Concerned at this breach of discipline, the officers looked worriedly at their commander, but Kang only grinned and waved a clawed hand. Let the men enjoy themselves for a few moments at least. They’d had little enough to enjoy these past few weeks.
The only draconians not involved in the snowball fight were those wearing the fur-lined knapsacks containing the treasure, the most valuable treasure ever to come to the draconians, a treasure that would be the salvation of their dying race. Small squeaks and the occasional squall could be heard coming from the knapsacks; a snout thrust out of the flap of one, snuffling the air. The baby female draconians felt the warmth of the sun. Perhaps, hearing the laughter, they wanted to join in the fun, but Kang worried that even with the sunshine, the air was still too chilly to allow the babies out in the open.
The babies were growing, they’d doubled in size during the five months since the draconians had rescued them from Mount Celebundin. The draconians and Kang in particular were extraordinarily protective of the little ones. The young were rarely permitted to leave their snug womblike knapsacks. The babies were intensely curious, they had no sense of danger or self-preservation, they viewed everyone as a friend. The one day he had permitted the young to be set loose, he’d regretted it.
Once outside the protective confines of the knapsacks, the young stood on wobbly legs, looked at everything with their bright eyes, and immediately took off in forty different directions. Kang was astonished. He had no idea little draconians could move that fast. Within seconds, the babies were into everything-rummaging through the rations, leaving slashing claw marks on the waterskins, tumbling headfirst into the creek. One sought to make acquaintance with a skunk with disastrous, odiferous consequences. Another baby cut her foot on a spear and wailed as if she had been impaled, sending the adult draconians into a panic until they eventually discovered that the wound was completely superficial.
After that the worst happened. They took a count, discovered one of the babies missing. The entire army turned the woods upside down searching for the young female. They found her at last, curled up sound asleep beneath an overturned shield. By the end of the day, Kang felt as though he had aged a hundred years. It had been the worst day of his life, and that counted innumerable battles against humans, dwarves, and elves. Compared to looking after these children, a fight with a mighty gold dragon seemed an idyllic respite. He vowed that from then on, the babies would be kept under close confinement and careful watch.
For the sixth hundredth and seventy-first time, Kang wondered if he’d made the right decision, taking the babies on this long journey. For the sixth hundred and seventy-second time, his inner self came back wearily with, “What else could you do? You couldn’t stay in the valley. You tried to live peacefully among the other races, and it didn’t work. Best to find a place of your own, far from the rest of civilization where you can retire from the world and its lunacy, make a home, raise your families.”
Squatting on his haunches in the snow, Kang reached for the map pouch. He pulled out a well-worn map, hunched over it, studied it.
“I doubt if the city’s moved, sir,” said Gloth, peering over his shoulder. “Nope, there it is.” He pointed a claw.
“Right where it was yesterday. And the day before yesterday. And the day before that-”
“Very funny,” Kang growled. He spread his wings, so that Gloth couldn’t see, and gazed at the map.
It had been drawn by dwarves, and he had to admit that the little creeps could do two things well in this world: make dwarf spirits and draw maps. He located the dot that marked the draconians’ destination, their future, their hopes. A ruined city, abandoned, probably for good reason, for it was near Neraka, the former capital of the evil empire of Queen Takhisis. The dwarves reported that the city was filled with all sorts of terrible beings: undead, ghouls, skeletal warriors, perhaps even kender. What terrified dwarves, though, might not be so terrifying to draconians.
Whoever chased out the current inhabitants would have a ready-made city. All it would take would be a little fixing up, and Kang and his engineers were experts in that. The dot had taken on such importance that it seemed to glow every time he looked at it. He had known the trail would be difficult, for it led through the Khalkist Mountains, but he had not expected the snows, which were early for this time of year. Kang leaned back, flexed his wings.
A buzz like an angry wasp-except that no self-respecting wasp would be out in this weather-ripped through the map. Had Kang been leaning forward, as he had been just a split second earlier, the arrow would have torn through a wing, come to rest in his skull. As it was, Gloth was staring stupidly at an arrow lodged in his thick, muscular thigh.
“Take cover!” Kang shouted. “We’re under attack!”
The draconians acted with alacrity, their playful fight forgotten. Those carrying the young sought the shelter of the woods, their comrades fanning out to cover them. More arrows sliced through the winter air, some finding their marks to judge by the yells.
“You bozaks! Stay clear of the young!” Kang shouted.
The bodies of all draconians are lethal to their killers. The baaz turn to stone, entrapping the weapon that had killed them. Others turn to pools of acid. When a bozak draconian dies, he effects revenge on his killer. His bones explode, killing or maiming anything in the vicinity. The draconians entrusted with the babies were baaz, who changed to stone.
Kang reached out, jerked the arrow from Cloth’s leg. A trickle of blood followed, but due to the draconian’s scales, the arrow had done little damage. The story would have been different if that arrow had found its target- Kang’s skull. He and the wounded Gloth sought shelter in the trees.
Kang studied the bloody arrow closely and swore bitterly. “Slith!” he yelled, hunkering down. “Where’s Slith?”
“Here, sir!” Slith came sliding and slipping through the snow.
“Who’s attacking us?” Kang demanded.
“Goblins, sir,” said Slith, looking apologetic.
“I thought you said we’d left those bastards behind!”
“I thought we had, sir,” said Slith. “We left their lands two days ago! Sir,” he said, lowering his voice, and dropping down beside his leader, “have you ever known those lazy slugs to leave their warm caves and track an enemy through the snow when he’s no longer a threat?”
“We never were a threat!” Kang protested. “I can understand the goblins wanting to protect their own territory, but we told them we were just passing through, and we passed through!”
“Yes, sir,” said Slith respectfully. “That’s what I mean. Going back to my original question about the goblins, have you known them to be this persistent, sir?”
“No,” Kang admitted gloomily. He looked at the arrow he was still carrying, shook it as though it were personally responsible for nearly skewering him. “I haven’t seen goblins carry well-crafted arrows like this before.”
As if to emphasize his words, another arrow whistled through the tree branches, thunked into the bole of a tree next to where Kang was crouching. An explosion, far off in the woods, told him that one of the bozaks had departed this world.
“You men keep your heads down!” Kang bellowed. He looked worriedly around for the soldiers carrying the young, hoped they’d found adequate cover.