Draconian Measures

by Don Perrin

  “They smell better,” Kang said dryly.

  “They do?” Vertax was perplexed.

  “Never mind.” Kang went back to his drawing.

  Vertax bent over the half-finished plans. “Is this what you’re building?”

  “A simple design,” Kang said. “But adequate for temporary quarters.”

  “Temporary,” Vertax repeated, smiling. “Oh, yes. Right.”

  He walked out, chuckling.

  “Damn right, they’re temporary,” Kang said with a growl, but only after he was certain Vertax had departed.

  After the fiasco with the gawkers, Kang was now even more convinced that the moment the goblins were disposed of, he would leave the fort, continue to pursue his dream. He was putting the finishing touches on the drawing, when he was interrupted by Gloth.

  “Sir,” Gloth began, “it’s about the females—”

  “What about them?” Kang reared his head. His hand jerked, adding a line he’d not intended. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

  “They don’t respect me, sir,” Gloth said in a whining tone. “Not like they ought. I think you should have a talk with them.”

  “Oh, for the love of—” Kang began, glaring at Gloth impatiently. “Do you mean to tell me that you interrupted—” He paused, counted to ten, then said, “Answer me this, are the females safe? Secure?”

  “Yes, sir,” Gloth said.

  “Fine. Now get the hell out of here and leave me alone!” Kang roared.

  Gloth slunk off. Kang muttered imprecations on the unfortunate draco’s head and rubbed out his mistake.

  He had the plans completed by the time his troops had the construction site cleared, the logs in place, ready to start. Kang and Slith went over the plans with Pol’lard, the bozak smithy, made a few changes and improvements. Slith started everyone to work.

  “We’ll have it up by tomorrow, sir,” Slith said.

  “Excellent,” Kang replied. “The females are getting restless.”

  “Can’t blame them, sir. Cooped up in that shed.”

  “Yes, well, tomorrow they can move into their new quarters. They’ll like that.”

  “You’re still keeping them cooped up, sir,” Slith observed.

  “What else can I do?” Kang demanded. “I can’t let them go roaming about on their own. You saw what happened this morning?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Slith. “The sooner we leave this place, the better, sir.”

  “I know,” said Kang. “After we whip some gobbo butt, I’ll ask the general’s permission for us to leave. I don’t think he’ll stop us. What reason would he have?”

  “He’s a general, sir,” said Slith. “They don’t need reasons.”

  “Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now,” Kang returned irritably.

  “No, sir,” said Slith and, seeing that the commander was in a bad mood, the sivak wisely left to go about his work.

  Kang realized that he was taking out his frustrations on his men, but at the moment he didn’t much care. He watched his troops set to work with envy. A few hours of swinging an axe or heaving logs about would ease the tensions that were gurgling inside his stomach and tightening his muscles into knots. He knew better than to try, though. His wounds were just starting to heal. Any physical labor would break them open.

  Kang thought he might go check on the females, but he didn’t want to do that either. He guessed that they would be in a terrible mood, sulking and quarrelsome. He would have to be calm and patient with them and he just couldn’t manage that right now. He had decided to go eat breakfast when Pol’lard the smith appeared with a question, followed by Rohan the quartermaster with a question of his own and then came Brattbak, one of the baaz subcommanders. By the time Kang had dealt with them, Fulkth returned, having discovered a problem in the architectural design.

  Kang never did manage to get breakfast.

  The morning passed in a fury of hammering, heaving, hoisting, and hauling. The engineers stopped work only for a trip to the mess hall and that was done in shifts, so that some continued working while others ate. The females were marched out to the latrine again and Kang was pleased to hear Gloth’s report that the females were docile and well behaved. Probably they had been frightened by the turmoil this morning. Kang felt a bit remorseful, decided that he would stop by in the evening to reassure them.

