The Doom Brigade

by Don Perrin

Pain vanished. Kang dug rapidly, frantically, dug down through the rubble. He lost track of time, only noticed vaguely that the column of light in the dust-filled chamber had shifted, was lengthening. An hour, maybe two, had passed.

  Kang heaved aside a large stone. He was tired, more tired than he could ever remember feeling in his life. The pain returned with the weariness, jarred through him. It seemed he had torn every muscle, his hands were raw and bleeding, his claws broken. He was desperately thirsty and hungry enough to have started eating rock.

  He kept digging. The sounds were getting closer. And then, he heard voices. His hands opened a hole.

  Slith’s face appeared, peering up at him. “Sir! Glad to see you! Are you all right? By the Queen, you look awful. You just rest, sir. We’ll have you out in half an hour.”

  He was gone, but he was back again almost immediately. “It’s good to see you alive, sir!”

  Kang went limp. He was almost sobbing from fatigue and pain. “I can’t dig any more, Slith. I just can’t.”

  Slith barked orders behind him, then looked back worriedly to his commander. “You relax, sir. We’ll have you out in no time.”

  Kang lay in a stupor, sprawled on the rocks. He knew he should be making plans, figuring out what to do next. They weren’t out of danger by any means. They might still be buried alive beneath the mountain. He had to think … but the stern task master abandoned him, refused to cooperate.

  “For once in your life, let someone else take charge,” the task master told him.

  Kang meekly obeyed, drifted off into exhausted sleep.

  A yell woke him. The draconians had broken through. Slith was the first to reach him. With gentle hands, the draconians took hold of Kang, eased him carefully down into the shaft below.

  Kang tried to stand, but his knees gave way. Slith helped him to a seated position on a boulder. Twelve draconians stood around him. They were covered in rock dust and blood, their scales were charred and burnt, but every one of them was grinning.

  “Water!” Kang croaked.

  Slith handed Kang a waterskin. He drank, paused, drank some more, then handed the skin back.

  “Any orders, sir?” Slith asked. Reaching out, he attached something to Kang’s harness—the commander’s medallion.

  Kang looked at it, shook his head. He couldn’t think of a single thing to do. “No, Slith. No orders.”

  “Then, sir,” Slith said respectfully, “might I suggest that we continue on down the tunnel? We think the treasure room’s at the other end.”

  Kang gazed dazedly, stupidly at his second. “You’re saying that … the tunnel leading to the treasure is …”

  “Right here, sir. You’re sitting in it. It’s marked on the map, but the map shows that it was blocked off. The cave-in must have opened it up.”

  Kang prodded his dull brain to action. He shook his head gloomily. “Even if it does and we find the treasure, the only way out is blocked off.”

  “Not so, sir. The side tunnel is still open. That’s where we were when the roof fell in. We dug our way through the rubble to where we figured we might find you. The route’s clear. It won’t be easy, but we can make it.”

  “You’re sure it leads … where it’s supposed to?” Kang couldn’t believe it.

  “I sent a couple of scouts down it, sir. They reported back that the tunnel is not only free of debris, but they heard the dwarves, making a big racket, banging and hammering. That was just a short time ago, sir.”

  “Hammering. That means they haven’t found the antechamber yet,” Kang said.

  “Either that or they’ve found it and they’re trying to break through.”

  Slith spread out the map. The light from the crack in the mountain above them was waning. He called for the lantern.

  “Look here, sir. The treasure is located in this part of the antechamber. By the symbols, the dragon eggs are over in this part. Even if the dwarves do break through, they might be distracted by the treasure long enough—”

  Kang was on his feet, hope sparking his weary, aching muscles into action.

  “Let’s go,” he ordered.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The dwarves were struck dumb. Speechless, they stared at the treasure, which was more wonderful, more radiant, more beautiful, and more valuable than any—even Selquist—had dared dream.

  This was the booty of an empire. A greedy, rapacious empire.

  Steel coins spilled out of partially opened chests. Rubies and emeralds, sapphires and diamonds, and myriad other precious gems, sparkling in settings that were lovely and fantastic, lay strewn about the floor, as if some clumsy lady-in-waiting had carelessly overturned her mistress’s jewel box.

