by Don Perrin
So close. And yet, so far.
“Halt!” Kang called out. “Cease march. Fifteen-minute rest.”
The draconians halted, as exhausted as the dwarves. Many collapsed where they stood, lying on the rocks, panting, their tongues lolling. Others grabbed their water skins, guzzled water thirstily.
Mortar and Pestle sat down, staring wistfully, longingly at the mountain peak.
The Sivak loomed above them, blotting out the view.
“On your feet. The commander wants to see you.”
“This is it,” said Mortar. “Good-bye, Pestle. You’ve been a really good brother.”
“You, too, Mortar,” Pestle said, tears in his eyes.
The two embraced.
“Oh, for the love of the Dark Queen, come on!” The Sivak snarled.
The two trudged over to where the big Bozak was seated on a rock.
“I recognize you two. You’re from Celebundin, aren’t you?” Kang growled. The draconian was gray with fatigue.
“Maybe we are,” Mortar said, determined not to cooperate. “And maybe we’re not.”
The Bozak smiled. “Well, if you are from Celebundin, that pass there will take you home. Good-bye and thanks.”
Mortar and Pestle stood and stared so long it seemed they had turned into part of the mountain.
“Did you say good-bye?” Pestle was not certain he’d heard right.
“Do you mean we can go?” Mortar asked for clarification.
“Go! Get! Skedaddle,” Kang said.
Mortar felt renewed strength. The two dashed off, fearful that the draconian might change his mind. A few yards away, though, Mortar came to halt. He looked back, his brow furrowed.
“You said thanks. Thanks for what?”
“You saved our lives back there,” Kang said. “The least we can do is return the favor.” He waved a clawed hand. “See you in a couple of weeks. We’re almost out of dwarf spirits.”
“What?” Mortar was puzzled. “Oh, I get it. You—”
Pestle grabbed his brother’s arm and dragged him off.
Two hours later, they reached the highest part of the pass and looked down on their secluded valley.
“We made it!” said Mortar, drawing in a deep breath. He gazed down lovingly on Celebundin. “I swear I can smell the smoke of the cooking fires.”
“It’s not cooking fires!” Pestle said grimly, pointing at the other end of the valley, where thick black smoke was rising into the air. “Take a look!”
“Reorx’s beard!” Mortar said, alarmed. “There’s going to be hell to pay! Run for it! We have to warn the Thane!”
Pestle was already running, fear lending strength to his tired legs.
Mortar was right. There would be hell to pay.
Chapter Twenty-One
There would be hell to pay, but not, Kang figured, as long as the draconians kept clear of Lord Knight Sykes. And Kang certainly had no intention of reenlisting. The knights might chase after the deserters, but why bother? Sykes had more important things to do—like conquer Ansalon.
Having determined to his own satisfaction that there would be no pursuit, Kang looked forward to returning to their walled enclave. Who knows? Now that it looked as if their village was going to be a permanent home, they might even give it a name.
The regiment had been on the move since early the night before. They had taken a short break, and were now headed home. They had been gone only six days, but it seemed like six hundred years to Kang. All he could think about was sleeping once again in his own bed—if the dwarves hadn’t made off with it.
Kang grinned. Six dwarves laid end to end could fit in Kang’s big bed. That was one thing he could be fairly certain they wouldn’t have stolen.
Strung out single file, the draconians entered the narrow mountain pass that would take them home. Kang was in the lead. Slith remained back to see that everyone made it safely and to make certain there was no one chasing after them. He would be the last through.
Kang was the first one over the pass. He paused to look down on their village.
He couldn’t see it. Couldn’t see it for the smoke rising into the air.
Kang felt the blow in the pit of his stomach. The sight was so shocking, he reeled backward a step or two, almost trod on the foot of the Baaz coming up behind him. The Baaz reached out a hand to steady his commander. Shaking off the soldier’s assistance, Kang let out a ferocious roar and charged down the mountain.
