The Doom Brigade

by Don Perrin

  “We’ll need food to last us until we reach the Daergar clan homes. After that, we can scrounge,” Selquist dictated.

  Auger copied this in a small bound book. Auger’s mother, one of the Thane’s scribes, had taught her son to read and write, skills Selquist found to be highly useful. Selquist could read, if he had to, but why bother when there was someone else to do it for you? He had never learned to write. He had better things to do with his hands, such as picking locks or pockets.

  “We leave a week from tomorrow night,” Selquist continued. He liked to have his plans in writing. Not that he ever forgot what he was doing, but it was pleasant to sit by the fire on winter evenings and hear Auger read the tale of their adventures together. “It will be quiet—there’s no raid planned—and there will be two full moons, making it easy to travel. We can cross Mount Celebund and be halfway to the South Gate by morning. The next day, we’ll complete the journey and enter Thorbardin.”

  Auger copied this down.

  Selquist yawned, stretched, and stood up. “Time for bed, Auger. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

  “Uh, Selquist.” Reading back over his notes, Auger discovered a serious flaw in the plan. “How are we going to get into Thorbardin? I thought that the Hilar wouldn’t let us Neidar inside.”

  Selquist patted his friend on the back. “You leave that to me. I have a way in.”

  “Selquist,” said Auger, after a moment’s hesitation, “aren’t you worried about being Cast Out? I can’t think of anything more terrible.”

  Selquist’s heart did give a little flutter and an uncomfortable thump at the thought. He could not let his friend see him afraid, however.

  “On the contrary,” Selquist said lightly. “I’d welcome it. You don’t think I plan to spend the rest of my life in this sleepy old village, do you? Why, they’d be doing me a favor. I’d go off and become a hero like that other dwarf who was Cast Out of his clan. What was his name?…”

  “Flint Fireforge,” said Auger, impressed. “You’d help save the world like Flint Fireforge did during the War of the Lance?”

  “I might not save the world,” Selquist conceded. “But at least I could rescue a few valuables. Now get some sleep. We did a lot of work today.”

  Auger did as he was told. But he paused on the way to his bedroom, sniffed the air. “I smell roast lamb,” he said wistfully.

  “Get over it,” Selquist advised.

  On his way to bed, he put his hand into his pocket and felt the medallion, which he’d thrust in there, then forgotten. He pulled it out, regarded it with a certain amount of unease.

  No one had ever threatened to have him Cast Out before now. Perhaps the Dark Queen …

  “Oh, don’t be silly!” Selquist admonished himself and thrust the medallion back into his pocket.

  It had to be worth at least five steel, easy.

  Chapter Five

  Eight days after the dwarven raid on the draconian village, Kang entered the command post’s conference room. The six officers of his brigade were inside, ready and waiting.

  These included the First, Second, and Support Squadron commanders, as well as his chief engineer, chief supply officer, and Slith, his second. They sat around a central table—a large table, made of wood, finely crafted and polished—a prize stolen early on from the dwarves. It had taken quite a bit of skill and muscle to haul the table through the valley, but the draconians had accomplished it. They had been young back then.

  Now, just looking at the massive table made Kang’s back ache.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. Thank you for coming. As you know, we’re on the verge of a crisis situation. Our supply of dwarf spirits is running low. By the quartermaster’s calculation, we have only enough for tomorrow’s ration. It’s time we paid the dwarves a visit. I’ve been talking with the chief engineer, and tonight appears to be an ideal night for our raid on Celebundin. I’ll let the chief engineer elaborate.”

  Fulkth, the chief engineer, spoke up. “Sir, we’re expecting two full moons tonight. That will make it easier for us to navigate. We haven’t had an opportunity like this for the past three years.”

  “That was the time we stole their ox-cart and loaded it with so much ale and dwarf spirits that we almost didn’t make it back home,” Slith recalled. “We cleaned ’em right out! Remember the party afterward? Dark Queen alive, but that was something special!”

  The other draconians began to jabber. Kang rapped his knuckles on the table, reminded them of their duty. They fell silent, gave him their full attention.

