Margeret Weis & Don Perrin - Dragonlance - The Chaos War 01 - The Doom Brigade

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The Doom Brigade
Book 1 of The Chaos War Series
Margret Weis
Don Perrin
WEIS, MARGARET & PERRIN, DON
Dedicated proudly to the Canadian Corps of Land Electrical & Mechanical
Engineers
"There's a problem, sir." The Baaz was apologetic. "The dwarves have locked the
doors to the shed and are threatening to dump their brew before they'll hand it over to
us, sir."
"By the Dark Queen's heart!" Kang swore, shocked. "Are they serious?"
"We have to assume that they are, sir." The draconian looked worried, as well he
might.
Kang raced off to assess the situation. When he arrived, the draconians were
hissing and howling and clashing their swords against their breastplates. At the dire
threat to dump the spirits, the draconians were near to forgetting their orders against
bloodshed.
Chapter One
"Stand to!"
Kang was on his feet, his clawed hands groping through the darkness of his cabin
for his armor before he was fully awake or cognizant of what was going on.
"Blasted elves! Damn pointy-ears. Why in the Abyss can't they let a fella get some
sleep?"
He found his breastplate, wrestled with it briefly, and finally managed to sling one
strap over his scaled arm. The other strap remained elusive, and Kang, cursing it
soundly, ignored it. Clasping the breastplate to his chest with his arm, he searched for
the door, and stumbled into a chair.
A trumpet sounded the alarm off-key. More shouts came from outside, answered
by hoarse yells of defiance. Kang gave the chair a kick that slivered it and once again
tried to find the door.
"Foppy elves," he muttered again, but that didn't
seem quite right.
A sober part of him, a part of him that had not been drinking dwarf spirits last
night—a party-pooping, stern task-master, who generally hovered near Kang's
shoulder, watching the other parts of him enjoying themselves with a disapproving
glower—nagged at him again.
Something about dwarves. Not elves.
Kang flung open the door to his cabin. The breathlessly hot morning air hit him a
good sock in the face. The sky was gray with the dawning rays of the sun, though that
light had not yet penetrated to the cabins and huts sheltered beneath the pine trees.
Kang blinked, shook his head muzzily, tried to disperse the dwarf spirits fouling his
brain. Reaching out, he collared the first draconian who came into sight.
"What the hell's going on?" Kang bellowed. "Is it the Golden General?"
The draconian stared, lost in such amazement that he forgot to salute. "Golden
General? Begging your pardon, sir, but we haven't fought the Golden General in
twenty-five years! It's them pesky dwarves, sir. On a raiding party. I expect they're
after the sheep, sir."
Kang let his breastplate slip down over his chest while he considered this
extraordinary news. Dwarves. Sheep. Raiding party. The part of him that knew what
was going on was really incensed. If he could only—
"Good morning, sir!" came a damnably cheery voice.
Water, icy water, splashed into Kang's face.
He gave a roar and emerged, scales clicking with the shock, but now relatively
sober and aware of what was happening.
"Let me help you with that, sir," said the same cheery voice.
Slith, Kang's second-in-command, had hold of the breastplate and was looping the
strap around his commander's arm, buckling it securely beneath Kang's left wing.
"Dwarves again, huh?" Kang said.
Draconians were dashing past, pulling on armor and hoisting weapons and heading
to their assigned defense posts around the walled village. A sheep, separated from the
herd and bleating in panicked terror, trotted past.
"Yes, sir. They're hitting us from the north."
Kang ran for the northern side of the wall—a wall in which he took inordinate
pride. Made of stone that had been blasted by magic from the side of Mount
Celebund, the wall had been built by Kang's troops—the former First Dragonarmy
Engineering Brigade. The wall surrounded the draconians' village, kept the marauding
dwarves out and the sheep in. At least, that's how it was supposed to work.
Somehow or other, the sheep kept disappearing. When that happened, Kang could
often smell the savory scent of roast mutton, born on the night breeze, wafting from
the direction of the hill dwarf settlement on the opposite side of the valley.
