Downfall

"No," Rig objected. The mariner had been following Dhamon, staying a few yards back and watching his reaction to the scene. "I want to see more," Rig continued. "Fetch, show me all of Shrentak. I want to know how to get into that damnable dungeon!"

The kobold sighed, his shoulders drooping. He looked to Rikali for support. But for once, she said nothing. She was glancing down the ghostly corridor and toward the river, where Dhamon was standing.

"More, Fetch! Show us a way in!"

"No!" Dhamon spun, returning from the river's edge. He walked back through the prison corridors, which were growing more transparent, striding resolutely up the dais's steps. His face retained its stoic mask, but his eyes had lost their hardness, and his lips twitched. He'd caught a glimpse inside several more cells along the way, and the sight bothered him. However, he wouldn't admit that, even to himself. "The river's rising," he said evenly.

At that warning, the half-elf sprang away from the magical pool and hurried down the steps, brushing by Dhamon. "I don't want to drown," she softly wailed. "I want me a fine house."

The mariner let out a deep breath and swept his hand to the side. "If this vision is to be believed, and I think it is, Fiona's brother is dead. I have to tell her. If, or when, I see her again."

The kobold started to rise.

"Wait, Fetch!" Dhamon said, an idea forming. He saw Rig's eyes narrow. "One more question."

"I thought you decided we were done with the magic pool," the mariner muttered.

The kobold's shoulders sagged. I'm tired, he mouthed. Indeed, he looked spent, and the green light that haloed him made him look shriveled. "I can't," Fetch said in a strained voice. "I just can't."

"Ask it about the rain," Dhamon persisted. "Where is all of this coming from?"

"The sky. The clouds," Rig said. "That's where the rain is coming from. I really don't know you anymore, Dhamon Grimwulf. You're a selfish churl. Look at him. He's exhausted. I pushed him too hard as it was."

"What is causing it to rain?" Dhamon's words were clipped.

The mariner moved to leave, but something stopped him. The Shrentak vision had melted and again the pool showed a black spot on its surface, as Fetch resumed stirring the magic at Dhamon's demand. "The swamp. So what?" Rig grumbled. "The rain's somehow coming from the swamp. But it ain't even raining there, according to that image. So…"

"This rain isn't natural, Rig. Can't be. It's rained more in Khur in the past few days than probably the past couple of years. Simply out of morbid curiosity, I want to know what's responsible. The information could be valuable. And this…" He waved his hand at the pool. "This apparently is one sure way to find out."

The image focused more sharply on a marshy glade ringed by a tangle of ancient cypress trees with roots that sank deep into the muck. Lianas flowed from the branches, forming a flowery curtain. Colorful parrots were thick in the trees, and a dawning sun managed to peek through a break in the closest canopy.

"There, ask it about that." Dhamon was pointing at a shimmering, yet shadowy image behind a veil of purple flowers. "There's something hiding there. Ask it if that thing's responsible for the rain. Can't hardly make it out. Might be part of a dragon."

"Dhamon, I can't. So-o-o tired."

"Hurry, Fetch," Dhamon ordered. "I want an answer."

The kobold sighed and summoned just enough energy to stir the air above the pool again, fought to catch his breath and felt his heart flutter in his chest. The shadowy image came into better focus. "A dragon. Hah! Isn't big enough to be a dragon. Why… it's a little girl," the kobold said.

The flowers parted, showing a thin waif of five or six with long coppery hair and blue eyes. She was delicate, and dressed in a filmy garment that looked to be made of pale purple and yellow flower petals. There was a slight smile on her unblemished, cherubic face, but it was a sly smile, not a pleasant one. She raised her hands-they were misted in silver-gray-and she made a beckoning motion, as if she had somehow spotted Dhamon and Rig and Fetch in this cave beneath the mountain and was motioning them closer. The scent of flowers became intense, almost suffocating. Then suddenly the image was gone, the black spot was shrinking, swallowed by the bright yellow. A heartbeat later the yellow was fading, becoming sparkling motes forced to the bottom by the oppressive blue and green swirls. The sickening fragrance was gone, too, replaced by the musty smell of the cave.

"Wait, I've another question!" Dhamon practically shouted.

Fetch sagged onto his back. The kobold was shaking, staring at his hands. "I've been robbed," he said in disbelief. "I'm older. That foul device stole years from me! Dhamon!"