  “We have work to do,” he told them sternly. “If we reminisce all day, we’ll be here until nightfall and miss the raid. Does anyone have any problems with going tonight?”

  No one did. All of them were grinning eagerly at the prospect.

  “Very well, then. We’ll get down to the specifics. The First Squadron has gone on the last two raids—”

  “Damned right, sir! We’re the best at it!” Gloth said, poking the leader of Second Squadron, who looked glum, in the ribs.

  “Yes, as I was saying”—Kang glowered at them, bringing them once again to order—“I think that the Second Squadron should take the lead in this raid. First Squadron will be held in reserve, ready to respond if something goes wrong.”

  Now it was Gloth’s turn to look dejected. He scraped his claws across the wood, bringing a sharp reprimand from Slith.

  “Look at the marks you’ve made! Keep doing that and we won’t have any table left!”

  “Sorry, sir,” Gloth muttered.

  Kang continued. “This time we’ll take our own wagon. We’ll stash it behind the stand of trees to the south of Celebundin. Yethik, can you have your supply boys ready to move before sundown?”

  Yethik nodded. He was the chief supply officer, and his job was to quartermaster all of the goods and keep the food stored. He was in charge of the wagons and the oxen needed to pull them.

  “Right, then,” Kang said. “Be ready in eight hours. Second Squadron will move out one hour after sundown, and the First will move out half an hour after them. Support Squadron will man the battlements for the duration. That is all.”

  The officers stood, saluted, and marched out of the room, hastening to their other duties besides raiding.

  First Squadron provided the maintenance of the village, from the upkeep of buildings to the sweeping of the dirt streets. Second Squadron was responsible for the meat—all livestock, including chickens and sheep. The draconians’ creators had certainly never intended them for shepherds, but Kang’s troop had proved fairly good at it. Support Squadron was responsible for farming; a disheartening task, one no one liked. But grain was necessary to keep the livestock fed, and bread was needed to supplement their meager diet of meat. All agreed, though, that it was a lot easier to steal food than to grow it.

  The rest of the draconians were organized into a Headquarters Troop. These included Kang and Slith, all of the specialists such as Fulkth, Yethik and his supply soldiers, and a section of Baaz who were trained as cartographers.

  Kang marched down the hallway back to his own quarters. He was in a good mood today. He always enjoyed this time, just before a raid. It took him back to the old days—back when being a soldier meant something, back when he could feel proud to command combat troops.

  Certainly he was proud of the accomplishments he and his draconians had achieved in their village, but it wasn’t the same. Being able to feed his draconians another day didn’t offer the same thrill as charging headlong into a pack of elves, slicing their pointy-eared heads from their skinny little shoulders. If it weren’t for the dwarves, the draconians would have had no excitement at all.

  In fact, Kang was forced to grudgingly admit, if it weren’t for the dwarves, the draconians could not have survived this long. Not only did the dwarves provide much-needed food, they served as an outlet for the draconians’ inborn aggression. The potent drink known as dwarf spirits, which was said to be made from some sort of fermented f
ungus, brightened—at least temporarily—the bleakness and emptiness of the draconians’ daily lives. If it weren’t for the dwarves, the draconians would have torn each other apart years ago.

  Kang was feeling almost brotherly toward his bewhiskered adversaries.

  Opening the footlocker at the end of his bed, he took out his battle harness, checked all of the buckles and straps. Next, he drew his sword from its sheath and examined the blade. No rust was ever allowed to taint the blade, but a few dents had pocked its cutting edge years ago.

  Each dent represented an enemy’s head. Kang smiled, remembering each well-fought contest with pleasure and pride. He ran a finger over the edge, then drew a whetstone from a storage box in the locker and began to sharpen the blade.

  The draconians always went into the raids hoping for the best but prepared for the worst. They fought with wooden practice swords, but they carried steel. If the raid ever turned ugly, they would have to escape fighting.