  Armor—still bright, still polished, and obviously magical—was piled in a corner or stood silent sentinel on stands against the wall. Weapons that shone with a fey light were stacked haphazardly against a wall.

  Spellbooks of innumerable colors lined another wall. Jumbled among them were magic scrolls, tied in ribbons of black, white, or red. Chests and casks, unopened, ranged about the chamber, tantalizing the dwarves with the possibility of what further treasure lay hidden from their sight.

  Selquist’s eyes filled with tears. He was forced to cling to Auger for support.

  “By Reorx, this is beautiful!” Selquist wept.

  His words freed the dwarves from the spellbound trance the sight of the treasure had cast over them.

  They surged into the chamber, began rummaging around, opening lids, peering inside, exclaiming in wonder, crying out in joy. They stuffed their pockets with jewels, poured coins down their underwear, and mourned the loss of their boots, which they might have filled with even more loot.

  It was at this juncture, at the height of everyone’s elation, that Mortar made a devastating discovery.

  “Selquist!” he shouted.

  It took some time to attract Selquist’s attention. He had dug his hands into a vat of steel coins, was happily letting the money trickle through his fingers, dreaming of the palatial home he was planning to build in the city of Palanthas.

  “Selquist!” Mortar swatted his friend across the head.

  Selquist finally turned to him. “What?” he asked in a voice tinged with dreams of avarice.

  “Selquist, the tracks end,” Mortar said.

  “So?” Selquist didn’t see the problem.

  “The tracks come to a dead end!” Mortar repeated, his voice rising in panic. “This is a cul-de-sac. There’s no way out!”

  The last words were a shriek that echoed through the chamber. The other dwarves halted their gloating and counting and turned pale faces toward Mortar. Selquist shrugged and was about to say that they’d just go out the way they had come in, when he remembered that the way they had come in was blocked by a couple hundred tons of rock. He gulped.

  A chilling thought brushed cold fingers across the back of his neck. He might well be trapped down here, trapped with no way out, trapped without food or water, trapped for eternity. It didn’t take much in the way of imagination for Selquist to envision his skeletal remains draped over this chest of steel pieces.

  Hastily he fished out his map. The other dwarves gathered around him, the treasure forgotten. One could not eat jewels, one could not drink gold.

  Selquist searched and searched for another exit. He turned the map upside down, sideways, even flipped it over on the back, though he knew well enough there was nothing there.

  “Well?” Vellmer demanded, his voice hoarse with anxiety.

  Selquist swallowed again. “There … uh … doesn’t seem to be any … well … any other route … that is, that I can find. That doesn’t mean that there isn’t,” he concluded, trying to end on a hopeful note.

  The dwarves glared at him. Several, including Vellmer, gnashed their teeth and clenched their fists.

  “This isn’t my fault!” Selquist protested. “If it hadn’t been for those stupid draconians who caused the cave-in, we would have—” He paused. The
thought of the draconians had just given him an idea.

  “Say,” said Auger, who’d been exploring in another part of the chamber and hadn’t heard the terrible news, “I’ve just found a whole chest loaded with eggs. Do you think those are the dragon eggs?”

  “Great,” Pestle muttered. “At least we can live off those eggs for awhile. That should keep us alive for a week or two.”

  “They’re not very fresh,” said Auger.

  “Of course not, you idiot!” Pestle glowered at him. “That’s why we’re all going to die down here!”

  “Huh? Die?” Auger looked blank. “What’d I miss?”

  “Only that Selquist has led us into a dead end,” said Vellmer.

  “And Selquist,” said Selquist proudly and disdainfully, “will lead you out.”

  “Yeah? How?” The dwarves regarded him doubtfully.

  Selquist pulled the wand out of his sleeve. “This is the very wand which the draconians used to bring down the ceiling. I will use it to tunnel through the rock.”

  The dwarves looked hopeful, gazed at the wand and at Selquist with new respect.