Reaching the wall, Kang clambered up the stairs, his clawed feet scrabbling on the
stone, and took his place on the battlements. It was that smudgy time of morning, not
dark, not light. Kang spotted the hill dwarves running across the open ground, heading
for the north face of the village wall, but it was difficult to count their numbers in the
half-light. The lead runners carried ladders and ropes, ready to scale the walls. The
draconians manned the walls, swords and clubs drawn, waiting to knock some hill
dwarf heads.
"You know my orders!" Kang shouted, drawing his sword. "Flat of the blades
only! Make sure any magic you Bozaks use is harmless, just enough to throw a scare
into them."
The draconians around Kang all "Yes, sirred," but it seemed to him that their
voices were distinctly lacking in enthusiasm. The dwarves had reached the bottom of
the wall and were flinging up their grappling hooks and
hoisting their ladders. Kang was leaning over the wall, preparing to fend off a
ladder, when he was distracted from the coming battle by the sound of a commotion
much farther down the wall to his right.
Thinking that this frontal assault might have been meant as a distraction and that
the first wave was already over the walls, Rang left Slith in command and dashed in
the new direction. He found Gloth, one of his troop commanders, shouting in loud/
angry tones.
A draconian was holding a crossbow, aiming it, ready to fire it at the dwarves.
"What in the Dark Queen's name do you think you're doing, soldier?" Gloth was
yelling. "Put that bow down! You know the commander's orders."
"I know 'em, but I don't like 'em!" the draconian snarled sullenly, keeping hold of
the crossbow.
Kang could have charged in, thrown his weight around, brought the situation under
control. He restrained himself, however, waited to see how his troop commander
handled the situation.
"You don't like mem, sir!" Gloth repeated.
From the north came shouts and howls and yells. The draconians, armed with
sticks, were shoving the ladders, filled with dwarves, away from the walls. Gloth eyed
the mutinous soldier grimly, and Kang waited tensely for his troop commander to lose
control and start bashing heads together. That's what Gloth would have done in the
old days.
But the draconian officer was evidently developing subtlety.
"Look, Rorc, you know we can't use crossbows, and you know why we can't use
them. Do I have to go over this again?" Gloth raised his hand, pointed. "Now, take
that dwarf right there, for instance. Sure, he's an ugly bastard, what with all that hair
on his face and that potbelly and those little sfubby legs. But maybe, just maybe,
Rorc, that mere dwarf is the very dwarf—maybe the only dwarf—who knows the
recipe for dwarf spirits. You shoot him, Rorc, and, yes, you send another god-cursed
dwarf back to Reorx, but what happens the next time we raid their village? We find a
sign on the distillery saying 'Owner deceased. Out of business.' And where does that
leave us, Rorc?"
Rorc glowered but did not respond.
"I'll tell you where that leaves us," Gloth continued solemnly. "Thirsty, that's what.
So you just put down that bow and pick up your club like a good draco, and I won't
say nothing about this breach of orders to the commander/'
Rorc hesitated, but finally threw down the crossbow. Picking up his club, he
leaned over the wall, prepared to beat off the assault. Gloth grabbed the crossbow and
marched off with it. Kang beat a hasty retreat to his command post.
It was a shame he'd have to pretend he hadn't seen any of this. He would have
liked to have given Gloth well-deserved praise for his deft handling of what could
have turned into an ugly situation.
Kang couldn't really blame the soldier. It was frustrating as hell having to put up
with these annoying dwarven raids, when back in the old days the draconians would
have just swooped down on the dwarves, killed them, and leveled their little village.
But the old days were gone, as Kang was constantly working to make his
draconians understand.
Returning to his position, Kang surveyed the field of battle. The dwarven ladder
bearers had planted their ladders, the dwarves were climbing up them. The draconians
successfully pushed away four of the ladders over, but several dwarves scrambled
over the remaining two ladders, dubs and fists swinging.
The dwarves were a tough target for the draconians to hit. Standing about four and
a half feet tall, the dwarves ducked under the legs of the seven-foot tall draconians,
whose chibs and sword blades generally whistled right over the dwarves' heads.
Kang spotted six dwarves, who darted and weaved and jumped, eluding all
attempts by the draconians to stop them. The dwarves leapt off the wall and
disappeared inside the draconian village.
