Behind her, Rig cupped his face with his hands.

The rain turned soft, but maintained a steady downpour until dawn, a sheet of driving gray that kept them thoroughly soaked, and turned the trail that wound between the rocky ridges into mud.

"You should return to Khur," Dhamon told Rig as the mariner was saddling his big mare. The horse was not as good as the one Dhamon had stolen from him. Its back swayed and there was a large lump on one rear leg. "The country's more hospitable, safer for you and Fiona. Talk her out of this nonsense. Dragons… and draconians… are not to be trusted. She's wasting her time."

The mariner cinched the saddle and made a clucking sound in his throat. "Glad to see you're so concerned about our safety."

"I'm not." Dhamon's face was impassive, his voice steady. "I'd just rather not have your company."

"All the more reason, then, for Fiona and me to come with you. I know once she gets her mind set on something I can't change it. But I'm not going to help any of you swipe a single steel piece."

"A waste of time," Dhamon repeated.

"It's our time to waste."

The trail they followed had become a meandering brown snake that rippled with thick rivulets of water. At times it gently wound its way through the mountains, with steep rocks rising on both sides. But often it coiled around the edge of the western slope, as it was doing now, climbing a near-vertical cliff face, the top of which disappeared into dark gray clouds on one side, on the other a two-hundred-foot drop-off that yielded to Sable's immense swamp. A thin strip of cloud hovered above a section of the swamp, a few of the giant cypresses stretched through it, their tops decorated with large parrots.

Rikali sloshed ahead, probing with Dhamon's cane to make sure the way was safe for the horses and wagon. Though complaining about the task, she had suggested that it be done and that she be the one to handle it.

"My eyes're better'n yours," she had said to the men. Softer, so Rig and Fiona could not hear, "and I don't want anythin' happenin' to our gems. No tumble down the mountainside to lose them after all we went through to get ‘em." She knew Dhamon was still favoring his ribs and that Maldred couldn't use his right arm. And although her own scrapes and bruises hadn't yet healed, she recognized she was the best choice for guide. The only thing wrong with Fetch seemed to be the repulsive odor he was exuding from being so thoroughly wet, but Rikali didn't trust the kobold to lead the wagon.

Maldred sat on the wagon bench, eyes trained on the half-elf, his wounded arm still tucked close to his chest. Dhamon, who sat next to him, could tell he was feverish. Dhamon had the reins and was watching Rikali carefully, too, though it was clear from his blank expression his mind was elsewhere.

Fetch was behind them, sitting cross-legged on the tarp that covered the bulging bags of gemstones. He'd fastened the tarp down tightly at Maldred's orders. Rig had been eyeing the tarp, and the kobold felt certain he was trying to guess what was underneath. Supplies, hah! Fetch had decided from the very beginning that he didn't like the dark man-didn't like the way he swaggered, the way his eyes flared from time to time with belligerence, the way he dressed, and the kobold certainly did not like all the weapons he carried.

The kobold didn't care for the Knight, either, but he knew Maldred was at least mildly interested in her, so voicing too much resentment there would be wasting words.

Fiona and Rig rode side by side behind the wagon, the entire procession moving slowly, the mariner frequently glancing at the tarp.

"They're talking," the kobold informed Maldred, his beady red eyes fixed on the mariner, hoping to unnerve him. "All this rain, the patter, making it too hard fer me to hear what they're saying. Something ‘bout Knights an' prisoners an' Shren-something, can't make out the rest. Wagon's creaking, too. Hope it doesn't fall apart. Loaded down with gems and water. Water. Water. Water."

"I thought you wanted it to rain."

The kobold made a noise that sounded like a pig snorting. "Not this much, Mai. Can't even light up my old man. Tobacco's all damp. In all my days I've never seen it rain so much at one time in these mountains. It ain't right. Ain't natural. It could stop anytime now an'…" As a booming clap of thunder cut the kobold off, he dug his small claws into the tarp. "An' what's this business about you helping that Solamnic Knight get coins an' gems an' such? Since when do we share our booty with the likes of her?"

Maldred chuckled. "I truly have no intention of helping her. And I certainly won't share any of what we have in the wagon."

"Yeah, yeah, it's for Dhamon's sword," the kobold grumbled. "Damn expensive sword."

"But she believes I will help her," Maldred continued. "And that thought warms my heart."

"And keeps her hanging around." Fetch made a face. "But she's a… well, she's a Solamnic Knight. Trouble. Very big trouble. Besides, she's going to marry that man."

"But she isn't married yet. And I fancy her."

"Fancy." The kobold snarled again. "The last woman you fancied was the wife of a rich Sanction merchant an'…"

"She didn't have so much spirit as this one," Maldred returned. "And wasn't quite so pretty. Besides, Lady Knight and the dark man are heading toward Takar, and eventually, deeper into the swamp. I suspect we could turn a good profit by going along-at least part of the way."

At mention of the swamp, Dhamon snapped to attention. He shot the big man a protesting glance. "You can't…"

"What's this about profit?" Fetch qut in. "How much profit?"

"There are people in Bloten who are concerned about Sable and her swamp. They'll pay well for any information garnered from a scouting party."

"I'm not going on your little scouting party," Dhamon said. "Bad enough you invited Rig and Fiona along."

Maldred shrugged. "If I hadn't, they'd have followed us anyway. Lady Knight is headstrong. Better we keep track of them."

Dhamon found himself agreeing. "But I don't have to like it," he said. Then he reached behind the seat and for the jug. Shaking it, he scowled. There was little left. He unstoppered it, drained the last of the spirits, then tossed the jug over the side of the mountain and watched it disappear into the mist.

Just then, Rikali slipped, the cane flying from her fingers and clattering over the edge. Dhamon pulled back on the reins, stopping the horses before they could trample her. Spitting and cursing, she picked herself up and brushed at the mud on her back. The half-elf looked up at Maldred and vehemently shook her head. Her long white hair was plastered against the sides of her body, streaked with mud. "It's like a damn stream ahead!" she hollered. "Pigs, but water is gushing down it. It's too slippery. We'll have to stop."

"Fetch!" Dhamon gestured to the kobold.

Muttering all the way, the small creature clambered down from the wagon and skidded toward the half-elf, falling twice before he reached her. He glanced down the merchant trail that continued to wind its way along the edge of the Kalkhists, his red eyes looking like tiny beacons through the gray sheet of rain. He skidded past Rikali and glanced around the next curve, scowled, and looked up, squinting as the rain pounded against his face.

"She's right. It's pretty bad," he called to Dhamon. "But waiting ain't gonna help." He pointed. "No sign of this letting up anytime soon. Only gonna get worse."

The big man gestured down the trail, and Rikali and Fetch moved slowly ahead, stopping at the bend to wait for the wagon to catch up, and guiding the horses around the next outcropping. It was difficult going, as a significant portion of the trail was washing away, and what was left was barely wide enough for the wagon. When the wagon rounded another curve, Fetch let out a whoop. His feet flew out from underneath him. Hands flailing in the air, the kobold slipped toward the edge.