The Doom Brigade

by Don Perrin

  “And Mortar and Pestle and Auger,” Auger added.

  “It’s Selquist. We thought you were dead,” said Vellmer in a tone which implied that all his fondest hopes had been dashed. “What’s going on back there? Is it the fire dragons?”

  “Are they coming after us?” another dwarf asked fearfully.

  “The draconians,” growled another. “They’re coming after us.”

  Selquist shook his head, coughed a couple of more times, then waved his hands in the air, banishing their fears and getting rid of the dust at the same time.

  “No need to worry about fire dragons or draconians. They’ve killed each other. Brought the whole bloody cave down on top of themselves. We saw it.”

  He indicated Auger, Mortar and Pestle, who all nodded solemnly.

  “That’s all very well!” shouted Vellmer, clutching the side of the tunnel to remain standing while the floor shook beneath their feet. “But it’s not going to do us much good if they bring the cave down on us, too!”

  The rumbling ceased. All was quiet. The rock dust hung in the air, and then began to slowly settle.

  The dwarves listened, heard nothing.

  “What did I tell you?” Selquist said. “All dead.” He hummed a few bars of a dwarven love song, looked extremely pleased with himself. “Now, aren’t you glad I brought those draconians along?”

  “Not particularly.” Vellmer rubbed his sore head. “What’s that you’re holding?”

  Selquist recalled, too late, that the magic wand was in plain view. He quickly shoved it up his sleeve.

  “Oh, nothing,” he said carelessly.

  “It looked like a magic wand. The same wand that grell was carrying,” Vellmer said in disapproving tones. “The same wand that killed poor Moorthane.”

  “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.” Selquist shrugged. “One magic wand looks a lot like another, at least in my experience. Let’s get a move on. The treasure room is really close, as I remember. Where’s that map?”

  But the dwarves were not to be sidetracked.

  Auger looked shocked. “Is that what you stole from that dead draconian?” His face wrinkled. “I don’t think it’s right to steal from the dead, Selquist.”

  “It may not be right, but it’s safe,” Selquist muttered.

  “That wand is an artifact of evil,” Mortar observed righteously. “I think you should get rid of it and then say a prayer to Reorx, begging his forgiveness.”

  “I’ll say a prayer to Reorx, all right,” Selquist said into his beard. “Ask him to pick up the whole lot of you and drop you down in Kendermore.”

  “You remember what trouble that holy symbol of the Dark Queen was, before you got rid of it,” Pestle reminded him.

  The wand was cold against Selquist’s skin and, at this, he did feel a momentary touch of misgiving. Fortunately logic—which was already calculating the value of the rubies and sapphires, emeralds, diamonds, and what appeared to his experienced eye to be some quite fine black opals—won out over superstition.

  “That was a holy symbol,” Selquist explained. “Of course the Dark Queen was miffed over my stealing it. She considered it … sac … sacrilegious.” He spoke the large and well-educated-sounding word proudly.

  “This wand is nothing to her! Magic. Pooh!” Selquist snapped his fingers. “She wouldn’t give two ghouls for it. Her son is the one who’s in charge of magic, you see, and from what I’ve heard Nuitari is relaxed, easy-going, a fun-loving type of guy. He wouldn’t go about putting curses on people just because they happened to pick up a magic wand or two that was lying about, unwanted.”

  The other dwarves did not appear convinced. They cast Selquist dark, sidelong glances and most edged away from him.

  “You are so ignorant,” Selquist continued in disparaging tones. “None of you think ahead. What happens when the draconians come after us? How are we going to fight them?” He displayed the wand. “With this.”

  “You said the draconians were dead,” Vellmer reminded him.

  “They are.” Selquist had forgotten his earlier statement. It had been a trying day for him, dealing with grells, fire dragons, and his slow-thinking brethren. “What I meant was grell. There could be more in the treasure room. That’s probably where the grell picked up the wand in the first place.”

  Vellmer considered this point, admitted it might have some merit.

  “Do you know how to use that wand?” he demanded.

