The rain made the rockface cruelly slick, and Mal-dred had to use all of his strength to struggle up it, digging fingers into cracks, his feet scrabbling, arm muscles bunching, and finally pulling himself up onto a wide ledge. Catching his breath, he tossed his rope over the side, braced himself, and pulled Fiona up to join him. He held her in his arms for a moment, the others waiting below.

"It is fortunate you decided to join us," Fiona told him.

"Yes, I decided the matters I needed to address in town could wait." Maldred's face was cloudy, recalling Donnag's orders to stay behind. The chieftain would find out soon enough that Maldred and Fetch joined the mission to Knollsbank. Maldred wondered what could be so dangerous in these hills, and he hoped his presence and sword skill would be enough to keep this from becoming a death's errand.

"Something troubles you?"

"Wolves, Lady Knight. The wolves that raid the goats."

Maldred doubted wolves truly were the cause of the goatherders' problems.

"We will send the wolves hunting for food elsewhere," she said.

His face lightened as he banished his thoughts of death and Donnag. "You are indeed fair," he said, his eyes capturing hers and twinkling with an inner light. "I swear by all I hold dear you surely take my breath away." His words sounded achingly sincere.

"I think it is this height that is making it difficult for you to breathe, Maldred."

"No," he chuckled. "It is you, Lady Knight." He dipped his head and met her lips, the kiss long and forceful.

When he pulled back she blushed and eased herself away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and glancing down the steep ridge. They were too high to see the crumbling buildings, the misshapen ogres, and the poor humans and dwarves struggling to barely eke out an existence in Bloten. The rain, coupled with the heat of summer, had engendered a mist around the ogre city, a pale pink and gray halo that made the place look serene and beautiful and very remote from this high vantage point-a magical city from children's bedtime stories where everyone lived well and happily. Not used to the altitude, a feeling of dizziness overtook her and she stepped back to lean against Maldred.

"Are you all right, Lady? Not that I mind."

"I don't look like much of a lady in these clothes," she said. He'd managed to convince the Solamnic to leave her plate mail at Donnag's, since it was not proper attire for climbing mountains. She had staunchly disagreed, and Rig voted with her just to side against Maldred, but then, she got a good look at just how sheer and dangerous the mountain was. And so she was wearing a pair of tan breeches and a long-sleeved black tunic, man's garb, tucked in at the waist. Rikali had grudgingly offered to share her more fine and more colorful clothes, and was secretly pleased to discover them too small for the muscular Knight. "In fact, Maldred, I look like an old field hand."

"You do not take compliments well, Lady Knight," he said, dropping the rope over the side. "Perhaps that is because the company you've been keeping does not think to offer them. And perhaps they do not have the good sense to realize what they have in their presence. I mean the big stupid mariner-Rig. You cannot marry him, Fiona."

"People really live up there?" she asked, changing the subject. Her eyes remained locked on Maldred.

"Goatherders in the village of Knollsbank-and from other smaller villages. They know better ways around these mountains than I, and likely would have chosen a much simpler path. Chieftain Donnag says they climb these rocks easier than most people walk. And, of course, goats live up here too."

"And wolves, apparently," Rig added. The mariner was the next to arrive, using the rope primarily as security, climbing as Maldred had done, as if he was born to the activity. Like scaling the masts of a ship, he fondly mused as he finished with this portion of the ascent. He was weighted down with his weapons, the glaive strapped to his back. Dhamon followed him, Fetch on his shoulders.

Maldred started up the next section of rock, Fetch accompanying him this time, while Dhamon stayed behind to wait for Rikali. The half-elf skittered up the mountain like a spider, not needing the rope, as her fingers and sandaled feet found cracks and crevices the others had somehow missed. It was a skill she learned from the thieves' guild in Sanction, fitting her fingers and toes into the narrow crevices between the bricks that made up the exteriors of the nobles' walled houses. Dhamon helped her up on the ledge, just as Fiona turned to go.

Just then, the mountain rumbled slightly, as it had a few times since they began their climb. Rikali clung to Dhamon, feigning fright and then becoming genuinely afraid when the tremor continued unabated. Her hands nervously massaged the muscles in Dhamon's arms. When the tremor finally passed, she let out a deep breath and grinned slyly.

The rain had continued steadily for the past several days, at times pounding down, and at other times, like now, a fine drizzle, the sole purpose of which seemed to keep them from bearing the brunt of the otherwise hot day. Rikali now turned her face up to catch some of the rainwater in her mouth, then dropped her chin to his chest again. "Dhamon Grimwulf, I love you."

"Rikali, I…"

"You lovebirds joining us?" Rig had made it up to the next ledge and was peering down at the two. Fetch was at his shoulder, red eyes twinkling mischievously.

Dhamon reached for the rope, not noticing the clouded expression on the half-elf's face. He had nearly made it to the next ledge when he felt his leg tingle with warmth from the scale. It gave him little warning this time, turning instantly to a fiery heat. He gripped the rope, his eyes squeezing shut, teeth digging into his bottom lip. He tasted blood in his mouth, then put all of his effort into simply hanging on as he was wracked by wave after wave of intense heat and bone-numbing cold.

Each time the pain was profound. And each time it was different, hotter, then so cold, shifting violently back and forth. Now from behind his eyelids he saw nothing but red, the flames of a fire, the breath of the dragon overlord who had cursed him with the scale on his leg. He fought to focus on something besides the flames, real or imaginary, it didn't matter. Anything that might lessen the pain. For an instant he saw the face of a Kagonesti, soft and beautiful. But then the red overwhelmed it and he saw a pair of blinking red eyes.

"Dreaming," he croaked. He bit down hard, almost relishing that pain.

"Dhamon?" Rig was looking over the side, waiting to hoist him up.

Rikali was nervously prancing about on the ledge below, realizing what was happening.

"Dhamon!" Rig shouted.

"You leave him be!" she hissed to Rig. She started up the rockface. "Hold on," she urged him. "Lover, you just hold on." The half-elf caught up with him, reached out and grabbed the belt that held his sword and ale skins. His trembling threatened to pull her off the cliff face.

In the span of a few heartbeats Dhamon started shaking even more. Rig pulled on the rope, Rikali climbing up with it, one hand in a vertical crevice, the other still clutching Dhamon's belt. Between the two of them, they were able to drag him up to the ledge, where they tugged free his bow and quiver and laid him down away from the lip. Rikali hovered over him and pushed Rig away, clucking like a mother hen. "You keep going," she told the mariner, waving her arm. "Dhamon and I will be just fine here. We'll catch up in a few minutes." Then she quickly thought better of the situation. "Mai!" she screamed. "He needs help!"

It looked as if Dhamon was having a seizure. The half-elf tugged a skin free from Dhamon's belt, raised his head, and poured the liquor into his mouth, a good portion of it dribbling down his chin and onto his shirt. She massaged the muscles of his throat, helping it go down.