Downfall

"This won't be enough either, eh?" Dhamon had been in the wagons, eyeing the contents, picking up objects and running his fingers over them. He noted makers' marks on some, which in some circles added to their value. But he could find nothing especially worth all the trouble.

"Valuable, to be certain, but not wildly so. And not what we need to deal with a certain man. We'll still need to visit the valley. But… I know a bandit camp where we can sell all of this. Should give Rikali and Fetch enough to stop complaining for a while," Maldred told Dhamon as they made sure the merchants' horses were tied tightly. "We might make more in a town."

"No." Dhamon drew his lips into a thin line, his dark eyes flashing. "We don't want to risk running into people who saw these merchants earlier-or saw others we've run across."

Maldred nodded his agreement. "Very well, then. We'll keep one of these wagons, or get a new one-which is my preference. In the bandit camp. We'll need at least one good wagon for the valley."

"The gems you mentioned, and the mine…" Dhamon's face became serious, his eyes intense. He brought a hand up to scratch at the stubble on his chin, then he met Maldred's gaze.

"If fortune favors us, we'll be done with robbing merchants for a while. This is the first time one of these caravans has put up a fight. Next time we might come across mercenaries."

"I'm spoiling for a good fight!" Fetch was dancing around the big man and twirling his hoopak. "We can take on anything. Can't we Dhamon? You've never lost a fight!"

Dhamon ignored the kobold, jumping into the second wagon. There was a large water barrel inside, and he nudged the lid open, drank deep, and splashed water on his face and chest. Then he began prying at the crates that Fetch couldn't open, while Maldred retrieved their horses and tied them to the last wagon.

A scream interrupted them.

Rikali stood in the middle of the trail, yelling at the metal-eating creature and waving her fists. The buckles on her boots were gone, so was the bracelet about her knee and the gold armband. Her right hand was devoid of rings. "I'll kill it!" she hissed. "My jewelry. Quick as a rabbit that cursed beastie grabbed and ate it!"

The creature's nose twitched, and its tongue snaked out to lick its lips. It trundled toward her, eyes locked onto the rings that still sparkled from her left hand.

"Dhamon!" She swung at it wildly, clawlike fingernails raking the beast's tender skin. The creature made a sniffling sound and skittered back a few feet, but its nose continued to twitch. "Dhamon, get over here!"

He peered out of the wagon, grinning at her predicament. "Fetch!" The kobold hurried over. "You've got nothing metal on. Take that thing and tie it back in the wagon where you found it."

Fetch grumpily did so, getting some help from Maldred to boost the creature up and under the canvas, keeping away from its front legs and its metal-devouring mouth. This wagon was held together with wooden nails and there wasn't a trace of metal anywhere on it. "We don't keep this wagon," the big man said. "Or this creature for long. Let's get moving."

* * * * * * *

Dhamon picked his way along the mountain trail, scouting ahead as the sun melted into the horizon, painting the Kalkhists with a soft orange glow. He relished his time alone, no one to badger him with small talk and questions he didn't want to answer. No one to make any demands of him.

When he was in the company of Maldred and Rikali he often ranged ahead, as he was doing now, seeing if there were any obstacles along the course they would take in the morning. Or if there were any strangers in the area who might bother them during the night. It was his excuse for some silence and peace.

Despite the approaching evening, the heat didn't seem to be letting up. The air was thin this high in the mountains, and coupled with the temperature, Dhamon found it a little discomfiting. He paused to rest on a flat rock, fishing about in his pocket for a piece of candy. Fetch had found a small bag filled with sweets in one of the merchant wagons, and Dhamon made sure it was divided-before the kobold could manage to devour it all.

He stared at the vanishing sun for several moments, breathing as deep as was comfortable and savoring the sugar on his tongue. Then he glanced down the trail. It was just wide enough for the wagon. They would be taking the fork to the north, according to Maldred's directions. The man he needed to see was to the south, but there was the matter of gaining more treasure before they could take that trail.

The north fork appeared less-used, with scrub growing in patches here and there, and wheel ruts so shallow he could barely make them out. Dhamon scooted off the rock and headed north. Just for a few minutes, he told himself, just for a little more time alone.