“Now get moving!”

This illustration also comes with a short story.

This story takes place in the world of the Dragonlance series, and is set several decades after the War of the Lance. However, it is also designed to stand alone. No familiarity with Dragonlance is required to enjoy this work!

However, do by all means skip the story if you would prefer. I’ve written some notes at the end, which you can find by scrolling down until you reach the double tilde.

Background music:

<The Haven: Charles Villiers Stanford – Birmingham Conservatoire Chamber Choir>

~

The sun’s fiery orb beat down through the clear sky, baking the hard ground underfoot, scorching what few plants could grow in the dusty soil of the village streets. It was hot – far too hot to be standing outdoors for any length of time – but it was Clotdoth’s good fortune to be stuck on guard duty on what was the hottest day of the year so far.

The baaz draconian leaned on his spear, the end of the shaft wearing a small hole in the dirt, and tried to nurse his thumping headache.

Last night had been a big one. Or, rather, so had the last few days. The draconians had launched a hugely successful raid on the nearby dwarven town of Celebundin earlier that week, netting not only good produce, but five barrels of ale and, wonderfully, three whole kegs of dwarf spirits. There was so much they’d had to bring it all back in a cart.

It was enough to warm the spirits.

But the spirits had been flowing pretty freely since then. It had been a while since there had been so much alcohol around the camp, and the boys were thirsty. There’d been a lot of partying – a lot – and right now there were no doubt a good few draconians holed up in the barracks, wishing away the sunlight. Clotdoth sighed.

Would that I could be doing the same.

He’d done what he could to go easy. He’d had to. This was his period on guard duty, and he couldn’t allow himself to fall asleep on the job, or to be too woozy to react quickly to any threats. Guard duty was taken very seriously, and rightly so, but it was particularly important for what was behind the door he was guarding.

Sure, storehouse duty wasn’t miles of fun, but it was vital. Along with their preserved meat, building supplies and feed for the animals, this storehouse held their entire supply of spirits. Those spirits were perhaps the most valuable commodity the camp possessed. Food they could get from anywhere, and could even grow to some extent – although farm duty was nearly the worst of all duties in the village – and building supplies they could always make again from the copious trees in the nearby forests, not to mention the plentiful mountain stone.

But the spirits they couldn’t do anything about. They couldn’t brew them, only the dwarves had that knowledge, and without something to look forward to, life in the village – such as it was – would grind to a halt.

The days after a raid were always the most dangerous. It was not a question of if the dwarves would attack, but when, and in that instance the storehouse would almost certainly be their first target. They might not be able to get all the spirits back, but they’d try, and probably snag some food supplies, eggs, meal and such, in the process. So, as unpleasant as it was, guarding the storehouse was vital. But it was ruddy unpleasant, particularly in this vile heat.

Clotdoth entertained a brief notion of loosening the straps of his harness, letting some air in to cool his slowly baking hide. But he dismissed the thought just as quickly.

Other races would have thought the situation absurd, he knew. Here he was, standing in the full glare on the sun, waiting for an attack by an enemy who they knew would be wielding nothing but wooden swords. The neighbouring communities had long since decided that the raids were inevitable, and that deaths and brutal injuries were not, and so had come to an unwritten agreement of only using non-lethal weapons against each other. But that didn’t reduce the danger to the supplies. And wooden swords, while looking mild, could still cause nasty bruises and broken bones for a sleeping sentry – no doubt compounded by the anger of the commanding officers at a later date!

Clotdoth shuddered at the thought.

But the armour wasn’t really worn for protection. He was a draconian, born for the express purpose of fighting for the Dragonarmies in the service of her dark majesty, the Dark Queen Takhisis. But he was more than that. He was an engineer, one of the First Dragonarmy Engineers no less. He was one of the best.

He had fought with the boys during the War of the Lance, both when the dark knights had been winning, and later when things had gone so terribly wrong. He had killed his fair share of elves, humans, dwarves and the like, and his company had taken down even some of the cursed Paladine’s dragons. He’d been there right at the end, at the chaotic shambles at Neraka, when the First Engineers alone seemed to maintain some semblance of sanity.

He had done all he could for the Dark Queen, in spite of the numb-brained efforts of the knights. He was proud of everything he had achieved. The war might be over, Paladine might have won, but he will still of the First Engineers, and would wear the armour of the Dragonarmies with pride until the day he died.

Still, it didn’t make guard duty any more enjoyable. The pain in his head bloomed, and he lowered his head for a moment to shade his eyes. His eyes fell on his boots, and he winced inwardly.

