Downfall

Fiona stood rigidly in her Solamnic plate, which she had polished to a mirror finish upon her return from the dwar-ven catacombs. The job had given her something to do while she waited for Rig and Dhamon, and while Maldred was secreted away in his meeting with Chieftain Donnag.

Her hair was tied uncharacteristically in twin tight braids at the back of her neck. The gash on her cheek had been healed by the ogre shaman-at Maldred's insistence and expense. Her limbs still ached a little from the arduous adventure up the mountain and into the dwarven ruins and then back to Bloten. But her appearance didn't give any hint of her real fatigue.

She squared her corners as she paced in the mud in front of the men Donnag had provided as escort for her ransom. It was just as he'd promised. They were hardy ogres, forty of them, the shortest towering above her at nine feet. All wore bits of armor, mostly boiled leather plates with metal studs scattered in random patterns. Perhaps the designs signified something in the ogre language. A few had chain shirts and leather greaves, and some of the armor pieces looked almost new. Nearly all wore some kind of helmet, and a few sported long cloaks of a thin, dark fabric-made darker by the continuing rain. They stood at attention, shoulders straight and with an impressive posture unlike the stooped appearance exhibited by most of Bloten's residents.

Though she suspected they resented her because she was a human-a female-and above all a Solamnic Knight-she was certain she had their loyalty, as Chieftain Donnag had instructed them to follow her every order unto death if need be. She also suspected they were being paid handsomely, though she did not know if Donnag or Maldred had handled the costs, and she did not care to know.

Only a few of them could speak her tongue, and those who spoke it haltingly also mispronounced half the words. Maldred said all of the men were well-trained fighters who had skirmished with the dwarves of Tho-radin, hobgoblins and goblins of Neraka, and the spawn and abominations that encroached into Donnag's foothills from the swamp. Their muscular appearance and thick scars hinted at numerous previous battles.

They were certainly a homely bunch. Most had warts and boils dotting their exposed skin, the rain plastering their scraggly hair to the sides of their heads. Others had teeth protruding upward or downward from their lips. A few were missing pieces of ears. One had an almost cadaverous nose. Their skin ranged from a light tan, the color of sand, to a dark brown, the shade of a walnut tree's bark. There was one trio of brothers, who had skin that was tinged green, which Fiona thought made them look perpetually ill. And there was one whose skin was nearly as white as parchment. Maldred had explained this individual was a burgeoning shaman, schooled a little in the healing arts, and that his presence might be a boon-depending on what swamp denizens crossed their path.

Some of the ogres carried only one weapon, this being a large curved sword that she'd learned was forged here in Bloten and given to those who'd found favor with Donnag. Others were practically as weighted down as Rig-axes strapped to their backs, crossbows meant for human hands hanging from their belts, long knives in sheaths strapped to their legs, spiked clubs clutched in their fists. They'd need all these weapons and more, Fiona thought. They'd need luck and the blessing of the absent gods.

And what did she need? Fiona mused. A good dose of common sense? What was she doing here? Committing one impropriety after another, she admonished herself. Consorting with thieves, who were also likely considered murderers, making a deal with a despicable ogre chieftain, commanding a squad of ogres. She was certain the Solam-nic Knighthood wouldn't approve. Deep down, she didn't either. Perhaps they would release her from the Knighthood if they discovered all that she'd done. And her brother? What would Aven think of the lengths she pushed herself to in her effort to ransom him?

"Aven," she whispered. It will be all right, all of this, she told herself, if she could gain his freedom. Time enough to atone for her deeds after her brother was at her side.

Still… second thoughts were nagging at her sensibilities. Perhaps she should give up on all of this now.

"Fiona!" Maldred called to her. He was emerging from Donnag's palace and jogging toward her, a smile spread wide across his face. "Dhamon is all right, and is on his way here."

She pushed her concerns to the back of her mind and waited for him. He rested a hand on her shoulder.

"That is good news," she returned, looking up into his clean-shaven face. "I am glad no misfortune befell him in the cave-in." Despite her words, Fiona seemed unruffled by the news. She was making it a point to appear stoic and detached in front of her ogre troops. "And you know this about Dhamon because…"