by Don Perrin
“What about pleading for your miserable life?” Kang demanded, voice grating.
The dwarf considered this, finally shook his head. “No, sir. If you don’t take the curse off me, my life will be worth nothing anyway. If you’d just remove the curse, I’d be grateful. Very grateful. And I’m truly sorry I stabbed you, sir. The heat of the moment. Battle-rage. I’m sure you can understand.”
Kang snatched back his holy symbol. His hand closed over it, a feeling of relief flooded through him, a blessed warmth that eased the pain of his wound.
Kang reached out his hand, took the Baaz’s knife. “Thank you, soldier, but I’ll gut this one myself—”
“Uh, sir, a word with you?” Slith coughed in a meaningful manner, jerked his head toward the back of the tent.
“Very well,” Kang muttered, still glaring at the dwarf.
He and Slith withdrew to the shadows.
“Sir, that’s the dwarf from last night. The dwarf who had the book.”
“He’s also the dwarf who stuck a knife in me and stole my holy symbol.” Kang growled. He paused, then said, “What book?” Last night’s events were a bit foggy.
“The book I handed you, sir. The book with the leather cover. You used it as a bandage. That’s where the map was! Inside that book! And this was the dwarf in the house with the book. And that’s the reason he stabbed you, sir.”
“The book!” said Kang, remembering. “By our Queen, you’re right. What of it? It’s just a book.”
“Sir, he wanted that book back badly enough to run after you—a draconian three times his size—and stab you from behind.”
“You’ve got a point,” Kang admitted.
“And look at the way his little beady eyes are darting around. He’s searching for something, sir. What else could it be but the map? He must figure we have it. Do you know what I think, sir?”
“I’m getting there,” Kang said.
“The book tells what’s in that treasure room. He knows!”
Kang regarded the dwarf thoughtfully. “He’s a clever little bastard. Bad as they come, too. No dwarf with a clean conscience could even touch our Queen’s medallion, and he’s been carrying it around like some bloody heirloom. From the looks of him, though, I’d say he’ll die sooner than tell us anything about the treasure.”
“That’s just it,” Slith said, growing more excited. “The curse, sir! He spills what he knows about the treasure, and you remove the curse.”
“What curse?” Kang was puzzled. “Nobody put a curse on him. Though I wish I’d thought of it.”
“It doesn’t matter, sir. He thinks there’s a curse on him.”
“Ah.” Kang said. “Perhaps you’re right.”
He and Slith returned to the front of the tent. The dwarf was watching them askance.
“That will be all,” Kang told the Baaz, who saluted and left the tent.
“Now then.” Kang fixed his reptile eye on the dwarf. “What’s this about a curse?”
“You know,” said the dwarf sullenly. “You cast it on me.” Suddenly, he burst out, “First it’s war, then it’s kender in Pax Tharkas, then dark knights grabbing people off the road, then draconians in my living room and, last but not least, Moorthane under my window! Take it off me,” the dwarf said through clenched teeth. “Or just kill me right here and now.”
All the time he talked, his eyes were searching every part of the tent and all its contents.
“This what you’re looking for?” Slith pulled out the folded map, laid it on the table.
The dwarf barely gave the square bit of parchment a glance. He shrugged. “No, I’m not looking for anything.”
“He’s good, this one,” Kang muttered to himself. He had seen, deep down in the dwarf’s dark eyes, a glimmer of fire when the map appeared.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Kang said. Returning to his chair, he sank into it, propped up his wounded leg on the footstool. “I’ll remove the curse if you make it worth my while. We happened to find this map. It looks to us to be some sort of treasure map, but the writing is all in dwarven, which we can’t read.”
“Give it to me,” said the dwarf, the fire burning deep within. “I’ll read it for you.”
“Yes, I’ll bet you would. And refresh your memory of it at the same time.” Kang placed his clawed hand over the map. “There must be something on that map that’s worth the price of a curse-removal. What is it?”
