Downfall

"Fool," she said simply, gesturing again. "My mistress Sable, who waits in Shrentak, will be angry with you. She'll order more than my little rain and earthquakes to gnaw at your kingdom."

A streak of silver shot out like a lightning bolt from her tiny hand, grew to a diaphanous, sparkling cloud, and then draped Maldred like a net. In its misty light, the big man's form shuddered and expanded, his ruddy skin rippling with even more muscles, and its rich color fading until it became practically white. Then it changed hue again, becoming a pale blue dotted here and there with warts and boils. His short ginger hair grew and thickened, turning stark white and flowing over his shoulders like a lion's mane.

"What is she doing to him?" Fiona cried.

"Revealing him," the waif replied evenly. "Chasing away his spell that paints a beautiful human form over his ugly ogre body. Revealing the son of Blode's Do

When the transformation was complete, Maldred stood more than nine feet tall, an ogre more awesome and imposing, physically, than any of those who accompanied them to the mines. His clothes were now in tatters, barely covering his massive body.

Dhamon stared dumbstruck at the creature he had considered his closest friend. There was no trace of the Maldred he knew, not even the eyes were recognizable.

Fiona and Rig were likewise astonished. The Solamnic felt faint at the sight, the shock of which was enough to drive off at least some of the magic Maldred had cast upon her. She shook her head, trying to chase away… something, she couldn't tell what. Fiona's memory seemed hazy. Still, a dozen thoughts rushed at her: the deceptions played upon her and Rig, the trip through the dwarven ruins, the fight in the mines. An image flashed in the back of her mind, of a bozak draconian. One with a gold collar. Had she slain him?

Dhamon shook his head in disbelief, as if the vision of the blue-ski

"You're not revealing anything!" Dhamon spat. "You're making us believe our friend is a creature! Just like you created the stirges and the snakes!"

"Your friend is an ogre mage," the girl continued. "Soon to be a dead one. I will relish giving this news to my mistress personally. Sable will reward me well." She threw back her head and laughed, a cackling sound so incongruous to her small form. Miniature silver lightning bolts arced from her fingers and danced toward Maldred, who was still held by the shimmering mist. "Very well, indeed!"

"No!" Dhamon screamed. He tugged free of his boots, which were held by the child's magic, and raced toward the girl, drawing Wyrmsbane as he went.

The child was faster. Lightning bolts struck the ogre in the chest, skin sizzling and popping and burning. Maldred twitched, but didn't cry out. Rather, he fought against the cloudlike spell that held him in place, gesturing and humming loudly with his own incantation.

Dhamon was nearly upon the child figure when more bolts flew, again aimed at the huge ogre. They struck their mark once more-but a heartbeat after Maldred had retaliated with his own magic.

His spell complete, a burst of flame erupted from the ogre mage's flailing hands. It was a riot of color, green and blue, crackling wildly and shooting forward like a gout of dragon's breath. It grew and changed color, becoming a great fiery red-orange ball that, with a near-deafening "whoosh," engulfed the child and several of the trees around her. Despite the wetness of the swamp, the trees burned, becoming cinders in an instant.

Dhamon skidded to a stop and stared at the smoldering trunks. The girl had been vaporized and was gone. Or was she?

He turned to Maldred, face filled with anger and a dozen questions.

The ogre mage sagged to the marshy floor, hands pressed against his blue chest as if that might lessen the pain. Dhamon rushed to his side and ripped strips from what was left of his own cloak, pressing them against the wounds.

"I am what I appear, my friend," Maldred stated, his pained voice difficult to hear.

"It seems you are an expert at deceptions," Dhamon replied. "You are every bit as accomplished a liar as your father." He kept his words low, not wanting the others to hear. "I thought you were… are… a man, like me."

Maldred gasped, fighting for breath. "Sometimes deceptions help to build friendships," he answered. "But other than the form I wore, I have never lied to you, Dhamon Grimwulf. I think you know that."

"You just never bothered with the complete truth." Dhamon continued to blot at the wounds, relying on the skills he learned on numerous battlefields. "Does Rikali know?"

Maldred shook his head. "Fetch did. One of the few secrets he managed to keep." The ogre's eyes searched Dhamon's face. "I'm sorry you had to learn this way. I…"

"Doesn't matter, I guess," Dhamon said. "A body's a shell, after all. Just let me know if you've got any more interesting secrets. I hate surprises."

Rig and Fiona moved toward them, for they too were released from the girl's magic. The ogres and freed slaves had gathered in a circle around them, a few of the scouts cautious to keep a lookout toward the mines and the ring of cypresses.

"Do

Fiona said nothing, her chest was so tight she couldn't have talked if she'd wanted to. The Solamnic tried to picture the face of the human Maldred, the one with the mesmerizing eyes. There was only this blue-ski

The image of a bronze draconian slipped into her mind again. She saw a golden collar fall to the floor of the mines. Had she dreamed that? Seeing the creature she was supposed to meet in Takar? Watching him die? Did she kill him? Indeed, how much of what she'd been through was real?

Suddenly Maldred's eyes caught hers, holding them like he had done when he looked human. With a gesture and a concentrated thought, he released her completely from the enchantment, and she blinked furiously, shaking her head to clear it.

Dhamon helped the ogre mage to his feet, astounded by just how large and heavy he really was.

"We will take these people back to Bloten," Maldred said. His voice was deeper and louder now. "Grim Kedar will see that they are healed, at my father's expense. The humans and dwarves will be given a place to stay."

"And then…" Dhamon asked. He intended to press deeper into the swamp, and though his friend was a blue-ski

"I don't know about the likes of you, but I'm going after the girl," Rig said. "She's got my glaive. And I intend to get it back."

"She's not dead?" Dhamon seemed surprised, was certain he had seen her burned to ashes like the trolls.

Rig shook his head. "Hardly. I see her footprints leading away. And since she's still got my glaive, I'm going to follow them. She's heading west. We're going in the same direction. Toward Shrentak."

Dhamon left Maldred and stepped toward the mariner, who was intently studying the tracks. Wyrms-bane was still in his hand. He felt the pommel tingle, then grow cold.

What you seek.