The Doom Brigade

by Don Perrin

  Slith’s long tongue rolled out of his mouth. He sucked it back in with a slurp. Not only was the Sivak quite skilled at enforcing discipline, he thoroughly enjoyed his work.

  “Wait until an hour after dark,” Kang continued, “and then move out with the Second Squadron. I’ll bring up the First Squadron and get into position with the wagon. If you run into trouble, have Irlih’k fire off a light spell. We’ll come running.”

  Slith saluted and went off to find an unfortunate trooper to yell at until it was time to go.

  Chapter Six

  The two moons were just cresting Mount Celebund when Pestle and Mortar, packs strapped on their backs, knocked on Selquist’s door. The two entered immediately, not waiting for an answer. If they waited for an answer, Selquist would know that it wasn’t either of his two compatriots and would hide all of the incriminating evidence.

  The evidence tonight was a map on the table and two more packs, filled with supplies and ready for travel.

  “Did anybody see you?” Selquist asked.

  “If they did, no one gave a damn,” Pestle responded in hurt tones. “They’re all hepped up over something. Moorthane is running around like his beard was on fire. I asked what was going on, but he just glared at me and told me to get lost.”

  “Draconian raid,” Selquist said knowingly, with a glance out the window. “Two full moons makes it the perfect time for a raid, and the perfect time for us to sneak out. It’s what’s known as a diversion. Moorthane will be so busy wonking dracos, he’ll never miss us.”

  This statement did not bring the whoops and cheers of joy Selquist expected. Instead, his companions appeared considerably alarmed.

  “Wonking dracos! What’s gonna stop the draconians from wonking us?” Auger demanded.

  “They’re after ale and dwarf spirits,” Selquist said. “We won’t be carrying any ale or dwarf spirits, so they won’t be interested in us.”

  “We won’t?” Mortar clung affectionately to an ale skin, hanging from his belt.

  “We won’t,” Selquist said sternly. “This is a dangerous mission, and we go into it with clear heads. Well, at least as clear as some of us can manage,” he added, rolling his eyes and jerking a thumb at Auger, who was generally acknowledged to have all the sense of a leaky water bucket.

  The announcement of the dry expedition came as a shock to Mortar, who maintained that he couldn’t stay regular if he didn’t get his nut-ale once a day.

  “Look, Mortar, we’ll only be out in the wilderness for two nights,” said Selquist, trying to lighten the dwarf’s dark expression. “After that, we’ll be inside Thorbardin, and I know for a fact that they have lots of ale in Thorbardin. Now, come take a look at the map.”

  Selquist traced their route. “Celebundin’s here, where I’ve drawn this circle. Tonight we cross it and sleep in the valley. We’ll hike over mounts Bletheron and Prenechial tomorrow during the day. Tomorrow night, we’ll camp on the far side of Mount Prenechial, and the next day we traverse the Helefundis Ridge.”

  “When do we go inside Thorbardin?” Mortar asked.

  “How do we go inside Thorbardin?” wondered his brother.

  “Right here.” Selquist put a finger on the map. “There’s an air hole from an old mine shaft. It’s hidden, but I know where it is. We go down the air hole and into the mine. After that, it’s a simple task of walking through the mine, and we pop out the other end into Thorbardin.”

  “Go down an old mine shaft!” Auger was nervous. “Do you mean underground?”

  “That’s generally where mine shafts lead, yes,” Selquist said.

  “I’ve never been underground,” Auger returned, round-eyed. “I’ll bet it’s dark,” he added in low, unhappy tones.

  “You’ll like it,” said Selquist, slapping him on the back. “You’re returning to your roots. It’s what dwarves were born to do: rappelling down steep cliffs, crawling on all fours on a tiny ledge over a bottomless pit, clinging like a fly to the wall with a seventy-foot drop onto jagged rocks, nary a hand or foothold in sight. By Reorx,” Selquist said, drawing in a deep breath, “I can’t wait!”