  “Of course,” said Selquist.

  Vellmer appeared dubious, but he only shrugged and said, “Let’s get going, then. We’ve got eggs to crack. And don’t point that thing at me,” he added, glowering back at Selquist, who had been waving the wand about experimentally.

  “You don’t know how to use it, do you?” Auger whispered, marching along beside his friend.

  “Not really,” Selquist admitted. He tucked the wand back up his sleeve. “But how hard can it be? Draconians used it, after all, and everyone knows they have all the brains of sand lizards. So just keep your mouth shut, Auger. I know what I’m doing.”

  Auger sighed and shook his head. He was nothing if not loyal, however, and he had faith in Selquist, so he kept quiet. The dwarves started off, Vellmer leading the way. Dwarves are resilient and not strongly imaginative, nor prone to dwell on the past. The terror and horror of the battle with the fire dragons was already starting to fade from their minds.

  They were sorry for their fallen comrades, but the thought of chests filled with steel coins, with gold and silver nuggets, with rare and wondrous jewels assuaged their grief. The dead would each receive a fair share, as the dwarven dead have always shared with the living.

  Selquist fingered the blue wand in his hand. “I can make it work,” he said confidently. “I know I can!”

  The dwarves up ahead of him came to a stop.

  “What is it?” Selquist asked, pushing his way through to the front. The lead dwarves had rounded a tight bend in the shaft. Before them was a large cavern.

  “This must it,” Selquist said, his voice tight with excitement. “Shine the light in there!”

  The dwarves had only managed to save a single torch, the rest having been tossed at the dragon. The dwarf carrying the light edged into the chamber entrance, shone the torch around. The cavern was long, shallow, and a most distinctive shape.

  “Yes,” said Selquist. “I’m positive this it. I recognize the shape, like a half moon! The antechamber is back there somewhere.”

  “Let’s make sure there aren’t any nasty surprises in this chamber,” Mortar said. “Who’s going in first?”

  “Selquist!” The vote was unanimous.

  “You have the wand, after all,” Vellmer said in what Selquist considered a nasty tone.

  “Oh, all right,” Selquist grumbled. Grabbing the torch, holding it in one hand and the wand in the other, he entered the chamber.

  The rest of the dwarves gathered outside to watch.

  Selquist walked about the entire chamber. It was agreeably empty.

  “All clear,” called Selquist to his own admitted vast relief.

  The dwarves swarmed inside, searched hastily around.

  This chamber was very much like the other chambers through which they had passed. Discarded tools littered the floor, mined rock was piled up at one end. The iron rails entered it, but they didn’t leave it. They ran straight into a solid rock wall. Not a single steel coin was on the floor, nary a jewel glittered from out the pile of rock.

  “Where’s the treasure?” Vellmer demanded.

  “Behind that wall,” said Selquist. “It’s false,” he added.

  The dwarves regarded the wall in consternation. The wall ran the entire length of the chamber. Forty dwarves could have lined up in front of it and still not reached the end. It was built of huge chunks of rock that appeared to have been fused together by some sort of substance which had now become hard as the rock itself. The dwarves had lost all their tools, those having been handed over to the fire dra
gon along with their boots and weapons.

  “We have tools,” Selquist said, seeing eighteen pair of glowering eyes turning his direction. “Compliments of the Hylar.” He pointed to a pile of discarded digging devices.

  Mortar grabbed hold of a pick, only to have the head fall off the handle. “The rest of the tools aren’t in much better shape,” he reported.

  “We don’t have to break through the entire wall,” Selquist said, “just a portion of it. The antechamber isn’t very big. The Daewar opened up a section of this false wall that had been built by the Hylar ages ago.”

  Selquist recalled the notes left by the scribe. “They hid the treasure and then put a false front over it, making it look like the rest of the wall. If we can find that part, we should be able to knock the false wall in easily.”

  The dwarves spread out and began rapping on the wall with their knuckles, hoping to find a portion that sounded hollow. Selquist, taking the torch, began to carefully examine the wall, searching for some sort of mark or sign which might indicate that it was false. He walked the entire length of the wall and was forced to admit defeat.