Kang swore.
"Damn! Slith, take the First Squadron and go after them. We've only got ten head
of sheep left. I can't afford to lose any of them. Go!"
"First Troop, follow me!" Slith yelled over the din.
The draconians had pushed off the remaining two ladders, but the dwarves pnihe
outside were keeping up a steady assault, hurling rocks and mud. The draconian next
to Kang slumped to his knees, then pitched face first into the dirt. Kang rolled the
draconian over to find him still breathing but with a large bump rising on his
forehead. A clay brick, cracked in half, lay next to him. Kang left the unconscious
soldier and descended the battlements. He went to find the Support Troop.
The draconians had maintained their military ranks and organization over the
years, though there had really been no need for mem to do so. They had long ago left
the army. But the discipline of the military unit worked well in times of emergency,
such as mis. Everyone knew what to do and who to follow.
The Support Troop supplied the rest of the brigade (now only two hundred
draconians strong), providing food, clothing, armor, weapons, and tools. During the
raids, the Support Troop served as the reserve army. Rog, the commander in charge of
Support, saluted as Kang approached.
"We're ready when you are, sir!" Rog announced.
"Good! Lef s go!" Kang responded and set the example by sheathing his sword.
With a yell, the forty draconians, each armed with a club and a shield, broke into a
jog, heading for the gate.
The draconians manning the gate saw the Support Troop coming, flung wide the
wooden doors.
On the other side of the gate, the dwarves, seeing their chance, made a rush on the
opened portal. Kang and his Support Troop charged through the gate. Swinging clubs
and fists, they surged headlong into the attacking dwarves.
The battle was brief. Several dwarves fell, their heads cracked by club or fist.
Lightning crackled, a few Bozaks were using their magic. Mindful of their
commander's order, they made certain that all it did was singe a few beards and set
one dwarf's pants ablaze. After five of their number had either fallen or were
smoldering, the hill dwarves withdrew, pulling back their forces into the sparse woods
surrounding the village. The occasional projectile weapon whistled through the air or,
in some instances, plopped.
Kang was just turning to assess the situation when he was struck on the snout by a
rotten egg. The eggshell broke, the stinking yolk dribbled into his mouth and down his
jaws. His stomach heaved at the foul smell and worse taste. He gagged and retched.
He would have almost preferred an arrow in the gut.
Wiping the putrid missile from his face, Kang called for his forces to retreat. He
heard his command, given in draconian, repeated in dwarven, shouted by the
commander of the hill dwarves. The dwarves ran off, leaving their wounded on the
field. Their wives would be around to collect them in the morning.
The draconians on the wall let out a victory yell. Once again they had pushed back
the dwarves. Kang shook his head glumly. Six dwarves had made it through, however.
He could only imagine what mischief they'd managed to do before being cornered.
Kang ordered his men inside, and the gates closed.
Slith was waiting for him.
"Well?" Kang asked. "Did you catch them?"
Slith saluted. "Sir, we clobbered two of them, but at least four got away, and four
of the sheep are missing."
Kang kicked the dirt with a clawed foot, sending up a cloud of dust in his
frustration. "Damn! And nobody saw a thing? What did the sheep do, sprout wings
and fly off with the dwarves on their backs?"
Slith could only shrug. "Sorry, sir. It was all pretty confused..."
"Yes, yes, I know," Kang sucked in a breath, tried to calm himself. "Hand me a rag
to clean this filth off, will you? Deal with the wounded, then assemble the troops in
one hour in the compound. I want to talk to them before it gets too hot"
Slith laid a conciliatory claw on Kang's scaled arm. "The boys are having a rough
time of it now, sir. But we're still all behind you. Every one of us."
Kang nodded wordlessly, and Slith went off to carry out his orders. He and his
soldiers hauled the unconscious dwarves outside the gate and left them there. By the
next day, they would be gone. They would either wake up and stumble home, or their
families would haul mem off the following day.
Either way, they would be safe in bed by sundown.
"Damn crazy way to run a war, if you ask me," one draconian was overheard to
say to another, as they hauled a potbellied, black-bearded dwarf out the front gate.