Kang hit the sun-burnt grass of the valley at a dead run. Draconians galloped after him.
They were too late, however. There was nothing they could do.
Kang came to halt. The others jammed up behind him. No one spoke. No one said a word. They stood and watched their village burn.
Flames had already blackened and consumed most of the central buildings. The guard towers had been toppled. The gate came crashing down in a shower of sparks. And there, swarming around the walls, torches in their hands, were the dwarves.
Kang had been angry when the knights ordered him to dig latrines. But now he felt rage, a white-hot fury that was fiercer and blazed hotter than the flames that were burning up the last twenty-five years of his life. He had been tolerant of the dwarves, and they had betrayed him. He had left them his creation, he had even taken pleasure in the thought that they could make use of it, and they had spit in his face.
It took nearly thirty minutes for the racing draconians to cross the glade and reach the burning village. Kang led the way, his sword in his hand and death spells in his mind.
They were near the outer walls before the dwarves—intent on their destruction—were aware of them. One dwarf, standing on the wall, glanced over his shoulder, saw them, and let out a yelp.
Kang lifted his hand. Lightning crackled from his fingertips. The magical bolt struck the dwarf in the chest, knocking him backward. The dwarf fell off the wall, plunged to his death in a burning shed.
Kang ran right over the wreckage of the smoldering gates. The blackened wood glowed red, burned the pads on the bottom of his bare feet, but he never noticed the pain. Blisters were nothing compared to the pain of seeing his creation go up in smoke. That pain was like a dagger, twisting in his gut.
The draconians surged after Kang, and once they were inside the walls, they spread out, searching for dwarves. There were only about fifteen or so inside the village. The others had probably made off with what they could carry, left behind enough men to torch the place. These dwarves were trapped inside the walls with nowhere to run.
Seeing their deaths loom before them, the dwarves drew their swords and grimly stood their ground wherever they happened to be. Most died without ever getting in a hit, however. The enraged draconians hacked them to pieces. Picking up the pieces, the draconians threw those into the fire.
Kang was cutting off the head of a dead dwarf, preparatory to hanging it from the charred stone wall, just about all that now remained of the draconian village. He heard a draconian shouting his name, but he ignored it. The draconian kept on shouting. Then someone grabbed hold of his arm. Annoyed at the interruption, Kang turned, his bloody sword in hand.
It took a moment for the red mist to clear from his eyes. When it did, he saw Slith.
“Sir!” Slith’s voice was hoarse from the smoke and from yelling. “Sir! For the love of the Queen, listen to me, sir!”
Kang lowered his sword.
“Sir,” Slith said, coughing. “We’ve got to get the troops under control! They’re preparing to march on Celebundin. If they rush off now, without any discipline or orders, they’ll all get slaughtered!”
Kang stared at Slith. He knew his second was talking to him. He knew Slith was saying something important, but Kang couldn’t hear a word for the blood beating in his head.
“Again,” he said, his mouth dry and parched.
Slith repeated what he’d said. This time Kang was calm enough to comprehend.
“Yes. You’re right. Go …” Kang waved a bloody hand
.
Slith turned and ran, yelling orders over the crackle of the dying fires. Kang knew he should be helping, but he felt oddly lethargic. He was in one of those terrifying dreams, where you want to move, you know you have to move, but you keep standing in the same place.
For a moment, Kang didn’t think Slith was going to prevail. The draconians were a mob, shouting wildly about slaughtering every dwarf in the world. But a mob is no match for an organized army and Kang guessed that the dwarves would have heard of the draconians’ return and would be expecting them. And that would be the end.
Very well, then, Kang thought to himself. That’s how we’ll go out. He’d feel some satisfaction at least before he went to serve his Queen.
And then, the notes of the bugle rang over the din: Officer’s Call. At the sound, the draconians lifted their heads, looked around, dazed. Slith had lost his voice, but apparently didn’t realize it, because he was still shouting, though no one could hear him. It had been a stroke of brilliance, latching onto the bugler. A few officers came to their senses, began helping to restore order.
