Draconian Measures

by Don Perrin

  Kang was fighting two of the vermin, when he saw a third aim a spear at him. He could not defend himself, but he trusted his bodyguards would deal with the gobbo and he was right. A blow of the baaz’s sword splintered the goblin’s spear and cut off his hand. Another goblin, jumping up from behind, thrust with his own spear, caught the baaz right below the breastplate. The spear found its mark, and slid into the draconian’s vitals. The baaz died. The body turned to stone, trapping the goblin’s spear in its body. Having dealt with his own opponents, Kang kicked the goblin in the teeth, fracturing its jaw and breaking its neck. He sliced yet another goblin to death with his axe in the same action. On the ground, the baaz’s corpse turned to dust.

  Fighting alongside Kang, Slith reached into a leather pouch he wore slung over his shoulder and brought out a slow-burning fuse that he had lit prior to the battle. The leather was well-oiled so that the fuse didn’t set it ablaze. Inside another pouch, Slith carried what he called “keg bombs”—small barrels filled with the mash that remained behind after the distillation of a liquor known as “dragon’s breath.”

  Slith had discovered that the distillation of corn produced a powerful liquor. He named it dragon’s breath and he had been intrigued to find out quite by accident that the mash left behind by the distillation process would, under the right conditions, explode.

  “Dragon’s breath is wonderful stuff,” Slith had observed to the commander. “Not only does it render you pleasantly comatose, but it will conveniently blow up your enemies for you, as well.”

  Slith inserted a length of fast-burning fuse into the keg and held the slow fuse to the fast fuse. Sparks flew. The fast-burning fuse sizzled. Slith began to count. On three, he heaved the keg into the mass of goblins who were threatening the command group. The keg bounced off a goblin’s head, fell to the ground, and blew apart. At least thirty goblins went down. A huge hole opened in their ranks.

  “Charge!” Kang yelled. Swinging his battle-axe above his head, he cleaved into the goblin’s front rank, bashing and battering, hacking and hammering. He did not stop to see if he had killed or merely wounded his enemy. Draconians coming along behind him would finish the job he started.

  His troops surged after him, yelling savagely. The goblin lines held for a moment, wavered, then broke. Shrieking in terror, the goblins turned and ran, those in front striking down their own comrades in their efforts to escape the doom sweeping down on them.

  The draconians pushed to the bottom of the ridge. Eager for blood and to avenge their fallen comrades, the draconians were all set to pursue the goblins, killing as many as they could. Kang ordered the recall. Horns commanded the draconians to pull back. They obeyed, retreating up the ridgeline. The goblins vanished into the night, out of the draconians’ line of sight.

  Draconian soldiers slumped to the ground. There was no cheering, no laughing, no boasting of their exploits. A bad sign. They were worn out. Already weakened from lack of adequate food, they had been on the march for weeks, constantly harried and attacked. The battles this day—battles intended to drive the goblins away for good—had not succeeded. The fighting had taken a severe toll on Kang’s forces, weakening the soldiers, slowly grinding them down, breaking their morale. And although they had killed and wounded a vast number of goblins, there always seemed to be more where those came from.

  Kang found Slith slumped on the ground, head down, flanks heaving.

  “You all right?” Kang asked, concerned.

  “Yeah,” Slith managed, sucking air. He peered into the darkness. “They’ll clear out now, won’t they, Commander? Hell,” he added, frustrated, “we must have killed five hundred of the bastards! They won’t stick around to take any more.”

  Kang let his axe fall from aching fingers and sank wearily to the ground.

  “What do you think?” he asked

  Slith didn’t answer. He could hear—they both could hear—the rustling in the long grass.

  Fonrar and Thesik reached the canyon floor and began picking their way among the boulders that lay at the foot of the ridge. Behind them, on the other side of the ridge, they heard a voice raised in a bellowing shout.

  “… carve us up like mutton …”

  The two could make out those words, but the rest were lost in laughter and cheering.

  “That’s the commander,” said Fonrar, pausing to look back. She couldn’t help but admire Kang to the point of worship. All the females felt the same about the bozak who had been a father to them when they were little and was now not only father but commanding officer. “He’s making a joke.”