  Of all the draconian males, only Cresel noted that the females were a bit too docile, a bit too well-behaved. He had heard some very odd sounds emanating from the shed, sounds that were familiar to an old campaigner. Cresel guessed immediately what the females were doing and, thoroughly approving, he kept silent.

  * * * * *

  Fonrar worked her troops hard all that morning. She allowed them a break for lunch, and then started at the drill again. At first, she’d despaired of them ever succeeding and began to wonder uneasily if perhaps the commander was right. If any one of her troops had been holding a real sword, Fonrar guessed that half her force would be dead or wounded by now, slain by themselves or by their comrades. They fell over their own feet. They tripped each other up with their tails and batted each other in the face with their wings. They thought it was all funny, at first, but after each had done a few hundred push-ups, they weren’t laughing anymore.

  Fonrar grit her teeth, kept her patience, ran them through the drill. She performed the movements with them until her arms ached and she feared she might not be able to pry the sword hilt loose from her cramped fingers. Weary, exasperated, frustrated, she was just about to give up on them when the females performed the drill right. Not only right, but perfectly right.

  Fonrar stared.

  For a moment, the baaz and the kapaks were too tired and dispirited to realize what they’d done. And then, noting that Fonrar wasn’t swearing at them, they looked at each other and began to realize what they’d done.

  “Again,” Fonrar said, not daring to believe.

  They ran through the drill again. And again. They got it right every time. Fonrar had to strongly repress an urge to hug them all.

  “Dismissed,” she said instead. “You did well, troops. Very well.”

  Dead tired, the draconians collapsed onto the floor and ginned proudly.

  “Tomorrow,” said Fonrar, “we do this all again.”

  The grins vanished.

  Fonrar went to check on Thesik and the bozaks. Spellcasting was going well. They’d memorized all the spells that Guelp had taught them and could recite them forwards and backwards, even when Thesik tossed things at them, poked and prodded them with a stick, and tried other means to distract them.

  While she was talking to the bozaks, Fonrar became aware that Shanra and Hanra and the other two sivaks were attempting to gain her attention. They lurked about in the background, giggling into their hands and making cunning little winks and nods at her and each other. Fonrar realized, with a sinking heart, that she’d given them nothing to do after they had completed making the wooden swords. No telling what mischief they’d done in the interval. She resolved that tomorrow, they would join the sword drill.

  “Come here, Fon!” Shanra said, beckoning.

  “Come see what we’ve done, Fon,” Hanra added. “We’ve been using our engineering skills.”

  “Yes, you’ll be proud us,” Shanra said.

  The sivaks led their commander to the door of the shed, pointed proudly at the top.

  Fonrar saw that they had rigged some sort of contraption above the door, a contraption that involved a barrel placed precariously on the cross-beam. The barrel was held in position by a small stick jammed in between the door and the frame.

  Fonrar had no idea what purpose the contraption served or why it was there, but the sivaks looked so proud and pleased with themselves that she thought she should issue cautious praise.

  “That’s … interesting,” she said. “Quite good, the way you have … um … caused the barrel to stay in place like that. Quite good. But I’m afraid you’re going to have t
o take it down. It’s about time for Gloth’s inspection and—” Fonrar paused. She looked more intently at the barrel, looked back at the sivak sisters.

  “We know!” Hanra whispered, giggling.

  “The barrel’s filled with water!” said Shanra softly.

  “When Gloth comes through the door—”

  “—splash!”

  Fonrar knew that she should be stern. She should make them take down the contraption immediately. She should probably punish them, assign them fifty push-ups each. But just as she was about to open her mouth, the mental image of Gloth standing inside the door, dripping wet, with a barrel over his head, was too wonderful to relinquish.

  The troops had worked hard all day. They deserved some reward. She deserved a reward.

  “Attention!” came Cresel’s voice, a bit louder than necessary. He always gave them warning, when he could.

  “Hurry!” Fonrar said in a smothered whisper. “Take your places.”