The dwarf pursed his lips, a move that sucked in his cheeks and pulled the rest of his face into a point. He was not an attractive dwarf to begin with, and this did nothing to improve his features. He bit his lip.
Kang held up the holy symbol. Reaching out, he plucked open the dwarf’s pocket. “Perhaps you’d like this back—”
“All right!” The dwarf gasped, shuddered. “Get rid of it! I’ll tell you … one thing!” The words seemed wrenched from him. “You’ve looked at the map?”
“Yes.”
“You know it’s a map of Thorbardin.”
“Oh, yes,” said Kang and Slith. They exchanged glances. They’d neither of them had a clue about that.
“Well.” The dwarf drew in a deep breath. His gaze went to the holy symbol one more time. His shoulders sagged in defeat. The rest of the words came out in a rush. “On that map you saw some markings that looked like eggs? Well, they are eggs. Dragon eggs. From Neraka back during the War of the Lance. Did I say dragon eggs? Make that draconian eggs. Like you gentlemen, only they’re not gentlemen. If you get my meaning.”
They didn’t. Kang and Slith looked blank.
The dwarf was exasperated. “Look, do I have to spell it in words of one syllable for you guys? What’s the opposite of gentlemen? Ladies! Right? Now you’re catching on. There’s ladies in those eggs, my friends. Boy, girl. Boy, girl. The patter of little clawed feet. Female draconians.”
The dwarf stepped back, gave a flourish, and folded his arms across his chest, like a second-rate illusionist who has just produced a coin from up his nose.
Kang and Slith sat perfectly still, staring at the dwarf. His news knocked the breath from their bodies as surely as if he’d struck them in the solar plexus with a limb from a vallenwood.
“Females,” Kang whispered. “Female draconians. That’s not possible.”
“Yes, it is. It’s all in the book. The dark clerics and the black-robed wizards made females, so that they could perpetuate your race. But then the high muckety-mucks decided that they weren’t all that sure they wanted your race perpetuated. And so they left the final spell undone.”
“But we were in Neraka,” Slith said, voice harsh. “We would have found them!”
“Not so,” said the dwarf craftily. “Because by that time, the Daewar had stolen them and taken them back to Thorbardin. They were going to sell them, but before they could, the thieves had a bit of a falling out over how to split the treasure, with the result that it was heads that got split, not the treasure.”
“You’re saying … the eggs … are still there?” Kang’s voice failed him before he came to the end of his sentence, but the dwarf understood.
“It’s a good possibility.” He shrugged. “Mind you, I can’t guarantee anything. Well, how about it? That valuable enough for you?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Kang felt dazed. He waved his hand over the dwarf’s head three times, said something in draconian. He was never quite sure what, but it appeared to satisfy the dwarf. He straightened his shoulders, shook back his hair.
“Right! I feel like a new man.” He cast a wistful glance at the folded map. “I don’t suppose … one little peek.”
Slith snarled and bared his fangs.
The dwarf nodded. “Got you. See you around.” He winked and, with that, ducked out of the tent.
“Sir!” The Baaz thrust his head inside. “Do you want—”
“Let him go,” Kang said, still dazed. “Escort him through the picket lines. Make certain nothing happens to him.”
“Yes, sir.” The B
aaz was dubious, but he knew better than to question his commander’s orders. Kang heard the dwarf’s heavy booted footsteps recede into the distance.
“What do you-think?” Kang asked Slith.
The Sivak came to his senses with a start. Hastily, hands shaking, he carefully unfolded the map. The two bent over it, gazed at it intently.
“It could be, sir,” Slith said, excited. “It certainly could be. Those sketches. Look at them, sir. They’re different from us. Wings are shorter and stubbier. Their hips are wider and—”
“Perhaps they were drawn by a bad artist,” Kang said. He sighed. “You’re seeing what you want to see, my friend.”
“Maybe so, sir.” Slith was stubborn. “But I say it’s worth a chance. What do you say?”
Kang looked ahead into the future. A future that was suddenly no longer bleak and empty. A future that was no longer a death watch. A future that held meaning.
