Margaret Weis: Dragons of Summer Flame

The knight shrugged. Picking up a handful of pebbles, he began tossing them idly into the water. “The Gray Knights started it all. Some sort of augury revealed the location of this island and that it was inhabited by large numbers of people.” “So who warned us not to come?”

“The Gray Knights. The same augury which told them of this island warped them not to come near it. They tried to persuade Ariakan to leave well enough alone. Said that this place could mean disaster.”

The other knight frowned, glanced around with growing unease. “Then why were we sent?”

“The upcoming invasion of Ansalon. Lord Ariakan felt this move was necessary to protect his flanks. The Gray Knights couldn’t say exactly what sort of threat this island posed. Nor could they say specifically that the disaster would be caused by our landing on the island. As Lord Ariakan pointed out, disaster might come even if we did nothing. And so he decided to follow the old dwarven dictum: It is better to go looking for the dragon than have the dragon go looking for you.”

“Good thinking,” his companion agreed. “If there is an army of Solamnic Knights on this island, it’s better that we deal with them now. Not mat it seems likely.”

He gestured at the wide stretches of sand beach, at the dunes covered with grayish green grass, and, farther inland, a forest of the ugly, misshapen trees butting up against the clawlike hills. “I can’t imagine why the Solamnics would come here. I can’t imagine why anyone would come here. Elves wouldn’t live in a place this ugly.”

“No caves, so the dwarves wouldn’t like it. Minotaur would have attacked us by now. Kender would have walked off with the boat and our armor. Gnomes would have met us with some sort of fiend-driven fish-catching machine. Humans like us are the only race foolish enough to live on such a wretched isle,” the knight concluded cheerfully. He picked up another handful of rocks.

“Perhaps a rogue band of draconians or hobgoblins. Ogres even. Escaped twenty-some odd years ago, after the War of the Lance. Red north, across the sea, to avoid capture by the Solamnic Knights.”

“Yes, but they’d be on our side,” his companion answered. “And our knight wizards wouldn’t have their gray robes in a knot over it. Ah, here come our scouts, back to report. Now we’ll find out.”

The knights rose to their feet. The brutes who had been sent into the island’s interior hurried forward to meet their leaders. The barbarians were grinning hugely. Their near-naked bodies glistened with sweat. The blue paint, with which they had covered themselves, and which was supposed to possess some sort of magical properties such as causing arrows to bounce right off, ran down their muscular bodies in rivulets. Long scalp-locks, decorated with colorful feathers, bounced on their backs as they loped easily over the sand dunes.

The two knights exchanged glances, relaxed.

“What did you find?” the knight asked the leader, a gigantic, red-haired fellow who towered over both knights, could have probably picked up each of them and held them above his head, and who regarded both knights with unbounded reverence and respect.

“Men,” answered the brute. They were quick to learn and had adapted easily to the Common language spoken by most of the various races of Krynn. Unfortunately, to the brutes, all people not of their race were known as “men.”

The brute lowered his hand near the ground to indicate small men, which might mean dwarves but was more probably children. He moved it to waist height, which most likely indicated women. This the brute confirmed by cupping two hands over his breast and wiggling his hips. His comrades laughed and nudged each other.

“Men, women and children,” said the knight. “Many men? Lots of men? Big buildings? Walls? Cities?”

The brutes apparently thought this was hilarious, for they all burst into raucous laughter.

“What did you find?” repeated the knight sharply, scowling. “Stop the nonsense.”

The brutes sobered rapidly.

“Many men,” said the leader, “but no walls. Houses.” He made a face, shrugged, shook his head and added something in his own language.

“What does that mean?” asked the knight of his comrade.

“Something to do with dogs,” said the other, who had led brutes before and had started picking up some of their language. “I think he means that these men live in houses only dogs would live in.”

Several of the brutes now began walking about stoop-shouldered, swinging their arms around their knees and grunting. Then they all straightened up, looked at each other, and laughed again.

“What in the name of our Dark Majesty are they doing now?” the knight demanded.

“Beats me,” said his comrade. “I think we should have a look for ourselves.” He drew his sword partway out of its black leather scabbard. “Danger?” he asked the brute. “We need steel?”

The brute laughed again. Taking his own short sword (the brutes fought with two, long and short, as well as with bows and arrows), he thrust it into the tree, turned his back on it.

The knight, reassured, returned his own sword to its scabbard. The two followed their guides. Leaving the beach, they walked deeper into the forest of misshapen trees. They walked about half a mile along what appeared to be an animal path, then reached the village.

Despite the antics of the brutes, the knights were completely unprepared for what they found. It seemed that they had come upon a people who had been stranded in the shallows, as the great river Time flowed past them, leaving them untouched.

“By Hiddukel,” one said in a low voice to the other. “ ‘Men’ is too strong a term. Are these men? Or are they beasts?”

“They’re men,” said the other, staring around, amazed. “But such men as we’re told walked Krynn during the Age of Twilight. Look! Their tools are made of wood. They carry wooden spears. And crude ones at that.”

“Wooden-tipped, not stone,” said the other. “Mud huts for houses. Clay cooking pots. Not a piece of steel or iron in sight. What a pitiable lot! I can’t see how they could be much danger, unless it’s from filth. By the smell, they haven’t bathed since the Age of Twilight either.”

“Ugly bunch. More like apes than men. Don’t laugh. Look stern and threatening.”

Several of the male humans—if human they were, it was so difficult to tell beneath the animal hides they wore—crept up to the knights. The “man-beasts” walked bent over, their arms swinging at their sides, knuckles almost dragging on the ground. Their heads were covered with long, shaggy hair; unkempt beards almost hid their faces. They bobbed and shuffled and gazed at the knights in openmouthed awe. One of the man-beasts actually drew near enough to reach out a grimy hand to touch the black, shining armor.

A brute moved to interpose his own massive body in front of the knight.

The knight waved the brute off, drew his sword. The steel flashed in the sunlight. He turned to one of the squat trees. With their twisted limbs and gnarled trunks, the trees very much resembled the people who lived underneath them. The knight raised his sword and sliced off a tree limb with one swift stroke.

The man-beast dropped to his knees, groveled in the dirt, making piteous, blubbering sounds.

“I think I’m going to vomit,” said the knight to his comrade. “Gully dwarves wouldn’t associate with this lot.”

“You’re right there.” The knight continued his inspection. “You and I between us could wipe out the entire tribe.”

“We could, but we’d never be able to clean the stench off our swords,” said the other.

“What should we do? Kill them?”

“Small honor in it. These wretches obviously aren’t any threat to us. Our orders were to find out who or what was inhabiting the island, then return and make our report. For all we know, these people may be the favorites of some god, who might be angered if we harmed them. Perhaps that is what the Gray Knights meant by disaster.”