The Doom Brigade

by Don Perrin

  The dwarves choked and gasped and blinked. Everything vanished in the thick fog, including each other.

  “Stand still!” Selquist yelled. “Keep together!”

  Every dwarf who heard this order assumed that it applied to every other dwarf, not him. He was the dwarf who was to run for the exit. Each dwarf consequently stumbled about in the fog, shouting and groping with his hands, endeavoring to find the way out.

  Adding to the fear and confusion were the terrible noises coming from out of the fog, noises of a draconian shouting and a frightful hissing and roaring. The fog began to dissipate. Finally able to see, the dwarves discovered that they were scattered all over the chamber—some perilously close to falling in the pit. At that moment, the floor and the walls started to shake.

  A sound of an avalanche thundered to their right. The cavern was caving in.

  The dwarves headed—once more—for the exit with Selquist in the lead. He was the only dwarf to have taken his own advice. When the fog rolled in, he stopped in his tracks and waited for it to clear. As soon as he could locate the exit, he ran that direction. A shout behind him caused him to turn his head. Involuntarily, he slowed his pace.

  A dwarf stood in front of the glowing pit. He appeared to have turned to solid rock, for he wasn’t moving, and something inside the pit was. A head of flame and smoke, with eyes as empty as eternity surged upward.

  Selquist had never seen a dragon before, much less a dragon made of fire, but he was immediately able to identify this creature as a fire dragon. The one thing he knew about fire dragons was that he should not remain long in the vicinity of one.

  The dragon shot a mouthful of flame on the dwarf, who was instantly ablaze. Screaming in agony, the dwarf flailed about, took a misstep, and tumbled with a horrible shriek into the pit of molten rock.

  Dread and awe rendered Selquist and all the rest of the dwarves incapable of movement or thought. Another one of their number became a living torch, set ablaze by the dragon’s breath. The beast was pulling itself out of the pit, its head swiveling to keep its victims in sight.

  Selquist realized suddenly that, unless someone did something, they were all going to die.

  “What are we doing? What’s come over us?” he asked and struck himself several times on the forehead to bash away the dreadful feeling of helplessness.

  This accomplished, he endeavored to rouse his friends.

  “Auger! Run! Pestle, you idiot! Get away from there! Mortar, you moron—Oh, Reorx take the fools! What would they ever do without me?”

  The empty black eyes focused on Vellmer, who stood shivering in his boots. His battle-axe fell to floor, struck the rock with a dull clang. The dragon drew in a breath.

  Selquist hefted his own battle-axe and let fly.

  Unfortunately, Selquist had never been much good at axe-tossing. He’d always had better things to do with his time than hang about hurling axes into trees, a favorite amusement of the more militant among the dwarves. Selquist’s arms were not particularly muscular, being better suited to climbing nimbly into second-story windows than heaving large and heavy weapons through the air. His aim was not true. He didn’t get any lift or height, as is advisable when hurling axes at dragons.

  Selquist missed the dragon completely, but he did hit something. He struck Vellmer—fortunately with the dull end of the axe.

  Vellmer toppled like a felled tree. The dragon’s bubble of flame burst harmlessly over the brew master.

  Selquist’s attack may have missed the mark, but it kindled the fire of courage in the hearts of the other dwarves.

  “Attack!” Mortar shouted. A much better hand at axe-throwing, he hurled his blade at the dragon. It struck the beast in the left eye.

  The dragon thrashed about, flinging its head from side-to-side. The eye was a bloody mass, oozing down the dragon’s cheek.

  Encouraged, taking advantage of the dragon’s distraction, the other dwarves threw their axes—and anything else they held—at the fire dragon. Under cover of the fire, Selquist ran forward. Auger and Pestle were bending over Vellmer, trying vainly to revive him.

  “Hurry! Drag him out the door!” Selquist grabbed hold of the unconscious brew master by his collar. “I expect free dwarf spirits for a year for this! You two, take his arms.”

  Pestle and Mortar each caught hold of an arm and they started hauling Vellmer in the direction of the exit.

