The edge of a short sword bit deep into his left leg. Dhamon tottered, then dropped to his knees, and a pitcher crashed against his head. Sweet-smelling elven wine soaked his hair and clothes, and rivulets of blood ran down his face from where the ceramic shards had cut his scalp in several places. He shook himself and sent a few shards thunking to the floor as he fought to remain conscious and pushed himself to his feet. He swung out wildly at an elf who was trying to skewer him with an iron poker, knocking the poker aside and bashing the man in the side of the head.

"Stop this at once!" the serving girl cried. She was somewhere behind the mass of elves and shouting as loud as she could manage.

"Stop this!" Another voice joined hers, likely the tavern owner's. He was banging on a pot and adding to the cacophony, "Don't break that! Put that down! Please stop!"

"I didn't start it!" Dhamon cursed as he clumsily leapt over a charging elf wielding a long kitchen knife. He lost his footing and accidentally bowled over three others who were scrambling toward the door. He brushed against a table, and his right pant leg caught on a protruding nail. The fabric ripped, revealing the large midnight black scale on his leg. It was shot through with a vein of silver that caught the lantern light and shimmered.

There was a collective gasp when the elves spotted it, and from deep in the press of bodies someone cried, "Sorcery!"

"It's from a dragon overlord!" Gauderic bellowed. He was standing on a chair at the edge of the fray, waving his sword. "A black dragon put it on him!"

"No, a black dragon didn't," Dhamon futilely corrected. It was the Red.

"He's an agent of a dragon!" someone else hollered. "Kill him!"

"I'm no one's agent!" Dhamon screamed as he drove the pommel of his sword down on someone's head. Then as a dagger tip sliced into the back of his leg, he reflexively struck out with all of his strength at anyone who came close while trying to reach the door.

A half-dozen elves lay sprawled around him, with more dead or unconscious toward the center of the tavern where the fight began. The dirt floor was spattered with wine and blood. Nearly two dozen elves remained standing.

Mugs were hurled against Dhamon's chest, some rebounding to strike the elves around him. Dhamon kicked out against those nearest to him, noting they seemed wary of the leg with the scale. And he continued to rain blow after blow with the blade and the pommel of his sword, shattering teeth and bones and spattering himself with elf blood.

Suddenly a log was heaved through the air, coming from one of the humans who had up to this point stayed out of the fray. As Dhamon ducked and watched it sail over his head, he was rammed in the back. The impact drove him forward into several elves, who started clutching at him. It was all he could do to hold onto his sword.

"Don't kill him!" a cry rose above the din. It was Gaud-eric, who was forcing his way closer. "I want him to stand trial for his atrocities!"

Dhamon vaguely heard another shrill whistle, then another, heard the girl desperately pleading, heard an elf moaning. He felt fist after fist slam into his face, his chest, booted feet kick at him. He thrust forward with his sword just as Gauderic reached him. The blade-given to him by the Qualinesti of Barter-sank deep, crimson flowering on his tunic as the astonished elf dropped to his knees, then pitched forward eyes wide in disbelief. Dhamon's sword was lodged in him.

As the elves turned their attention to the fallen Gauderic, Dhamon snatched the opportunity to shove past the last few patrons blocking the door. A heartbeat later he was out in the chill night.

The mariner swallowed. "Palin… what did he have to say about the green dragon and all the lost men?"

Dhamon shrugged. "I didn't look for him."

"But…"

"I'm done with Palin. I'm done with facing dragons and trying to make things right in this world. Nothing will ever be right again. I told you-we cannot win against the dragons."

Rig shook his head. "You can't mean that, Dhamon. After all we've been through and all we've seen! After all we've fought for!"

"I've seen enough. There's no hope, Rig. I'm surprised you haven't realized that by now. There're no gods. They've abandoned Krynn's children. There're only dragons. Jasper was killed by a dragon. Shaon was killed by one I used to ride. All those men-and all the men and women I never knew. We've no chance against the dragons. Are you so blind that you don't see that? Everyone will eventually fall to them. Everyone! So I'm making full use of whatever life I have left. I come first now. I do what I want. Take what I want. Work for whoever I please."

"That's wrong," the mariner started.

"Wrong?" Dhamon laughed.

"Aren't you ashamed of what you've done? The thefts and…"

"No."

"Ordering your men to fight the dragon?"

"Fight or flee, the outcome would have been the same. The dragon would have hunted them down and slain them anyway."

"Surely you regret killing Gauderic…"

"I have no regrets," Dhamon snorted. His eyes were so dark, no pupils were discernible. "Regrets are for fools and for heroes. And I'm neither."

"Feril would be shocked," Rig muttered, trying to find some way to reach him.

Dhamon's face was cold and dispassionate. "Feril is lost to me."

"No." The mariner shook his head, dismissing the notion. "I don't believe that. I saw the way she was always looking at you. Why, you and her were…"

"Last I heard, she was keeping company with another Kagonesti elf on the isle of Cristyne. They're probably married by now."

"And so that's how I met Dhamon," Maldred was telling Fiona. "In a rundown tavern in Sanction. He was drunk and gambling, arguing with a half-ogre over a few pieces of steel. As bad of shape as Dhamon was in, he took out the half-ogre. Didn't even have to draw a weapon."

"And that impressed you?"

Maldred shook his head and let out a clipped laugh. "Not especially."

"Then what?" Fiona seemed genuinely curious.

"It was his eyes. Like yours, they were filled with fire, and there was a mystery burning behind them, just waiting to be unraveled. Decided I wanted to get to know him, so I waited around until he sobered up. He and I have drifted in and out of each other's company ever since. Dhamon saved my life twice-once about a month ago when we were far south in these mountains and accidentally came upon a pair of red spawn."

"Dhamon's fought them before."

"That was evident." Maldred turned his arm so Fiona could see the back of it, where just above his elbow a thick pink scar stretched toward his shoulder. "My souvenir of the day. Dhamon didn't even get a scratch. Of course, if I hadn't've set my sword down before they pounced on us-I was gathering some herbs for dinner- it would have been another matter. No one can beat me when I've a weapon. Anyway, I owe him. And I don't mind the owing. I think we're kindred spirits."

Fiona heard a clap of thunder, tipped her face to the sky, and felt the first few drops of rain splash against her.

Fetch began to hoot.

"Blessed rain," Maldred pronounced. "Been far too long since it rained in these mountains." He looked skyward, stood, and stretched his good arm out to the side to catch more of the rain, opened his mouth wide to drink it in.

Fiona started toward Rig, but a second clap of thunder stopped her. It was followed by another, this once coming from beneath her feet. It was the mountain rumbling again, and she nearly lost her balance. The horses neighed nervously and the wagon creaked as the tremor intensified. Overhead, the lightning danced between the clouds, and the rain fell harder.

"It's the lightning one has to fear, not the thunder," Maldred said, lowering his head and catching Fiona's gaze again. He bent his knees to help keep his balance as the mountain continued to shake. Concern was etched on the big man's brow. "The earthquakes are different, Lady Knight. Another matter entirely. There've always been quakes in these mountains. Was a big one a few days ago. There's been quite a bit more rumbling lately than I'm used to. Bothers even me."