by Don Perrin
Kang dodged sideways to avoid a spear thrust. He swung his axe at his opponent but missed. Closing the gap with two hasty steps, he brought his axe down again. The goblin tried to block the swing with his spear, but the spear’s haft split in two. The goblin jumped to the side and drew his sword.
Kang was about to sweep the goblin’s head from its scrawny shoulders when his foot slipped in goblin brains leaking out of a cracked skull. He lost his balance.
The goblin, red eyes gleaming with the kill, leapt at him. Granak strode in front of the fallen Kang. Granak held the Regiment’s standard high in his left hand. In the right he brandished a longsword. He thrust the sword clean through the creature, held the goblin spitted on his sword for a moment, then, using his foot, pushed the body off his weapon.
Kang regained his feet and pivoted to face the next threat to find that none existed. The goblins were in full retreat. Kang’s men brandished their weapons and yelled wildly.
Kang glared at them. “Less cheering and more fighting, men,” he shouted. “After them! I don’t want a single goblin left alive!”
The baaz and sivak draconians that made up the line engineer squadrons chased after the enemy, whooping and hollering and shouting out gleefully what terrors they were going to do to the goblins when they caught them.
Kang hobbled after them. He had never been a swift runner and he’d twisted his ankle when he slipped.
“Go!” he shouted to his bodyguard. “I’ll catch up!”
His troops swept around him and soon passed him. He lumbered on and had just reached the first row of trees in the wood line when he heard what sounded like a vicious battle being waged in front of him. He could hear his men shouting, swords clanking. The sounds startled and worried him. The goblins had turned tail and run and he had expected them to keep on running until they ran off the face of Krynn. Those he didn’t kill would think twice before they attacked the First Draconian Engineers again. That’s what he’d expected. He didn’t expect a fight.
An enormous figure stepped out from behind a tree and stood in front of Kang. The figure had the same yellowish skin as the goblin, but it was taller, wider, stronger. Its eyes were cunning and clever, not squinty and shortsighted. It was clad in heavy armor and it wielded a sword with skill.
Hobgoblin! That damn thing’s a hobgoblin! was Kang’s first amazed thought. The second was, There aren’t any hobgoblins around here! This second thought was, unfortunately, quickly dispelled by the first thought.
The hobgoblin attacked, slashing with its sword. Kang swung with his axe. The hobgoblin deftly parried the blow and returned with a skilled slice that very nearly took off Kang’s sword arm.
Shaken, Kang fell back a step to recover. The hobgoblin pressed the attack, swung again. Kang parried the blow with his axe, then whipped his tail around, caught his foe in the knee, sweeping his leg out from under him. The hobgoblin lost his balance and staggered back against a tree trunk. Kang smashed his axe through the hobgoblin’s breastplate, drove the axe head into the creature’s midriff. He didn’t take time to see if his enemy died or not. He’d stopped the hob for the moment and that was all that counted. Kang had to find out what was going on.
His bodyguards were around him, extracting themselves from their own fights to return to protect him. Ahead in the trees, he could see fighting and hear the sounds of a much larger battle.
Slith came crashing out of the trees. The sivak was covered with goblin blood. He had a gash on his arm and one on his thigh.
“Sir!” Slith shouted. “It’s an ambush!”
“I know it’s an ambush, damn it,” Kang thundered back. “We planned it to be an ambush—”
“We didn’t plan this one, sir,” Slith said grimly.
Kang finally realized what Slith was saying. The draconians had meant to ambush the goblins. Instead, it happened the other way around. The goblins had ambushed the draconians.
“There must be five hundred hobs in those woods!” Slith said, panting, his lizard-tongue flicking. “And at least a thousand gobbos.”
Kang swore roundly. His plan to hit the enemy and then steal a march on the goblin troops lay in bloody ruins at his feet. It had been a good plan, too, damn it. It was hard to let such a good plan go, but it was obvious to Kang that the plan had failed, and if he didn’t do something quickly, the plan wouldn’t be the only thing in ruined tatters.