  She looked fearfully at Thesik. “You know what that means.”

  “They’re in real danger,” Thesik said.

  The commander’s jokes were legendary. Kang never cracked jokes except right before a battle. The soldiers claimed that they could judge a situation by the commander’s jokes. If the jokes were good, so was the situation. If the jokes were bad, so was the situation. The mutton joke was one of the very worst.

  “Next he’ll be telling them that they’re not going to my lady’s ball,” Thesik added, alarmed. “Do you think we should go back?”

  “And do what?” Fonrar asked sharply. “Laugh at the commander’s stupid jokes like the rest of those ninnies!”

  “Fon, you shouldn’t talk that way!” Thesik said, shocked. “He’s … he’s … the commander.” In a world the gods had abandoned, she could think of no higher authority.

  “I know,” Fonrar said, half-ashamed and half-defiant. “It’s just … I’ve been having these strange, hateful feelings. I can’t understand myself. One minute I want him to put his arm around me, like he did when I was little and scared of the dark. Then the very next minute, he’ll say or do something that makes me so mad I could take that scaly arm of his and twist it off.”

  Fonrar sighed deeply, shook her head. “I’ve begged and pleaded with Commander Kang to give us military training. I’ve asked him to at least teach us how to use weapons, teach us how to fight to defend ourselves. He won’t even consider it. Engineering studies! That’s what we get from him. All we know how to do is to build a floating pontoon bridge over some blasted creek! Do you see any creeks that need bridging around here? Do you?”

  “You’re right there,” Thesik conceded. “If I have to bisect another lateral triangle or whatever it is you do to those wretched things, I’m going to puke.”

  The two stood in morose silence. They could hear the sounds of battle now, shouts, screams, the clash of metal. The sounds were as familiar to them as a nightly lullaby.

  “So we’ve come this far,” Thesik said at last. “Do we go back or go forward?”

  “Forward,” Fonrar said firmly. “We have to find out what those flashes were.”

  “And if they are goblins, what do we do?” Thesik demanded. “We can’t fight them.”

  “No, but we can run,” Fonrar said. “We’ll do what the scouts do—we’ll spot their location, count their numbers, and run back to tell the commander.”

  The sounds from the other side of the ridge grew louder. Goblins shrieking, horns blowing. Something exploded.

  “We’d better hurry,” Fonrar said.

  * * * * *

  With the rising of the full moon, the goblins no longer bothered to keep their movements secret or silent. Standing at the top of the ridge, Kang looked down on the goblin sea and saw it heave and surge with the approach of the coming storm. He could hear their officers giving commands, hear hundreds of goblin feet stomping to obey, the thump of their spear butts on the ground. His night vision let him see hundreds of slimy bodies glowing an incandescent red, as if they had all caught fire.

  He wished fervently and desperately that they all would catch fire. In the old days, he would have said a prayer to his Queen to that effect, with some hope that she might be listening. In the old days, he would have been on his knees, requesting his magic spells of her, feeling her touch, hearing her voice—dark and tinged with smoke—as she gr
anted his request. Those days were past and gone. He had not cast a magic spell since she had fled the field, retreated, left him. He had hated her for abandoning him then, but now he had no more hate left. He didn’t even hate the goblins. He only felt very tired. Just so very tired.

  Someone touched his arm. Slith was pointing.

  “Look there. The hobs.”

  “I see them.” Kang was riveted by the sight.

  The smaller goblins were being shoved aside, in some cases trampled, by ranks of the larger, fiercer, bolder and better-trained hobgoblins advancing to the fore. The gobbos had done their part. They had weakened the enemy, worn him out. The hobs would lead the assault this time. They meant to finish the job.

  Slith said, very quietly, “Sir, we’re not going to live through this one.”

  Kang struggled against the truth, but he couldn’t struggle long. The truth was out there, a thousand strong.

  “I know,” he said at last. He didn’t mind dying so much. It was the death of his dream that tore his heart with grief. “I just wish I knew why!” he said softly, furiously. “I just wish I knew why someone was doing this to us!” He shook his head in bitter frustration and despair.