  “I can,” Auger muttered. He looked at Selquist suspiciously. “What’s ‘rappelling?’ ”

  Selquist was not quite certain, having heard the word used once by the war chief. He made a hasty guess. “Rappel—a large, cave-dwelling bird. With a forty-foot wing span.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Mortar said thoughtfully. “Rappel is the act or method of descending down a mountainside by means of a belayed rope—”

  “Oh, what do you know?” Selquist snapped. “Speaking of rope, I have all the climbing gear we’ll need. Rope enough to tie ourselves to each other. The pass over Mount Prenechial is a bit treacherous. We don’t want to lose anybody.”

  Auger looked highly alarmed. “First rappels with forty-foot wing spans and now treacherous passes. I don’t think I like this much.”

  “The descent down the air hole is chock full of big rocks and crags,” Selquist said soothingly. “It’s easy to climb. Now, if there are no more questions, let’s—”

  “What about the rappels?” Auger wondered.

  “What about them?” Selquist said, sighing. He was beginning to lose patience.

  “If they’re birds that big, what do they eat?”

  “How in the name of Reorx do I know what rappels eat?” Selquist shouted. “What difference does it make anyway?”

  “It might make a big difference, if they eat dwarf,” Auger pointed out.

  “They don’t, all right? Rappels are known to be vegetarians. Now, can we get on with this!”

  Selquist rolled his eyes, thrust the map into his belt. The other dwarves hefted their packs. Mortar took a long pull on his ale skin, then corked it and left it, with a sad good-bye, on Selquist’s kitchen table.

  “Say, Selquist,” Pestle asked, as they started out the door, “how do you know about this hidden mine shaft?”

  Selquist shrugged. “Do you remember last summer when I was gone for a week?”

  Auger nodded. “You said you were out hunting rabbits.”

  “I wasn’t hunting rabbits. I was hunting for this air hole. I bought the information off a Hilar miner, and it cost me dearly, I can tell you. I went to see if my investment had paid off. I found the air hole, climbed down it, crawled through a mine shaft and”—Selquist snapped his fingers—“there I was! Smack in the middle of downtown Thorbardin.”

  The other three regarded Selquist with admiration.

  “You never said a word!” Pestle remarked.

  “Not even to us,” Mortar put in.

  “These things have to be kept secret,” Selquist replied with becoming modesty. “Otherwise we’d have the whole village tumbling down that air hole. Now, we’ve wasted enough time. Let’s go.”

  Selquist made certain, before he left, that all three locks were locked. Most dwarven dwelling places didn’t even have one lock on their doors (unless they lived in a town populated by kender). Selquist was proof of the old dwarven adage that it takes a thief to suspect a thief.

  The three hurried down the main road to the east. No one was walking about the streets, no lights shone in the windows. The women and children were locked up safe in their houses, their menfolk were gathered in the center of town, ready to defend their village from the draconians. It was, as Selquist had anticipated, a perfect night to sneak out of town, avoiding annoying questions about where they were going and why.

  Nearing the end of the street, Selquist called a halt. “Hold on. Let me check to see if they’ve posted a sentry.” He crept forward, keeping to the shadows. He passed the last house on the road and turned along the fence-line. A few moments later, he returned.

  “Yes, confound it. There’s two sentries sitting on the far end of the fence. Gilbert’s one of them, so I’m not too worried. He makes Auger here look intelligent.”

  “Gee, thanks, Selquist,” Auger said, flushing with pleasure.

  Sel
quist grunted. “We could try another way, but we’ve lost enough time as it is. The dracos are bound to hit soon. We’ll chance it. Keep low, and keep quiet.”

  The three dwarves followed Selquist to the left. Crouching down, they crawled through a small apple orchard across from the last house. The shadows from the gnarled branches kept the four concealed. They were coming out the far side, when a voice caused them to all stop in their tracks.

  “Hullo,” called out Gilbert nervously. He slid off the fence post. His hand fumbled for the axe at his belt. “I see you. Who … who’s there?”

  “May Reorx fry his head!” Selquist cursed. He stood up, gave a casual wave. “Oh, is that you, Gilbert?”

  “Yes, it’s me,” Gilbert said, suspicious. “Who are you?”

  “Selquist, you ninny. You know Auger, Mortar, and Pestle.”