Kang turned to his bodyguard, motioned to the nearest draconian, a bozak named Harvah’k.
“Go find Gloth,” Kang ordered tersely, pointing ahead into the chaos. “He’s in the fight somewhere. Tell him to take First Squadron and retreat with all speed back to Support Squadron. We’ll fall back under their covering fire.
“Leshhak!” Kang called out to another draconian. “Find Yethik in command of the Second Squadron and tell him the same thing.
“Slith, run back to tell Fulkth to get Support Squadron in position at the bottom of the ridge to cover our withdrawal. He’s got to buy us some time until we can reform ranks and get the hell out of here!”
Slith didn’t say a word. He began to run. Kang watched the sivak flit through the forest, swift, silent, deadly. If anyone could get the word through, it would be Slith.
Kang turned to the rest of his command staff. “We’re going to give the regiment a place they can fall back to. Granak, I want that standard held high so that the men can see it. You know the drill.”
Ten minutes later, both Gloth’s and Yethik’s draconians began pulling back from the forest. They formed a battle line with the troops drawn up in proper alignment centered on Granak’s standard, which he held high just as Kang had ordered, and began to fall back across the field of long grass, their faces to the enemy. Behind them was a high ridge. Fulkth and Support Squadron were posted at the top of the ridge, guarding the females and the supply wagon. Kang was already forming a new plan.
The goblins did not pursue them out into the grass, but stopped at the tree line. A few goblins fired arrows at the draconians, but otherwise they did not attack—a bad sign. Normally in a situation like this the undisciplined, rapacious goblins would have rushed headlong after their enemy, their thoughts on slaughter. Someone was holding them in check. The same someone who had planned that clever ambush. Someone smarter than goblins had coordinated that attack. The same someone who was maintaining the goblin army in disciplined order. The same someone who had brought in hobgoblins to strengthen his forces. There was someone new in command across the glade. Someone who stood between Kang and the road to his dream.
Kang had only one option, an option that he had never before now considered, an option that brought bitter bile flooding to his mouth.
Retreat.
The rolling plains stretched from the wood line to the foothills. Beyond, the Khur Mountains thrust jagged teeth into the soft underbelly of the blue sky. Before reaching the foothills, the ground dipped to form a shallow valley, large enough and just barely deep enough to conceal the four ox-drawn supply wagons, the small group of female draconians and their protectors. The presence of the valley was the main reason that Kang had chosen this ground as suitable for ambushing the goblins. He had stationed the wagons, the females, and Support Squadron at the south end of the valley, far enough from the fighting to be safe and yet near enough should they be needed.
The twenty female draconians sat or laid in the long grass, doing nothing. The bozaks dozed in the hot sun. Four of the baaz played at mumble-the-peg, in which one draconian, using her teeth, pulled out a peg that the others had driven into the ground with blows from a knife. Sivak twin sisters quarreled over a rabbit pelt that one had and the other wanted. The quarrel between the two had been dragging on for months, so long that by now everyone had forgotten which sister was in the right. Almost nothing was left of the pelt, which had traded hands several times, one stealing it from the other. Fonrar looked forward to the day when the pelt disintegrated completely, except that she knew the sisters would just find something els
e to quarrel over.
Fearing that if she listened to them any longer she’d end up throttling both of them, Fonrar left the group and took a walk up the small rise that would carry her out of the valley to the level grasslands beyond.
“Just stretching my legs,” she said to the draconian guard, who had been staring straight ahead. At sight of her, the guard had left off trying to see the battle and snapped into alert attention.
The female draconians were over a year old now and had attained their full growth. The casual observer would not be able to distinguish the males from the females at first or even second glance. Male and female draconians have dragon snouts and are covered in scales whose colors vary depending on the color of the unfortunate parents. Auraks have a golden sheen, sivaks are silver, bozaks bronze. The baaz have a brassy finish, and the kapaks are a rich copper. Most have wings, some larger, some smaller, with the exception of the auraks, who have no wings at all. Draconians have clawed feet and hands, long tails that are more like the tails of lizards than dragons. An astute observer might note that the female draconians are smaller in girth and height than their male counterparts, that their bone structure tends to be somewhat finer and lighter, that their wings and tails tend to be larger and longer.