  “Would that make the end easier?” Slith asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kang returned angrily, angry at whoever was out there wanting to kill his troops, angry at himself for failing to save them. “It might.”

  “Sir,” said Slith, “I think you’d better send Dremon on north with the females. It’s their only hope. We’re not going to hold against another concerted attack, but we could at least hold long enough to buy them some time to get away.”

  “There may be—probably are—goblins to our rear,” Kang pointed out.

  “Yes, sir,” said Slith. “But the females are fast runners. They could outrun any goblin.”

  “They’re splendid runners,” Kang agreed, his anger slipping away from him at the thought. He’d held footraces for them, races that not only strengthened their limbs, but instilled in them a competitive spirit. Once he’d offered a fine rabbit pelt as a prize. One of the twin sivaks had won. He couldn’t recall which.

  “Sir,” said Slith respectfully, but insistently. “It’s not much of a chance, but it is a chance.”

  “Yes, all right,” Kang said gruffly. He turned to Granak.

  “Pay very close attention to these orders. You will follow them exactly. When the next attack comes, you will wait until the fighting begins, and then you will take Dremon, the security troop and the females and head north at your best possible speed. Don’t stop for anything. If you’re attacked, don’t stop to fight, keep running. Your job is to get the females to a place of safety. Take the standard with you. It represents us.”

  “Sir, I won’t—” Granak began, but at the sight of Kang’s grim expression, Granak fell silent. He was a seasoned officer. He could see the hobgoblins advancing to take their places at the front of the line. Moving with deliberate slowness, he came to attention, raised his hand in a respectful salute. “I won’t fail you, sir,” he said. Glancing up at the battered standard, he added, “Or the regiment.”

  “I know you won’t, Granak,” Kang said. “Good luck.”

  “Good luck to you, sir,” Granak said. He wanted to say something more, seemingly, but, after a moment’s hesitation, he turned in silence and, bearing the standard, disappeared over the top of the ridgeline.

  Kang awaited the final battle. He had done what he could. Now he had to make a fresh plan, one last plan. He had to figure a way for his forces to remain alive and fighting for as long as possible. Every five minutes they held off the enemy meant another mile for the females and their guards.

  “Slith, how many of those keg bombs do you—”

  “Sir!” Frantic shouts behind him. “Commander Kang! Sir!”

  Certain that it was goblins attacking the rear, Kang whipped around.

  Fulkth came dashing up over the ridge.

  “Well? What is it?” Kang demanded.

  “Two of the females are gone, sir!” Fulkth gasped.

  Kang stared at him. “Gone? Gone where? How long?” He shifted his stern gaze to the shame-faced Cresel, who came running up behind his commander. “By the gods, Cresel!” swore Kang, forgetting that there weren’t any, “I won’t just have you digging latrines! I’ll bury you in one! How did this happen? Didn’t you take a head-count?”

  “Yes, s-sir!” Cresel stammered. “At sundown, I counted twenty of them sleeping away as quiet as dead kender.”

  “Well?” Kang demanded.

  At that moment, one of the females, one of the sivaks, Shanra, came running up.

  “Sir,” she began.

  Kang didn’t have time for childish nonsense. He waved her to silence.

  “I asked you a question, Cresel.”

  “It seems that there were only eighteen, sir. Two of them turned out to be … piles of rocks with blankets draped over them.”

  “Sir!” said Shanra urgently. “If you’d only—”

  “Who’s missing, Cresel?” Kang asked, though he had already guessed the answer.

  “Fonrar, sir. And Thesik. It seems that some of the baaz saw flashes of light down in the canyon. They thought it might be goblins and Fonrar and Thesik went to investigate.”

  Kang’s heart sank. “Of course, it was goblins!” he said in frustration. “Why didn’t they come tell one of the officers?”

  “Because you never listen to us, sir!” Shanra shouted, glaring at him in exasperation.

  “All right,” said Kang. “I’m listening now.”

  Shanra’s defiance ebbed a bit at his tragic expression.

  “Fon and Thes should have come back before this,” Shanra said, her voice quivering. “They weren’t supposed to have been gone this long. Something must have happened. Don’t you agree, Commander?”

