Jeff Crook - Dark Thane

Tarn quickly clambered to his feet. A good head taller than any of the other dwarves in his company, he could see the whole battle from his protected position within the circle. Still, this made him an obvious target, and he knocked aside one spear with his sword, while trying to figure out his best move. All around him, his dwarves were battling furiously, some of them engaging two or three opponents at once. In one glance, he knew that they couldn’t last for very long. More and more draconians were climbing onto the road, while his dwarves were slowly being cut down before his eyes. Ilbars Bleakfell rose up beside him, sword drawn, and eyes blazing.

Then a gap opened as a dwarf fell with a spear through his heart. Tarn grabbed Ilbars by the shoulder and rudely thrust the surprised dwarf into the gap. He turned and looked back the way they had come. There didn’t appear to be as many draconians attacking from the rear. He might be able to slip out of this trap, but only if he acted swiftly, before the draconians cut off their escape route.

Tarn was about to shout orders that would shift his dwarves into a column when he heard words of magic being chanted.

“Wizard!” he shouted, seeking out the source of the eerie words.

Too late, he saw the bozak draconian standing at the road’s edge, its brown robes caked with mud. The creature lifted its hands, and as it did so Tarn threw himself to the muddy ground. Crying in surprise and rage, nearly a third of Tarn’s dwarves suddenly found themselves engulfed in thick sticky strands of web.

Tarn scrambled to his feet, brushing clinging fibers from his arm and beard. Mog was instantly at his side, pulling him away from the battle. Half the draconians attacked the entrapped and helpless dwarves, slaughtering them mercilessly. The other draconians surged toward Tarn and the others, who had fallen back in disorder at the actions of the magic-user.

Tarn barked a quick series of commands that brought the dwarves together in an inverted V shape just in time. The bozak came up, already casting another spell. Tarn braced himself and shouted for shields to be raised. Two bolts of white energy exploded from the draconian’s fingertips and streaked toward Tarn. Brave Mog threw himself into their path, but the gesture was futile, as the bolts wove past him and the shields to strike Tarn full in the chest. They seemed to burn through both layers of his armor, searing into his flesh like gouts of molten metal. He sank to one knee, screaming in agony.

Mog stared in horror at his fallen thane then turned, his face flushing crimson. He knew that the bozak must be stopped, but the few dwarves who had been armed with crossbows had long since switched to axes or hammers. Casting about, he saw a spear lying half trampled in the mud. Jerking it free, he hefted it and rushed the advancing draconian line.

Those draconians who had shields lifted them to their shoulders, but Mog halted halfway and flung his spear. It sailed over their heads and thudded into the bozak magic-user’s chest. So forceful was Mog’s throw that the head of the spear burst out a good arm’s length from the creature’s back. Its eyes widened in surprise as it clutched the shaft and staggered forward.

Mog then dropped back, ordering the others to retreat. He quickly reached Tarn’s side and lifted his gasping thane under one arm, retrieving his war axe with his free hand. Tarn struggled to stand on his own feet, even as the smell of his own burning flesh filled his nostrils. Nevertheless, he fought through the pain. He didn’t have the luxury of hurting.

Meanwhile, the dying bozak, clutching the spear that transfixed its body, wasn’t done. It half ran, half staggered toward the dwarves, its hideous reptilian mouth champing a bloody froth. The other draconians parted to let it pass, then closed ranks and held their ground. The dwarves at the head of the inverted V eagerly awaited the bozak magic-user, and, when the wounded creature got close enough, swarmed forward and hacked him to pieces. Strangely the other draconians merely watched their leader die under the dwarven axes. Blinking through the pain, Tarn watched, baffled. It almost seemed that the draconians were smiling.

As the bozak fell to the ground, its flesh instantly turned to dust, leaving behind a gleaming draconian skeleton. One of the dwarves stooped to retrieve Mog’s spear, dragging it free of the hollow rib cage. At that instant, the bones exploded violently. The dwarf stooping over it vanished in a glowing golden ball of fire, his gore spattering the survivors. Others were flung back, their bodies riddled with bone fragments. The rest fell back in horror, utterly amazed and routed. With a shrill, inhuman cry, the draconians charged again. They fell upon the confused and dazed dwarves like wolves among thunderstruck sheep, slaughtering left and right.

Mog battled valiantly to keep them away from his injured thane. There seemed no end to the draconians. They swept around the surviving dwarves, cutting off their retreat. At last there were only four dwarves, drawn together shoulder to shoulder, Mog, Tarn, and two young Klar warriors barely into their beards. Their swords and axes wove a deadly net of steel that piled stony baaz corpses about their feet. Tarn thrust his blade through the chest of one and failed to withdraw it quickly enough. As the draconian fell, its body turned to stone, trapping Tarn’s sword and yanking it from his grasp. He quickly picked up a curved draconian blade.

After the initial onslaught, the baaz draconians fell back a pace from the four dwarves. Then several kapaks came forward, armed with crossbows. Neither Tarn nor Mog had a shield, and of their two young companions, one’s life was quickly escaping through a spear wound in his thigh. Yet this young one grimly stood his ground and raised his shield to protect his king with the last of his strength. Tarn gripped the unfamiliar sword, all the dark rage of his mother’s Daergar blood rising in him. His chest wound forgotten, his neck muscles standing out like cords, he prepared himself for his last moments on Krynn. Unbidden, the memory of his wife, Crystal Heathstone, came to his mind. Her face seemed to float before him, smiling in that particular way of hers. He laughed suddenly, emboldened.

Mog joined him, a sudden bellow of unbridled mirth erupting from his lips, as though somehow he had shared Tarn’s vision. Tarn looked at him as though the Klar warrior had lost his mind. Then he heard what Mog had heard, and now the king’s laughter changed to a cry of challenge. The draconians paused and with furrowed brows, looked north.

Ferro’s face drained of blood, leaving his pale skin an even more sickly shade than before. He watched in utter horror, unable to tear his gaze away. The slaughter was terrible to behold.

The draconians had slain all but four of the dwarves—unfortunately not Tarn, nor his captain, and two Klar guards wearing the livery of Pax Tharkas. They had the four surrounded, and kapaks were just about to end the king’s life in a hail of heavy crossbow bolts. But then… !

Disaster was too small a word to describe it. Ferro turned to the Theiwar scout who had just brought the bad news and, drawing his dagger, plunged it furiously into the scout’s throat. The other Theiwar warriors shifted uncomfortably as one of their own was murdered before their eyes.

Ferro turned to the others, hissing, “Why didn’t anyone warn me that Otaxx Shortbeard was following with half the warriors in Pax Tharkas? What do I pay you people for?”

There was no time for any reply.

The roar of the charging dwarves shook droplets of water from the surrounding trees. As quickly as Tarn’s small band of dwarves had been decimated by the larger draconian force, now the draconians were falling back in disarray. Leaderless, baaz joined with baaz and kapak with kapak, fighting as two separate forces against the united might of Otaxx’s Hylar and Daewar force. A wedge of dwarf fighters drove between the two groups of draconians. The baaz were forced into the swamp, where they were quickly slaughtered or drowned, dragged down by their armor. The kapaks managed to hold together and retreat along the road, directly toward Ferro and his Theiwar mercenaries.