There were other differences between the sexes, differences that were subtle, yet far more important. These had yet to be revealed to the world at large and to the draconians themselves. Males and females of races that had been on Krynn since time began had trouble understanding each other. Small wonder the draconian males were bemused and baffled by the female draconians.
Fonrar peered out at the battle. Although the long grass made it difficult to see exactly what was going on, what she could see alarmed her. A glance at the nervous guard confirmed her dismay. She shifted her gaze to Support Group and their leader, Fulkth. He too was staring grimly out across the plains, toward a large dark mass moving among the rippling grass.
“What are they doing?” Fonrar asked the guard, a baaz named Cresel. “I never saw our troops march backward before.”
Cresel twitched, his scales clicked. His eyes flicked toward her and then flicked away again. His tongue slid nervously out from between his teeth.
“The … uh … commander does that sometimes. Marches … er … backward. Good for … for discipline.”
Fonrar’s eyes narrowed. At that moment, a sivak soldier appeared, flying along just above the grass. Fonrar recognized Slith, Commander Kang’s second. Slith ran straight to Fulkth, began speaking urgently to him. The subcommander was undoubtedly relaying commands, explaining the situation. Fulkth, leader of Support Squadron, listened intently and nodded once.
Fonrar took a step toward them. She didn’t get far.
“Uh, miss,” said Cresel, moving to block her way with his body, “you shouldn’t be here, miss. The commander wouldn’t like it. You best go back with the rest of the girls.”
Moving with every appearance of meek obedience, Fonrar turned and, using her own wings, glided back over to where the “girls” lazed or dozed near the supply wagons. The females did not wear armor—they were never permitted anywhere near a battle.
As she came to a landing near the supply wagon, Fonrar cast an envious glance at the oxen, who were munching on the long grass. They, at least, had something to eat. Her empty stomach grumbled so much it seemed to have developed language skills. She knew very well that the females had been given the majority of what rations the draconians had left. She could only imagine how hungry the males must be.
And it didn’t look as if they were going to be feasting on goblin this night, as the commander had promised.
Fonrar walked to stand in the center of the small group of females.
“Troops,” said Fonrar, “something’s up.”
Thesik, the only aurak in the group and Fonrar’s best friend, lifted her head with her jerk. She punched the slumbering bozak beside her, who woke immediately. The game of mumble-the-peg ended. The quarrel over the rabbit pelt was forgotten. Within seconds, all the females were awake and alert, intent upon Fonrar, a bozak, who had become the unofficial leader among them.
“Something went wrong,” she said, lowering her voice, although she did not think they would be overheard. Their guards were clearly preoccupied with whatever was happening on the other side of the ridgeline. “The ambush failed. Our men are in retreat. We need to learn more about what is going on.” She looked at one of the twin sivaks, the sisters who’d been quarreling over the pelt. “Shanra, you know what to do.”
“Why does Shanra get to go all the time?” her twin, Hanra, grumbled.
“You went last time,” Fonrar said.
“No, I did not. It was Shanra last time. You always pick her. You like her best—”
Fonrar was in no mood for whining sivaks. She fixed Hanra with a piercing gaze and the sivak mumbled and fell silent.
Shanra entered one of the three large tents given over to the use of the females. Her sister, still grousing, accompanied her. Inside the tent the argument picked up again.
“Ouch! That’s too tight! You’re pinching me!” and “Quick wriggling! I can’t buckle it if you’re squirming around like a toad!”