  “Right,” he said briskly, forestalling the question of how he was going to make the wand work. “Let’s get busy. We have to catalog everything we find down here. Since we can’t make use of the iron carts, we won’t be able to haul all the treasure out, so we’ll just have to take the most valuable objects and leave the rest until we can return with more manpower.

  “While I’m busy finding the best spot to tunnel through, the rest of you determine what we take and what we leave behind.”

  That should keep everyone occupied for a good long while, Selquist thought. Long enough for him to figure out how to use the wand.

  Already, the dwarves were practically coming to blows, arguing over whether magical steel bracers were as valuable as ordinary diamond bracelets and whether or not they should haul out the spellbooks now or leave them behind in favor of the arcane weapons.

  “Show me those dragon eggs,” Selquist said to Auger, and the two started off for a dark and secluded part of the antechamber. Selquist intended to get in a little wand practice.

  Pleased to show off his discovery, Auger led his friend to a large chest. The latch had been broken long before the dwarves arrived, probably by the Daewar, who had never bothered to replace it. Auger pried open the lid, proudly exhibited his find. Selquist, interested in spite of himself, peered in.

  Nestled in straw were ten dragon eggs, each the size of a large watermelon. The eggs were silver and gold, bronze, brass, and copper. They were smooth and perfectly shaped and would have been exquisitely lovely, if it hadn’t been for the faint, sickly, greenish light that began to emanate from them the moment Selquist drew near.

  “What’s causing that glow?” Auger asked, alarmed.

  “Probably the spell that the black-robed mages and dark clerics cast over them,” Selquist said. He was equally alarmed but trying not to show it. “I think you should shut the lid.”

  “I think so, too,” Auger said and reached out a tentative hand. His arm appeared to have difficulty obeying, however, for his fingers wouldn’t even come close.

  “I can’t, Selquist,” he cried in a strangled voice. “Help! I can’t move my arm!”

  Selquist grabbed hold of his friend’s arm, forced it down, and dragged Auger away from the chest and into a dark corner.

  “Forget that,” he said. “Let Vellmer deal with it. He’s the one who wants to break the eggs. You and I have to figure out how this wand works.”

  “I thought you said it was going to be easy,” Auger pointed out. “Even draconians with lizard brains used it, you said.”

  “Maybe I should just hand it to you, then, lizard-brain,” Selquist retorted. He was beginning to be in a bad mood. “I’m certain I can use it. I just have to practice a bit, that’s all.”

  Selquist thought back to the fire dragon pit, recalled the draconian using the wand, casting the spell. Selquist tried to remember every motion, every gesture, every word. Unfortunately the words had been in draconian, and Selquist hadn’t been able to hear them all that clearly, what with the screaming and blasting and shouting. The only words he was certain of had to do with Queen Takhisis

  Selquist aimed the wand at a likely looking portion of solid rock wall and intoned, “By the grace of Her Dark Majesty.”

  “I don’t think you should say bad things like that,” Auger protested, edging back away from the wand. “Something dreadful might happen to you!”

  “Something dreadful has happened to me. I’m trapped in a cave with maybe more wealth than even I’ll be able to spend, with no way out,” Selquist muttered, but he didn’t say it loud enough for Auger to hear.

  He stared at the wand expectantly.

  Nothing happened. The wand’s five dragons, their five tails twined around the bottom, their five mouths gaping open, made no sound, shone with no blue light. They looked—Selquist thought irritably—incredibly stupid.

  “Come on, Dark Queen! listen up!” he commanded, and gave the wand a shake.

  Auger gasped and covered his eyes so that he might be spared the sight of Selquist being instantly toasted, flayed, skinned, disemboweled, quartered, and changed into a wraith.

  This did not happen. Nor did the wand work.

  “Well?” came a grating voice.

  Selquist turned to discover Vellmer and the rest of the dwarves gathered behind him. They were all, Selquist noticed, now heavily armed, having outfitted themselves with the magical weapons.

  “Just give me a moment, will you?” Selquist said coldly. “I’m getting a feel for it.”