  Kang returned the whetstone to the locker and put on his harness. He strapped the sword’s sheath to the harness and inserted the sword into the sheath. Weapons ready, he removed a felt bag from the locker and carefully poured out its contents on the floor. These included a candle, a small pot of a gray powder, and a holy symbol of the Dark Queen.

  Except the holy symbol wasn’t there.

  Kang scratched his head. He turned the bag inside out. No symbol. Lifting the bag to his nose, he sniffed. His snout wrinkled.

  Dwarf. Some dwarf had been inside his footlocker, had stolen his holy symbol!

  Kang growled. He might have known. His friendly feelings toward them vanished. Confound those hairy little bastards anyway! His sole comfort was the thought of what Takhisis would do to the wretched thief who had dared lay hands on her icon.

  Kang stomped about, fuming and kicking things for a bit. He needed that holy symbol. How could he approach his Queen without it? His rampage carried him to the stand on which he kept his armor. He paused.

  There, on his breastplate, was a medallion with the Queen’s symbol, the five-headed dragon. The medallion wasn’t holy. It marked his rank as commander. It hadn’t been blessed by the dark clerics, as had his other symbol. One might say, though, that it had been consecrated in another manner. It had, on many occasions, been splashed by the blood of Her Dark Majesty’s enemies.

  Kang pried the symbol off the breastplate, spent a few moments polishing it, then carried it over to his makeshift altar. He lit the candle and chanted a prayer to the Queen to gain her attention. Next, he sprinkled a pinch of the gray powder over the fire. The flame flared. Blue sparkles burst in front of Kang, dazzling his eyes. He continued to intone the holy prayers. Lifting the medallion in his hands, he imagined the wings of the Many-Colored Dragon bearing him off into dark realms.…

  A bang at the door and Slith’s voice yelling for him jolted Kang from his hypnotic state.

  “What? Is it time already?” Kang yelled. The candle had burned down a good two inches.

  Slith spoke through the door. He knew better than to burst in on his commander’s visits with their Queen. “Sir, the regiment is ready for your inspection. At your leisure, sir!”

  Kang grunted in satisfaction. The past eight days had been mind-numbingly dull, the routine the same every day. See to the cracks in the wall, see to the sheep, see to the few plants struggling for life in their garden—plants which Kang was more than half-convinced were weeds anyway. Maintain training, maintain discipline, settle quarrels over the dwarf spirit rations. And then, at night, get good and drunk.

  But today Kang felt alive again. He carefully snuffed out the candle, took a moment to thoughtfully regard his new holy symbol. It appeared to have pleased Takhisis, to judge by the euphoric feeling that now filled him. Gratified, he placed the medallion back on his breastplate. He started, by habit, to put the bag with the powder back in the footlocker. He stopped, glowering, and searched his room for a better hiding place. A loose floorboard provided the answer.

  Kang lifted the board, scraped a hole in the dirt below, and dropped the pouch into the hole. Replacing the board, he stood and rubbed his knee joints, stiff from crouching for so long. He took mental stock of his magical spells. They were as he had requested, all ready for his use.

  “All right, Slith, let’s go look over the troops!” Kang said, opening the door.

  Slith grinned, saluted, added an enthusiastic, “Yes, sir!”

  Kang wasn’t the only draconian who enjoyed these raids.

  The two officers marched out in front of the headquarters building to find the entire regiment formed into ranks, awaiting inspection.

  The three squadron commanders came to attention and brought their commands to attention. The Headquarters Troop stood to the right of the line, indicating seniority. They, too, came to attention.

  “Two hundred ready for inspection. Only sentries and three lame are not present, sir,” Slith announced.

  Kang nodded. The same three had been in their makeshift hospital for over a year now, having been injured when a beam fell from an unfinished roof. All suffered back injuries. The lame draconians did leatherwork, repaired torn straps on the armor and tooled new belts, sword sheaths and such. The work gave them something to do to make them feel useful, occupied their time. Kang visited them often to keep up their spirits, but still the crippled draconians tended to be low and depressed.

