by Don Perrin
He faced another difficult task. He would have to write out a report for General Maranta. He figured he might as well get that over with and started to write. He had not put down a single sentence before he stopped. Nothing could convince him that his men had deserted. Nothing. He would wait until nightfall, wait until all squadrons had reported in.
Meanwhile it was going to be a long day.
* * * * *
About two hours later, Slith appeared.
“Sir, I’m back,” said Slith, ducking inside the tent. “And …” He paused to watched his commander, who was vigorously polishing his battle-axe. “Sir, I think if you keep rubbing the blade like that, you’re going to be able to see through it pretty soon.”
Kang looked up, somewhat shamefacedly. “Goblin blood eats away at the metal,” he muttered in a gruff voice. He set the axe aside. “What did you find out? Anyone report in yet?”
“No, sir. All squadrons are still searching. But I found out something interesting.”
At Kang’s gesture, Slith sat down on the commander’s bunk. He kept his voice low. “The commander on the sentry detail last night was a sivak. One of the Queen’s Own.”
Kang grunted. “Well, that’s a first. The Queen’s Own doing something useful for a change besides posting guard duty for a general. I’m surprised. They might actually get their pretty tabards dirty.”
“Yes, sir. I said as much to Prokel, but he acted like he didn’t know what I was talking about. According to him, General Maranta makes every draconian in the fort take his turn at sentry detail. Of course, the Queen’s Own don’t stand watch like the rest of us. They’re in command. And one of them was in command last night.”
Kang scratched his head. “I’m damned if I can see how that makes any difference. Did you talk to him? Why didn’t he report the loss to any of our officers?”
“No. He just came off duty and he’s asleep.” Slith read his commander’s thoughts, forestalled them. “I spoke to one of the Queen’s Own officers, told him this was really important, and asked if he’d wake him.”
“No luck, eh?” Kang said.
“No, sir. The Queen’s Own have their barracks near that great hulking fort-in-a-fort, so I couldn’t even give the fellow his own private reveille, like I considered. I told the Queen’s Own officer that we were respectfully wondering why we were the last to hear about our own guys disappearing and the Queen’s Own looked amazed that I’d even ask such a stupid question. Said the sentry commander had followed ‘standard procedure.’ Is that standard procedure, sir?”
“It wouldn’t be if I were in command,” Kang growled. “But it may be around here.”
“I did wake up some of the other poor bastards who were on sentry duty last night,” Slith said, adding with a shrug. “No one saw anything strange. No one heard anything out of the ordinary.”
Kang shook his head, stared gloomily at his battle-axe.
“I did find out about those Dark Knights, though, sir,” Slith said. He was worried. He’d never seen his commander so cast down, so glum. Not even when it looked like they were all going to be goblin-fodder. “There’s a keep held by Dark Knights near here. I brought a map.”
He spread the map out on the floor, indicated the position of General Maranta’s fort, and drew a line with a claw that led northward about thirty-five miles. “Here, sir. No one seems to know much about them, except that they think its an entire Wing—cavalry and foot. Prokel says the Knights may not know that this fort is here.”
“The hell they don’t,” Kang grunted. “You can bet your silver wings that some blue dragon rider has spotted this fort and relayed the message to them. They may not care that we’re out here, but they know. And I’ll lay even money that General Maranta knows how many men the Knights have down to the last shit-hauling stable hand.” He rolled up the map. “Is the general in his command tent?”
“I don’t know, sir, but I can find out. Do you think our boys really headed that way, sir?”
“No, I don’t. No one will ever convince me they deserted, Slith. But they’re gone and there’s nothing more we can do about it except what we’re doing. Meanwhile, we have ten thousand goblins out there to worry about.”
“I get it!” Slith said, intrigued. “You’re figuring on asking the Dark Knights to help us.”
“They may be human,” Kang said. “But we’re all on the same side. Once they hear that the cursed Solamnics are behind this, they’ll jump at the chance to get into the battle. I’m just surprised the general hasn’t thought of this before.”
“Good luck, sir,” Slith said.
Kang snorted. He hoped he didn’t have to depend on Lady Luck. He and she just didn’t seem to be on speaking terms these days.
Shanra and Hanra strolled through the fort’s small community, looking purposeful and confident, taking care not to gawk or stare, although there was much they wanted to gawk and stare at. They had never been inside a fort or any type of town or city. They had never seen so many of their kind in one place at the same time.
Being hungry, they decided their first stop should be the mess hall, of whose wonders and glories they’d heard about from Cresel. In any event, the mess hall—filled with male draconians—would be a good place to find out if they could blend in with these males as easily as they did the draconians of their own regiment. They had some difficulty locating the mess hall, but eventually Hanra—the bolder of the two—found the courage to step up to a draconian and ask for directions. The draconian glanced at them, glanced at the emblem on their leather armor, which was the emblem of the First Dragonarmy Engineers, and pointed down the right street.
“That was easy,” said Hanra.
“So far so good,” said her more cautious sister.
“Do you suppose what Cresel said is true?” Hanra asked, as they made their way through the crooked streets lined with ramshackle buildings. “That there’s so much food spread out that you can eat and eat until you’re stuffed and then keep eating?”