  Vellmer glowered. “Oh, yeah? Well, while you’re getting the feel of that wand, I’m going to bust up these eggs.” He shook his finger in Selquist’s face. “You better be ready to get us out of here by the time I’m done.”

  “I will be,” Selquist said.

  Vellmer stalked over to the chest, his sword in hand. He came to an abrupt halt, however; he appeared considerably taken aback at the sight of the eerie green light that was growing brighter, casting a horrid glow over anyone who came near it. The soldier dwarves accompanying him took one look and left hurriedly for the outer part of the chamber. Vellmer held his ground, and he even attempted to bring the sword close to the eggs.

  Sweat broke out on his face, his arm wavered in the air. “I … can’t …” he said through clenched teeth.

  Any other time, Selquist must have been entertained by this sight, but now his mind was on higher matters. Such as staying alive.

  Selquist turned away from Vellmer, turned from Auger, turned his face away from the light. Facing the deepest, darkest part of the antechamber, Selquist pointed the wand, concentrated all this thoughts, invoked the Dark Queen, promised her his soul and anything else she might like, including a ten percent portion of his take, and cried desperately, “In the name of Her Majesty, Takhisis, Queen of Darkness, I command thee to blast this rock to smithereens!”

  Selquist poured every ounce of will and energy and strength and hope and wishing into the wand. His hand shook with the effort of his exertion. The wand trembled, but that was only because his fingers were trembling. It did not respond.

  Rage filled Selquist. He had made the discovery of a lifetime, of six lifetimes, he had more wealth than he could have ever hoped to gain in six lifetimes. He had money enough to build a castle in Palanthas, if he wanted, and live like a king, with gully dwarf slaves and dwarf maidens fawning over him and humans bowing respectfully and calling him “Lord Selquist,” and he was going to die down here in this stupid chamber and all because this infernal wand wouldn’t work.

  “Well, what about it?” Vellmer demanded in nasty tones. He had apparently abandoned—at least for the time being—the idea of breaking the eggs. Now he was back to hounding Selquist. “Got that wand of yours working yet?”

  “No!” Selquist screamed in fury. “Why don’t you give it a try?”

  Whipping
about, Selquist flung the wand straight at Vellmer’s head.

  Instinctively, Vellmer ducked. The wand sailed over his head and struck the chest containing the dragon eggs.

  Blue light flashed. Green light flared horribly.

  An explosion rocked the chamber.

  Vellmer flew through the air, crashed into the wall. Auger was blown backward into Selquist, who fell to the floor.

  The green light shone brighter and brighter. The dwarves couldn’t bare to look at it. They squeezed shut their eyelids, covered their eyes with their hands, and they could still see the terrible light. Tears streamed down into their beards. They roared with the pain.

  And then the light was gone, replaced by a darkness that was blessed, at first, and then didn’t seem quite so blessed when they discovered that they were all effectively blind. Their torch had gone out.

  From the darkness came a strange sound.

  Mortar gasped, breathless. “What’s that noise?”

  “It sounds like eggs cracking,” said Auger helpfully.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Realizing the implications of what he’d just said, Auger promptly screamed.

  “Light, we need light!” Selquist ordered, picking himself up off the floor.

  He heard sounds of furious scrabbling and scraping, groping around in the darkness for the torch, then the sounds of nervous hands trying to strike flint and failing. Then a spark, and the single torch sputtered with flame.

  The dwarves moved as one toward the chest, saw that their worst fears were being realized.

  Every single egg had spidery cracks running through it.

  The dwarves watched in shock, unable to move, as the first egg—a gold—split wide open. A tiny lizard-like head thrust up from the shell, struggling to emerge. It opened its mouth and squeaked. Rows of razor-sharp white teeth glistened. Other heads poked up beside it.

  “Blessed Reorx, save us!” Mortar intoned.

  “Reorx nothing,” cried Vellmer. He was somewhat singed and considerably bruised from his involuntary flight into the wall, but he was up and moving. “We have to save ourselves. Kill those vermin spawn, men. Kill them now! Quickly! They’ll be looking for food, and we’re it!”