Margaret Weis - Dragons of The Dwarven Depths

Dray-yan sat at the large obsidian table in the late Lord Verminaard’s chambers and drank the last of his lordship’s elven wine. The aurak made a mental note to order the commander charged with battling the elves to send him another barrel. As he sipped the wine, Dray-yan reviewed the events of the past several days, judging how they would affect his future plans. The aurak draconian was pleased with how some things had turned out, not so pleased with others. The red dragons dispatched to Pax Tharkas by Her Dark Majesty had, as expected, seen through Dray-yan’s illusion of Verminaard. Insulted at the idea of being ordered about by draconians, whom the dragons called disparagingly “rotten egg yolk,” the dragons had been on the verge of leaving.

Commander Grag took his prayers and plans to Queen Takhisis. She had graciously listened to him, and pleased with his ideas, she commanded the reds to remain in Pax Tharkas and to go along with Dray-yan’s schemes, at least for the time being. Grag informed Dray-yan that the queen was backing him only because she had no other commander she could spare to run the Red Dragonarmy. Dray-yan’s command was temporary. With success, it might become permanent.

Using the reluctant and grumbling help of the red dragons, Grag was able at last to reopen the pass blocked by the rock fall. Draconian troops marched into Pax Tharkas, though not in great numbers. The Red Dragonarmy was stretched thin. There were enough draconians to man the fortress, but not enough to use to work in the iron mines. Commanders in the field were desperate for weapons and armor. Steel was a more valuable commodity than gold. Dray-yan had to either regain his labor force or find new venues. He decided to do both.

Grag dispatched troops after the refugees. They picked up the trail immediately and followed it to a pass blocked by an avalanche and further blocked by new snow fall.

The reds declared that clearing this pass would be extremely difficult. Further, they made it clear to Dray-yan that clearing passes was tedious, boring, and unprofitable. In other parts of Ansalon, dragons were burning cities and raiding villages, not picking up rocks. The reds would not clear the pass, and if he did not come up with some sort of interesting and agreeable work for them, they were going to go elsewhere.

Dray-yan considered asking Takhisis to again intercede with the dragons, but he could not stomach the thought of once more crawling to his queen begging for help. Takhisis did not like whiners, and her supply of favors was limited. She liked commanders who took the initiative and went ahead with their own plans and ideas, leaving her free to move on with her own schemes. Dray-yan dropped the idea of marching his army through the pass. He conceived another idea, one that he hoped would win him recognition and praise from the Dark Queen.

Dray-yan did his own reconnaissance in the guise of Lord Verminaard and discovered where the refugees were hiding. He had the pleasure of seeing them run panic-stricken before him like sheep. He could only imagine their dismay as they witnessed the return of the man they’d thought they’d killed.

Having flown over the area, Dray-yan was satisfied that his plan would work. His idea would require him to do a good deal of persuading, but he hoped the dragons might find it diverting and would agree to go along with it. He was less certain how Commander Grag would feel about it. No time like the present to find out.

Dray-yan sent a messenger ordering Grag to attend him. Rather, Lord Verminaard sent the messenger. Dray-yan found it exhausting keeping up the charade, which required that he use his illusion magic every time he wanted to stick his head out the door and shout for a minion. He looked forward to the day when he could bury Verminaard once and for all. Hopefully, if this plan worked, that day would not be long in coming.

Grag arrived and was invited to partake of the wine. The commander refused, stating he was on duty.

“What do the blue dragon scouts report?” Dray-yan asked.

“One flew over the valley this morning at about dawn. The humans remain in the caves,” Grag replied. “They appear to be planning to stay there for the winter, for the dragon saw no signs of any preparations being made to leave.”

“Why should they leave?” Dray-yan asked with a shrug. “They do not think we can come through the pass.”

“They’re right. We can’t,” said Grag grimly.

“True, but there is more than one way to skin a human. I have a plan.” Dray-yan explained his idea.

Grag listened. First he was incredulous and stared at Dray-yan as though he’d gone mad. As Dray-yan elaborated, however, patiently explaining how this could be done, Grag began to realize that the aurak might be right. This could be done! The plan was daring, bold and dangerous but not impossible.

“What do you think?” Dray-yan asked finally.

“The reds must be convinced.”

“I will undertake to speak with them myself. I believe they will agree.” Grag thought so too. “My troops will need to time to train.”

Dray-yan eyed him, frowning. He hadn’t counted on this.

“Is that necessary?”

“Consider what you are asking them to do, yes!” Grag returned heatedly. Dray-yan considered, before waving a clawed hand in resignation. “Very well. How long?”

“A month.”

Dray-yan snorted. “Out of the question.”

“The humans are not going anywhere.”

“We don’t know that. You have one week.”

“Two,” Grag temporized, “or I will not agree.”

Dray-yan eyed him. “I could find another commander who would.”

“That is true,” said Grag coolly, “but that would mean one more who knows your little secret, Lord Verminaard.”

“You have two weeks,” Dray-yan said. “Make the most of the time.”

“I plan to.” Grag rose to his feet. “How do negotiations come with the dwarves of Thorbardin?”

“Quite well,” Dray-yan replied. “If this works out, we will have no need for the humans and you may simply kill them.”

“We’re going to a lot of trouble if we don’t really need them,” Grag pointed out.

“We cannot be seen to be weak. If nothing else, the deaths of these slaves will serve to instill fear in others who might be thinking of rebelling.”

Grag nodded. He hesitated a moment, then said, “You know I do not like you, Dray-yan.” Dray-yan’s lip curled. “We were not put into this world to be liked, Commander.”

“And that I would never stoop to flattery,” Grag continued.

“Where is all this leading, Commander? I have work to do.”

“I want to say that I consider this plan of yours one of genius. We will make history. Emperor Ariakas and the other Highlords will look on our race with new respect and admiration.”

“That is my hope,” said Dray-yan. Though he did not say it, he was pleased by Grag’s praise. He could already see himself in a Highlord’s armor. “Do your job well, Commander. You have two weeks.”

Grag saluted and left to start making arrangements.

“Oh, Commander,” Dray-yan called after him, “if you think of it, you might mention this brilliant plan of mine to Her Dark Majesty. Just mention it in passing…”

The valley in which the refugees sheltered formed a bowl perhaps ten miles long and ten miles wide. Flint and Tanis walked due south, keeping in the foothills at the base of the mountains, not descending into the valley. Flint set a meandering course. Tanis might have thought the dwarf was lost and wandering, but he’d traveled with Flint for many years and knew better. A dwarf might lose his way in the desert. A dwarf would most certainly lose himself at sea, should he ever have the misfortune to wind up there, but the dwarf had not been born who could get lost among the mountains and hills of Kharolis, long trod by the boots of his ancestors. Flint kept his gaze fixed on the stone walls that thrust up from the valley floor, and every so often, he would adjust their course, shift direction.