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Redemption

Jean Rabe

Chapter One

Wind and Scales

The creature’s leathery wings beat strong and steady as it climbed into the night sky and cut its course against a violent wind. The full moon illuminated a manticore easily the size of a hatchling dragon. It had the body and coloration of a lion, a disconcertingly human-looking visage, and a long, ropy tail ending in a clump of deadly spikes. Without warning the manticore threw back its head and roared, an eerie sound that sliced through the howling wind and sent shivers down its three passengers’ spines.

Dhamon Grimwulf sat just behind the head of the manticore, wedged with Fiona between two of the spikes that ran the length of the creature’s back. He leaned as far to his right as safe and practical, avoiding the manticore’s flailing mane, but the wind stung his eyes and caused the ragged garment’s sleeves to billow and snap like a sail. He thought the wind oddly warm, despite it being early fall and so late at night, and despite their flying at least forty feet above the tallest trees of the black dragon’s swamp.

Fiona’s breath was warmer still, and gentler, against his neck. The Solamnic Knight’s arms were wrapped around his waist, her chest pressed tight against his back. She spoke into his ear.

“I must buy a fine gown for my wedding, Dhamon. When we reach a city… it won’t be long until we reach a city, will it?”

Never mind, Fiona, that you haven’t a single steel piece in your pocket, Dhamon thought, or that there will be no wedding. Your beloved Rig is dead, and you are mad. You and I saw him die an arm’s length away.

“My mother always told me I look best in blue,” she added.

“Colors don’t matter, lady.

Only thing that matters right now is that this damnable beast is flying too fast. ” The grumbling came from Ragh, the sivak draconian who was perched precariously behind the Knight. “Much too fast in this strong of a wind. ”

He repeated his complaint twice more, getting no reply—either because Dhamon or Fiona didn’t care or couldn’t hear his whispery-hoarse voice above the wind and the beast’s noisily flapping wings. The draconian was clearly distraught, and his legs were growing numb because he had them clenched so tight around the manticore’s haunches. Ragh dug his stubby claws in for good measure, feeling the manticore’s coarse hide ripple in protest. The creature roared again.

“And we’re too damnably high. ”

Though most sivaks could fly—they were the only draconians who could naturally do so—Ragh had lost his wings to a cruel punishment and had no desire to see if he could survive a fall from this lofty position.

He kept his eyes trained on the back of Dhamon’s head, sucked in a deep breath, and tried to calm himself—fighting the sensation that his stomach was rising into his throat. After nearly an hour had passed and the air had cooled a little, the draconian indeed managed to relax—if only slightly. He decided to chance a brief look below. Peering at the darkness underneath that marked the weave of cypress branches, Ragh spotted a gap in the foliage and through this caught a glimpse of a silver ribbon, which was the moon reflecting off a river tributary. There wasn’t much more of the swamp to clear now.