Draconian Measures

by Don Perrin

  A raucous blaring of horns announced the goblin advance. The draconians answered with their own horns and defiant jeers, urging the goblins to come on and be slaughtered.

  Kang reached his own area. The females gathered around him, looking uncertain, wondering what was happening. Kang peered through the smoke until he finally caught sight of one of his officers. He let out a roar. Gloth turned, saw him, came dashing up.

  “Sir! Thank the Queen! Do we let the Dragon loose now?”

  Kang was about to answer when something buzzed past him with a sound like an angry hornet.

  Thesik gave a cry and clutched at her upper arm. The shaft of an arrow stuck out from her scales, quivering. Blood welled up between her fingers.

  The arrow had not come from over the wall. It had come from somewhere behind them. Kang whipped around to see two goblins crouched beside the wreckage of a storage shed, reloading short bows.

  “Troop, charge!” Fonrar ordered.

  Howling in rage at the injury done to one of their own, the females, led by Riel, dashed toward the goblins.

  “Sir!” Gloth cried in agony. “Should they be waving those swords around like that? They might cut themselves.”

  Seeing death coming down on them, the two goblins dropped their bows and ran, but their short legs were no match for the draconians. Shanra sliced the head off one with a deft stroke. Riel spitted the other on the end of her sword, driving it clean through the goblin’s breastbone. Lifting the goblin, she tossed the corpse onto a rubbish heap.

  “I don’t think they’re going to cut themselves too badly,” Kang said dryly. “Don’t let the dragon go yet. I have to see what’s happening outside the walls. Wait for my signal before you release the tether. When you see Granak wave the regimental standard, cut the dragon loose.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gloth replied, and with an amazed glance at the females and a puzzled shake of his head, he dashed off.

  Kang grabbed hold of a couple of passing draconian soldiers and was about to order them to find out where the goblins had breached the walls. But Fonrar was well ahead of him.

  “Troop,” she said, addressing the females, “we’ve got to find where these goblins have broken through. You bozaks and sivaks, prepare to follow me!”

  The females ran off, heading for the section of wall near the barracks.

  Kang’s next concern was to make certain Thesik was all right and that she was removed to the safety of the barracks. He turned to issue those orders, only to see a detail of kapak females carrying Thesik in their arms, bearing her to safety under Fonrar’s direction.

  Fonrar turned to wave at Kang. “She’s going to be fine, sir. You don’t need to worry about us. You deal with the goblins. Good luck, sir!”

  I’m to deal with the goblins, he thought. Like I dealt with monsters under the blankets and bears in the woods and nightmares and sniffles. They have faith in me. Please the gods, wherever they are, that I don’t let them down.

  He turned to Granak, standing at his side as usual, quiet, reliable, waiting for orders. “Fetch the standard and follow me. We’re going to the gate.”

  Granak grabbed the standard of the First Dragonarmy Engineers, which had been planted firmly at the base of the tether rope holding the Drunken Dragon in place. Four draconians under Dremon’s command were straining to hang onto the tether, which was pulled taut, as if the ugly beast was eager to fly off and wreck havoc on its enemies.

  “Not long now,” Kang promised.

  Granak returned, bearing the standard. Kang ran toward the front gate, Granak loping along behind. Their route took them down a narrow street that ran between two regimental barracks. Passing a side street, Kang saw a regiment of armored draconians lined up in ranks. He wondered what in the Abyss they were doing lollygaging down here when there was fighting to be done on the walls. Then he remembered. These dracos were the reaction force Maranta was holding back for a sally out the front gate. The general was no longer around to give them the order.

  Kang found their officer, recognized Prokel.

  “I’m going to need you,” Kang hollered over the shrieks and clatter and the thudding of boulders down into the compound. The siege engines had arrived. “Wait for my orders!”

  Prokel yelled back. “General Maranta—”

  “—is dead,” Kang shouted. “Wait for my orders.”

