by Don Perrin
“There’s a problem, sir.” The Baaz was apologetic. “The dwarves have locked the doors to the shed and are threatening to dump their brew before they’ll hand it over to us, sir.”
“By the Dark Queen’s heart!” Kang swore, shocked. “Are they serious?”
“We have to assume that they are, sir.” The draconian looked worried, as well he might.
Kang raced off to assess the situation. When he arrived, the draconians were hissing and howling and clashing their swords against their breastplates. At the dire threat to dump the spirits, the draconians were near to forgetting their orders against bloodshed.
by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman
CHRONICLES
Dragons of Autumn Twilight
Dragons of Winter Night
Dragons of Spring Dawning
LEGENDS
Time of the Twins
War of the Twins
Test of the Twins
The Second Generation
Dragons of Summer Flame
by Margaret Weis and Don Perrin
The Doom Brigade
by Margaret Weis
The Soulforge
THE DOOM BRIGADE
©1996 TSR, Inc.
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.
Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC. Hasbro SA, represented by Hasbro Europe, Stockley Park, UB11 1AZ. UK.
DRAGONLANCE, D&D, Wizards of the Coast, their respective logos, and TSR, Inc. are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries.
All Wizards of the Coast characters and their distinctive likenesses are property of Wizards of the Coast LLC.
Cover art by: Keith Parkinson
eISBN: 978-0-7869-6201-3
For customer service, contact:
U.S., Canada, Asia Pacific, & Latin America: Wizards of the Coast LLC, P.O. Box 707, Renton, WA 98057-0707, +1-800-324-6496, www.wizards.com/customerservice
U.K., Eire, & South Africa: Wizards of the Coast LLC, c/o Hasbro UK Ltd., P.O. Box 43, Newport, NP19 4YD, UK, Tel: +08457 12 55 99, Email: [email protected]
Europe: Wizards of the Coast p/a Hasbro Belgium NV/SA, Industrialaan 1, 1702 Groot-Bijgaarden, Belgium, Tel: +32.70.233.277, Email: [email protected]
Visit our websites at www.wizards.com
www.DungeonsandDragons.com
v3.1
Dedicated proudly to the Canadian Corps
of Land Electrical & Mechanical Engineers
Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
About the Authors
Chapter One
“Stand to!”
Kang was on his feet, his clawed hands groping through the darkness of his cabin for his armor before he was fully awake or cognizant of what was going on.
“Blasted elves! Damn pointy-ears. Why in the Abyss can’t they let a fella get some sleep?”
He found his breastplate, wrestled with it briefly, and finally managed to sling one strap over his scaled arm. The other strap remained elusive, and Kang, cursing it soundly, ignored it. Clasping the breastplate to his chest with his arm, he searched for the door, and stumbled into a chair.
A trumpet sounded the alarm off-key. More shouts came from outside, answered by hoarse yells of defiance. Kang gave the chair a kick that slivered it and once again tried to find the door.
“Foppy elves,” he muttered again, but that didn’t seem quite right.
A sober part of him, a part of him that had not been drinking dwarf spirits last night—a party-pooping, stern task-master, who generally hovered near Kang’s shoulder, watching the other parts of him enjoying themselves with a disapproving glower—nagged at him again.
Something about dwarves. Not elves.
Kang flung open the door to his cabin. The breathlessly hot morning air hit him a good sock in the face. The sky was gray with the dawning rays of the sun, though that light had not yet penetrated to the cabins and huts sheltered beneath the pine trees. Kang blinked, shook his head muzzily, tried to disperse the dwarf spirits fouling his brain. Reaching out, he collared the first draconian who came into sight.
“What the hell’s going on?” Kang bellowed. “Is it the Golden General?”
The draconian stared, lost in such amazement that he forgot to salute. “Golden General? Begging your pardon, sir, but we haven’t fought the Golden General in twenty-five years! It’s them pesky dwarves, sir. On a raiding party. I expect they’re after the sheep, sir.”
Kang let his breastplate slip down over his chest while he considered this extraordinary news. Dwarves. Sheep. Raiding party. The part of him that knew what was going on was really incensed. If he could only—
“Good morning, sir!” came a damnably cheery voice.
Water, icy water, splashed into Kang’s face.
He gave a roar and emerged, scales clicking with the shock, but now relatively sober and aware of what was happening.
“Let me help you with that, sir,” said the same cheery voice.
Slith, Kang’s second-in-command, had hold of the breastplate and was looping the strap around his commander’s arm, buckling it securely beneath Kang’s left wing.
“Dwarves again, huh?” Kang said.
Draconians were dashing past, pulling on armor and hoisting weapons and heading to their assigned defense posts around the walled village. A sheep, separated from the herd and bleating in panicked terror, trotted past.
“Yes, sir. They’re hitting us from the north.”