  “Sure. Hi, guys.” Gilbert waved.

  “Hi, Gilbert,” the four said solemnly, waving back.

  “What are you doing out there?” Gilbert asked.

  “Picnic,” said Selquist.

  “In the dark?” Gilbert was doubtful.

  “Best time,” Selquist said. “No flies.”

  Gilbert thought this over. “Yes, but the draconians are coming.”

  “We brought enough food for everyone. Well, got to be going. See you, Gilbert.”

  “Yeah, see you, Gilbert.” The others waved good-bye and trotted off after their leader.

  “Have a nice time,” Gilbert said and went back to sitting on the fence.

  Chapter Seven

  The draconians loped across the valley, the entire troop running in formation, taking the pace at an easy jog so as not to be worn out by the time they reached the dwarven village. When the line of trees marking the village came into sight, the Second Squadron, led by Irlih’k, advanced. As second-in-command, Slith had been assigned to accompany the Second Squadron. Sneaky, devious, cunning, the Sivak was adept at worming his way out of tight situations. If the Second Squadron got themselves into trouble, Slith was the one who would get them out.

  The draconians advanced slowly and silently across the open plain leading to the tree line at the east edge of the town. Slith suddenly flopped onto his belly, flattened himself on the ground.

  “Down!” he ordered in a harsh whisper, motioning with his hand.

  The squadron that was spread out behind him immediately crouched down on their haunches, folded their wings into their bodies and went immobile as boulders. No one moved. No one spoke.

  Cautiously, Slith raised his head. At first, he’d thought he was hearing things, but then the voice, speaking dwarven, which had first caught the draconian’s attention, spoke again.

  “Oh, is that you, Gilbert?”

  “Yes, it’s me,” another dwarf answered. “Who are you?”

  “Selquist, you ninny. You know Auger, Mortar, and Pestle.”

  The dwarves continued talking. Slith squirmed around on his belly. Spotting Irlih’k, Slith made a gesture with his clawed hand, motioned the squadron leader forward.

  Crawling on his belly, pulling himself forward by digging his claws into the dirt and propelling himself from behind with his powerful legs and tail, Irlih’k slithered up to join the Sivak.

  “Picnic,” one of the dwarves was saying.

  “This is damn odd,” Slith whispered. “What do you think these fool dwarves are doing, roaming around out here at this time of night?”

  Irlih’k shook his head. “Looks to me like they’re leaving town. They’re all wearing packs. Do you think they saw us?”

  “I don’t know,” Slith said, worried. “I don’t think so. They would have raised the alarm by now.”

  The draconians hunkered down, waited in tense silence.

  The four dwarves never looked in the draconians’ direction. Waving to the sentry on the fence, the four disappeared into the night.

  “You know,” said Slith, “I think those sneaky little bastards might be going to raid us!”

  “Huh?” Irlih’k blinked. “Four of them?”

  “Sure. The dwarves can see the two moons as well as we can. What if they think that we’ll think it’s a good night for a raid? Thinking that we won’t be there because we’ll be here, the dwarves pull a fast one and decide to go there because they know we’re not.”

  “You lost me,” said Irlih’k.

  “Never mind. I’ll take four of your boys and follow them. You carry on with the raid.”

  Irlih’k crept back to the squadron. Four draconians leapt up, ran forward to join Slith.

  “Come with me,” Slith whispered to his command. “The first draco that makes a sound feels my knife in his ribs. Understood?”

  The four nodded. Not having heard the whispered conversation between their commanders, not having seen the dwarves, the four had no idea what was going on. They were trained to obey without question, however, and—having known Slith from long experience—they knew he did nothing without having a damn good reason.

  Slith and his troops slunk through the darkness, following the direction the dwarves had taken, heading north.

  A yell rose up behind them, a dwarven yell. Slith paused, glanced back. The draconians had been spotted. He could hear the sounds of bells ringing in the dwarven village, voices shouting orders, both in dwarven and draconian.

  “Good luck, commander,” he said softly and continued on his way.

  As he trailed the dwarves, Slith pondered what they might be up to. It was obvious now that they weren’t heading for the draconian village.

