The Solamnic knight slashed with a frenzy belying her fatigue. She drew blood from the spawn, forcing it to keep a respectable distance from her.
The mariner glanced into the opening. It seemed somehow smaller. He reached down to his charred boots and plucked two more daggers free. The pommels were fiery to the touch, so he loosed them at the nearest spawn. Both found their mark this time, one in the creature’s throat, the other in its shoulder.
Its scream was inhuman and was answered from somewhere overhead by snarls and hisses—a dozen more of the things were descending. The spawn flailed at the daggers, sizzling red blood flowing over its talons. It opened its mouth wider.
“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.”
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.