The rain turned soft, but maintained a steady downpour until dawn, a sheet of driving gray that kept them thoroughly soaked, and turned the trail that wound between the rocky ridges into mud.
"You should return to Khur," Dhamon told Rig as the mariner was saddling his big mare. The horse was not as good as the one Dhamon had stolen from him. Its back swayed and there was a large lump on one rear leg. "The country's more hospitable, safer for you and Fiona. Talk her out of this nonsense. Dragons… and draconians… are not to be trusted. She's wasting her time."
The mariner cinched the saddle and made a clucking sound in his throat. "Glad to see you're so concerned about our safety."
"I'm not." Dhamon's face was impassive, his voice steady. "I'd just rather not have your company."
"All the more reason, then, for Fiona and me to come with you. I know once she gets her mind set on something I can't change it. But I'm not going to help any of you swipe a single steel piece."
"A waste of time," Dhamon repeated.
"It's our time to waste."
The trail they followed had become a meandering brown snake that rippled with thick rivulets of water. At times it gently wound its way through the mountains, with steep rocks rising on both sides. But often it coiled around the edge of the western slope, as it was doing now, climbing a near-vertical cliff face, the top of which disappeared into dark gray clouds on one side, on the other a two-hundred-foot drop-off that yielded to Sable's immense swamp. A thin strip of cloud hovered above a section of the swamp, a few of the giant cypresses stretched through it, their tops decorated with large parrots.
Rikali sloshed ahead, probing with Dhamon's cane to make sure the way was safe for the horses and wagon. Though complaining about the task, she had suggested that it be done and that she be the one to handle it.
"My eyes're better'n yours," she had said to the men. Softer, so Rig and Fiona could not hear, "and I don't want anythin' happenin' to our gems. No tumble down the mountainside to lose them after all we went through to get ‘em." She knew Dhamon was still favoring his ribs and that Maldred couldn't use his right arm. And although her own scrapes and bruises hadn't yet healed, she recognized she was the best choice for guide. The only thing wrong with Fetch seemed to be the repulsive odor he was exuding from being so thoroughly wet, but Rikali didn't trust the kobold to lead the wagon.
Maldred sat on the wagon bench, eyes trained on the half-elf, his wounded arm still tucked close to his chest. Dhamon, who sat next to him, could tell he was feverish. Dhamon had the reins and was watching Rikali carefully, too, though it was clear from his blank expression his mind was elsewhere.
Fetch was behind them, sitting cross-legged on the tarp that covered the bulging bags of gemstones. He'd fastened the tarp down tightly at Maldred's orders. Rig had been eyeing the tarp, and the kobold felt certain he was trying to guess what was underneath. Supplies, hah! Fetch had decided from the very beginning that he didn't like the dark man-didn't like the way he swaggered, the way his eyes flared from time to time with belligerence, the way he dressed, and the kobold certainly did not like all the weapons he carried.
The kobold didn't care for the Knight, either, but he knew Maldred was at least mildly interested in her, so voicing too much resentment there would be wasting words.
Fiona and Rig rode side by side behind the wagon, the entire procession moving slowly, the mariner frequently glancing at the tarp.
"They're talking," the kobold informed Maldred, his beady red eyes fixed on the mariner, hoping to unnerve him. "All this rain, the patter, making it too hard fer me to hear what they're saying. Something ‘bout Knights an' prisoners an' Shren-something, can't make out the rest. Wagon's creaking, too. Hope it doesn't fall apart. Loaded down with gems and water. Water. Water. Water."
"I thought you wanted it to rain."
The kobold made a noise that sounded like a pig snorting. "Not this much, Mai. Can't even light up my old man. Tobacco's all damp. In all my days I've never seen it rain so much at one time in these mountains. It ain't right. Ain't natural. It could stop anytime now an'…" As a booming clap of thunder cut the kobold off, he dug his small claws into the tarp. "An' what's this business about you helping that Solamnic Knight get coins an' gems an' such? Since when do we share our booty with the likes of her?"
Maldred chuckled. "I truly have no intention of helping her. And I certainly won't share any of what we have in the wagon."
"Yeah, yeah, it's for Dhamon's sword," the kobold grumbled. "Damn expensive sword."
"But she believes I will help her," Maldred continued. "And that thought warms my heart."
"And keeps her hanging around." Fetch made a face. "But she's a… well, she's a Solamnic Knight. Trouble. Very big trouble. Besides, she's going to marry that man."
