Margaret Weis & Don Perrin - Dragonlance - Kang's Regiment 01 - The Doom Brigade

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WEIS, MARGARET & PERRIN, DON
The Doom Brigade
Book 1 of The Chaos War Series
Table of Contents
•Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3
•Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6
•Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9
•Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12
•Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
•Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18
•Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21
•Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24
•Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27
•Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30
•Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33
•Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36
•Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39
•Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42
•Chapter 43 About the Authors
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
population of the village of Celebundin was gathered at the meeting hall to greet the returning heroes.
These four, who lagged behind, were missing the celebration, but that didn't bother them. They
wouldn't have been included anyway. In fact, there were those in the village who would have celebrated
if these four hadn't come back.
Selquist and his party deliberately avoided the crowd, heading for Selquist's house, which was
located on the outskirts of the village. Selquist unlocked the three locks on the door—he was of a
suspicious nature—and entered. His three assistants clomped in behind him and dumped the crate on the
floor. He shut the door, struck a match to light an oil lamp.
Auger set down the lamb and stood gazing at it hungrily. Bleating plaintively, the lamb piddled on the
floor.
"Oh, thanks, Auger! Thanks loads!" Selquist glared around. "Just what we need to improve the decor
around here, the pungent smell of lamb piss. Why in the name of Reorx did you bring that beast inside the
house? Take it out and put it in the pen, then get something to clean that up. You two, open me crate,
and let's see what we have."
"Steel coins," said Pestle hopefully.
"Jewels," said his brother Mortar, working on the lock.
The lock gave with a snap.
"Shovels," said Selquist, peering down. "Also picks and a saw. Come now," he added, when he saw
the brothers scowl in disappointment. "You didn't really expect we'd find a king's ransom stashed in a
draconian shed? Those scaly louts wouldn't be hanging around this god-forsaken valley if they had
money. Heck no. They'd be whooping it up in Sanction."
"What are they doing here, if comes to mat?" Pestle demanded. He was in a bad mood.
"I know," said Mortar, looking very solemn. "They've come here to die."
"Balderdash!" Selquist glanced around to make certain they were alone. He lowered his voice. "I'll tell
you why they're here. They're on a mission from the Dark Queen."
"Truly?" Pestle asked, awed.
"Of course." Selquist straightened, scratching reflectively at his scraggly beard, which had once been
likened by his own mother to a growth of fungus on a rock. "What other possible reason could mere be?"
"Mine," said Mortar stubbornly.
But the other two laughed at him derisively and began hauling tools out of the crate. The tools were
not of draconian make or design, which meant that they had been originally stolen from the dwarven
village: Selquist and his friends had simply stolen them back, a proceeding that was not unusual. After
twenty-some years of raiding, most objects belonging to the dwarves and the draconians had changed
hands more often man gifts at a kender wedding.
"Not bad," Pestle said to his brother. "We can sell these for ten steel. They're Thorbardin-made and
good quality."
Very little was manufactured in Celebundin. The town had a forge and a competent smith, but he
made tools for building, not digging or fighting. Most of the dwarves' weapons were either purchased,
bartered, or stolen from their richer, safer, and bitterly resented cousins, the dwarves of the mighty
underground fastness of Thor-bardin.
"We can either sell them to the Thane or we can sell mem to travelers on the road norm. What do you
think?" Selquist asked.
Mortar gave the matter serious consideration. "Who is going to buy shovels and picks and a saw
while they're on the way to Solace? A roving band of goblin road workers? No, it'll have to be the
Thane."
Mortar always had a good sense for the market.
Selquist agreed. Pestle raised an objection.
"Someone's bound to recognize these and claim them. Then the thane will make us give them back."
At the sound of the dreadful word "give" the dwarves shuddered. The brothers looked to Selquist,
who was the acknowledged brains of the group.
"I've got it!" he said, after a moment's thoughtful pause. "We'll take that little pissy lamb and make a
present of it to the High Thane's daughter. We'll look like heroes! After that, if there's any dispute, the
High Thane will be bound to side with us."
Pestle and Mortar considered this option and pronounced it feasible. Auger, who had just come back
inside, glared at them, narrow-eyed.
"What'd you say you were going to with the lamb?"
Selquist told him the plan, adding modestly. "It was my idea."
Auger muttered something beneath his breath.
"What did you say?" Selquist asked. "It sounded like 'lamb chops.'"
"It was lamb chops! You're giving our supper away to the High Thane's little brat!"
摘要：

WEIS,MARGARET&PERRIN,DONTheDoomBrigadeBook1ofTheChaosWarSeriesTableofContents·Chapter  1               Chapter  2               Chapter  3·Chapter  4               Chapter  5               Chapter  6·Chapter  7               Chapter  8               Chapter  9·Chapter10               Chapter11      ...

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