  The dwarves had run out of weapons to throw at the dragon. They kept up the attack however, hurling rocks, waterskins, and even their own hobnailed boots.

  Stunned by the barrage, the dragon started to sag to the floor. But it was not finished yet. Shaking its fiery mane, it swiveled its good eye around to find and destroy these annoying pests.

  “Retreat!” Selquist shouted when it was apparent that they had nothing more to throw.

  The dwarves turned and fled, stopping only to pick up any of their injured along the way.

  The dragon made a sudden surge forward, flame erupting from its jaws. The gout of flame caught several of those nearest the pit. Burning embers clung to their clothes and set their hair and beards alight. They stumbled and fell, cried out to their comrades not to abandon them.

  A low, warbling chant sounded from somewhere behind the dragon. A draconian ran forward, emerging from out of the red-tinged darkness, chanting his war cry as he ran. He held a gleaming wand in one hand, his sword in the other and his breast and head were protected by a coat of sparkling white frost, that glittered like armor. As the draconian closed on the dragon, the yell increased in volume, grew higher in pitch. The draconian’s war cry was picked up and shouted by the other draconians, coming to the aid of their commander.

  The dragon tried to find these new foes, but they were attacking at it from seemingly every direction. The first draconian ran in, ducked beneath the teeth that snapped at him. The magical frost armor began to melt in the terrible heat, but it protected the draconian long enough for him to drive his sword straight into the beast’s right eye.

  The dragon flung its head sideways, attempting to dislodge the sword. The draconian held on, driving the sword deeper, until it seemed he was about to be carried into the burning pit. Letting go at the last possible moment, he fell heavily to the floor. The dragon opened its jaws and was about to devour him when the rest of the draconians arrived and formed a defensive perimeter around their fallen leader. One of them grabbed the big draconian and dragged him away from the pit.

  “Now!” Mortar shouted, and with a few of the others he ran back to rescue those dwarves who had fallen, assisting them to safety.

  Draconian swords flashed in the red light, stabbing and thrusting. The dragon lurched its head upward and lashed out with its powerful claws. A swipe caught one of the Bozaks in the back, impaling him. The Bozak struggled a moment, then went limp.

  “Take cover!” Selquist cried. He had seen a Bozak die once. He knew what was coming. “Duck! Everyone!”

  The draconians evidently knew what was coming as well. They began to run, scuttling back for the entrance. The draconian who carried the wand crawled on his hands and knees in the opposite direction.

  The Bozak’s flesh crumbled, leaving a skeleton. The dragon was endeavoring to shake the skeletal remains from its claw, when the bones exploded. The dragon’s head burst asunder, fire erupted from its skull. It tumbled into the pit.

  “By Reorx, there’s more of them!” Mortar cried in dismay.

  The magma in the pit churned. Red waves of fire crashed on the rock shore.

  “There must be hundreds!” Pestle gasped.

  “Good,” said Selquist, rubbing his hands.

  “Good?” Auger screeched. “Are you crazy?”

  “I am quite sane,” Selquist said coolly. “This means we don’t have to worry about the draconians any more. Their time is going to be fully occupied.”

  Standing in the exit, Selquist motioned, yelled, “Down the tunnel. This way! Quickly now!”

  A third dragon
was crawling up out of the pit. It looked to be the biggest yet, and there were more behind it.

  “Have those beasties cleaned out by the time we’re ready to come back, will you?” he yelled to the draconians.

  The dwarves helped the wounded to their feet. This included Vellmer, who demanded to know what had hit him.

  “A draconian,” said Selquist promptly. He pointed. “That big guy there, with the crumpled wing.”

  Vellmer growled, rubbed his head. “I’ll fix him,” he said savagely.

  “You’ll have to get in line. The dragon has dibs. And don’t you have a job to do?”

  Vellmer recalled that he did. Turning, he began to run on wobbly legs, followed the rest of the dwarves down the tunnel—the tunnel that was, finally, going to lead them to the treasure.

  Selquist was about to chase after them, when a thought occurred to him.