  The females hastened to form ranks for the daily head-count. They did so quickly, without the usual scuffling and confusion. Waves of suppressed laughter rippled through the ranks as they heard the key turn in the lock. Fonrar found it hard to keep her countenance. Glancing at Thesik beside her, she saw her friend’s eyes gleaming. The females were so excited that not one of them caught the odd note of tension in Cresel’s voice.

  The door opened.

  The barrel fell. The contraption worked perfectly. The engineering lessons had been put to good use. Except that it wasn’t Gloth who opened the door.

  Water dripped from General Maranta’s snout. The barrel lay smashed at his feet.

  “Sir! Come quickly!”

  Kang recognized the shout of one of the guards posted over the females. The guard was racing toward him, panting and waving his arm. If a draconian could have turned pale, he would have been white as a pail of milk.

  “Sir! The females …” The draconian gasped for breath. “General Maranta …”

  That was as far as he got. Kang began running for the shed. Had he known what had happened, he might have turned and run for the front gate. As it was, he figured he was in trouble when he heard gales of laughter emanating from the shed. Cresel wore the stricken expression of a draco who has just taken a spear in the gut.

  “Sir,” Cresel began, gulping.

  Pushing the hapless Cresel aside, Kang entered the door. He found General Maranta sopping wet, the females prostrate with laughter.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Kang roared.

  At the sight of him and the sound of his voice, the laughter ceased abruptly.

  “Attention!” Fonrar shouted.

  The females straightened, stiffened. Eyes shifted forward. Heads jerked up. Hands fell to their sides.

  Kang cast them all a single glance, a glance expressive of his fury, a fury they were not accustomed to feeling turned on themselves. The females withered in the heat of his anger. They shrank, hung their heads, cast each other sidelong glances.

  Kang turned to the general, who was wringing water from his cloak. A glance at the smashed barrel on the floor told Kang all he needed to know.

  “General Maranta, sir,” he said, “I am sorry. Deeply sorry. Please … is there anything I can do, sir?”

  At the word “General” horrified gasps and soft groans came from the ranks of the females.

  “So these are my sisters,” General Maranta said in a cold tone. He turned a narrowed, red-eyed gaze on Kang. “What are you teaching these females of yours, Commander?”

  Auraks are proud, arrogant, always mindful of their standing and their dignity. They do not like to see either diminished. Most especially, they do not like to see those they consider beneath them receive more respect than they do. Kang realized at that moment that General Maranta was more offended by the fact that the females showed a lowly bozak more respect than they did an aurak. Perhaps General Maranta thought that Kang had put them up to this. His words certainly implied as much.

  “Again, I ask you to pardon them, General,” Kang said awkwardly. “They’re young. They’ve never been introduced to anyone of your rank before. They had no idea who you were—”

  Fonrar, gulping, stepped forward. She had gone cold all over. She could not feel her feet or her hands. But these were her troops, she was responsible for them. She wasn’t going to let the commander take the blame. She was grieved to the heart to hear him forced to grovel and beg forgiveness for an act that not been his fault.

  “Excuse me, General,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking, “but if you’re going to be angry at anyone, you should be angry at me. I’m the squadron’s leader. Their poor behavior is my fault. Commander Kang didn’t know anything about it. We were going to play a joke on … on one of the subcommanders.”

  At General Maranta’s baleful gaze, Fonrar’s courage almost failed her, but she kept talking valiantly, more for Kang than for herself.

  “We’re extremely sorry, General.” She lifted her chin, braced her shoulders. “We await any punishment you think is fitting for our offense.”

  “Sir,” Kang began.

  “Enough!” General Maranta raised his hand. One corner of the aurak’s mouth twitched, showing the tip of a yellow fang. “Well, well, Commander, boys will be boys, eh. Especially if they’re girls.” The general began to laugh.

  Kang burst out with a guffaw and a swift glance sent Cresel and the other draconians into fits at the general’s humor. The females remained uneasy and quiet. They were in disgrace. They saw nothing to laugh at. Personally, Fonrar felt she lacked the heart to ever laugh again.