Slowly, the draconians shuffled into ranks, forming up on the grasslands outside their burning town. Kang would have to go speak to them. He remembered feeling this way before, as a junior officer, losing his first battle. He dreaded the meeting.
Slowly, he picked up his sword, wiped it on the body of the dead dwarf at his feet, noting, at the time, that the dwarf was wearing a uniform. Kang sheathed his weapon. He walked through the smoke-filled streets and out the blackened gates. Now he could feel the pain of his burned feet.
He arrived to find all of the officers present, and the draconian troops standing at attention. Discipline had won out over chaos. Discipline. It had kept them going this long. Her Dark Majesty willing, it would keep them going a lot longer.
Kang straightened his shoulders and marched tall.
Slith called the officers to attention as Kang approached. Slith croaked the words, “All officers present but two, sir. Gloth and Stehmph are off collecting the stragglers, as per your order.”
That lie was for the benefit of the other officers. Kang had given no such order. But maintaining the unity of command was of paramount importance.
“Thank you, Slith,” Kang said quietly. “I owe you one. Another one.”
Slith stood at attention, pretending he hadn’t heard.
“Troop leaders,” Kang yelled, his own throat raw from the smoke. “Take your troops and begin putting out the fires. Yethik, I want your supply people to go through every square inch of this village and salvage anything of use. That includes nails, hinges, anything. Gloth, take a troop from the Second Squadron and set up a cordon to our north, two hundred yards out from here. I want no one in, other than returning stragglers, and I want no one out. Have your draconians gather up anything that’s left of those damned dwarves and nail them to poles. Post them out here in a line. We’ve been too soft with these dwarves. But all that’s going to change.”
Slith turned to the officers. “You heard the commander! Move!”
The draconians dispersed, left to accomplish their tasks. Kang was fairly certain that they wouldn’t find much to salvage, nor were they in any danger of attack. The dwarves were probably barricaded in their village, fearing the worst. What was important was that his troops were doing something constructive, working off their anger. When the two were alone, Slith turned back to Kang. Smoke wafted past them. Somewhere, a burning timber crashed to the ground.
“What do we now, sir?” Slith asked in a husky whisper, all he could manage.
Kang sighed, rubbed his hand over his chin. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll set up camp over to the west of the town. At least we’ll be up-wind of the stench. When things cool off, maybe we’ll clear away the rubble and rebuild.”
Slith shook his head. “It won’t be the same, sir.”
“No, you’re right there. It won’t ever be same.”
The relatively peaceful life of the past twenty-five years had gone up in a roar with the fire. Their attempts at co-existing with their neighbors had failed. That relationship had been based on a certain amount of trust, and that was now gone.
“Why did they do it, sir?” Slith was puzzled and hurt. “There was lots of value in there. They could have hauled it off, made some use of it. But they burned it! Why?”
“Hate,” said Kang. “They hate us so much that they couldn’t bear to have anything of us left. I thought maybe that might have changed. I don’t mean that I thought they’d come to like us. I don’t like dwarves. Never will. But I can tolerate them. I thought that’s maybe how they felt about us. I guess not. I’ll tell you this much, though, Slith.” Kang’s voice hardened. “Celebundin is going to pay for this.”
Slith nodded in satisfaction. Turning, he ran off to join the troop heading out to their assigned picket.
It took four hours to put out the fires. Not one building was saved. Luckily, when the draconians had left to join the army, they had taken their tools, weapons and armor with them. They had their tents, and they could at least erect temporary shelters until Kang decided what to do and where to do it.
The wood smoldered and would continue to do so for several days. Kang knew he would never get the stench out of his nostrils. The draconians were black from sifting through and cleaning up the still-warm ruins. Gloth’s pickets rounded up those few draconians who had gone berserk, disobeyed orders, and rushed off to slaughter dwarves. They were stopped before they reached Celebundin. All were punished severely. No army can survive when discipline falls lax and soldiers feel free to act of their own volition.