  “Why would these four pick this night to skedaddle out of town? Scared? Cowards?” Slith shook his head. “No, dwarves are loud and obnoxious, hairy and bad-tempered. But one thing you can say for them is that they never run away from a fight.

  “In fact,” Slith reflected, “it’s a pleasure to have dwarves as an enemy. They’re not like humans, who think that the whole purpose of a battle is just to kill or get killed. And dwarves aren’t like elves, thank the Dark Queen, who always have to talk about killing before they get down to it and waste time with their parleys and messengers running back and forth until a fellow is ready to slit his throat just from sheer boredom.

  “Dwarves know that nothing stirs the blood and gets the old heart going like a good fight. With a cracked head and a bloody nose, a dwarf can go to bed at night feeling that he’s done a decent day’s work. So these four aren’t running away from a fight.

  “I’ve got it!” Slith said to himself. “They’re not trying to slip away from us! They’re trying to slip away from the other dwarves! Now, isn’t that interesting? I wonder why?”

  He could not only see the dwarves quite well in the moonlight, he could smell them as well. He and the draconians kept on the trail. The dwarves continued heading north. They could hear the sounds of battle as well as the draconians, yet the dwarves didn’t look back, didn’t appear to be the least bit interested. The draconians kept their distance and continued to follow. They moved through the night, the draconians silent and cautious, the dwarves pushing their pace.

  Behind them all, the sounds of battle grew louder.

  Chapter Eight

  Kang crept forward through the underbrush. The trees were spread apart, and the bushes and vines had grown thick among them. Behind him, the seventy draconians of the Second Squadron followed. The two moons, red and silver, were like mismatched eyes, taking over duties from the single-eyed sun, as if two eyes were needed to keep watch at night. The moons, red Lunitari and silver Solinari, were sacred to the two gods of magic. Lunitari was a neutral god, taking no sides in the wars on Krynn. Solinari was dedicated to the cause of Paladine, his father, worshiped by the cursed Solamnic Knights.

  Kang enjoyed the irony of knowing that the bright light of these two moons was shining down on the path of their enemies. The moon Kang knew and he alone could see, the black moon Nuitari, gave no light at all. The son of the Dark Queen shed his unseen blessing on Kang’s magical powers.


  Kang motioned for Gloth, lurking in the brush behind him, to come alongside. “We’ll wait in the clearing up ahead. Find Yethik and bring him to me. He should already be in hiding with his wagon.”

  South of the village was a grove of trees. Yethik had orders to drive the wagon into that grove and wait for the draconians to launch their offensive. When the distillery was secure, Yethik would drive the wagon inside, ready to load up the kegs of dwarf spirits.

  Gloth grunted a grumpy, “Yes, sir.” He was still mad about being forced to wait in reserve.

  Kang crept out into the grassy area, watched as his troops flowed past, a river of dark, winged shapes in the moonlight. Each draconian took up a defensive position on the far edge of the clearing. Only a thin line of trees separated the clearing from the plain beyond. Less than a thousand feet across the plain stood the dwarven village of Celebundin.

  The draconians were disciplined, silent. No unnecessary chatter—Slith would see to that. Their armor was wrapped and muffled. Gloth returned with Yethik.

  “No problems getting into the woods, sir. There were two dwarves on sentry duty—I guess they’ve figured out by now that those woods are a good hiding place. But they’d taken a jug of nut-ale with them to keep them company. By the time we arrived, they were snoring loud enough to saw the trees down. We had the dwarves tied up before they woke up!”

  Kang chuckled. He had suspected that the dwarves would post a watch tonight—they knew the phases of the moon as well as the draconians did. It was good to be one up on the dwarves. It boded well for the raid.

  He waited, tense and nervous, for the Second Squadron to launch the assault. It seemed to him that they were past their time, and he was beginning to worry, when the three officers spotted movement to their right.

  “Here they come!” Gloth said excitedly.

  The draconians, armor shining red in Lunitari’s light, were sweeping across the plain. Suddenly, the advancing draconians of the Second Squadron came to a halt, dropped down into the dry grass.