Downfall

"Where?" he whispered. "Where is my weapon?" He knelt and felt the ground, found the impression the haft of the glaive had made. It was too dark to see any details, the tree was so far from the torches. "We'll see," he said, rising and striding toward Fiona. He stopped a few yards short of her, tugging a torch free and carrying it back to the shaggybark, unaware that she was following him and that Dhamon and Maldred were watching. The mariner stuck the torch in a solid patch of ground and knelt again.

"What are you looking for?" she asked him.

"My glaive. Sat it here when I tried to sleep. Before the snakes came. This is the right tree. It was right here. See?" He stabbed his finger at the impression. "Then the snakes came and…"

"Maldred says they were enchanted. Not really snakes at all. Simply vines brought to life through a spell. He knows because he dabbles in magic."

"Well, he's just full of surprises, ain't he?" Rig's fingers were prodding at the ground. "Anyway, it must be a powerful spell to bring all of those slimy creatures after us. Something that would've been out of Feril's realm."

"Dhamon thinks…"

"Yeah, I know, maybe a minion of the black dragon. Or Sable herself. I got ears. But I don't think so. Dragons leave bigger tracks. And besides, I don't care what Dhamon thinks."

"He didn't say a dragon, he said a…"

Rig dismissed her words with a beckoning wave of his hand. He found a footprint, a small one, no longer than his open hand. Then another and another, narrow and childlike. He pointed to them. They led off into a bog.

She crept closer and examined them herself. "Maybe an elf," she said. "Maldred!"

Rig scowled when he heard the big thief sloshing over. Maldred knelt next to Rig, and Dhamon padded a few feet away, examining more of the small footprints.

"Fiona is right," Maldred said. "It could be an elf. There used to be plenty of elves in these woods before the Black moved in and turned everything into a swamp."

Rig moved away from Maldred and Fiona, edged closer to the bog, which spread to the west as far as he could see in the torchlight. "Damn. Took my glaive, some faerie or little elf, maybe whatever made it rain snakes. Maybe it rained snakes so the little demon could make off with my weapon. My very magical weapon. Better have your ogre friends look around the camp and see if anything else is missing. See if they can spot my glaive."

He tested the ground at the edge of the bog, his boot sinking deep.

"You're not going after the weapon," Fiona stated. "It's too dangerous."

It might not be too dangerous if you came with me, he mused. He almost said it aloud, but he didn't need to. She must have picked up on what he was thinking.

"If the circumstances were different," she began, "if we weren't going to Takar to ransom my brother, we'd all go with you and help you find the glaive. But a weapon isn't worth…"

A wave of his hand dismissed the rest of her words. A frown was etched deep in the mariner's face. He treasured weapons, had ever since he was a youth and stole aboard a ship to escape an unfortunate home life. The glaive he'd been toting around was remarkably enchanted, and he prized it above all the others he had strapped to him. An artifact, Palin Majere had called it, from a very long ago time. It had been given to Dhamon Grimwulf by a bronze dragon, discarded after Dhamon had nearly killed his friends with it-including the mariner. Rig was quick to snatch it up. It parted metal like it was parchment.

"Took my glaive," he repeated. "Now how am I gonna get it back?"

Dhamon persisted in examining the footprints as he listened to the mariner continue to grumble. For a brief moment he considered asking Wyrmsbane where the glaive was. But he quickly discarded the notion, not wanting to do any favors for the mariner. He would save the magic of Tanis's sword for his own questions, which might, tomorrow morning, involve these small footprints that troubled him.

"Too dark," Dhamon said, finally giving up on the footprints. He rejoined the ogres, seeking out Mulok and sharing some more of the bitter drink, then he began examining the ogre corpses.

Fiona backed away from the shaggybark and Rig, and instructed her charges, via Maldred, to search through the dead ogres' belongings. "Just in case other things are missing," she said. "Make sure they gather any rations they find."

Mulok and the other ogres busied themselves stacking their dead comrades around the base of a cypress tree. It wasn't practical to bury them here, or to burn them. Maldred said they'd be left for carrion-after they were first stripped of any weapons and armor that could be used.