By sundown, the draconians had evacuated their old town. They began to dig breastworks around a new camp, just as they had done so many times before. The work was slow-going and half-hearted. The draconians had not slept for nearly three days. Their fury had sapped what strength they had remaining. A few fell asleep on their feet, toppled into the ditch they were digging. Even when they fell, they did not wake up. After nightfall, Kang ordered a complete standdown.
As his soldiers straggled off to their tents, Kang ordered the bugler to sound the Officer’s Call again. The officers gathered around their commander.
“Tonight,” Kang said, “we officers are going to keep the watch. The men are so tired that they’ll fall asleep at their posts or do something stupid—like shoot an arrow in someone going to the latrine. It’s up to us, as officers, to keep our heads clear. No one goes to sleep until sunup. Understood?”
“Yes, Commander.” Slith answered for them.
They each went off to find a sentry post to guard.
Kang settled himself down to watch. The sky was cloudless. The stars seemed unusually bright, almost feverishly bright, as if heaven itself was restless and disturbed. Kang didn’t have to worry about falling asleep. Tired as he was, his nerves were raw and twitchy. If he’d laid down, he would have stared at the tent flap all night.
As it was, he stared at the glittering stars, his thoughts darker than the night. He was beginning to doubt himself, doubt his ability to lead, to command. He thought back to when things had started to fall apart—the day he’d discovered the holy symbol missing.
And it was a damn dwarf who’d run off with it.
Every decision he’d made since that time had been the wrong one. Perhaps he should resign, hand command over to Slith.
Gazing into the heavens, he found the constellation that was His Queen’s—the five-headed dragon. Kang spoke to his Queen, not asking for magical spells, power, or glory. He begged her forgiveness. He asked her for help and guidance.
And it seemed, by the peace that filled his soul—and the idea that She gave him—that help was granted.
By morning, only half the officers on watch were still awake. The rest slumbered at their posts.
Kang never said a word.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Two days later, Kang passed the word for Slith.
The Sivak, who was sti
ll with the picket lines, entered the command tent that also doubled as Kang’s living quarters. “Sir? I was told you wanted to see me.”
Kang was seated at a hastily constructed table, in a rudely constructed command chair that creaked loudly whenever he moved. He had been out inspecting the newly constructed breastworks. Now, back inside, he was honing the blade of his knife. “Yes, I do. I have a job for you, my friend. One I think you’ll enjoy.”
Slith grinned. “Yes, sir!”
Kang’s next question took the Sivak by surprise.
“What are the men thinking, Slith? You’re closer to them than I am. What are they saying?”
Slith looked uncomfortable.
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Since when haven’t you ever spoken freely, my friend?” Kang asked wryly.
“Well”—Slith was embarrassed—“they think you’ve gone soft, sir. It’s been two days now and instead of lopping off dwarf heads, all we’ve been doing is digging. We might as well have stayed with the dark knights. The men want revenge.”
Kang nodded. “That’s what I thought. The men want to exterminate the dwarves, wipe them out.”
“Do to them what they did to us, sir.”
“They didn’t wipe us out,” Kang said. “They burned down our village while we weren’t in it.”
“Yes, sir, that’s true, I guess, sir.” Slith looked worried. He was like the rest of them, apparently, thinking his commander was going soft. Was Kang the only one who could see past his own snout?
“What happens if we kill all the dwarves, Slith?”
“We feel a hell of lot better, sir,” Slith answered, his jaw closing with a vicious snap.
Kang suppressed a smile. “And after that? After we’ve wallowed in bloodlust for awhile? What happens after that?”
“We have the whole valley to ourselves, sir. We can live here in peace and quiet.”
“Would you like that, Slith? Peace and quiet? No raids. No midnight alarms. It might be nice at that,” Kang said thoughtfully. “You could pass the time tending to your garden. Hoeing weeds, picking carrots. Maybe even raise chickens.”