The Doom Brigade

by Don Perrin

  The officers returned to their duties.

  Alone, Kang walked over to his bed and sat down, stared at the dirt floor. He was still staring at it when a shadow darkened the open tent flap. Kang looked up.

  Slith stood there. Next to him was Talon Leader Huzzud.

  “Official visitor,” Slith announced.

  Kang rose to his feet. Huzzud stepped inside the tent, glanced around. She must have seen the remains of the table and the broken chairs being hauled away outside.

  Huzzud hesitated, then, straightening her shoulders, she spoke the speech she’d come to deliver. “No work is menial in the eyes of our Queen, Commander. Everything we do, we do for her glory.”

  “I see you wielding a sword, Talon Leader,” Kang said dryly. “Not a shovel.”

  The Talon Leader opened her mouth, then shut it again. Turning on her heel, she left.

  Kang sighed and went back to his cot.

  “I just hope we’re doing the right thing.”

  He closed his eyes, and lay back on the bunk. He didn’t sleep, but lay there thinking.

  He lay there for a very long time.

  Chapter Twenty

  The dark knights forced their dwarven captives along at a quick pace, shoving them from behind when they lagged, and emphasizing haste with a few lashes across the shoulder blades. The knights spoke to each other in the human tongue, either thinking that the dwarves couldn’t understand or not caring much if they did. Both dwarves did speak human, however. They’d found it helpful in selling their wares.

  The knights were a long-range patrol, apparently. They spoke about returning to the main body of some army, which was headquartered in a village somewhere up ahead. A human settlement called Mish-ka. The dwarves looked at each other. They knew of that village. The knights mentioned preparing for battle against the Qualinesti, wondered when the army was going to attack.

  Mortar breathed a gentle sigh of relief. This army was much too close to his home for his liking. The dwarf was thankful these dark knights were going to go beat up on somebody else.

  Pestle must have been thinking along the same lines. At one point, when the knights halted to give themselves and their captives time to catch their breaths, Pestle leaned over to his brother and whispered, “Do you know where we are? We’re really close to home! If we could just get these knots loose!”

  “Wait till they’re asleep—” Mortar began.

  “No talking!” The knight lashed out with his sword, struck Mortar on the side of the head with the flat of the blade. “Shut up, or I’ll gut you right here.”

  The knights forced their captives to their feet and marched on. It was well after darkness fell before the knights called a halt. Pestle and Mortar plunked down on the ground, glad for the rest. They did not dare talk to each other. Any attempt to communicate was met with swift punishment. They sat silent in the darkness, their fingers busy trying to unravel the knots of the leather thongs tied around their wrists.

  The knights set up camp. Opening their packs, they took out food, which they shared with the dwarves, much to the dwarves’ astonishment. The knights gave each dwarf a cup of water, then, once dinner was finished, one of the knights checked their bonds—fortunately, neither dwarf had managed to make much headway in loosening the thongs—then tied them to a tree by means of a rope attached to the bonds around their wrists and another tied around their ankles.

  “Go to sleep,” the knight ordered, speaking Common. “We’ll be up before dawn.”

  He left to lay out his own bedroll. Two knights took the first watch, one going across the road, disappearing among the trees. The other sat down on a fallen log.

  The dwarves wriggled about amid the dry leaves, made a show of trying to get comfortable. In reality, they were trying to squirm into the best position for untying the knots. Unfortunately, every time one of them moved, the leaves rustled and crackled.

  The knight on watch stood up, came to glower down at them.

  “Keep still!” he ordered.

  The dwarves did as they were told, remained unmoving for at least an hour. The other knights had fallen asleep, were softly snoring. The knight on watch was humming a marching song to himself, keeping time by tapping out the rhythm on his knee.

  Mortar scrunched over closer to his brother, moving slowly so as not to disturb the knight.

  “You know,” he whispered, “I’ve been thinking. This is all Selquist’s fault.”

  “How do you figure that?” Pestle whispered back.