  Running off before the stunned Prokel could argue, Kang and Granak arrived at the gate to find the stairs leading up to the ramparts on the left side of the gate had caught fire, filling the air with flame and smoke and imperiling the draconians fighting on top of the wall. No one could go up that way and the draconians on top had no way down except flight. On the right, the staircase was clogged with baaz climbing up and other baaz trying to climb down. A baaz stood at the top, cursing and yelling at another baaz at the bottom. Every so often a dead baaz would pitch off the wall, turning to stone as he fell.

  Kang wondered if these were veteran soldiers or some of Maranta’s dunderheads. Not that it mattered. Without strong leadership, in the chaos of battle, discipline would almost certainly break down.

  “I’ll handle this, sir,” Granak said, and waded into the confusion. “Move your tails, you damn dim-witted skinks!” he yelled, and when no one seemed either able or inclined to obey, he began pushing, shoving, elbowing and kicking his way up the stairs with Kang following close behind. “Move! Move!”

  Baaz fell left and right, tumbling over the railing, slammed back against the sides. Order was restored. Reaching the top of the wall, Kang was at last able to see clearly what was going on.

  Two goblin phalanxes had pushed to the walls and were attempting to raise scaling ladders. Two hobgoblin phalanxes had moved in to try to batter down the gate. One phalanx had a battering ram covered with an iron shield to protect the hobgoblins carrying it from archery and boiling oil. Behind the ram, another phalanx of several hundred hobgoblins carried the banners of the general. Kang saw the gigantic hobgoblin leader himself, laughing and joking with the members of his retinue as he watched the progress of the battle.

  Arrows thick as locusts hummed around Kang and Granak. One smashed into Kang’s breastplate.

  “Sir!” Granak cried in shock.

  “I’m not hurt,” Kang yelled. Pulling the arrow out, he threw it down in disgust. He grabbed hold of a nearby sivak, who was screaming defiance at the goblins below and taking aim at them with a javelin.

  “Who’s in charge here?” Kang demanded, jerking the sivak around to face him.

  The sivak looked startled. “Uh, I don’t know, sir. Aren’t you?”

  Kang released the sivak, who tossed his javelin at the enemy. The next moment, the sivak fell back, an arrow in the eye. His shape shifted as he fell to the ground below and he landed looking like the goblin who had slain him. Kang glanced about, saw no other officer. He took a look at that hob general, took a look at the sky. Despite being obscured by smoke, the dawn was coming, the sun was starting to rise. In the smoky, dusky half-light, the Drunken Dragon might almost look real. He reminded himself again that goblins were shortsighted.

  “Granak, now!” Kang yelled.

  Granak took a pace back and turned toward the interior of the fort. He raised the standard above his head and waved it once, twice. Then the flag jerked, wavered.

  A javelin hurled from a small ballista struck the huge draconian between shoulder blades. The blow carried Granak off the ramparts, sent him crashing to the ground right in the midst of a troop of baaz. The standard fell with him.

  As Kang watched Granak fall, time slowed. Granak fell slowly, so slowly that it seemed to Kang as if he might reach out and snatch him back, snatch him back to his place on the wall beside Kang, snatch him back to life. The sound of battle died away. All Kang could hear was the flutter of flag as it spiraled down to land beside the body of the huge sivak who had carried it so proudly.

  “Sir!” Someone was jostling him. “Sir! What are your orders?”

&nbs
p; Kang turned his head. A group of veteran baaz was gathered around him. They clutched their bloody weapons in bloody hands, stared at him hopefully. Beyond them, he could see more of his people, fighting, dying. He looked back down to the ground, but he could not see Granak or the standard amidst the chaos below.

  “Sir,” the baaz said again, afraid and desperate. “Your orders?”

  I’m to deal with the goblins. Please the gods, wherever they are, that I don’t let my people down.

  The noise of battle returned to him with roar.

  He grabbed hold of the nearest baaz.

  “You! You’re now my standard bearer. Do you understand? Go and get that standard and bring it up here. Run, damn you! Run!”

  The baaz blinked in surprise. This wasn’t what he’d expected, but he’d asked for orders and he was quick to obey. He wasn’t from Kang’s regiment. Kang had no idea which regiment claimed ownership of the baaz, but right now, he was Kang’s. He deployed the other baaz, sent them to plug up holes in the wall where other dracos had fallen, reminding them again that if they were next to a bozak who died they were to shove the corpse over the wall into the enemy ranks, so that the resultant explosion would take out the enemy, not friends. He wondered briefly if someone would shortly be tossing his corpse down in the melee below, dismissed that thought as being stupid and irrelevant.

