Sabar led them deeper, and what little light they saw was pale and tinted purplish-red. There was moisture on the wall, and a faint glimmer suggesting veins of silver. Then the wall disappeared and a great cavern loomed. It was lit by a dull yellow glow, and Dhamon knew this came from the eyes of the shadow dragon.
The great creature was curled almost like a cat, its tail wrapped tight against its body, the tip of the tail disappearing beneath its head. Dhamon wondered if Nura Bint-Drax had managed to reach her “master’s” side here in this remote mountain. But he couldn’t tell if there was anyone else inside the cave.
The shadow dragon was awake and seemed to be studying something, its scaly visage intent, its eyes unblinking and fixed on… something faraway.
“It sees us,” Dhamon said.
“Not possible,” Sabar replied.
“It sees us,” Dhamon repeated.
Maldred slowly nodded. “I think you’re right.”
“You used the crystal too much, Mal. Somehow that damnable dragon knows we’re coming, that we’re nearby” As he spoke, the shadow dragon’s eyes moved ever so slightly, narrowing, and its lip curled up viciously.
“In the name of my father!” Maldred clamped his hands around the crystal, blotting out the image of the dragon and instantly dismissing Sabar from view. “You’re right, Dhamon, but I didn’t think the dragon would see us so easily.”
“Didn’t you?”
“No. I said no more lies.”
Dhamon gave him a withering look, then turned toward the far mountains. He wasn’t sure exactly where the shadow dragon’s lair was, but he knew from the crystal ball they couldn’t be more than twenty or thirty miles away.
His steps were fast and determined. He had no intention of waiting for Maldred. In fact, he was mulling over the possibility of losing the ogre somewhere in the craggy peaks. Dhamon didn’t for a moment believe Maldred’s claim that there would be no more treachery He didn’t for a moment…
Dhamon stopped in mid-stride, feeling a tightening in his chest. The fire on his back grew hotter still, his fever was raging. He gasped for air, found his mouth and throat parched. No sound came out. He heard his heart hammering, and he heard a pounding—Maldred racing toward him. He heard the ogre-mage’s labored breathing, heard the cool, dry wind that whipped around him. Then, as suddenly as the tightening sensation began, it abated, leaving only the heat.
“Dhamon…”
“I’m all right, I tell you!”
“You’re not all right. Let me try the spell again. It slowed the scales earlier.”
Dhamon brusquely dismissed this suggestion and resumed his brutal pace. With a sigh, Maldred followed as best he could.
“I believe we should head toward the north,” Maldred said, catching up. He was staring up at the mountains, thinking he’d seen this place in Sabar’s vision.
“Aye,” Dhamon said. “To the north. And up.”
Maldred said something else, but Dhamon pushed the words away and focused on the whistling of the mountain wind. He prayed the wind would blow colder still and abate some of the burning fever in his body, and at the same time he knew that nothing—save a cure, or death—would stop the pain and fever.
Miles passed. Dhamon put distance between himself and Maldred, who was not able to keep up the relentless pace. They began to ascend when Dhamon recognized a gnarled spire of rock, high up, that looked like a hawk’s beak.
“Not too much farther,” Dhamon muttered hopefully to himself. They continued to climb, continued north. Shards of rock constantly bit into Dhamon’s feet. He almost welcomed the sensation, as the scaly pads on his feet were so thick he’d barely registered the roughness of the terrain. It felt good to feel something.
Dhamon paused here and there to check his bearings. During one such interval the ogre-mage trudged up from behind. Good. He wanted Maldred to make sure they were on the right course. And it was like the days of old, as if Maldred could read his mind.
“Dhamon, let’s check our position again,” the ogre-mage suggested.
A nod of agreement, and the ogre-mage gratefully sat down. He took several deep breaths and rubbed his thighs. “You’re making fast time, Dhamon. You go too fast for me.”
“I need to go fast. I’m in a hurry, remember?” The tone was more sharp than Dhamon had intended.
Maldred carefully pulled the crystal ball from the pouch. He set it on a tablelike section of rock, spread his fingers around the base, but before he could say anything the mountain suddenly trembled all around them with the force of a small earthquake. The crystal rolled off its crown perch and began to tumble down the slope.
“By the Dark Queen’s heads! No!” Dhamon leaped for the crystal ball. “I have been a fool! You have caused the quake! You do mean to keep me from the dragon until it is too late! You did this!”
Dhamon’s fingers closed on air as the crystal ball rolled down the slope. The mountain continued to shake, rock cracking and pebbles cascading.
Maldred had lost his footing and was flailing about for any foothold. His blue skin was soon lacerated from rocks, and his hands and arms were bloodied. The rocky outcropping above them broke off and smashed into him as it bounced down the slope.
“Look out, Dhamon!” Maldred managed to cry out in warning.
Stronger and more agile, Dhamon dodged the rockslide and managed to stay on his feet as he raced down the incline, trying recklessly to reach the crystal.
“It wasn’t my doing!” Maldred shouted, his voice all but drowned out by the crumbling of the mountain range. “I swear it wasn’t my magic!”
The tremor persisted for several minutes, during which time Dhamon reached a lower level and there discovered the shattered fragments of the magic crystal. Pathetically he pawed at a small piece of lavender cloth.
“By all the gods, no!” he screamed.
In anger and frustration, his fingers dug into the pouch at his side, pulling out two of the carved figurines Ragh had found in the sorcerer’s laboratory back in the Black’s swamp. He hurled them as high and as hard as he could. They struck the cliffs above, and there was a flash of bright red light and the crack of thunder. The mountain shook again, rock shards raining down the slopes.
Dhamon reached into the pouch again, intending to rid himself of all these accursed, unreliable magical items, but the ogre-mage came stumbling up behind him, and Maldred’s big blue hand shot out and closed on Dhamon’s wrist.
“Stop!” Maldred looked beaten, bruised, and bloodied. He was panting. “Dhamon, stop!”
Dhamon paused, eyes gleaming furiously.
“It wasn’t my doing, honestly. The quake. I didn’t—”
“I know. I believe you.”
Maldred looked astonished. He released Dhamon. “I told you, no more deceit. I want to help save you, Dhamon. I need to save… something.”
Now that he was calmer, Dhamon knew Maldred wouldn’t have risked destroying the precious crystal ball. The enchanted item was far too precious for the thief who was also a sorcerer.
“I know. It was the shadow dragon,” Dhamon said. He dropped the piece of lavender cloth in Maldred’s palm. “He has great magic, I know, and I am certain he used it. Obviously he wants to keep me away. He fears me, Maldred.”
The ogre-mage stared at the cloth, remembering Sabar draped in it, twirling in the lavender mist. Was the magic-woman shattered, too? Or was she entirely illusion?