  “If he hadn’t made us steal all that loot and then made us go sell it, we wouldn’t be here. We’d be home in our beds.” Mortar sighed. His bed had never before seemed so wonderful.

  “We did go along with the plan, you know,” Pestle said, determined to be fair.

  “Yes, but we would have never even thought up the stupid plan if it weren’t for Selquist,” Mortar pointed out.

  “You’re right there,” Pestle admitted. He was quiet a moment, muttering to himself.

  “What did you say?” Mortar asked.

  “I was making a deal with Reorx,” Pestle returned. “I promised him that if he got us out of this, I’d never steal anything again.”

  “That’s a good idea!” Mortar regarded his brother in admiration. “I’ll do the same thing.”

  He added his promise to that of his brother, both bargaining with the notoriously irascible and often unpredictable God of Forging, whom the dwarves worship exclusively.

  The knight ceased his humming, and the dwarves had to be quiet. But by now, both had managed to work the knots into position so that their nimble fingers could yank and pry and tease the thongs apart.

  The knight said something out loud and the dwarves froze, until they realized he wasn’t talking to them. He was, by the sound of it, chanting a prayer to the Dark Queen.

  “How you doing?” Mortar whispered.

  “Almost got it.” Pestle whispered back. “There. My hands are free. You?”

  Mortar grunted. He was having more trouble. “They tied mine tighter,” he complained.

  “No talking over there,” the knight said.

  Mortar waited for the man to return to his prayer chants, which fortunately appeared to occupy him a good deal and to be of considerable length. Mortar tugged and pulled and suddenly, the knot came loose.

  “Reorx be thanked! I got it!” he whispered.

  “Good,” said Pestle. “Now we wait for him to fall asleep.”

  “What if he doesn’t?” Mortar asked.

  “Pooh! He will. Humans always fall asleep on guard duty.”

  The dwarves waited confidently for another hour, then two. The human was destined to disappoint them. The knight rose, refreshed from his prayers, appearing more wide awake than ever. Worse, he started walking toward them, apparently with the idea of checking their bonds.

  “Hear me, Reorx!” Mortar whispered in desperation. “Not only do I promise that I will never steal again, I’ll give back everything I ever took!”

  The guard halted. His head jerked around, stared toward the road He stood silent, listening, then leaned down and shook two of his comrades by the shoulder.

  “Something’s moving out on the road.”

  The other knights were wide awake, on their feet with their swords in hand, before the first had completed his sentence. Moving silently, the two knights crept about, waking the others. They grabbed their bows, nocked arrows, and took up position behind a hedgerow.

  The tromp of many feet could be clearly heard, along with the jingle of armor.

  “It must be part of our own army,” one of the knights said softly. “Who else would be moving around this time of night?”

  “We weren’t informed of any troop movements,” said the leader. “And they’re moving away from Mish-ka, not toward it. I don’t like this. You keep concealed. I’ll ask to see their orders. If they give the wrong answer, fire your arrows into them.”

  Mortar and Pestle looked at each other. I
t was now or never.

  The dwarves cast off the bonds around their wrists, reached down and untied the cords around their ankles. One of the knights glanced over at them, and the dwarves ceased all movement. The knight returned to watching the road.

  “Now!” Pestle whispered.

  The two jumped up, and began to run, heading away from the road, hoping to throw off pursuit by losing themselves in the forest.

  They heard no sounds of anyone chasing them. Perhaps the knights—preoccupied with the army on the road—hadn’t even missed them. The dwarves ran faster. Crashing through underbrush, they caromed off trees, tripped over fallen logs.

  Mortar saw the red-glowing outline of a body loom in front of him just a fraction of a second too late to warn his brother. Strong arms grabbed hold of him, a hand clapped over his mouth. He recognized the smell, the clawed fingers, the short, stubby wings extending from the shoulders.

  Draconians!

  Mortar struggled and fought, kicking and biting the hand. By the sounds of thrashing and swearing, Pestle had also been captured.

