task you’ve assigned yourself, as family is most important.” He paused to take a sip of wine and to clear his throat again. “We are not opposed to slavery and the keeping of prisoners. Always the weaker and the unfortunate must serve the stronger. Still, we have no love of the Black and her spreading swamp. Indeed, our army journeyed into the swamp but a month ago and destroyed a growing legion of spawn—my general believed he found a nest where they were being created. The cost was heavy for us, but not one spawn remained. Fortunately for us, the Black was not there at the time.”
Donnag slowly turned his head to make certain everyone was paying attention to him. “And so, because of our love of family and because of our hate of the Black, we will provide you with coins and gems, more than enough to gain the release of your brother.”
“Why?” This came from the mariner.
Donnag looked irritated, as the human woman at his side filled his wine glass to the brim. “Too, we will give her men to accompany her to the ruins of Takar. The swamp is dangerous, and we will help insure she reaches her destination. In aiding her, perhaps we will be striking a blow against the one we call Sable. We can spare forty men.”
“And what’s this gonna cost us?” Rig wished he could swallow those words when he caught the fierce look of the chieftain. Still, he continued, “Everything costs in your country, doesn’t it, your majesty? Licenses, taxes, fees. I understand you even charge humans and dwarves for the water they pull from the wells. Oh, I forgot, you tax half-ogres, too, just not as much.”
“As you said, Ergothian, everything has a price. Including our help,” Donnag said coldly, as he turned his gaze to the Solamnic Knight. “In the hills to the east are goat-herding villages that provide us with milk and meat. We do love milk. One village in particular has been raided heavily, goats carried off in the night. Wolves, we suspect, or a great mountain cat. Nothing to a warrior such as yourself. These villagers are my very loyal subjects, and it troubles us greatly that they are so plagued. If you will visit this village, Knollsbank, and put an end to the raids, a fortune in coins and gems—your ransom—will be yours. Knollsbank is not far, a long day’s travel.”
“You’ve an army of ogres,” Rig cut in. “Why not have them help your very loyal subjects?”
Donnag narrowed his rheumy eyes. The fingers of his left hand clutched the table edge while his right reached for the wine. He downed the glass in one swallow. The woman quickly refilled it. He repeated, eyes fixed on Rig, “As you said, Ergothian, everything has a price. Consider this as a favor to me—a payment in kind.”
The kobold dropped his napkin. He’d only been halfway listening to the exchange. Goats? he mouthed to Maldred. “When did we agree to rescue goats?”
“Yes,” Fiona said. “I will agree to help in exchange for the ransom and the assistance of your forty men.”
“It should take but a few days of your time,” Donnag added. “And the men will be outfitted and ready upon your return.”
“Waitaminit!” Rig rose from the table, tipping over his wine glass. “You can’t be serious, Fiona. Helping a… a… You can’t mean it.”
Fiona glared at him. “I intend to free my brother. And this is my means to do so.” Her tone was quiet but tense, as if she were scolding a little boy. “We need the coins and gems, Rig. You know it.”
“Would that I could go with you into the mountains, Lady Knight,” Maldred offered. “I have other things to tend to in town. But I will look forward to your return.”
Rig sat heavily in the chair as the ogress servant busied herself cleaning up his spilled wine and casting disapproving glances his way. His glass was righted, but not refilled.
Donnag harumphed. “Very well, Lady Fiona. You and the Ergothian will set out in the morning for Knollsbank.” The chieftain pushed himself away from the table. “We’ve eaten already. But our cook has a fine meal ready for you, Maldred, when we are finished. And now perhaps you and Dhamon Grimwulf will join us in our library, so we can discuss other matters.”
Rig continued to stare, refusing to eat any of the sumptuous fare that Donnag provided. “I don’t like this at all,” he muttered. “You’ve no clue who you’re dealing with, Fiona. Donnag’s cruel. He taxes the humans and dwarves who live here to the point of breaking them. What he does is…”
“His concern,” Fiona said. “This is his country. What would you have us do, overthrow him?”
Not such a bad idea, the mariner thought.
The library was at the same time grand and appalling. Three walls were covered with shelves that stretched to the top of a fourteen-foot-high ceiling. Each shelf was crammed with books, the spines of which were labelled in the common tongue, as well as elf, dwarf, kender, and a few languages Dhamon did not recognize. Some were histories, others fanciful tales of fiction. A thick tome embossed with gold was about the art of warfare. On a quick inspection, it appeared none were marked with the buglike characters that could be found on Blöten’s business signs. Perhaps ogres did not write books, Dhamon mused.