"Thwuk! Thwuk!" The ogre snarled as he closed in, bringing the axe up over his head in a great threatening show. "Thwuk not take from Maldred!" But Dhamon wasn't in the mood to be intimidated. He darted in and swept his sword across the creature's belly, then leapt back as a film of dark blood sprayed out. The ogre howled, and the axe slipped from his fingers, which were now furiously clutching his stomach. Blood spilled out over the brute's hands as he dropped to his knees, a mix of anger and surprise on his ugly face.
He growled deeply at Dhamon, red spittle trailing over his bulbous lip. Then he cried out once more as Dhamon stepped in again and slashed the blade across his throat. The ogre pitched forward dead.
"Hope you weren't too good of a friend to Maldred," Dhamon mused, as he wiped his sword on the brute's clothes and sheathed it. He quickly tossed the straw over the dead ogre, avoiding the insects that swarmed over the horse haunch.
Then he used the rain to wash his hands and take a good look around. There were tall plants growing along the northern half of the building. They appeared well tended, and their tops nearly reached to where the roof had been. There was a huge hammock strung between what had served as the roof's support beams, and beneath it was quite a collection of small barrels and satchels, likely the ogre's possessions.
Dhamon tugged off his newly purchased tunic, sprayed with blood and mud, and tossed it behind a row of plants. Searching around in the wagon beneath a sack of gemstones, he recovered the fine shirt he had saved from the merchant haul and was quick to don it. Black, it complemented his baggy trousers and deerskin vest. He admired his dark reflection in a puddle near the ogre's hammock.
Dhamon searched through the ogre's possessions, finding only a small sack of gemstones-which the ogre might have stolen or more likely had been given in payment for watching the wagon. Dhamon tossed it in the wagon and continued to pick through the dead creature's worldly goods, finding a pouch heavy with steel pieces, an ivory pommeled dagger, and bits of dried foodstuffs, which Dhamon sniffed unenthusiastically. There were a few other odds and ends, a small broken jade mermaid, and a bronze bracelet, thick with mud, which he sloshed about in the water that had filled the hammock.
Deciding there was little of value, Dhamon led the horse and wagon from the barn and propped the door shut.
"One final stop," he told himself. "The most important one."
An hour later, he found his way back to Grim Kedar's.
Rig was across the street, leaning against an abandoned stone building and watching the entrance to Grim Kedar's. His eyes appeared sunken, the circles beneath them dark, proving he'd slept little the previous night. A disheveled-looking human was cowering next to him, nodding and shaking his head as Rig grilled him with questions. The mariner had not spied a single human who was not shabbily dressed or who appeared remotely happy.
Fiona motioned for Rig to join them, but the mariner shook his head and continued talking to the stranger. She shrugged and turned her attention to the kobold.
"An unusual name," she said, bending over until her face met his.
"Not my real name," Fetch returned. "I'd guess you'd call it a…" He scrunched his features and tapped on his nose ring.
"Nickname?" Fiona risked.
He nodded. "My real name's Ilbreth. I'm just called Fetch ‘cause…"
"Fetch!" Rikali was standing on the sagging walk and crooking her manicured fingers at the kobold. "Bring my satchel and get inside. Hurry up!"
"… I fetch things," he finished, scampering to do her bidding.
Dhamon urged the horse toward the sagging wooden sidewalk, tethered it to a post and brushed by Rikali, whom he told to guard the wagon-with her life. Entering the establishment, he noted that even though it was just past lunchtime, there were no tea-drinkers or apparent patients. He rapped on the counter. The others came in behind him. A few moments later, Maldred emerged from behind the beads.
A wide grinn was splayed across the big man's face, and his arms were spread to his sides. He turned once for inspection. There was no indication of injury, and Dhamon stared wide-eyed at his large friend.
"I thought he'd have to cut off your arm," Dhamon said evenly.
"So did Grim," Maldred replied. "Indeed, he tried! But I wouldn't let him. Told him he had to work his magic and make me whole or I'd tell everyone he was nothing but a simple charlatan. And he could not afford such a reputation-at least not here. Of course, this cost me a bit more than what you gave him yesterday."
Dhamon winced.
"Worth it, my friend. Grim is the best. Unfortunate, however, he is not so powerful as to stop all of this rain. I doubt these mountains have seen this much in the past few years. At least it's giving all of Bloten a much-needed bath," Maldred chuckled, then instantly grew serious. "The wagon?"
Dhamon nodded toward the street.