Yes, Kang thought to himself. It was a damn crazy way to run a war.
Chapter Two
Kang had his reasons for this damn crazy way to fight a war. Reasons he'd shared
with the men under him time and again. They just needed another reminder.
The draconians descending the wall shuffled into the compound, forming orderly
ranks. Soon, all the draconians in Kang's command were standing in four rows. Kang
took his place before them. Slith gave the order, and the draconians snapped to
attention.
The morning sun, a fiery red eyeball that looked the way Kang's eyes felt this
morning, peered into the compound. The red light glinted on the scales of the
draconians, scales reflecting the type of dragon from which each was so hideously
descended. Sunlight gleamed in the brassy tinted scales of the Baaz. Slith, one of the
Sivaks, glittered silver. Stepping from the shadow of the command hut into the bright
compound, Kang's own scales glinted with burnished bronze. He was a Bozak, one
the few Bozaks in the troop and, for all he knew, perhaps one of the few Bozaks left
in the world.
"Lizard men" was the term the humans used to derisively refer to draconians—an
insult that never failed to make Kang's scales twitch. His troops bore no more
resemblance to lizards than humans did to ... well . . . monkeys, for example. The
draconians were much closer akin to their parents, dragons.
The shortest draconian stands six feet tall, Kang himself was seven feet in height.
They walk upright on powerful haunches, their clawed feet needing no shoes or boots.
Their clawed hands are adept at wielding the weapons of war. All draconians except
the Auraks (who don't get along well with their fellow draconians and therefore tend
to be loners) have wings. These wings allow them to glide short distances or float
through the air. The Sivaks can actually fly. Draconians' eyes gleam red, their long
snouts are filled with sharp fangs.
Draconians are intelligent, much more intelligent than goblins. This created a
problem during the war, for many of the draconians proved to be far more intelligent
than the humans who led them. Bozaks, like Kang, have an inborn talent for magic,
similar to that possessed by their doomed parents. And though the draconians had
been brought into the world with only one objective—to destroy any force that
opposed them—the longer they remained in the world, the greater their need to be part
of the world.
Kang took a moment to regard his troops with pride, a pride that, these days,
seemed always to be mingled with sorrow. Once there had been six rows of draconian
solders lined up before their commander. Now they were down to four. Every time he
gave this speech, there were fewer to hear him.
He glanced over at Gloth, standing with the Support Troop in the rear. And there
was the soldier who had disobeyed orders and picked up the crossbow.
Kang lifted his voice. "You fought well today, men! Once again, we forced the
enemy to retreat, while suffering no significant casualties." He made no mention of
the lost sheep. "It has come to my attention, however, mat some of you are dissatisfied
with the way I've been running things around here. We're not in me army anymore.
But we all agreed that our only hope for survival was to maintain our discipline. You
chose me to be your commander, a responsibility I take seriously. Under my
leadership, we've held on here for twenty-five years. Life hasn't been easy, but then
life for us has never been easy.
"Yet, we managed to build this." Kang gestured to the neat rows of cabins made of
pine logs that stood inside the compound. "This village of ours is the first settlement
ever constructed by our people."
The first/said a voice inside Kang. And the last. , "I want to remind you," he
continued, his voice quiet, "of the reasons why we left the army. Why we came here."
The troops stood still, not a scale clicked, no link of armor jingled.
"We, the First Dragonarmy Engineers, have a proud history of service in the War
of the Lance. We were commended for our meritorious actions by Lord Ariakus
himself. We remained loyal to our Dark Queen, even during that terrible time in
Neraka, when our leaders forgot their noble mission and instead turned on each
other."
Kang paused a moment to relive history. "Think back on that time, men, and learn
from it. Our armies had succeeded, by a stroke of luck, in capturing the so-called
Golden General, the elf female who was leading the troops of the so-called Forces of
Good. And what did our commanders do with her? Instead of just slitting her throat,
as would have been the most sensible course of action, they put her on display for the
Dark Queen's pleasure. As even a kender could have foreseen, a group of her motley
friends, led by a bastard half-elf, turned up to rescue her. In the fight for the Crown of
Power, Lord Ariakus managed to get himself skewered. Some bloke with a green
jewel in his chest impaled himself on a rock and the Temple collapsed, bringing Her
Dark Majesty's ambitions down with it.