Fonrar would have put a stop to the argument if she thought the two were wasting time because of it. Knowing that this was the way they worked best, she kept silent, maintained patience. Within a few moments, Shanra emerged, her silvery scales covered by a breastplate, her head and face concealed by a helm. The females learned early on that the male draconians, in an effort to protect the young females from the harsh realities of life, would often lie to them. The females had resorted to spying upon the males in order to learn the truth. After sending in various sorties, Fonrar had discovered that using sivaks as infiltrators into the ranks of the males provided the best results. The female sivaks, it appeared, possessed an uncanny ability to blend with their surroundings. In a crowd of males, the sivaks were taken to be just another one of the guys. In a stand of fir trees, the sivaks could be mistaken for just another tree, so long as they didn’t move.
Accoutered in armor, even to the point of carrying a sword in a belt on her hip (the sword blade was broken, but she kept it in the sheath), Shanra could easily be mistaken for a male draconian.
Fonrar glanced over her shoulder. Their male guards were craning their heads, trying to follow the battle.
Keeping one eye on the guards, Fonrar looked Shanra over critically. “Good. Even I couldn’t tell the difference. Get going. The moment you find out something, hurry back!”
“I make a much better male,” Hanra said, pouting.
Fonrar pretended she didn’t hear.
Shanra grinned with pleasure at her commander’s praise. Saluting in an imitation of the males, she departed, heading for the ridgeline. Head up, wings folded, she walked with speed and confidence as Fonrar had taught her.
“Look like you’re supposed to be where you are and no one will give you a second glance,” Fonrar had instructed.
Fonrar could hear Fulkth shouting orders. He was deploying his archers along the top of the ridgeline. The one hitch was that if any of the guards decided that now was the time for a head count, they’d come up one sivak female short. Never mind goblins then. A missing female would send the camp into an uproar. Fonrar was fairly confident that the guards wouldn’t be doing much counting now. Still, just in case …
“You know what to do, girls,” Fonrar said briskly. “Into the tents. When one of you has been counted once, dash out the back of your tent and into Hanra’s and Shanra’s.”
* * * * *
That way, the males would always come up with twenty females.
Shanra walked boldly and confidently among the male draconians, who were dashing about in orderly chaos, some running to fetch their weapons, others racing to form ranks. Archers were already there, arrows nocked, waiting for the enemy to come within range. Their supply of steel arrowheads and shafts was running low. On the run from the
goblins, they hadn’t had time to forge more arrowheads or cut more shafts. They had been hoping to pick up arrows from their enemy on this raid, but that hope appeared now to be a forlorn one—unless they yanked them out of the dead.
“Make every shot count, men,” shouted the subcommander.
The archers nodded grimly. They did not need to be told.
Shanra’s objective was Squadron Leader Fulkth. He was standing in the middle of a knot of officers, issuing rapid-fire orders. She intended to join them, to hear what they were saying, when suddenly the meeting came to an end. The officers departed, hastening to carry out their commands. Fulkth remained, talking to a single draconian—Slith.
Shanra halted in alarm. She had not seen Slith standing there. Her view of him had been blocked by the wings of some of the bozaks. She turned quickly sideways, using her own wings to conceal her face. If Slith looked at her too closely, she feared he would recognize a fellow sivak. Slith talked as if he were about to depart, so Shanra lingered, keeping her head down, pretending to be adjusting one of the leather straps on her armor.
“I’ve got to go back to my command,” Slith was saying. “Get your men moving!”
“Wait a moment.” Fulkth detained him. “You can tell me the truth, Slith. It’s really bad this time, isn’t it?”
Slith’s expression was tense. “There must be a thousand goblins in those woods. Not to mention hobgoblins. Maybe a thousand of them, too. We didn’t hang around to count ’em.” His tail lashed moodily. “It was as neat and slick an ambush as I’ve ever seen. Had to be, you know, for the commander to tumble into it.”
“A thousand gobbos,” Fulkth was counting. “And a thousand hobs. We’re each of us good for three, maybe four, gobbos, but, after that—” He shook his head.
“After that comes the hobs,” said Slith practically. “And they’re hard to kill, those bastards. They just don’t know how to die.”