  “No wonder they are given to mischief, cooped up like this!” General Maranta said, when he could contain himself. “Remember how we grew up, eh, Kang? Like warriors! Raised to battle.” He rubbed his clawed hands together. “We fought over every scrap of food they tossed to us. There was never enough. The strong ate, the weak went without. Remember, Kang?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kang said, carefully keeping his tone expressionless. “I remember.”

  “These females look too well fed to me. Not enough exercise. You should let them out more. Let them tussle and scrape.”

  “Begging the general’s pardon, but I don’t see how that is possible, sir, considering what happened this morning. There was a near riot.”

  “Bah!” General Maranta erased the incident with a gesture. “That will not happen again, Commander. The men were curious. One can’t blame them. But their curiosity is satisfied. You will have no more trouble.” He cast Kang a shrewd glance. “Have you had any more trouble today?”

  “No, sir,” Kang said. “We have not.”

  “Nor will you. I might as well inspect the … er … troops while I’m here.” General Maranta chuckled.

  The females stood as motionless and rigid as if they’d all been dead baaz turned to stone. General Maranta passed among them, eyeing each intently. At a nod from Kang, Fonrar accompanied him and the general, walking silently some paces behind the commander. The general said no word to any of them until he reached Thesik, who stood at the back of the line.

  He paused before her, stared at her long and hard.

  Fonrar felt for her poor friend, who looked so nervous it seemed likely she might pass out. Her wing tips shivered, her tail curled to a tight ball.

  “What is your name?” General Maranta asked.

  “Thes … Thesik, sir,” Thesik answered in a half-whisper. She did not look at him, kept her eyes straight forward, staring at the back of the head of the draconian female in front of her.

  “Another aurak. The first I have seen in many long years. We might have come from the very same golden dragon parent, Thesik,” General Maranta said. “You and I might be brother and sister.”

  “Yes, sir,” Thesik said faintly, completely bewildered. She seemingly had no idea what the draco was talking about.

  “Are you powerful in magic, my dear?” General Maranta asked benignly.

  Fonrar’s
heart leaped into her gullet and lodged there. She couldn’t say or speak a word.

  “Magic, sir?” Thesik turned wondering eyes upon the general. “There is no magic, sir. Magic left the world with Her Majesty, Queen Takhisis.”

  General Maranta appeared taken aback. “So you practice no magic?”

  “Practice? No, sir,” Thesik replied.

  No, sir, Fonrar thought, her heart sliding down her throat to where it belonged. Thesik had told the truth. She hadn’t lied. She doesn’t practice magic. She doesn’t need to practice.

  “The loss of our great Queen is most regrettable,” General Maranta said. He looked at Kang, who stood silently beside him, and then, with a slight shrug, the general turned away. The inspection was concluded.

  General Maranta left shortly after, treading on the remnants of the smashed barrel. Water dripped from his cloak.

  Outside the door, General Maranta paused to tap Kang on the chest with a sharp claw. “Teach them to fight, Commander. They may be females, but they are draconian females. Not namby-pamby woodsy elf maids. Teach them to be warriors.”

  Kang might have mentioned that it was a namby-pamby woodsy elf maid named Laurana who had been responsible for defeating the general and his entire draconian army, but he wasn’t prepared to spend the rest of his time here in the stockade. The thought of Slith and the elf maid also came to mind. Kang firmly banished that picture.

  “Begging the general’s pardon”—Kang was doing a lot of that this day—“but if the females become warriors, if they fight and die, then our race is no better off than we were before we found them. They are the future of our race.”

  General Maranta leaned close to Kang. “The future of our race is well in hand, Commander. Well in hand.” He winked. “Teach them to fight.”

  General Maranta departed, accompanied by six of the Queen’s Own, his bodyguards, who fell into step, two behind him and two before him and two walking on either side.