  “Blast! Ouch! Damn it, he bit me! Bastard knight! Hold still or I’ll slit your throat.”

  Caught in a grip of iron, claws digging into his skin and the horrid taste of draconian flesh in his mouth, Mortar ceased his struggles. He had a few choice remarks to make to Reorx when he saw him, which was probably going to be soon.

  “It’s not the knights, you fool Baaz,” hissed the draconian holding Mortar to a fellow draconian, the one who had grabbed Pestle. “They’re dwarves! Those two the knights were holding prisoner. By our Queen, you’ve smelled dwarf enough the last twenty-five years. You’d think you recognize it by now. And since when did you ever see knights this short and this hairy?”

  From behind them, out by the road, they heard a clear voice shout, “Halt! Advance and be recognized.”

  A grating draconian voice boomed, “Ho! Well met, Sir Knight. You have lonely duty this night, it seems.”

  “What is this?” the knight asked, sounding amazed. “An army of draconians?”

  “The First Regiment of Draconian Engineers,” was the proud reply.

  “I must ask to see your written movement orders, Commander,” the knight said. “I know of no authorized movement of troops, especially an entire regiment, down this road in the middle of the night.”

  “They’ve got archers in the trees,” whispered one of the draconians. “We have to warn the commander. I don’t know how we’re going to talk our way out of this. I’ll—” He stopped, then said, excited, “By Our Queen, these godforsaken dwarves could come in handy! Come on!”

  “Yes, Subcommander Slith,” the Baaz answered.

  The draconians tucked the dwarves under their powerful arms and started off through the forest at a rapid pace, heading back to the road. Mortar’s heart would have fallen into his boots, if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was being held in a position where his boots were higher than his heart.

  The draconians charged right through the ranks of the concealed archers, who had turned at the sound of the crashing and yelling. The knights held their fire, but they kept their bows raised.

  “Hello, boys,” Slith said loudly, giving them a salute. “Nice night for target practice, ain’t it?”

  Emerging from the forest, still carrying the two dwarves, the draconians marched over to a very large draconian who was standing in the middle of the road, talking to the two knights. Behind the draconian stretched a line of draconians as far as the eyes of the dwarves could see.

  “You have archers hiding in the woods,” the big draconian said.

  “Yes, sir.” The knight was grim. “Now if I could see your orders, sir—” He stopped talking. He had just noticed the two dwarves.

  “You aren’t by any chance missing two prisoners, are you, Sir Knight?” Slith asked.

  He took a firm grip on Mortar’s shirt collar, held him up for display. Mortar swung and kicked, trying to hit the draconian, but he did so more out of frustration than because he thought he might connect.

  “We caught them running loose in the woods, Commander Kang,” Slith continued, saluting the big draconian.

  Mortar suddenly took a good look at the draconian, realized he recognized him. Twisting around in mid-air, Mortar looked at his brother, who was staring at the draconian with fearful eyes. Yes, Pestle apparently recognized the draconian, too. It was the big Bozak from the draconian village, the one the war chief said was the leader.

  “We’re doomed,” Mortar said for a second time and went limp in the draconian’s grasp. “If these knights don’t kill us, the draconians will.”

  “Dwarven prisoners? Running about loose?” Kang was eyeing the knight, who appeared extremely discomfited. “What is the meaning of this, Sir Knight?”

  “We had taken them prisoner earlier, sir. They must have managed to work the knots free. Then we heard you coming. I went to investigate, and when I turned my back on them, they took off.”

  “Good thing we were here to catch them again, wasn’t it?” Kang said, rocking back on his heels, balancing on his tail.

  “Yes, Commander,” the knight said glumly, adding, “If you’ll hand them over, sir, we’ll see to it that they don’t escape again.”

  Kang looked at the two dwarves. Mortar had the unhappy feeling that the draconian had recognized the dwarves, as well. The Bozak scratched his chin.

  “You seem to be rather careless with your prisoners, Sir Knight. I think we’ll take them in charge.”

