by Roland Green
The two knights exchanged glances, relaxed.
“What did you find?” the knight asked the leader, a gigantic red-haired fellow who towered over both knights and could have probably picked up each of them and held them over his head. He regarded both knights with unbounded reverence and respect.
“Men,” answered the brute. They were quick to learn and had adapted easily to Common, spoken by most of the various races of Krynn. Unfortunately, to the brutes, all people not of their race were known as “men.”
The brute lowered his hand near the ground to indicate small men, which might mean dwarves but was more probably children. He moved it to waist height, which most likely indicated women. This the brute confirmed by cupping two hands over his own breast and wiggling his hips. His own men laughed and nudged each other.
“Men, women, and children,” said the knight. “Many men? Lots of men? Big buildings? Walls? Cities?”
The brutes apparently thought this was hilarious, for they all burst into raucous laughter.
“What did you find?” said the knight sharply, scowling. “Stop the nonsense.”
The brutes sobered rapidly.
“Many men,” said the leader, “but no walls. Houses.” He made a face, shrugged, shook his head, and added something in his own language.
“What does that mean?” asked the knight of his comrade.
“Something to do with dogs,” said the other, who had led brutes before and had started picking up some of their language. “I think he means that these men live in houses only dogs would live in.”
Several of the brutes now began walking about stoop-shouldered, swinging their arms around their knees and grunting. Then they all straightened up, looked at each other, and laughed again.
“What in the name of our Dark Majesty are they doing now?” the knight demanded.
“Beats me,” said his comrade. “I think we should go have a look for ourselves.” He drew his sword partway out of its black leather scabbard. “Danger?” he asked the brute. “We need steel?”
The brute laughed again. Taking his own short sword—the brutes fought with two, long and short, as well as bow and arrows—he thrust it into the tree and turned his back on it.
The knight, reassured, returned his sword to its scabbard. The two followed their guides deeper into the forest.
They did not go far before they came to the village. They entered a cleared area among the trees.
Despite the antics of the brutes, the knights were completely unprepared for what they saw.
“By Hiddukel,” one said in a low voice to the other. “ ‘Men’ is too strong a term. Are these men? Or are they beasts?”
“They’re men,” said the other, staring around slowly, amazed. “But such men as we’re told walked Krynn during the Age of Twilight. Look! Their tools are made of wood. They carry wooden spears, and crude ones at that.”
“Wooden-tipped, not stone,” said the other. “Mud huts for houses. Clay cooking pots. Not a piece of steel or iron in sight. What a pitiable lot! I can’t see how they could be much danger, unless it’s from filth. By the smell, they haven’t bathed since the Age of Twilight either.”
“Ugly bunch. More like apes than men. Don’t laugh. Look stern and threatening.”
Several of the male humans—if human they were; it was difficult to tell beneath the animal hides they wore—crept up to the knights. The “man-beasts” walked bent over, their arms swinging at their sides, knuckles almost dragging on the ground. Their heads were covered with long, shaggy hair; unkempt beards almost completely hid their faces. They bobbed and shuffled and gazed at the knights in openmouthed awe. One of the man-beasts actually drew near enough to reach out a grimy hand to touch the black, shining armor.
A brute moved to interpose his own massive body in front of the knight.
The knight waved the brute off and drew his sword. The steel flashed in the sunlight. Turning to one of the trees, which, with their twisted limbs and gnarled trunks, resembled the people who lived beneath them, the knight raised his sword and sliced off a limb with one swift stroke.
The man-beast dropped to his knees and groveled in the dirt, making piteous blubbering sounds.
“I think I’m going to vomit,” said the knight to his comrade. “Gully dwarves wouldn’t associate with this lot.”
“You’re right there.” The knight looked around. “Between us, you and I could wipe out the entire tribe.”
“We’d never be able to clean the stench off our swords,” said the other.
“What should we do? Kill them?”
“Small honor in it. These wretches obviously aren’t any threat to us. Our orders were to find out who or what was inhabiting the island, then return. For all we know, these people may be the favorites of some god, who might be angered if we harmed them. Perhaps that is what the Gray Robes meant by disaster.”
“I don’t know,” said the other knight dubiously. “I can’t imagine any god treating his favorites like this.”
“Morgion, perhaps,” said the other, with a wry grin.
The knight grunted. “Well, we’ve certainly done no harm just by looking. The Gray Robes can’t fault us for that. Send out the brutes to scout the rest of the island. According to the reports from the dragons, it’s not very big. Let’s go back to the shore. I need some fresh air.”
The two knights sat in the shade of the tree, talking of the upcoming invasion of Ansalon, discussing the vast armada of black dragon-prowed ships, manned by minotaurs, that was speeding its way across the Courrain Ocean, bearing thousands and thousands more barbarian warriors. All was nearly ready for the invasion, which would take place on Summer’s Eve.
The knights of Takhisis did not know precisely where they were attacking; such information was kept secret. But they had no doubt of victory. This time the Dark Queen would succeed. This time her armies would be victorious. This time she knew the secret to victory.
The brutes returned within a few hours and made their report. The isle was not large. The brutes found no other people. The tribe of man-beasts had all slunk off fearfully and were hiding, cowering, in their mud huts until the strange beings left.
The knights returned to their shore boat. The brutes pushed it off the sand, leaped in, and grabbed the oars. The boat skimmed across the surface of the water, heading for the black ship that flew the multicolored flag of the five-headed dragon.
They left behind an empty, deserted beach. Or so it appeared.
But their leaving was noted, as their coming had been.
About the Author
Roland Green lives in Chicago and is the author of the Jannisaries Series with Jerry Pournelle, numerous Conan novels, and the Peace Company and Starcruiser Shennandoah series.
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