"You all remember that time," Kang said, his voke hardening. "We were ordered
by our human commanders to fight to the death, white tiiey escaped! Many of our
kind died that day. We chose not to obey. Some of us had foreseen this terrible end.
As far as we were concerned, these human commanders had forfeited, by their
stupidity and greed, their right to lead us. We marched off, leaving the war to those
who had bungled it. You elected me leader and, under my leadership, we headed
south, looking for a place to hide, a place to live.
"Evil turns in upon itself, or so the god-cursed Knights of Solamnia say. But that is
not true of the First Engineers." Kang spoke with growing pride. "We fought as a
cohesive unit for years. We were disciplined soldiers, accustomed to obeying orders.
And we had a new ambition, one that was born in the smoke and flame of battle. We
were sick of killing, sick ©f slaughter, sick of wanton destruction. We felt the urge to
build, to settle, to leave something of ourselves behind on this world. Something
lasting and permanent.
"You recall that time. How we were pursued by the knights. We headed for the
Kharolis mountains—long a haven for exiles and outcasts. We reached it, finally, and
found ourselves in the lands controlled by the dwarven kingdom of Thorbardin. The
Knights of Solamnia weren't about to get themselves killed for what was now a
dwarven cause. They left us for the dwarves to handle, and went back to celebrating
their glorious victory.
"It might have gone badly for us, but our numbers were relatively few. We posed
no threat to the heavily fortified underground kingdom of Thorbardin, and so the
Thorbardin dwarves saw no reason to risk their lives chasing us down.
"We made camp in mis valley, nestled in the foothills between Mount Celebund
and Mount Dashinak. Our first objective—we built the wall. Our camp turned into a
fortification. The fortification became a village."
Kang sighed deeply. "We have just one problem. We draconians are not farmers.
Homing we plant ever grows. No seed we sow ever bears fruit."
He did not speak the rest, they all knew it. The futile attempts to make anything
grow in the barren ground was a cruel metaphor of their own lives. They were born of
magic. No female draconians existed. Their race would be the first and the last to feel
Krynn's sun warm their scales.
"We would have perished of starvation long ago," Kang admitted, "if it weren't for
the hill dwarves."
The hill dwarves' village was located on the opposite face of the valley, on the side
of Mount Celebund. During the winter, when game was scarce and the draconians
were facing starvation, they did what was necessary for survival. They raided their
neighbor's larder.
"You remember those first raids," Kang said grimly. "Bloody affairs for both sides.
The dwarves suffered the most. With our experience and sheer size, we overpowered
even the best dwarven warriors. Still, we were the ones at the disadvantage. When one
of our warriors falls, he falls for good. There will be no replacements—ever."
Before the War of the Lance, the evil clerics of Takhisis had developed the arcane
art of perverting good dragon eggs, changing the unborn baby dragon into a host of
monstrous beings. Using various magicks and sorceries, the evil cleric Wyrllish, the
black-robed mage Dracart, and die ancient red dragon Harkiel the Bender, produced
the warrior race which the armies of Takhisis sorely needed—the draconians.
The dragon-spawned draconians proved to be so powerful in their strength,
intelligence and cunning, that their creators feared them. Lord Ariakus decided that
the commanders could control the draconians only if they could control their numbers.
He and the other Dragon Highlords forbade the making of females. The draconians
could never breed. The Highlords' elite shock troops had finite numbers. Presumably,
when tile battle was over and the Dark Queen victorious, she would no longer need
the draconians. And by that time, most of them would be dead.
"I watched our people die off in battle with the dwarves," Kang said, "and I knew
that, over time, we would be a people no longer. We would cease to exist. Of course,
we could have wiped out the hill dwarves, but then what? Who would tend the fields
of wheat? Who would raise the sheep? Wo would"—Kang ran his tongue over
fangs—"distill that concoction of the gods known as dwarf spirits? We'd starve to
death! What's worse, we'd die of thirst!