  The knight was not pleased. He must have been wondering how he’d managed to lose control of this situation. “Sir, the prisoners are our responsibility. And you still haven’t shown me your orders—”

  The Sivak holding onto Mortar dropped the dwarf to the ground. Slith strode forward, thrust his jaw into the human’s face.

  “Now, listen here, Sir Knight. I want to know your name and rank immediately.”

  “My name is Glaf Herrik, Talon Second under—”

  The Sivak gave a howl. “Talon Second! And you dare to talk sass back to a Regimental Commander. I’ll have you flogged in front of Lord Knight Sykes’s command tent for this. Now take your skulking, leather-creaking, prancing beauties back into the woods, and leave the real work of the war for us veterans. These prisoners are now under our jurisdiction. Carry on, Talon Second.”

  The knight was going to argue, but at that moment, his archers walked out of the woods, escorted by at least fifty draconians. The knight muttered several threats about reporting this to his superiors, then, with a grudging salute, he called off his men and returned to their camp.

  “Company for’ard!” Slith yelled.

  The draconians fell into ranks and marched off. Slith remembered at the last moment to pick up Mortar, plucking him out of the road, saving him from being trampled by the clawed feet of two hundred draconians.

  Slith, with Mortar tucked under his arm again, hurried up to march at the side of his commander.

  “You think they’ll report this, sir?” Slith asked.

  “Hell, yes,” Kang said. “They’ve probably got a runner on his way right now. At least we know the road’s not safe. They’ve likely got patrols up and down it. We’ll put about five miles behind us, then head into the mountains. Double time march! Move! Move! Move!”

  The Sivak shouted commands, and the draconians picked up the pace. Mortar craned his neck, peered under the draconian’s arm, tried to see what had become of his brother. Pestle was being carried on the back of the same Baaz draconian who had captured him.

  Seeing Mortar looking at him, the Baaz grinned. Wicked teeth gleamed in the lambent light of the stars. The Baaz flicked his tongue over them. “Dwarf-meat for breakfast! Yum, yum,” he said.

  Mortar gulped and looked hurriedly away.

  “No talking in the ranks,” Slith ordered. “Save your breath. You’re going to need it.”

  The draconians maintained their breakneck pace all through the long night.
Leaving the road, they ascended into the mountains. The going proved rough and difficult, but even this did not slow them by much. Their clawed feet and hands made them expert climbers; their wings saved them from what might have otherwise been nasty falls.

  The dwarven prisoners proved to be the biggest hindrance. The draconians could not carry the dwarves and climb too. Mortar assured the draconians that they could leave him and his brother behind, and there would be no hard feelings, but Commander Kang said no. He ordered the dwarves roped together, put two Baaz in charge of them, and ordered the dwarves to march.

  Pestle refused. He was rumpled and rattled, but defiant. He planted his feet, folded his arms across his chest and glared. “I’m not moving.”

  “Me neither,” said Mortar.

  Kang bent down to dwarf-eye level. “I can always toss you back to the knights,” he said.

  Pestle and Mortar looked at each other.

  “We’ll march,” Pestle said meekly.

  * * * * *

  It was now midmorning. Mortar had never worked so hard in his life. He scrabbled and slipped and slid. His hands were torn and bleeding. More than once, some draconian caught him when he started to fall, saving him from tumbling off the mountain. Whenever they reached a bit of level ground, the Sivak made them run, striking their shoulders with a lash if they slowed their pace. Then it was back to climbing. Always in Mortar’s mind was the unhappy thought that he was undergoing this torture only to be cooked in the end.

  By the time morning came, Mortar was so exhausted and hurting that he didn’t care if he was a draconian’s breakfast. Just as long as he didn’t have to climb or run anymore. He was trudging along, his head down, forcing his boots to move one after the other, when a hand clutched him.

  “Mortar! Look!” Pestle was pointing.

  Mortar gazed wearily upward. He drew in a deep breath. Mount Celebund. Only one pass stood between them and their home.