Kang ran for the northern side of the wall—a wall in which he took inordinate pride. Made of stone that had been blasted by magic from the side of Mount Celebund, the wall had been built by Kang’s troops—the former First Dragonarmy Engineering Brigade. The wall surrounded the draconians’ village, kept the marauding dwarves out and the sheep in. At least, that’s how it was supposed to work.
Somehow or other, the sheep kept disappearing. When that happened, Kang could often smell the savory scent of r
oast mutton, born on the night breeze, wafting from the direction of the hill dwarf settlement on the opposite side of the valley.
Reaching the wall, Kang clambered up the stairs, his clawed feet scrabbling on the stone, and took his place on the battlements. It was that smudgy time of morning, not dark, not light. Kang spotted the hill dwarves running across the open ground, heading for the north face of the village wall, but it was difficult to count their numbers in the half-light. The lead runners carried ladders and ropes, ready to scale the walls. The draconians manned the walls, swords and clubs drawn, waiting to knock some hill dwarf heads.
“You know my orders!” Kang shouted, drawing his sword. “Flat of the blades only! Make sure any magic you Bozaks use is harmless, just enough to throw a scare into them.”
The draconians around Kang all “Yes, sirred,” but it seemed to him that their voices were distinctly lacking in enthusiasm. The dwarves had reached the bottom of the wall and were flinging up their grappling hooks and hoisting their ladders. Kang was leaning over the wall, preparing to fend off a ladder, when he was distracted from the coming battle by the sound of a commotion much farther down the wall to his right.
Thinking that this frontal assault might have been meant as a distraction and that the first wave was already over the walls, Kang left Slith in command and dashed in the new direction. He found Gloth, one of his troop commanders, shouting in loud, angry tones.
A draconian was holding a crossbow, aiming it, ready to fire it at the dwarves.
“What in the Dark Queen’s name do you think you’re doing, soldier?” Gloth was yelling. “Put that bow down! You know the commander’s orders.”
“I know ’em, but I don’t like ’em!” the draconian snarled sullenly, keeping hold of the crossbow.
Kang could have charged in, thrown his weight around, brought the situation under control. He restrained himself, however, waited to see how his troop commander handled the situation.
“You don’t like them, sir!” Gloth repeated.
From the north came shouts and howls and yells. The draconians, armed with sticks, were shoving the ladders, filled with dwarves, away from the walls. Gloth eyed the mutinous soldier grimly, and Kang waited tensely for his troop commander to lose control and start bashing heads together. That’s what Gloth would have done in the old days.
But the draconian officer was evidently developing subtlety.
“Look, Rorc, you know we can’t use crossbows, and you know why we can’t use them. Do I have to go over this again?” Gloth raised his hand, pointed. “Now, take that dwarf right there, for instance. Sure, he’s an ugly bastard, what with all that hair on his face and that potbelly and those little stubby legs. But maybe, just maybe, Rorc, that there dwarf is the very dwarf—maybe the only dwarf—who knows the recipe for dwarf spirits. You shoot him, Rorc, and, yes, you send another god-cursed dwarf back to Reorx, but what happens the next time we raid their village? We find a sign on the distillery saying ‘Owner deceased. Out of business.’ And where does that leave us, Rorc?”
Rorc glowered but did not respond.
“I’ll tell you where that leaves us,” Gloth continued solemnly. “Thirsty, that’s what. So you just put down that bow and pick up your club like a good draco, and I won’t say nothing about this breach of orders to the commander.”
Rorc hesitated, but finally threw down the crossbow. Picking up his club, he leaned over the wall, prepared to beat off the assault. Gloth grabbed the crossbow and marched off with it. Kang beat a hasty retreat to his command post.
It was a shame he’d have to pretend he hadn’t seen any of this. He would have liked to have given Gloth well-deserved praise for his deft handling of what could have turned into an ugly situation.
Kang couldn’t really blame the soldier. It was frustrating as hell having to put up with these annoying dwarven raids, when back in the old days the draconians would have just swooped down on the dwarves, killed them, and leveled their little village.
But the old days were gone, as Kang was constantly working to make his draconians understand.
Returning to his position, Kang surveyed the field of battle. The dwarven ladder bearers had planted their ladders, the dwarves were climbing up them. The draconians successfully pushed away four of the ladders over, but several dwarves scrambled over the remaining two ladders, clubs and fists swinging.
The dwarves were a tough target for the draconians to hit. Standing about four and a half feet tall, the dwarves ducked under the legs of the seven-foot tall draconians, whose clubs and sword blades generally whistled right over the dwarves’ heads.
Kang spotted six dwarves, who darted and weaved and jumped, eluding all attempts by the draconians to stop them. The dwarves leapt off the wall and disappeared inside the draconian village.
Kang swore.
“Damn! Slith, take the First Squadron and go after them. We’ve only got ten head of sheep left. I can’t afford to lose any of them. Go!”