"The other troop commanders and Fcame up with a possible solution. On our nod
raid, I ordered all weapons left behind. You know what happened. We grabbed the
same number of loaves of bread, snatched up the same amount of chickens, and—
most important—we made off with the same quantity of dwarf spirits as the 'first raid,
but our losses were considerably less.
"We fought our way in and out using fists and tails and a little magic. No one died
on either side. There were bruises all around and broken bones, but they healed. And,
I am pleased to note, when the hill dwarves raided us a month later, they carried no
weapons. Thus a tradition was born. It has become ah unspoken covenant between the
two settlements.
"I know it's frustrating," Kang admitted. "I know that you'd like nothing better
thaft to rip off a dwarf's head and stuff it down his throat. I feel the same way. But we
can't give mem the satisfaction.
"Understood? Then, dismissed."
"Three cheers for the commander!" Slith yelled.
The troops cheered, heartily enough. They respected and admired their leader.
Kang had worked hard to gain their respect, but now he was wondering if he'd truly
earned it. Oh, sure, it had been a good speech, but when all was said and done, what
victory had the draconians really won? Living behind a wall, fighting constantly to
survive, and for what?
All they lived for was to get drunk every night and tell the same blasted war stories
over and over and over.
Why do we even bother? Kang wondered morosely.
He traipsed back alone to his cabin to indulge himself in his hang-over.
An hour later, Slith knocked on Kang's door.
Kang's quarters were built into the main administration building in the center of
the village. Slith's quarters were on the other side of the same building. The armory
and tool shed were located in back.
Kang's quarters consisted of a large meeting room, with a small bedroom off to the
side. It was not luxurious, but it was comfortable. An oil lamp—of dwarven make—
rested on a bare table. Kang sat in his chair, facing the door. A mug of dwarven ale
was ready for Slith. Kang had poured one for himself.
"That was a good speech today, sir," Slith said on entering.
Kang nodded. He wasn't in the mood for talk. Fortunately, he knew Slith would be.
"You're right, you know, sir. Our lives are pretty good at that The dwarves raid us,
take a few sheep and what weapons they can lay their hands on, and men we go and
do the same to them, swiping spirits and ale, tools and bread. Every time they raid us,
we pound 'em, push 'em back, and I come in here for ale. Believe it or not, sir, I find
some comfort in that. I know what to expect out of life."
Kang gave a glum shrug. "You're right, I suppose. Still, I keep thinking there
should be more to it than this."
"You're a dragon-spawned soldier," Slith said, nodding wisely. "You yearn for the
battlefield. You yearn to command troops in a life-or-death struggle, a struggle for
glory."
Kang took a sip of his ale, pondered this. "No, I don't think so. I don't feel like I'm
accomplishing anything. None of us knows how long we're going to live, but it won't
be forever. What will remain after we're gone? Nothing. We're the last of our race."
Slith laughed. "Sir, you can be the most depressing bastard I've ever met! What
does it matter what happens after we die? We won't be around to know the
difference!"
"I'll drink to thatf" Kaftg said moodily, and took a long pull on his ale.
Slith waited a few moments to see if his commander was going to cheer up, but
Kang remained stubbornly immersed in gloom. He stared into his ale, and watched the
flies buzz around the rag on which he'd wiped the rotten egg.
"See yoa for dinner, sir," Slith said, and left his com-mander to his black mood.
Kang put away his armor and harness. By force of habit, he cleaned his already
clean sword before re-sheathing it and hung the belt on a hook near the door.
He went to bed, to rest through the heat of the day, the heat that was so very
unusual for midsummer in the mountains. He did not sleep, but lay, eyes open, staring
at the ceiling.
Slith had a point.
"What does it matter after we die?" Kang asked the buzzing flies. "What indeed?"
Chapter Three
The four dwarves ran along a hunting trail that zigzagged through the tinder-dry
meadow grass. Though it was early morning still, the sun beat on their iron helms like
Reorx's hammer. Three were wearing leather armor and heavy boots and sweating
profusely. The fourth was clad in a belted tunic, breeches and soft cloth slippers,
known disparagingly among the dwarves as "kender shoes," because, supposedly,
they permitted the wearer to move as stealthily as a kender. This fourth dwarf was
relatively cool and quite comfortable.