  “I have it, sir!” The baaz came running along the ramparts, carrying the standard. The flag was covered with blood and no longer looked like the regimental standard, but Fulkth would be watching for a flag—any flag—to wave four times.

  “Lift up the standard,” Kang ordered. “Lift it up high. As high as you can. This is the flag of the First Dragonarmy Engineers, son. We want everyone to see it.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the baaz. Risking his life, making himself an excellent target, he climbed up on top of a post and balanced there, his wings flapping gently.

  Arrows zipped around him, but none struck him.

  “Wave it four times,” Kang said. “Back and forth. Once, twice, three times, four. Excellent! Hop down, now, and stand there and do nothing until I tell you otherwise.”

  Kang waited, tensely. He peered through the smoke, trying to see the horizon. The mists swirled and parted and he saw blue sky. The day was going to dawn clear and fine. The sun’s rays streaked across the sky in bands of purple and red, a spectacular sunrise, reminding him that the world he might soon be leaving was indeed a lovely place.

  He looked down, blinking and trying to see through the smoke. The hobgoblins battered the gate with their iron-covered ram. Draconian arrows fired at them were having little effect, due to their heavy armor and the shielding. The gate trembled, but held. Kang’s engineers had reinforced it, but it wouldn’t hold long. He looked back over his shoulder. And there was the Drunken Dragon, lifting up into that glory-streaked sky.

  Kang choked back a wild impulse to laugh hysterically. He knew he’d better, for the laugh might change in an instant to a sob.

  The dragon looked like no dragon Kang had ever seen. The dragon looked like no dragon ever born. It was the color of brown goo mixed with red clay. Its wings creaked as they raised and squeaked as they lowered. Its tail looked broken, for it hung at an odd angle. Flames from the numerous fires burning in the fort were reflected in its sword blade teeth. Smoke coiled not only out of its nostrils but out of every gap where wood and goo didn’t quite meet. The Drunken Dragon probably wouldn’t fool the goblins. They would be more likely to fall down on the ground, prostrate with laughter. Yet Kang was proud, as he watched it creaking and squeaking and jerking on its tether. His men had done a good job against overwhelming odds.

  “Look at that, will you?” one veteran draconian snickered to another. But his comrade was fighting for his life and dared not risk looking. Those who did manage to catch a glimpse of the Drunken Dragon, rising ponderously up out of the smoke, shook their heads, rolled their eyes and went back to the business of slaughter.

  “That’s all right,” Kang told them. “Sneer if you want. So it won’t fool the goblins. It doesn’t have to. All it has to do is fall down on top of them—” He gargled, his words dying away in awe.

  The clunky Drunken Dragon had vanished. In its place flew an enormous golden dragon, beautiful, awful. Gold scales flamed in the red-purple sunlight, dazzling the eye. Golden wings beat in a graceful motion. The gold’s fearsome jaws parted in a terrible snarl of hatred and fury, showing its fangs, sharp and gleaming.

  Kang staggered backward, nearly fell off the parapet. His first thought was that he’d gone mad. He was hallucinating. Wild ideas tore through his head. The Solamnic Knights had sent a gold to massacre them all. A gold had dropped out of the skies … but no.

  Dragonfear! he thought. I should be falling down and peeing myself with terror. All of us should. But I’m not. I don’t feel the dragonfear. Which meant that this gold wasn’t real.

  Rational thought took hold again, though with a struggle. He could still hear the wheeze and clack and rattle of the hot-air dragon. He could see the guy ropes falling away until only one rope remained—the fuse to light the keg bombs. The fuse was lit, flame creeping slowly along the rope.

  The Drunken Dragon was still there. The Drunken Dragon was the golden dragon. It was all an illusion, Kang realized. Someone had cast a powerful illusion spell. Someone had transformed his brown goo-covered hot-air dragon into a beautiful, wondrous golden monster rising up out of the smoke and flame of battle.

