"Lady Knight," again the sonorous, musical voice. She relaxed just a little, opened her eyes, and found herself looking straight at him. His face seemed kind, yet rugged, and his nose was long and narrow like the beak of a hawk. "Lady Knight, I never killed anyone who didn't deserve it-or who didn't ask for it by raising a weapon against me and our friends. All life is precious. And though I readily admit I am a thief, life is the one thing I am loath to steal." He edged closer and smiled when her expression calmed. He stretched his good hand up and brushed away another damp curl. "Lady Knight, I won't lie to you and say I'm an upright man. But I'm a loyal one." He gestured to Dhamon and Rikali. "I stand by my friends and by my principles. To the death, if need be."
"Ironspike. Justice would demand…" She was having trouble getting all the necessary words out and was getting lost in his eyes. She blinked and focused instead on his strong chin.
Maldred nodded. "Ah, yes, justice." He laughed softly, melodically.
Her eyes narrowed, and the big man frowned and shook his head. "You've spirit. Your hair like flames, your eyes filled with fire. Spirit and beauty-and I'll wager skill with a sword, else you wouldn't have that armor. But don't mar your face so with troubled thoughts." Then his eyes caught hers again and held them unwavering. "Life is far too short for that, Lady Knight. Fill your mind with pleasant ideas instead."
She felt her cheeks flush and mentally chastised herself for keeping civil company with the handsome rogue. "Dhamon stole from wounded Knights," she said, her tone instantly hard.
"And you think he should be tried for that? I couldn't let that happen," Maldred interjected. "He'd be found guilty. And then I would lose my friend."
She shook her head, her eyes still locked to his. "You don't understand. That's not why I'm here."
"Ah, I see! You're here to redeem your old companion. He's not the same man you knew. But he's the Dhamon I've become close to." Maldred offered her the jug again, and this time she took it, surprising herself and drinking deep, then passing it back and glancing across the camp at Rig, who seemed caught up in whatever Dhamon was saying. She blinked, not used to drinking the alcohol, then it went to her head, making her hotter than the summer.
She made a move to join the others, feeling oddly vulnerable in the company of Maldred, but he put a hand on her knee. The warm, light touch was somehow enough to hold her in place.
"You can't redeem Dhamon," he said.
She drew her lips into a thin line. "I'm not here to redeem him." Her hand drifted down to the pommel of her sword.
Rikali snuggled as close to Dhamon as she could, making a display of her affections for Rig's benefit. She traced Dhamon's jawline with her fingertips, then her thumb stretched down to rub the thong around his neck. It held the dwarf's diamond that she coveted. The gem was hidden beneath his tattered shirt, and her teasing threatened to reveal it. Dhamon brushed all hands away. She scowled, then winked at him, amusing herself by toying with his boot laces. "Is this a tale I've heard, lover? Not that I mind hearin' the same ones again. But if it's a new one, I'll pay more attention."
Dhamon shook his head and looked at Rig. "There's not any one thing that changes a man," he began. "No one thing made you righteous and turned you away from being a pirate."
Rig met his gaze. "And with you?"
"With me it was a lot of things. More than I care to remember or perhaps more than I care to count. We fought the dragons at the Window to the Stars. We lived, but we didn't win. Nothing can beat the dragons. I guess that was the start of it-the realization we can never win."
"The start?"
"Something else happened a long ways from here. Not too long after all of us parted company."
The mariner raised an eyebrow.
"Seems like it was the other side of the world," Dhamon mused. "In dragon lands. A forest held by Beryl, the great green overlord some call The Terror. There was terror, all right," Dhamon said. "And death. And the tale is quite a long one."
"I'm not going anywhere."
Dhamon closed his eyes, the blackness swallowing Rig and Rikali and the kobold. He focused on the incident, shivering slightly from the memory, and shutting out the sounds of the crackling campfire and the hushed conversation of Fiona and Mal-dred. At length, he opened his eyes and reluctantly began his story.
Dhamon Grimwulf looked different, his face fuller and form a little thicker. His ebony hair hung only to the bottom of his jaw. It was trimmed evenly and well combed. His face was smooth and clean-shaven, his skin only lightly tanned, his clothes were in excellent repair. Beneath his wooly coat, he wore leather breeches and a chain mail shirt. And strapped around his waist was a recently forged long sword, a gift from the Qualinesti for taking on this difficult task.
