"Took my glaive," he repeated. "Now how am I gonna get it back?"

Dhamon persisted in examining the footprints as he listened to the mariner continue to grumble. For a brief moment he considered asking Wyrmsbane where the glaive was. But he quickly discarded the notion, not wanting to do any favors for the mariner. He would save the magic of Tanis's sword for his own questions, which might, tomorrow morning, involve these small footprints that troubled him.

"Too dark," Dhamon said, finally giving up on the footprints. He rejoined the ogres, seeking out Mulok and sharing some more of the bitter drink, then he began examining the ogre corpses.

Fiona backed away from the shaggybark and Rig, and instructed her charges, via Maldred, to search through the dead ogres' belongings. "Just in case other things are missing," she said. "Make sure they gather any rations they find."

Mulok and the other ogres busied themselves stacking their dead comrades around the base of a cypress tree. It wasn't practical to bury them here, or to burn them. Maldred said they'd be left for carrion-after they were first stripped of any weapons and armor that could be used.

Rig noticed Dhamon pluck a large silver ring off the hand of one corpse and stuff it in his pocket. He watched him take a silver bracer off the arm of another and slip it in his pouch, then move on, pretending to be interested in the lianas. The mariner was disgusted, shaking his head and wishing ardently that he'd never crossed paths with Dhamon Grimwulf, and that the Solamnic Knights had agreed to this ransom. They could've done it for Fiona, who had dedicated her life to the Order. It would have saved Fiona and him time-weeks. They wouldn't have had to struggle across the length of the Kalkhists following Dhamon and Maldred, and they wouldn't have gone to the village of goatherders on an errand for the arrogant ogre chieftain.

And they might have gotten to the old bozak draconian in Takar in time. Fiona's brother might have lived.

"If the dragon was to be trusted about accepting a ransom," Rig grumbled. "If the draconian was in Takar. If. If. If." He growled from deep in his throat. He wanted desperately to go after his glaive. But if the person-or creature-who took it was responsible for all the snakes, he suspected he'd be throwing his life away. And he wanted to go to Shrentak, a notion he'd allowed himself to become obsessed with, and rescue all the people held there. "Shrentak," he hissed.

The mariner spotted Dhamon and Maldred conferring by one of the torches. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he made his way toward them. Fiona was nearby. Good, he thought, she'd get an earful of what he had to say.

"The chest." Fiona was pacing in a tight circle as she talked. Her hands were shaking, her shoulders uncharacteristically rounded. "Something took the chest. With the gems and coins. The ransom for my brother!"

"For your brother's body," Rig corrected her.

Her eyes were fire when she stopped inches from the mariner. Her lips were moving wordlessly. The mariner knew what she was thinking. If they hadn't wasted time trying to collect a ransom with Dhamon and his overlarge friend-if the Solamnic Council had simply given her the coins she neededj — her brother might still be alive. Maybe.

"It wouldn't have mattered," the mariner told her, though he didn't completely believe that. "Ransom or no, that dragon wasn't going to let him or any of those other Knights free. It was probably all a sick game. So we're walking through this damned swamp for nothing. This whole expedition is pointless, Fiona. How many times do I have to tell you that I saw your brother die?"

She started to say something, but he cut her off.

"So you want his body for a proper burial. That's admirable. But so far this has cost the lives of ten ogres. And my glaive. And now the chest with all the loot is gone, too. No ransom. No body. We're not where we're supposed to be. Let's just go home. We can honor your brother by…"

"You can't say that," Fiona countered desperately. "You can't say this is all pointless. Maldred had sent scouts ahead-before the snakes came. They'll find the ruins of Takar and…"

Dhamon nodded. He had silently padded up on the two, listening intently to their conversation. "Maldred sent two good scouts." He gestured to the south. "They should be back soon, if we're as close to the place as Mai thinks."

"I think we're practically right on top of it." This from Maldred, who was still looking about to make sure no more snakes were descending.

"On top of what?" Rig boomed. "Certainly not Takar. We're too far south from the ruins of Takar. So where'n the layers of the Abyss are you taking us, Maldred?"

The big man offered Rig a look of puzzlement.

"You heard me. Where're you and this Mulok fellow leading us?"

"To Takar, as we agreed."

"Like hell." The mariner took a few steps back, so he could regard Dhamon, Maldred, and Fiona. He set his clenched hands against his waist, shoulders defiantly thrown back, lip curled up in a sneer. "We're nowhere near Takar. Not at all where we're supposed to be. And you know it, Dhamon."

"Rig?" Fiona moved closer, though she positioned herself so she was between Maldred and Dhamon.

Three against one, the mariner thought. "I got a good look at the stars when I was snake bait. I can read the stars, you know, steer by them. I used to make a living by them. We're south and east of Bloten. And, yes, the ruins are in that direction. But we're too far to the south, and we're not east enough."

"Is that true?" A look of suspicion crossed the Solam-nic's face. She glanced up at Maldred.

"Impressive," the big man stated. He thoughtfully rubbed his chin and met the mariner's glare.

"So tell me, Maldred, Dhamon," Rig persisted, "just where are we going, and why?"

A noise in the brush caused Maldred to jerk away, his hands reaching for the pommel of the sword strapped to his back, stopping when he recognized the two ogre scouts he'd sent out a while back. The creatures looked shocked by the aftermath of the battle, and Maldred gave them a curtailed version of the events.

The scouts reported quickly, Maldred and Dhamon listening attentively, while Fiona gave Rig an inquisitive look.

"Are you certain we're not near Takar?" she asked.

Rig nodded. "But I don't know where we are."

"1 do. We're less than a mile from the Trueheart Mines," Dhamon said, squarely facing the mariner, his eyes dancing in the torchlight. "If you want to rescue somebody, there are plenty of prisoners there in need of it."

Fiona looked incredulously between Dhamon and Rig, then let out a deep breath from between her teeth and angrily took a step toward Maldred. Dhamon's hand slammed against her breastplate, stopping her. Maldred was talking to the scouts in the ogre tongue, gesturing at the force of the mercenaries, and then to the south.

"He's getting them ready," Dhamon explained. "Issuing a few orders. You know how that is, Fiona. Soldiers need instructions before a fight."

Rig batted Dhamon's arm down. "You and Maldred lied to her. You promised her a small army of mercenaries."

"I didn't promise her anything."

"Maldred, Donnag…"

"Well, Rig, there're thirty mercenaries left-after the snakes."

"For Takar," Rig stated flatly. "They were to be for Takar."

"We didn't want to go to Takar," Dhamon returned. "I certainly had no intentions of going there-or anywhere else in this blessed swamp, for that matter. You should have realized that days ago, Rig." His voice was icy, his stare hard and unwavering. "Maldred had his own agenda, and he thought he could use your sword arms. You're good in a fight, the both of you. And he seems quite fond of Fiona."