  Now from all around came shouts and cries of astonishment, terror, fear. The cries were in two languages, goblin and draconian. Friend and foe alike ceased their fighting and lifted their heads to stare.

  “An illusion!” Kang shouted in draconian. “It’s magic— Oh, never mind!”

  He trusted that after their first surprise, the draconians would have sense enough to realize what was going on. And if they didn’t, well, their fear would make it more realistic.

  The dragon floated slowly over the gate, the flapping of its wings wafting away the smoke so that now it was clearly visible. A group of goblins had finally managed to plant one of their siege ladders and were starting to clamber over the side of the wall, swords gleaming, when the lead goblin looked up and saw a golden dragon hovering menacingly on top of him. He gave a shriek and fell backward, taking the ladder and all his comrades down with him. Up and down the ramparts, goblin battle cries changed to cries of terror.

  At the sight of the gold dragon, goblins who had managed to reach the walls dived head-first over the ramparts. Others flung themselves from ladders or tried to scramble down, knocking off those beneath them. Goblin soldiers on the ground flung aside their weapons and turned to flee. Their shouts and screams and panicked retreat threw the ranks advancing behind them into confusion.

  Oblivious to his own safety, Kang leaned over the ramparts, staring out onto the field, trying to see the hobgoblin general. Smoke swirled before his eyes. He cursed it and flapped his hand at it and then the smoke parted. The hobgoblin general was no longer joking and laughing. He was staring open-mouthed at the dragon. His retinue were pointing and, in some cases, starting to run for their lives.

  The hob’s mouth shut with a snap. Then it opened again, thundering orders. He had been fooled at first, but, like Kang, he had reached the same conclusion. He knew the dragon wasn’t real and he was trying to quell the panic, stop the stampede. His officers advanced onto the field wielding whips and shouting commands. But for goblins mad with fear, the whips and shouting only increased the confusion.

  Kang started to do a little victory dance, then he noted that the thudding sound of the battering ram against the gate had not ceased. Cursing, he looked down at the hobgoblins. Either they had heard the orders of their general or they were not intimidated by the sight of a golden dragon or they had seen through the illusion. Whatever the reason, they had not ceased their efforts to take the gate and the hobgoblin soldiers behind them held their positions.

  Kang
regarded them with grudging admiration and even saluted their commander. The hobgoblins would all be dead in a few moments. Kang could afford to be generous. He glanced upward. The illusion of the golden dragon was gone for him. He could see the wing-flapping, clunky contraption sailing ponderously out over the gate. It was heading straight for the hobgoblin troops, straight for their general. The fuse …

  The fuse had gone out.

  Kang stared at the trailing fuse with sickening horror. It shouldn’t have gone out. Slith had assured him that it would never go out. Wind would not blow it out, rain would not soak it out. Yet, it was out. Kang stared until his eyes ached, searching for a glimmer of fire, a tiny spark. He tried to convince himself that it was still burning, but at last he was forced to admit in despair that Slith had made a mistake. The Drunken Dragon was going to fly serenely over the goblins and keep on flying until all the hot air had drained from it and it made an ignominious landing twenty miles distant, ending up as nothing more than a corpse of broken pine wood covered with brown goo.

  Flaming arrows would do the trick. Kang searched about frantically for an arrow that might have been fired, but hadn’t gone out. Of course, now that he wanted flaming arrows, the goblins had quit firing them. He would signal his troops, see if he could make them understand the problem. From their vantage point, they would not be able to see the dangling fuse. They would not know that it had gone out.

  Kang turned to his new standard bearer to find nothing but a pile of dust and no standard. He had no idea where it had gone, guessed that it had fallen over the battlements and was lying somewhere on the wrong side of the wall.

  The Drunken Dragon flew over the gate with a hundred-foot clearance.

  Magic, Kang thought desperately. If I had my magic, I could cast a spell to blow up the dragon.

  Other draconians had magic. He’d seen that for himself. The magic within them had not died with the departure of the Queen of Darkness.

  Kang remembered very clearly how he would kneel before the altar, whisper his prayers to the Queen. He remembered her blessings falling on him, remembered the thrill that burned through his body as the magic filled him.