“Yes,” he said, drawing a deep, shivering breath. “Yes, I’d say it was worth the chance!”
* * * * *
Selquist found a place in a wooded area of the valley in which to hole up, rest through the heat of the day. It would be miserable walking, and he didn’t particularly want to return to Celebundin during daylight hours anyway. Making himself comfortable in a cool patch of dirt underneath a large pine tree, Selquist laid down, head on his arms, and gazed, smiling, into the tree branches.
He hadn’t recovered the map, but then he hadn’t really expected to. Having the map wasn’t all that important now, anyway. Dwarves and draconians and the map—they were all going to the same place …
One goal accomplished.
The second goal—to rid himself of that accursed holy symbol of Takhisis. That was accomplished, too. Selquist wasn’t superstitious, nor was he particularly religious. But when things go wrong and keep going wrong, and you have in your possession a necklace that might have been worn by her Dark Majesty, and she might have a fondness for it, and the way you came by that necklace was not exactly honest … well, it couldn’t hurt to return it.
And finally, the third goal. To get rid of Moorthane, once and for all.
That goal was not yet accomplished, but at least Selquist was off to a good start.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kang and Slith spent the remainder of the day making plans. They kept the map and the news about the eggs secret, not because they didn’t trust their men, but because they knew that once they told them of this unexpected hope, they would have difficulty restraining them from dashing off heedlessly and probably getting themselves killed in the process.
Their commander needed to be able to present them with a plan. And once Kang emerged from his euphoric daydreams, he realized that this was not going to be easy. In fact, he couldn’t imagine anything more difficult.
“Thorbardin,” he muttered. “How the devil are we going to get inside Thorbardin? You Sivaks could manage, I suppose. Knock off a dwarf or two and take their shapes. Although that didn’t really work out all that well in Celebundin.”
“We’ll need a sizable force, sir,” Slith said. “More than just four Sivaks. For one thing, we’ll have to carry those eggs out ourselves. Dragon eggs are big, and they’re heavy. Not to mention we might have to fight. I don’t trust that scroungy little dwarf, not for a moment. I have the feeling he’s setting us up. He was all too eager to hand out this information.”
“It could be a trap,” Kang said.
“It probably is, sir.” Slith agreed. He was silent a moment, then said, “We can abandon this, sir. If that’s what you want. I’ll never say a word to anyone.”
Yes, Kang said to himself. That’s what I should do. This is wild, impossible, dangerous, and probably all for nothing. We’ll stay here, rebuild our village. Every few weeks we’ll raid the dwarves. Every few weeks they’ll raid us. Eventually—who knows how long?—we’ll start to die off. One or two at first. Then more and more. We’ll dig the graves behind the city, dig them deep, so the animals don’t drag off the bodies. The last one that’s left won’t have a grave. There won’t be anyone around to bury him.
Maybe that’ll be me. Maybe I’ll be the only draconian left alive. I’ve watched all the others die, all my friends, all my comrades, all those I’ve led. I’ll bury them all, and there’ll be only me left. Our legacy—a row of graves.
Kang looked at Slith. “All right. How the devil do we get into Thorbardin?”
Slith grinned. “I think I know a way, sir.”
* * * * *
The small force of twenty-five draconians, made up of Sivaks and Bozaks, crept silently through the forest north of Celebundin. The troop had traveled far to the north of the village, then swung back down to return to the forest, hoping by this tactic to keep any dwarven scouts in the valley from running across them.
Kang glanced behind him. He could barely make out the draconians lurking in the woods and he knew where to look for them. They were wearing leather armor and, with their coloration, blended in with the browns and faded greens of the sun blistered forest. Each chose his spot, hunkered down, and did not move. They could have been boulders, scattered beneath the trees.
Satisfied, Kang turned his attention back to the house they were keeping under close scrutiny.
“They’re still in there, sir,” said Gloth, leader of the hand-picked squad. “I can see them moving around.”
“I hope they haven’t stolen a march on us,” Kang said.