  In the old days, the three would have been dispatched, thrown off a cliff or slung into a river, where their bodies could do no damage to anyone. Draconians are blessed—or cursed, depending on how one viewed it—with the ability to wreak havoc on an enemy even after death. When Kang himself died, his bones would explode, killing anyone in the immediate vicinity. Baaz corpses turned to stone, encasing any weapon used to attack them and thereby rendering an enemy weaponless. A Sivak changed shape when he died, assuming the form of the person who killed him, making it appear that the slayer was the victim. Many an enemy army, seeing the field littered with what they mistakenly believed were their own dead, had fled the battle.

  When the three crippled draconians had learned the serious extent of their injuries, they had expected to be killed. Kang had decreed otherwise. He’d granted them life. He always wondered, seeing them sitting on wooden stools, looking longingly out on the parade ground where they’d never march again, if he’d done them any great favor.

  “Sir …” Slith gave Kang a gentle nudge.

  Kang shook the unpleasant thoughts from his head. This was a day of battle. His good mood returned.

  Kang and Slith toured the ranks, inspecting every draconian. Each stood at attention, each wore the same harness and the same sword as Kang. The Second Squadron also carried short steel bars on their back braces, used when lifting bridge sections, indicating that they were bridge builders.

  The bars were useless here, but they were always worn, because they were a mark of honor and brought back memories of better, more glorious times. The sight always heightened Kang’s good humor. This regiment had been his first combat command, under Lord Ariakus, years ago. He recalled the time his draconians had built a bridge over a raging river, working on it while under attack from elves and silver dragons. The bridge had been a marvel. As it turned out, the bridge was never used. The entire army had retreated, instead of advancing over it. Still, Kang had been proud of his accomplishment and that of his men.

  He stopped in front of the commander of the Second Squadron, a Bozak.

  “Ready for action today, Irlih’k?” Kang asked, his voice booming through the compound.

  “Yes, sir!” The Bozak saluted.

  Kang had given the Bozak the title Irlih’k, Bridge Master, the title Kang himself had held when he had commanded the squadron.

  Of course, the title was all for show. They weren’t likely to be building bridges for an army any time soon. But Kang insisted that they maintain the skills which had once earned them acclaim. Every few months, he divided the squadron into teams and h
ad them build bridges across a dry gorge which ran near their village. The team whose bridge was completed first and could bear the weight of the entire regiment was awarded an extra ration of dwarf spirits.

  Kang and Slith finished inspection with the Support Squadron, and then the commanders marched back in front of the regiment.

  Kang faced forward. “You look as fine today as you did the day I took command! Well done. Tonight’s raid should be a good one. With luck, we’ll drink a toast to the dwarves tonight before we go to bed! Drink a toast to them with their own blood!”

  A cheer went up from the entire regiment. Of course, they wouldn’t really be drinking dwarf blood, not like the old days. But dwarf spirits amounted to the same thing and were much more palatable.

  “Brigade! Officers, fall out. Second-in-commands, prepare for battle!”

  The officers saluted. Kang returned the salute. Excitement surged through the draconians. It was an hour before sundown.

  Yethik saluted. “Sir, my boys are ready to head out with the wagon and ox team. Are you going to send an escort with us?”

  “Have Gloth provide you with a section of troops,” Kang said. “Keep yourselves under cover. If the dwarves spot you, they’ll know we’re going to raid. For once, I’d like to take them by surprise.”

  Yethik dashed off to find Gloth and start the wagons rolling. Kang turned to his second-in-command.

  “Well, Slith, I think this raid will be a good one. I have the feeling that tonight the Dark Queen is taking a special interest in us.”

  Slith laughed and rubbed his clawed hands together. “The men haven’t been this keyed up for a while, that’s for sure.”

  “Which is one reason I want you up front with Irlih’k and the Second Squadron,” Kang said. “I don’t want anyone getting over-zealous and cutting off a head when bashing will do. We’ve got a good thing going here with the dwarves. We don’t want to spoil it.”

  “Don’t worry, sir. If there’s a whip to crack, I’ll do the cracking!”