“First Troop, follow me!” Slith yelled over the din.
The draconians had pushed off the remaining two ladders, but the dwarves on the outside were keeping up a steady assault, hurling rocks and mud. The draconian next to Kang slumped to his knees, then pitched face first into the dirt. Kang rolled the draconian over to find him still breathing but with a large bump rising on his forehead. A clay brick, cracked in half, lay next to him. Kang left the unconscious soldier and descended the battlements. He went to find the Support Troop.
The draconians had maintained their military ranks and organization over the years, though there had really been no need for them to do so. They had long ago left the army. But the discipline of the military unit worked well in times of emergency, such as this. Everyone knew what to do and who to follow.
The Support Troop supplied the rest of the brigade (now only two hundred draconians strong), providing food, clothing, armor, weapons, and tools. During the raids, the Support Troop served as the reserve army. Rog, the commander in charge of Support, saluted as Kang approached.
“We’re ready when you are, sir!” Rog announced.
“Good! Let’s go!” Kang responded and set the example by sheathing his sword.
With a yell, the forty draconians, each armed with a club and a shield, broke into a jog, heading for the gate. The draconians manning the gate saw the Support Troop coming, flung wide the wooden doors.
On the other side of the gate, the dwarves, seeing their chance, made a rush on the opened portal. Kang and his Support Troop charged through the gate. Swinging clubs and fists, they surged headlong into the attacking dwarves.
The battle was brief. Several dwarves fell, their heads cracked by club or fist. Lightning crackled, a few Bozaks were using their magic. Mindful of their commander’s order, they made certain that all it did was singe a few beards and set one dwarf’s pants ablaze. After five of their number had either fallen or were smoldering, the hill dwarves withdrew, pulling back their forces into the sparse woods surrounding the village. The occasional projectile weapon whistled through the air or, in some instances, plopped.
Kang was just turning to assess the situation when he was struck on the snout by a rotten egg. The eggshell broke, the stinking yolk dribbled into his mouth and down his jaws. His stomach heaved at the foul smell and worse taste. He gagged and retched. He would have almost preferred an arrow in the gut.
Wiping the putrid missile from his face, Kang called for his forces to retreat. He heard his command, given in draconian, repeated in dwarven, shouted by the commander of the hill dwarves. The dwarves ran off, leaving their wounded on the field. Their wives would be around to collect them in the morning.
The draconians on the wall let out a victory yell. Once again they had pushed back the dwarves. Kang shook his head glumly. Six dwarves had made it through, however. He could only imagine what mischief they’d managed to do before being cornered. Kang ordered his men inside, and the gates closed.
Slith was waiting for
him.
“Well?” Kang asked. “Did you catch them?”
Slith saluted. “Sir, we clobbered two of them, but at least four got away, and four of the sheep are missing.”
Kang kicked the dirt with a clawed foot, sending up a cloud of dust in his frustration. “Damn! And nobody saw a thing? What did the sheep do, sprout wings and fly off with the dwarves on their backs?”
Slith could only shrug. “Sorry, sir. It was all pretty confused …”
“Yes, yes, I know.” Kang sucked in a breath, tried to calm himself. “Hand me a rag to clean this filth off, will you? Deal with the wounded, then assemble the troops in one hour in the compound. I want to talk to them before it gets too hot.”
Slith laid a conciliatory claw on Kang’s scaled arm. “The boys are having a rough time of it now, sir. But we’re still all behind you. Every one of us.”
Kang nodded wordlessly, and Slith went off to carry out his orders. He and his soldiers hauled the unconscious dwarves outside the gate and left them there. By the next day, they would be gone. They would either wake up and stumble home, or their families would haul them off the following day.
Either way, they would be safe in bed by sundown.
“Damn crazy way to run a war, if you ask me,” one draconian was overheard to say to another, as they hauled a potbellied, black-bearded dwarf out the front gate.
Yes, Kang thought to himself. It was a damn crazy way to run a war.
Chapter Two
Kang had his reasons for this damn crazy way to fight a war. Reasons he’d shared with the men under him time and again. They just needed another reminder.
The draconians descending the wall shuffled into the compound, forming orderly ranks. Soon, all the draconians in Kang’s command were standing in four rows. Kang took his place before them. Slith gave the order, and the draconians snapped to attention.
The morning sun, a fiery red eyeball that looked the way Kang’s eyes felt this morning, peered into the compound. The red light glinted on the scales of the draconians, scales reflecting the type of dragon from which each was so hideously descended. Sunlight gleamed in the brassy tinted scales of the Baaz. Slith, one of the Sivaks, glittered silver. Stepping from the shadow of the command hut into the bright compound, Kang’s own scales glinted with burnished bronze. He was a Bozak, one the few Bozaks in the troop and, for all he knew, perhaps one of the few Bozaks left in the world.