“I don’t think so, sir,” said Slith, who had the sharpest eyes of anyone in the troop. “There’s four of them inside, the same who were there with the book. I recognize that scrawny dwarf with the moldy beard, and there’s a chubby dwarf with him, plus the two we snatched from the dark knights.”
“And you think they’ll all go?”
“Positive, sir. Those are the same four that I followed the last time. They’re in this together.”
The fiery sun was setting, sending shadows creeping through the forest. This was a dangerous time, because the lengthening shadows often fooled the eye, making a soldier think he sees movement. All it would take to cause this mission to end in disaster was a single draconian leaping up with a yell, ready to attack something that wasn’t there. The dwarves would be on the pursuit so fast they’d probably leave their beards behind.
The last rays of light gilded the crest of Mount Celebund. It was dark now in the valley, and Kang was thinking that the dwarves would be on their way soon, when Slith dug an elbow in Kang’s ribs.
“Damn! Look at that, sir!”
Kang was looking. With his night vision, it was easier to see in the full darkness than it had been in the half-light of dusk.
Twenty dwarves, clad in uniform, under the direction of a commander, were marching down the street.
“They’ve found us!” said Gloth, reaching for his sword.
“No, wait!” Kang ordered. “Those dwarves aren’t going to battle. Or at least if they are, it’s not with us.”
The other two now saw what their commander had first noticed. In addition to their weapons, the dwarves carried hefty packs on their backs and water skins. Several had brought along stout walking staffs.
Slith glanced at Kang. “What gives?”
Kang shook his head. “Don’t know. My guess is that’s their war chief, the bastard who ordered our village burned. I’ve seen him before, giving orders.”
The leader—a large, grizzled dwarf whom Kang recognized from earlier raids—entered the house. The small troop of dwarves huddled together in the yard, keeping watch, though not for draconians. They weren’t facing that direction. These dwarves were looking back toward their own village.
A few minutes later, the occupants of the house emerged, with the war chief right behind. The four also carried packs, waterskins, and weapons. Slith and Kang both spotted the scrawny dwarf, talking to the war chief.
“You were mentioning a trap, sir,” Slith whispered. “Think this is it?”
Kang m
used. This was completely unexpected. “No, I doubt it,” he said at last. “A trap for us would have been more like two hundred dwarves, not twenty. No, I think they’re facing a logistical problem, the same one we faced—how do four dwarves carry back all that loot? Not to mention the fact that these Niedar will be about as welcome in Thorbardin as we will, if they catch us.”
The dwarves moved out.
“Quite the expedition, isn’t it, sir?” Slith said.
“Yes,” Kang agreed. “Somehow I don’t imagine this is what our skinny little friend had in mind.”
The dwarves swung past them, the war chief in the lead—looking very smug and triumphant. The scrawny dwarf and his three friends marched along glumly behind.
Kang glanced over his shoulder. “This is it. Gloth, prepare to move out.”
Gloth crawled back into the underbrush. The draconians were also well equipped, carrying heavy packs containing food and, in addition, tools and equipment which could be used for tunneling, climbing, building. Fifty-foot rope cords looped around their bodies like sashes. All wore swords. Kang had a full complement of magical spells.
It might have been his imagination, but since he’d recovered his holy symbol, Her Dark Majesty had seemed more gracious to him. More gracious, yet he thought he detected an undercurrent of unease.
Perhaps her dark knights were running into trouble.
Gloth crawled back. “We’re ready whenever you give the word, sir.”
They didn’t have to wait long. The dwarves exited the village, heading north. No one came out to cheer or wave or see the dwarves leave. The High Thane was not making a speech, urging his men on to glory. These twenty were sneaking out under cover of darkness. Kang could guess why. The dwarven village was still expecting to be attacked by the draconians. And here were twenty able-bodied men, who should be preparing to defend hearth and home, leaving it.
The dwarves marched straight for the Celebund pass. The night was extremely dark. It would be some time yet before Lunitari rose, and then she’d be only a thin sliver of red, like a scar. The black moon was full, though. Kang gave the dwarves a ten-minute head start.
