Alone, Dhamon strolled down a street that led to the east, where the tops of the towering Kalkhists disappeared into low-hanging clouds. Indeed, Dhamon mused to himself that he hadn't seen clear sky since the night Rig and Fiona stumbled upon their camp.
He stopped at a squat building, one in far better condition than its neighbors. It appeared the ogre who maintained the place took a little bit of pride in it. Stepping inside, he was met with a growl and narrowed eyes. The ogre behind a great table that served as a counter pointed a stubby finger and gestured for Dhamon to leave.
But Dhamon shook his head and jiggled a small pouch on his belt.
The finger dropped and the growling stopped, but the eyes narrowed even further. The ogre cocked his head and glanced at the rear wall, from which hung all manner of long-hafted weapons-all too unwieldy for Dhamon.
"I want a bow," Dhamon began, jingling the pouch again.
The ogre shook his head and shrugged a misshapen shoulder.
Dhamon let out a deep breath. "So I'd better learn a bit more ogre-speak if I traipse around these mountains any longer or ever come back to this cesspool," he muttered. He drew his lips into a thin line, met the ogre's stare, and pretended to draw a bow and nock an arrow as he said a few words in broken ogre.
Minutes later, Dhamon was continuing down the winding, narrow street, a long bow and a quiver filled with arrows strapped across his back. Following the incident with the dwarves in the valley, he'd resolved to acquire a distance weapon.
Another stop, and he purchased three skins of the strongest liquor available in the city. Two dangled from his belt. And the third was in his hand. He took a long pull from it before he clipped it onto the belt.
The several ogres he passed gave him a wide berth. It was clear they had no respect for humans, as they spat at the ground when he neared, snarling, and wrinkling their warty, hooked noses. But there was something about Dhamon's bearing and expression that kept them from accosting him. He dropped his hand to the pommel of his sword, and they moved to the other side of the street, not daring to look over their shoulders until they were several yards behind him.
His next stop was where the street dead-ended at a large building. There was no roof, only walls of stone and wood, and a double-wide rotting door that rested slightly open.
Dhamon poked his head inside, then instantly pulled it back out. There was a whoosh and a thud as a great two-handed battleaxe descended in the space where his neck had been a moment before. Mud and water flew when the blade struck the ground, spattering Dhamon's tunic and causing him to curse loudly.
He kicked the door open and drew his sword in the same motion, darted inside and braced himself to meet an impressively large ogre. The creature was easily ten feet tall with broad shoulders and a considerable paunch that swelled over a thick leather belt. The ogre hefted his axe again, a yellowed, crooked smile spreading across his pudgy face, his drab green eyes gleaming.
Dhamon stepped back, into a deep puddle. With no roof, it was raining as steadily inside the building as it was outside. "Maldred!" Dhamon shouted, oblivious to the muck. "I am with Maldred!"
The ogre paused a moment, smile disappearing. His shaggy brow furrowed. His hands still clenched the axe, but the menace had lessened in his eyes.
"Maldred," Dhamon repeated, when the large brute took a step forward with a threatening snarl. In broken ogre-speak, he added, "Our wagon. Maldred asked you watch. You have. I have come to claim our wagon."
The ogre looked to the back of the building-the glance was enough to let Dhamon know he understood clearly. The wagon was cloaked by the shadows. Dhamon walked toward it, careful to keep an eye on the ogre and to keep his sword at the ready. Only one horse was tethered nearby. Dhamon worked quickly to harness it to the wagon while he scanned the area for the other horse.
"Damn," he swore softly when he spotted blood against the back wall. There was a hank of mane, and from beneath a pile of wet, moldy straw, a hoofed leg protruded. "Got hungry, didn't you?" He didn't expect the ogre to understand or answer. "Picked out the biggest one to eat."
The creature padded closer, sloshing through the mud. He still held the axe in front of him, his eyes darting back and forth.
Dhamon busied himself checking beneath the sodden tarp, keeping an eye on the brute. "Got greedy too, didn't you? Or at the very least, curious." He noticed the sacks had been rearranged in the wagon bed, and though he couldn't be sure if there was anything missing, he decided to play a hunch. He pointed the sword at the ogre. "Give back. Sacks you took. Give back."