Now they were a mistake today.

Most draconians, at least those of more noble birth than mere baaz, went around barefooted. Baaz, though, knew better. Of all of the draconian races, the baaz were the smallest, and most similar in stature to the other humanoid races of Krynn. During the war, it had been quite common for the Dragonarmies to take advantage of this, using baaz not only as spies and scouts, but also to launch surprise raids.

A heavy cloak and a mask did wonders. With the wings held tight against the body, and the tail strapped against the legs, the baaz could move around freely amongst the armies of Paladine without attracting attention. It was unpleasant and tiring to maintain such an unnatural posture for long periods of time, of course, but it was possible.

At least, that was the theory. But it had quickly been realised that the feet of the baaz were a problem. Long cloaks couldn’t reach all the way to the floor without causing a hinderance in movement for any race, so wearing that sort of garb just came across as suspicious. Once the enemy had realised this, and recovered from their surprise at the sudden appearance of the magically created draconians, many of the first scouts had been caught out in this way.

And so, later in the war, aided by the bozaks and sivaks, many baaz had taken to covering their feet in some way. Some wrapped their feet in bandages or strips of leather, but boots were also fairly common. Of course, special boots had to be made, or old boots adjusted, to allow for the draconian’s opposable toe, but it was worth it. With the introduction of such footwear, losses amongst the baaz dropped like a stone.

There was no need for stealth now, of course. But some of the First Engineers – mainly the baaz – still kept to that old habit. This was partly because of pride, and pride in the baaz race of course, but it was also practical. They were engineers after all, and engineers frequently got into situations where heavy objects were being moved about. Those heavy objects could cause all sorts of damage, not least to the feet.

Some of them had learned this the hard way. Years ago, three of their number had been in an accident. A huge beam had fallen from a building they were erecting. Two of them had had their feet crushed, and another an entire leg. Amongst the baaz, it was thought that they might have come out of it better if they had been wearing foot protection.

They hadn’t.

The three were still around, thankfully, and were given manual tasks to do in the village’s hastily-constructed hospital. One of these tasks was, at their own behest, to make boots for the draconians, reinforced with small plates of steel under the leather. Since that accident, uptake had been pretty strong. It was no longer such an uncommon sight to see a draconian wearing boots.

But boy does it make the heat unbearable.

Clothdoth wiggled his three foreclaws, feeling the humid air sticking to the baking leather.

Off and to his right there were, miraculously, sounds of activity. Clotdoth risked a glance upwards, and then wished he hadn’t. Still, he could make out the beginnings of a round of sparring happening on the training field. It looked mostly like members of First Squadron were sparring today, although members of Second and Support were mixed in there too.

At the sign of one of the sivaks, the gaggle of draconians broke up into pairs, each armed with a wooden sword. After a short pause, one of the pairs clashed swords, followed by the others around them. Soon, all the draconians were engaged in furious combat.

Squinting, Clotdoth could just make out the nearest pair. It was Leshhak and Churz, going at each other with a gleeful energy, dancing and ducking and getting in furious strikes.

Where do they get the energy?

Still, he sat and watched the sparring for a while, interested to see who was going to emerge the victor. And it was nice to see some of the boys enjoying themselves, even if for a moment.

He found his mind wandering. He recalled being near Leshhak for a while during Neraka, both of them taking down a small company of elves that had for a while been taking shots at them down an unpleasantly tight corridor. Clotdoth couldn’t help but smile.

Those were the days ...

But those days were gone now. All that was left was the village, the same dreary round of guard duty, and the never-ending succession of boozy nights, the boys telling and retelling the same old stories from the war until they were as worn out as a kender’s purse.

During the chaos of Neraka, the leaders of the Dragonarmies had asked the draconians to fight to the death while they themselves escaped. That was cowardly, and the final straw for many draconians, the First Engineers included. It was the feeling of their commanders, and the whole company, that those leaders had forfeited their right to any sort of leadership. This feeling had been growing for some time and, unlike some others of their kind, the First Engineers had formed a plan of sorts.

It had been suggested by sub-commander Slith, the imposing sivak. What sounded at first almost like a joke became something of a dream. After all, there was plenty of land in the Khalkist Mountains – a home to all exiles, it was said. There they could live how they wanted, away from the roving eyes of the enemy, living off raids on the odd dwarven village.

But, somehow, the dream wasn’t quite the cosy image it had first seemed.

Clotdoth sighed. The sun beat down on his armour. He learned more heavily on the spear, deepening the impression he was carving into the earth.