“No,” said Shanra. “I think Cresel’s making it up.”
“You’re probably right.” Hanra sighed. “Still, it’s nice to dream.”
The two found the mess hall and, not knowing what else to do, joined the line that had formed outside. The delicious fragrance of roasting goat meat wafting from the mess hall made their stomachs gurgle.
“When was the last good meal we ate in camp?” Hanra asked.
“I think it was that kender,” Shanra said. “And there wasn’t much to him.” She sniffed. “This smells absolutely wonderful.”
A draconian in front of them in line turned to stare at them. The sisters froze in terror, fearing they’d been discovered. But he only growled and asked if they were crazed or what.
“Beans and goat again,” he grumbled. “Burned at that. How do they expect a guy to fight when they feed him swill like this?”
“Yeah, how?” Shanra said, hardening her voice.
“It’s disgraceful,” Hanra agreed.
Inside, they followed the example of the other draconians, picked up large, square wooden platters and, when they came to a draconian standing over a huge kettle, ladling out food, they held their platters in front of him, as did the others. He dumped a ladle full of beans and meat onto Hanra’s platter. She stood staring in astonishment. She’d never seen so much food.
He looked at her. “You want more?”
“Can I have more?” She gasped.
“Glutton for punishment, ain’t you?” the cook said and dumped out another ladle.
The two found places at a table—a long board stretched across trestles. The food was every bit as wonderful as it smelled. They began to shovel in the beans and meat until they noted that their table companions were staring at them.
“They must be those engineers we rescued from goblins,” said one. “I heard they were near starving.”
“That explains it,” said another with a disgusted glance at his own platter.
�
��Say, I hear you got females with you?” said the first, turning to Hanra. “What are they like?”
“Oh, just like us,” said Shanra, winking at her sister.
“Only more intelligent,” Hanra added. “Stronger, wiser, better looking—”
“I saw them,” said one. “Nothing special. They are just like us, in fact. And what’s the fun in that? I’ll take human females any day.”
“Yeah,” said another, “hugging one of those female dracos would be just like hugging one of you guys!”
The males laughed. Hanra spluttered, so furious she couldn’t speak.
“We have to go,” said Shanra, jumping up. She caught hold of Hanra’s arm and began dragging her toward the door. “Time for inspection.”
Hanra’s fists were clenched. “I’ll give them a hug they’ll never—”
“No, you won’t. Not today.” Shanra herded her volatile sister out of the mess hall.
The two walked aimlessly about for a little while, kicking at stones in glum silence.
“Do you suppose they all feel like that?” Hanra asked at last. “The commander and … and Slith?”
“I don’t know,” said Shanra. “We’ve heard some of the others talk about human females before. You know, when they think we’re asleep.”
“But not Slith,” said Hanra hopefully.
“No, not Slith,” Shanra agreed. “We’ll ask Fonrar. She’ll know. Meantime, we have work to do. I wonder where they store the weapons?”
“I’ll ask,” said Hanra.
“No, it’s my turn,” said Shanra sharply. “You asked the last time.”
“Yes, but you—”
“Something I can help you fellows find?” A draconian officer stopped.
“Uh, yes, sir,” said Shanra in some confusion. “We … uh … lost our swords—”
“Broken,” Hanra said. “In the fight—”
“—with the goblins. And we need—”
“Replacements,” said the officer, who happened to be Prokel, although they did not know it. “Just have Commander Kang fill out a requisition form and take that form to the quartermaster in that building over there. He’ll fit you up with everything you need. I guess Kang’s wanting to make certain everyone’s prepared for the big goblin assault.”
The two sisters exchanged glances. “Yes, sir,” said Hanra.
“Thank you, sir,” Shanra added. “Any luck on finding those two deserters?” Prokel asked.
“Deserters, sir?” Hanra gaped.
“Those two men from your regiment who left in the night. I guess they’re not officially deserters yet.”
“Uh, n-no, sir,” Shanra stammered. “Not that I know of.”
“Well, good luck with the hunt. Give my regards to your commander.” Prokel strode off.
“Deserters!” Hanra said bleakly.
“Goblin assault,” Shanra said.
“Requisition,” they said simultaneously and looked at each other in dismay.
“Maybe Fonrar could write us a requisition,” Hanra suggested. “You know, forge the commander’s name.”
“I don’t see how,” Shanra argued. “Do you even know what a requisition is?”
“No,” Hanra admitted.
“Me neither.”
The two stood there, staring at each other.
“Well, it can’t hurt to go take a look at this quartermaster place,” Shanra said. “Maybe we’ll get an idea when we see it.”
“And at least we’ll be able to tell Fon where it is,” Hanra agreed.
The two followed Prokel’s directions, losing themselves twice amidst the tangle of streets. By this time, they realized that their unique ability to blend in with their surroundings was working yet again. The other draconians in the fort took them to be newcomers with Kang’s regiment and were helpful in showing them the way they needed to go.