  “Mortar! Pestle! Wait here with me just a minute,” he called. “I have an idea.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Kang lay face down, staring with horror into the bubbling magma. He had once, during a battle near Pax Tharkas, stumbled across a nest of vipers. The snakes had been twined around each other in a writhing knot, so that one could not tell their numbers or even where one snake began and another snake ended.

  Dazed from the heat, Kang saw countless eyes, empty eyes, staring back at him, saw incalculable numbers of the fire dragons twisting and turning, crawling over each other, rising full-grown from the molten lava of which they were the magical embodiment.

  If these creatures escaped, they would not only overrun Thorbardin, they would decimate Krynn. This, he realized slowly, is the Dark Queen’s task for us. Not to kill one or two of the fire dragons. To destroy the viper’s nest.

  He shifted his eyes that burned with pain inside their sockets to gaze at the wand.

  “She never intended for us to survive this mission,” Kang realized. “We are her doom brigade, like the fabled knights who rode in the last battle with … what’s his name …” Kang couldn’t think clearly. “Huma or some such.” It didn’t matter anyway.

  “Sir! Sir!” A voice was yelling at him. “Commander!”

  Kang wished the voice would shut up. Why couldn’t they leave him alone for once? What was it now? Expecting him to get them out of trouble again? Expecting him to save their scaly hides this time? They were going to be in for a big disappointment. He was going to go to sleep and sink into the fire …

  Water splashed over him. It sizzled on his hot scales, but it brought him back to consciousness. A clawed hand had grabbed him by the harness, was dragging him back away from the pit.

  The hand dumped him on the floor a few paces away.

  “You all right, sir?” Slith asked. He held a dwarven waterskin in his hands.

  Kang sat up. He couldn’t answer with words, his throat was raw, and his breathing was labored. But he managed to nod his head.

  “You just rest here, sir. We’ll deal with these wyrms.” Slith was off before Kang could reply, returning to the battle.

  “We have to kill them,” Kang said, talking to himself, stupid from the heat, the fumes and his pain. “Kill them all. Those are my orders.”

  But it looked as if it was going to be the other way around. The dragon impaled a Bozak on its claw. Kang saw the Bozak die. He had just strength enough left to crawl out of the way before the explosion.

  The fire dragon died, but the head of another reared up to take its place. Kang heard a second explosion. Another Bozak dead. How could they fight a creature they couldn’t even get close to without sizzling. He sat on the floor, gazing around at nothing, a strange and terrible lethargy affecting him. He was waiting to die.

  His aimless gaze lifted to the cavern’s enormous domed ceiling. Stalactites, made of rock melted by the heat, looked like enormous teeth. Once black, the stalactites glistened red in the light of the fire. Kang might have been inside a maw of some great creature, whose mouth was filled with fangs. A mouth about to close on them all.…

  “That’s it,” said Kang.

  He was on his feet, the lethargy gone. He searched for, found Slith, fighting some distance away.

  “Retreat!” Kang bellowed, his voice booming through the cavern. “Withdraw!”

  Slith looked around, stared at him to see if he’d heard correctly.

  Kang waved, pointed to the chamber entrance that was located directly behind the draconians. “Retreat!” he shouted. His throat was raw. He tasted blood. “Go back out the way you came!”

  Slith nodded once. His voice snapped orders, and the draconians began an orderly retreat, taking their wounded with them. No panic, like the undisciplined dwarves. It was no rout. The fire dragons swooped and snapped after them, flame flared all around them. Several more draconians fell, but the rest did not break ranks, did not falter.

  Kang watched them. Pride for his men swelled in his breast. It was a good feeling, a good feeling to go out on. He waited until the last draconian was clear. Slith turned, and it was only at that moment that he realized his commander had not followed.

  Slith appeared on the verge of racing back to the rescue. Thank the Dark Queen, he held his position. He knew Kang had a plan, trusted his judgment.

  Kang wished he could feel as certain.

  One of the fire dragons, angry at losing its prey, turned and saw Kang. The fire dragon lunged at him, jaws opening wide.