  “Where in the Name of Reorx is it?” Pestle demanded, frustrated.

  “I don’t think it’s here at all,” said Vellmer grimly. “I think Selquist brought us down here on a kender’s errand!”

  “I’ve found it!” called Mortar excitedly.

  Selquist wiped the sweat from his brow. He never doubted himself—at least not for long—but he was certainly glad to hear those words.

  Mortar knocked against the wall with the head of the broken pick. In one place, the pick thumped. In another, it rang. Their flagging energy revived, the dwarves gathered around to watch. Using the handle of the pick, Mortar scratched out an area on the rock that appeared to be the entrance to the treasure chamber.

  Excited, practically able to smell the wealth, the dwarves went to work with a will. Scrounging up tools, they beat on the wall with hammers and picks. In some cases, the more enthusiastic tried to tear through the rock with their fingernails.

  Chips flew. Auger knocked a hole in the wall, discovered that it was made of only a single layer of rocks.

  “Stop! Wait a moment!” Selquist called. “Let me look.”

  The dwarves ceased their labors, backed off.

  Selquist brought his torch forward. The opening was large enough for him to thrust his fist inside. He bent down, peered inside.

  “Keep going! This is it!” he yelled in excitement.

  The dwarves continued their work, their efforts redoubled. The hole expanded. A good hit from Mortar knocked another large piece out. The hole was now nearly wide enough for a dwarf to poke his head through.

  “Wait! Let me look again!”

  The hammers stopped. Selquist thrust the torch inside, peered in. The light flashed on something metallic. The torch light wavered. Selquist’s hand was shaking so he nearly dropped it. Hastily, he withdrew from the hole.

  “I saw it!” he said, his voice trembling. He was trembling all over. “I saw it, I tell you! Gold, steel, silver, jewels. It’s all there!”

  The dwarves bashed at the wall with such vigor that it crumbled beneath the blows. Sharp bits of rock flew about the chamber, inflicting minor cuts that no one noticed. Those dwarves who did not have tools hauled the rock off to one side to make room for the others to work.

  “We’re through!” Mortar shouted, ecstatic. He dropped the hammer. The dwarves surged forward, struggling to enter the small aperture. Selquist managed to squeeze inside first. Behind him, the other dwarves pushed and shoved.

  Holding the torch high, Selquist stood still and stared. For once in his life, he was too awed and amazed, charmed and dazzled, to speak. One by one the other dwarves clambered into the room. They, too, looked around and fell silent.

  They had found the stolen treasure of Neraka.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Kang woke to pain and silence and darkness. He could not remember exactly what had happened, but he knew that he should be dead, and he was vaguely surprised that he wasn’t. He lay quite still, afraid to move, afraid to find out what was broken. His head throbbed, as did his shoulder, and he was conscious of a crushing weight on one leg. His ribs hurt abominably, every time he took a breath.

  The thought came to him of the draconians with the broken backs, how they sat all day, mending leather. Kang gritted his teeth and tried to move his legs. Rock shifted and clattered to the floor. Pain shot through his left leg, but it moved, and so did the right.

  Kang spent a quiet moment relaxing in relief. Then he wondered why he should be relieved. He was going to die. What difference did it make if he died a cripple or not?

  Lying there, alone and hurting in the darkness, Kang faced the fact that his quest was over. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, but the dwarves had undoubtedly reached the treasure room by now. They had reached it and destroyed the dragon eggs.

  There was nothing the draconians could have done to stop them anyhow. Not after Kang’s decision to bring down part of the mountain on top of the fire dragons. He had obeyed Her Majesty’s orders, he had destroyed the fire dragons. In doing so, he had doomed his race to extinction.

  But he had obeyed orders, and that was a soldier’s first duty.

  He could see nothing in the darkness. He could not see walls or a ceiling.