The sisters found the weapons supply warehouse. Unlike the rest of the buildings, the warehouse was made of the same material as the general’s quarters—stone, wood, and hard-baked mud. It had no windows and a heavy wooden door barred the entry. If the fort was penetrated by enemy troops, the draconians did not want their enemies arming themselves with draconian weapons. The door stood open this day. A large and corpulent draconian sat at a table just inside the door, in the shady coolness. Two bozak guards sat inside with him, playing at some sort of game. Shanra and Hanra hung about at a safe distance, trying to see inside, but without much success.
As they watched, a baaz carrying a scroll came hurrying up. Entering the building, he saluted.
“Requisition for three broadswords, sir,” said the baaz and handed over the scroll.
The sivak sisters looked at each other, nodded.
The quartermaster unrolled the scroll, glanced over the requisition. Turning, he shouted to someone inside the building and made a notation in a large ledger. The baaz left, lugging three broadswords with him. The swords gleamed in the sunlight. The sisters gazed at them with longing.
“We have to have one of those requisitions,” said Hanra emphatically.
“Agreed,” said Shanra. “But I haven’t a clue how to get one, do you?”
Hanra shook her head.
Shanra sighed. “Well, there’s no use hanging around here. Someone’s bound to see us and get suspicious. Nothing left but to go back and make our report.”
The two walked disconsolately down a street that ran alongside the warehouse. This street, which was one of the few wide, straight streets, led straight to the Bastion. Other streets branched off this main road, some actually going somewhere, others simply dead-ending, as though having come this far they had forgotten why they wanted to be here.
The sisters walked with bowed heads, kicking irritably at loose rocks. Hearing voices nearby, the sisters looked up to see two of the grandest, most splendid sivaks they had ever seen. The sivaks wore chain mail armor that gleamed in the sunshine. They carried huge, ornate, curved-bladed swords thrust into jeweled leather belts. They each wore a tabard made of cloth bearing the emblem of a five-headed dragon.
“That’s one of the Queen’s Own!” Hanra said, awed.
“The ones Cresel told us about. They once served Her Dark Majesty!”
At the sight of these wondrous beings, the sisters forgot their injunction not to gawk and stare and did both. Only when the officers were almost upon them, did the two remember themselves. They came to attention, standing stiff and straight, saluting as they had been taught. The two officers never even glanced at them, made no acknowledgement of them. The officers continued chatting as if no other creature of consequence was in the area.
“I’m off to the mess hall. Will you join me?” said one.
“Later, when I’m off-duty,” said the other. He flourished a scroll. “Right now, I have to fill this requisition for twenty swords put in by the general’s aide.”
The two parted company, one heading down a side-street, the other continuing toward the arms warehouse.
“Twenty swords!” Hanra whispered, awed. “Just our number!”
“Maybe the commander’s wrong,” Shanra whispered back. “Maybe there is a god.”
They both stared after the departing sivak officer, stared especially at that precious scroll he held in his hand.
“What do we do?” Shanra asked urgently.
“This!” said Hanra.
She scooped up a large rock and began to pad soft-footed down the street. Reaching the sivak officer, Hanra lifted the rock and clouted him over the head.
To be fair to the Queen’s Own, he considered himself as safe from attack in this fort as he would have been inside his own eggshell. The thought that he might be ambushed by two members of his own race certainly had never occurred to him. The Queen’s Own were honored, revered, feared. If he heard the pattering of footsteps or the nervous giggle coming up behind him at all, he paid no heed to them. He went down like a lightning-struck oak tree.
“What have you done?” Shanra cried, raci
ng after her sister.
“Found us twenty broadswords,” said Hanra coolly.
“Suppose someone saw you?” Shanra gasped.
Hanra glanced around belatedly. The street was, fortunately, empty.
“No one did,” she said. “Grab his feet.”
The two dragged the sivak into one of the many alleyways that meandered through the town. Hanra plucked the blessed requisition from his hand. Shanra pulled the tabard off over his head. The two eyed his sword with longing.
“Better not,” Shanra advised. “Someone would be sure to recognize it and know where we got it.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Hanra said. She held out her hand. “I’ll wear the tabard.”
“You will not!” Shanra said, clutching it. “You got to hit him over the head! It’s my turn to do something!”
“I have the requisition,” Hanra said, waving it in the air.
“I’m wearing the tabard,” Shanra said stubbornly and settled matters by popping it over her head.
“You will not—” Hanra began angrily.
Footsteps sounded down the street.
“Someone’s coming!” Shanra whispered. “Give it! Give it!” She gestured frantically at the requisition.
“Oh, all right!” Hanra said. With an ill grace, she shoved the scroll into her sister’s hand.
Two baaz draconians passed by the alleyway. Neither looked down it. Neither saw either the sisters or the body of the unconscious member of the Queen’s Own. Shanra straightened the tabard. Hanra, sulking, brushed off the dirt. Heads high, the two marched out of the alley.
“You’re not as high-ranking as I am. You should walk a few steps behind me,” Shanra said out of the corner of her mouth.
“Like hell I will!” Hanra hissed.
The two strode up to the arms warehouse.
“You wait outside,” Shanra said in an imperious tone to Hanra.