  Kang raised the wand and pointed it—not at the dragon—but at the ceiling of the cavern.

  “Next time, tell us the truth, Your Majesty,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to trick us into serving you.”

  The wand glowed blue. The glow brightened, tendrils of lightning twined across its surface. Kang felt anger, his Queen’s anger. It was not directed at him, but at the fate that was crushing her, that would soon drive her from her throne, her world. He did not know or understand it then, but this was Takhisis’s last petulant act, her final burst of fury, a hand slap across the face of the Father who had come to avenge himself on his godchildren.

  Blue-white jagged lightning burst from the wand, struck the ceiling directly above the fire dragons’ pit. Stalactites exploded, showering down huge chunks of rock. Boulders crashed into the pit, smashed the bodies of the fire dragons. Some lay crushed near the edge of the pit. Others managed to escape and disappeared rapidly, diving into the pit’s molten depths.

  Boulders crashed around Kang, as well, but he remained standing, keeping the beam of dazzling light aimed at the ceiling. The beam of light was protecting him from the chunks of ceiling hurtling down on top of him, a benefit he hadn’t expected, but for which he was certainly thankful. Striking the halo of light that surrounded him, the rocks bounced harmlessly off, rolled to the floor.

  More rock tumbled down. Rock dust rose into the air, lava splashed in great gouts around the cavern room. Kang could no longer see the ceiling, but he kept the light aimed in that direction.

  A deep rumbling shook the chamber. A crack appeared at Kang’s feet, spread to the rim of the magma pit. The floor was beginning to break apart, shatter.

  “Sir!” That was Slith’s voice, howling through the chaos.

  Kang started to back up, one footstep at a time, feeling his way toward the exit behind him, the exit the dwarves had taken. He kept his gaze and his thoughts concentrated on the destruction of the cavern.

  It was much darker in the room now. The fiery light was dying, as the pit filled with debris. Hopefully, this meant that the fire dragons were dying. The only light was the radiant blue light surrounding him and, suddenly, that light went out.

  The wand went dead in Kang’s hand.

  Rocks struck him, small ones, shards flying through the air, lacerating scale and skin. A boulder crashed down beside him, narrowly missing him. A chunk the size of a fist struck his shoulder. Another rock tore one of his wings.

  The cavern room was caving in. Kang made a convulsive leap for safety. He landed on his belly, cracked
his ribs and knocked the breath from his body. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. The floor beneath him heaved and shook. Rocks thundered and crashed around him.

  Short, dark figures surrounded him. Hands grabbed him, hands with fingers, not claws. Hairy faces bent over him. The dwarves lifted him up by his harness and dragged him toward the exit. There, they dropped him.

  Kang raised his head, stared dimly at them. His strength was almost gone.

  One of the dwarves leaned down, plucked the wand from Kang’s nerveless hand.

  “Nice doing business with you,” the dwarf said, and dashed off.

  And then all was dark around Kang.

  All was dark inside him.

  Chapter Forty

  Coughing from the rock dust that rolled out of the dragon’s chamber in great, choking clouds, Selquist slowed his run to a walk. He kept a wary eye on the ceiling, but though it shook and shivered, it did not seem prepared to tumble down on top of him.

  “You Hylar dwarves build one hell of a fine, sturdy tunnel,” Selquist told any of their dead who happened to be lounging about.

  “Where’d everyone go?” Auger asked nervously.

  “Probably out of the way of the dust,” Pestle said, his voice muffled by his handkerchief, which he tied over his mouth.

  “There, I think I see them.” Selquist pointed.

  The flickering light of a torch was barely visible through the murky dust. Burned and blistered, but otherwise alive, their comrades were gathered together beneath a huge support beam, obviously expecting the whole mountain to come crashing down about their ears. The dwarves were a sorry sight, bereft of their weapons, most of them barefoot.

  “Who’s that?” cried out a voice, peering through the dust.

  Selquist started to reply but at that moment a cloud of dust flew down his throat, making breathing interesting and talking impossible. He choked and spit until he was finally able to gasp, “Me!”