"Ache a lot," Fetch said. His shoulders shook as he turned from the mariner, stuffing his fist in his mouth to choke back a sob. "Stolen," the kobold repeated. "Years."

"What's a few years? Besides, whatever happened, it'll probably just wear off. Just like Dhamon suggested. And there is that pasty-faced ogre in Bloten." Rig adopted a light tone, hoping to get the creature moving. "Grim, right? We'll go see Grim." He looked at the river. If I had any sense, he thought to himself, I'd leave this little thing right here and swim for it.

The kobold had squared his diminutive shoulders. "It stole more than just a few years. My arms and legs feel stiff. Hurts to move ‘em. Don't see quite so well. Everything's a little fuzzy."

By the blessed memory of Habbakuk, I'm feeling sorry for the little rat, Rig cursed himself. I'm the one who demanded a couple of questions, so I'm partly to blame. Still, the creature's a thief, he continued. A thief and probably a murderer who doesn't deserve any sympathy.

"We have to go, Fetch," he repeated. The sound of the river seemed louder, and he glanced at it again. It had started to spill out onto the floor of the chamber. There wouldn't be much of an air pocket now.

"Ilbreth," the kobold answered after a moment. His voice was soft and raspy. "My name's Ilbreth. And you're not so bad. For a human."

It's Fiona, the mariner thought. She's rubbed off on me and made me soft. Aloud, he said, "C'mon, Ilbreth." He turned and left the dais, kicking at a few rocks and skulls. "I ain't waiting any longer on you," Rig added unnecessarily. But he did wait, and when the kobold didn't join him, he turned and glanced back.

Fetch was lying on the ground, not moving.

Dhamon stopped swimming shortly after he turned to follow the narrow branch-off, which he'd nearly missed; there was no reason to put in the effort. The current was so strong he was like some bit of flotsam being propelled along. He concentrated on keeping his legs straight and his arms tucked in close, hoped he didn't brush up against any sharp rock walls. His head pounded and his lungs cried out for air, but there was none to be had-not a single air pocket since he'd gulped his last breath in the green-lit chamber. There was only this total darkness and a sound constant and deafening.

He felt himself growing lightheaded, found himself thinking of Feril and the dragons and of the night at the Window to the Stars. His leg was tingling, had been since they'd started exploring the old chamber of the Black Robe sorcerers. It began to radiate its waves of intense heat and bone-numbing cold just as he'd asked Fetch to discover the source of rain. And it became worse just before he left the chamber-which was the real reason he left Rig and Fetch behind. When the pain took hold of him, he could think of nothing else.

The corridor angled sharply and threw him against a jagged rock. For a brief moment, he thought that drowning here might be a blessing-no more pain. Someone would find a corpse with a souvenir from a dragon overlord affixed to its rotting leg. Then he felt a surge, felt rocks brush his stomach, felt himself sinking, being propelled through a curtain of pummeling water that drove the last of the air from his lungs and pushed him under. His eyes' were still open, but all he could see was dark, murky gray. Then the water turned paler, the color of dense fog, and he was borne down deeper. He made out shapes. Odd-a stone home? A covered well? A wagon? All underwater.

Dhamon was forced all the way to the bottom by the powerful water of the falls. He felt his feet touch something solid, and he was able to push himself up, and then he thrashed when he broke the surface. It was all he could do to tread water, the pain was so intense from the scale, threatening to overwhelm him and send him under again. The violent tremors started in his muscles, and he mindlessly drove himself toward the shore, concentrating on a patch of muddy ground, gulping in air, and trying to blot out the possibility of death. He managed to reach the bank and pull himself halfway out of the water when he finally surrendered to exhaustion and the icy-hot pain, and slipped into merciful unconsciousness.

Rikali's head broke the surface just behind him. She greedily swallowed the fresh air. "Pigs, but I thought we were gonna die, lover! Never thought I'd be so grateful to see all of this rain. It's beautiful!" She tread water and breathed deeply, listened to the roaring of the falls behind her and the near-silent patter of the rain. "Dhamon? Where are you, Dhamon?"

Panic gripped her heart when he didn't answer. She furtively glanced about, spotting him on the bank, half in the water. Then she hurriedly swam toward him, pulled herself out, and turned Dhamon over onto his back. She let out a deep breath when she saw his chest rising and falling, and then she busied herself with cleaning the mud off his face. His limbs were quivering.

"It's that damnable scale," she hissed. "Together we'll find a cure for it, lover. Should've asked that pool, made Fetch wiggle his tiny fingers and ask about healing you. About how it could be done. Finding you help is more important than Shrentak and this rain. Why hadn't I thought of that? Am I so selfish I didn't think of that?" Then she was smoothing his hair away from his face, which was tight with pain. She tugged him out of the water, glancing up at the falls and idly wondering about the kobold. "He's worthless, Fetch is. If he had been thinkin', he would've asked the pool about your scale. It's his fault, it is. Not mine. All his fault. He thinks he's so smart. Well, he isn't smart at all. Worthless. But don't you worry, lover. After it stops rainin' and all of this water dries up, we'll go back there to that cave and have another look at the pool. We'll find a cure for that scale. I promise."

She did her best to cradle Dhamon, rocking him and brushing the mud from his tunic. "And when you're all healed we'll find a spot for our grand house. We'll have a dinin' room bigger than the one in Donnag's palace and rooms for little ones that'll grow up handsome and look just like you. And we'll have a garden that goes on forever filled with strawberries and raspberries, and I'll plant grapes, too. Maybe we'll learn how to make wine. The sweet kind. You'll see, lover, it'll be…"

Just then Rig's head broke the surface, the mariner sputtering and gasping, his glaive held firmly in his hand. He took a deep breath, then dove again, surprising Rikali and bringing her to her feet.

"What're you doin'?" The half-elf glanced at Dhamon to make sure he was still breathing, and then padded to the edge of the basin. She stared through the mist and saw the mariner surface again, the kobold cradled against his chest. She waved to get the mariner's attention, then returned to Dhamon. His eyes fluttered open, and she grinned.

"Feelin' all right?" she asked.

Dhamon nodded as he struggled to his feet. He was still sore, but focused on the mariner and the kobold. Rig's face was cut in several places, likely from colliding with sharp rocks underwater, and the kobold's cloak was in tatters. The mariner wiped at the blood as he dragged himself out of the basin, dropped the glaive onto the shore, and gently laid Fetch's body down.

"What's wrong with Fetch?" Rikali took a tentative step toward them.

Rig plopped down next to the kobold's body and stared at the falls.

"Fetch?" she repeated hesitantly, then adopted a scolding tone. "I was wonderin' if you two were gonna make it. All of that playin' with the magical pool. You might have hurried up a little…"

"Ilbreth's dead," Rig said simply.

The half-elf sucked in a breath and stumbled toward the bank, dropping to her knees and gently shaking the kobold's body. "Die on me?" She glanced at Rig, looking for an explanation. "Fetch wouldn't die on me. He just wouldn't."