The dwarves had done well for themselves on the raid that morning. One held a
small lamb over his neck, grasping it by its legs. Two carried a large crate between
them. The fourth dwarf carried nothing, which also accounted for the fact that he was
enjoying the walk.
One of the dwarves hefting the heavy, rattling crate noticed this singularity.
Huffing and puffing from the heat and his exertion, the dwarf complained.
"Hey, Selquist, what are we? Your pack horses? Come here and give us a hand."
"Now, Auger," replied the dwarf, fixing his companion with a stern eye, "you
know that I have a bad back."
"I know you can crawl through windows without any trouble," Auger grumbled.
"And you can move pretty fast when you have to, like when that draconian came at us
with the club. I never see you hobbling around or crippled up."
"That's because I take care of myself," said Selquist.
"He does that, all right," grumbled another of the dwarves to his companion.
Any well-traveled person on Ansalon could have told at a glance that these were
hill dwarves, as opposed to their cousins the mountain dwarves. At least, the traveled
person could have said that about three of the dwarves. They had nondescript brown
hair, light brown skin and the ruddy cheeks that come of being raised from childhood
up on the healthful properties of nut-ale.
The fourth dwarf, whose name was Selquist (his mother, somethingof a romantic,
had named him after an elven hero in a popular bard's tale; no one is quite certain
why), might have given the traveler pause. He appeared to fit into no specific
category. His domes were similar to those of his fellows, a shade less tidy, perhaps.
He wore a ring, rather battered, of a metal that he claimed was silver. This dwarf—
youngish, considered lean among his stout fellows—also said the ring was magic. No
one had ever witnessed any evidence of this, although all would admit that Selquist
was quite good at performing at least one trick: making other people's personal
possessions disappear.
"Besides, Mortar, my friend," Selquist added, "I, too, am carrying something—a
most valuable treasure. If my hands aren't free, how will I defend it in case we're
attacked?"
"Oh, yeah?" Mortar demanded. "What?"
Selquist exhibited with pride an amulet he wore around his neck.
"Big deal," said Pestle, Mortar's brother. "A penny on a chain. Probably worth less
than a penny. Bet it's fool's gold, like those gully dwarves tried to palm off on us in
PaxTharkas."
"It is not!" Selquist returned indignantly.
Just to make certain, when the others weren't looking, he slowed his running long
enough to take a good look at it.
The amulet was made of metal, but it wasn't a coin, at least not like any coin
Selquist had seen, and he'd seen quite a few in his lifetime. It was shaped like a
pentagram. Each point of the pentagram had a dragon's head inside it. The five-
headed dragon identified it as a relic of the Dark Queen, making it worth quite a bit to
those who traded in souvenirs from the War of the Lance. He had found the amulet
while rummaging around in a draconian's footlocker.
"In fact," he said to himself, "it would be worth a whole lot more if it turned out to
be magic!"
At that, a rather unpleasant thought occurred to Selquist. Hastily, he snatched off
the amulet and thrust it in the money pouch hanging from his belt.
"The last thing I need is to be cursed by the Dark Queen for appropriating her
jewelry," he muttered. Increasing his speed, he hurried after his companions. "I'll pass
that along as an extra benefit to the buyer."
The four crossed over a low ridge and were at last able to slow their pace. It was
unlikely the draconians would have chased them in this heat, but the dwarves were not
taking chances. They could now see the smoke of the village cooking fires. They
could hear the cheers of the people, welcoming the warriors home.
The main body of raiders had already returned, battered and bruised, but in good
spirits. The entire
摘要：

TheDoomBrigadeBook1ofTheChaosWarSeriesMargretWeisDonPerrinWEIS,MARGARET&PERRIN,DONDedicatedproudlytotheCanadianCorpsofLandElectrical&MechanicalEngineers"There'saproblem,sir."TheBaazwasapologetic."Thedwarveshavelockedthedoorstotheshedandarethreateningtodumptheirbrewbeforethey'llhanditovertous,sir.""B...

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