  Kang could have sat down on the ridge and wept. Tears were a luxury only the Soft-skins possessed, however.

  “Get her out of here,” he growled to Cresel, who obeyed with alacrity, grabbing hold of Shanra’s arm and hustling her out of the way of the commander’s wrath.

  “Fulkth!”

  “Sir!” Fulkth saluted.

  “I’ve given Granak his orders. He knows what to do. You’re going to take the females—the rest of the females,” Kang added with a sigh, “and try to escape. Granak is in charge. You are to obey him as you would me.”

  Fulkth waited before answering. He waited for his commander to countermand that dire order, waited for Kang to reconsider, tell them that he’d been hasty, that they didn’t need to take such drastic measures. Fulkth waited in vain. He could hear defeat in Kang’s voice, see defeat in the commander’s slumped shoulders and bowed head, see defeat in the ranks of hobgoblins assembling at the foot of the ridge.

  “Go!” said Kang, glowering.

  Fulkth shook his head, not disobeying, just disbelieving.

  “Go, Fulkth,” Kang repeated. He laid his hand on the draconian’s shoulder.

  Fulkth rested his own hand briefly on his commander’s and then, forgetting to salute, he turned and dashed up the ridge.

  Horns sounded out of the long grass.

  “Here come the gobbos, sir,” Slith warned.

  Here comes the end, thought Kang.

  * * * * *

  Once down among the rocks, Fonrar discovered to her chagrin that the canyon was much wider than it had appeared from the top of the ridge. The surface of the canyon floor was not as smooth as it had looked either. The ground was marred by deep cracks and crevices, some of them so wide that the wingless aurak Thesik could not jump across and the two were forced to make long detours to find a way around. Jagged points of rock thrust up from the floor like miniature mountains. A veritable forest of boulders surrounded them. They could no longer hear the battle raging on the ridge.

  “How far do you think we’ve come?” Fonrar asked, taking a moment to stop and catch her breath.

  “About five mi
les,” Thesik guessed.

  Fonrar glanced around. Surrounded by mountains on all sides, she had long ago lost track of which ridge was their ridge. “I’m completely lost,” she admitted.

  “I’m not,” Thesik replied. She pointed a clawed finger. “That’s our army’s location. Right there. To the left of that tall peak. You can see the moon rising just over it.”

  Fonrar regarded her friend in admiration, never doubting her. Thesik had proven her accuracy in direction-finding many times before now.

  “How do you do that?”

  Thesik shrugged modestly. “I don’t know. Just something I’m born with, I guess. Like your wings.” She glanced enviously at Fonrar.

  “Maybe they’ll grow,” Fonrar said.

  Thesik shook her head. “Cresel says they won’t. He says auraks don’t grow wings. He says that makes me special. I say it makes me a freak.”

  “Right now your sense of direction is of more use to us than my wings,” Fonrar said wryly. She looked again over her shoulder.

  “We should go back, Fon,” Thesik urged. “They’ve probably discovered we’re gone by now. We’ll be in no end of trouble.”

  “I’m not going back until I’ve found out what those flashes were,” Fonrar said with characteristic stubbornness. “As for being in trouble, we already know what’s going to happen to us. We’ll get a lecture from the commander and we’ll be confined to quarters for a week. Staying out a little longer won’t make that any worse.”

  The moon rose, a silver orb, shining bright enough to cause the boulders to cast dark shadows.

  “Look at that,” Thesik said softly, awed. “The mountain peaks look like the mane of a dragon. The horizon is an enormous dragon lying stretched out, basking in the moonlight. Do you see it, Fon?”

  “No,” said Fonrar shortly. “All I see are mountains. And what would a dragon be doing basking in moonlight anyway? The moon doesn’t give any warmth. It—Wait! Look, Thes, look!” Fonrar grabbed hold of Thesik, dug her claws into Thesik’s scales, turned her bodily around. “I saw a flash! There! Look!”

  “What? Where? Ouch! You’re pinching me!” Thesik shook off Fonrar’s hand, peered ahead. “I don’t see anything.”