  Slowly, carefully, shifting his weight by increments, Kang crawled out from beneath the rock cairn that covered him. Each movement was agony, but he forced himself to go on. Feeling about with his hands, he discovered that, although he had survived the cave-in, he was now trapped in the shaft. There appeared to be no way out. He could not even remember in what direction the exit lay. He was surrounded by fallen rock and wreckage.

  Buried alive. Nothing to do but wait for death, wait to die of thirst, starvation …

  Kang shook off the despair. True, the situation appeared hopeless. He might well die, but he’d do so only after he’d done everything possible to save himself. He sat down again to give the matter logical thought. He sat down to think it over as an engineer.

  The cavern’s high, domed ceiling had come crashing down on top of the lava pit, which meant that much of the rock would have fallen into the pit itself. The rest of the rock would have formed a mound over the pit, rather like an enormous ant hill. The area where Kang lay—the former exit—was on the edge of the destruction. The rock and debris would not be as deep here. He should be able to find a way out.

  Kang used his hands to feel about him, to gain some vague idea of the size of the area in which he was trapped and the extent of the cave-in. He began pushing aside smaller rocks, sniffing, hoping to scent fresh air, which would mean that he had discovered an adjoining tunnel or mine shaft.

  Placing his hands on an enormous boulder, he gave it a heave and felt it wobble. He was tempted to shove it out of his way, but forced himself to feel all around the boulder first, to try to find why it was unstable, to capitalize on that instability. The boulder was precariously balanced on top of another. Kang levered his weight against the boulder and eased it forward. It tumbled to one side, forming an opening into a larger area. Kang rolled the boulder out of the way.

  Cool air touched his face, made his snout twitch with pleasure. And there was not only air, but light! Dusty light, dim light, but by it Kang could now see where he was and what surrounded him.

  Kang thrust his arms and shoulders into the aperture created by removing the boulder. Crawling over crumbling, shifting rock, grunting from the pain of his damaged ribs, he climbed out of the hole. The sharp rocks dug into his hands and knees. His left leg burned every time he moved it. Either he had broken something, or he had a severe bruise. But the light and the air acted on him like dwarf spirits, intoxicating him and diminishing the pain.

  Kang crawled out into the fire dragon’s chamber, now vastly changed.

  A new mountain had been formed, a mountain of boulders and debris, a mountain within a
mountain. Light filtered in from a crack somewhere far, far above Kang. So far above him that he couldn’t discover the source. He was standing on what one might consider the new mountain’s foothills.

  He paused, trying to gain some sense of direction, but the chamber had changed so dramatically that he had no idea where he was, where the entrances and the exits had been. He might dig for days without discovering the way out, and Kang had only days left to him before he succumbed to thirst.

  He might try to climb up the new mountain, to reach the source of the light. He eyed the enormous jumble of boulders and fallen stalactites, piled precariously on top of each other, and abandoned that idea. Even as he watched, one boulder fell, came bounding down the mountainside, starting a small avalanche. The mountain was far too unstable and, in his present physical condition—injured, without food or water—he’d never make it. He was little better off than he had been, except that at least now he wouldn’t die trapped in absolute darkness.

  Admitting the futility of his actions, Kang began to dig. He was scrabbling at the rocks when he became aware that the scraping sounds he was making couldn’t account for all the scraping sounds he was hearing.

  Kang froze, a rock in his hand. The sound continued a moment, then it stopped. A few moments later, it started again, then stopped again.

  Kang grabbed hold of another rock and banged them together. Tap tap tap, pause. Tap tap, pause. Tap.

  He waited, breathless, his heart pounding, for a reply.

  Nothing.

  He repeated the pattern. Tap tap tap, pause. Tap tap, pause. Tap.

  Still nothing. His hope waned.

  Kang bowed his head, ready to give up. Why fight on? Why not just lay down and die? Despair rushed in to fill hope’s void.

  Then, he heard a sound like metal on stone ring out from somewhere below him.

  Tink tink tink, pause. Tink tink, pause. Tink.

  Kang answered, pounding his two rocks together in wild exultation.

  The answer came back. It was his draconians! It had to be.