Life in peacetime was far harder than any of them had expected. Sure, they had everything they wanted here. They were safe from the armies of Paladine. They had their village, built with their own two hands, and built to last. They had enough to live on, from their animals and meagre crops – at least, when they combined their work with the odd raid on the dwarves. And they had amble dwarf spirits. Life should be good.

But it wasn’t.

Day bled into day, bled into day. Whether it was guard duty, sentry duty, reconnaissance, there was a sense of brutal repetition about life. Nothing much changed, and even the highlights of the raids on the dwarves – and the bouts of drunken revelry afterwards – didn’t do much to help.

He knew the others felt it too, even if he was sure not all the boys would be able to express it.

The world was a never-ending succession of tedium. This would be how things were until the day he died, until all the boys died. And then that would be that. A deserted village, a few well-built timber buildings and a stone wall.

Probably not even that. The dwarves will no doubt burn us out when we’re gone.

For they and the rest of their brethren, wherever they were, were all that was left. The Dragonarmies had only made male draconians. The draconains didn’t know why. Some were suspicious, thinking that the Dragonarmies had tried to control the race’s numbers, and therefore the race, by not making any females. But it was mostly the kapaks that were that cynical. More likely it was just because there wasn’t any need to make females, or to make a race that could breed. Why complicate matters, after all?

But that meant that the First Engineers would, from now on, always diminish. Whether it was through accident, or problems on a raid, every now and then one of them died. There were no replacements, not any more. The secret to making draconians had long since died. And so their numbers would slowly diminish, the Engineers getting weaker and weaker, until the bitter end.

The future would always get worse, and there was nothing any of them could do about it.

Well, except not doting on in like a silly fool!

It seemed to affect some more than others. Clotdoth looked at Leshhak and Churz, dancing around in their happy battle, and felt a stab of envy. He wondered how they managed to keep it up.

Hey, you wonder how you keep going too, sometimes. But you’ve always managed it so –

A movement over to his left caught his eye. Keeping his posture as natural as he could, just in case this was a raid, he shifted his gaze to the other side of the compound. And then his headache worsened all the more.

Great.

Strolling down the avenue between the buildings was Rorc. The baaz was tall, well-built and confident – sometimes too much so. He walked as if he were on a mission, and Clothdoth hoped for a moment that it was going to take the draconian somewhere else. But it quickly became clear that his path was taking him straight towards the storehouse. Despite his own attempt at subtlety, Rorc noticed that he was being watched and smiled slightly.

This day keeps getting better. Was does that lug want now?

It was a shame, really. In many ways, Rorc was a very pleasant draconian, one worth getting to know. But he was also infuriating. He thought highly of himself, and was quick to let others know it. It was also clear that he grated a little within the strict confines of village life. But that meant he pushed boundaries sometimes, leading to strife, harsh words, and the odd fight. And that led to discipline. And no-one liked discipline, at least when they were on the receiving end.

Worse, he’d latched onto Clotdoth recently. He had no idea why. But whenever he went to eat, or went off duty, or tried to have a nice, respectable evening drinking, the baaz always seemed to show up. And then, suddenly, Rorc would be the centre of attention, telling the same old war-stories, and Clotdoth would end up as the subject of countless bad jokes and the occasional prank.

It was a shame. He really was quite nice otherwise. Still, he steeled himself for whatever nonsense Rorc had up his sleeve this time.

Oddly, Rorc’s smile vanished as he strode up to the storehouse. He looked at Clotdoth for a moment, and then to the door.

“Hot day to be on guard duty, isn’t it?”

Clotdoth decided to deal with the matter by keeping to strict discipline. He stared straight ahead, saying nothing. But he didn’t assume a more formal posture, as he would in the presence of a superior; he deliberately kept his tail at rest on the ground, and he kept leaning on his spear.

Rorc sighed.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. Besides, I’m here to bring you good news!”

Clotdoth somewhat doubted that.

“You’re off. Mogu, Cresel and a few others didn’t show up for sentry duty today. Big night. You know the drill.

“But the squadron commander’s furious about it. Rog says we’re dangerously short on sentries on the wall, so he’s had to change around the duty roster. Looks like a few of our pals are going to be spending a fun few days on latrine duty!”

Rorc laughed. Clotdoth kept on staring straight ahead.

“Oh, I forget you had no sense of humour. Anyway, a whole bunch of us have been moved around for the next couple of days. I’ve been put on to guard duty for the storehouse today, and you’re on sentry on the wall.”

Clotdoth was momentarily stunned. The odd draconian missing from duty was not that uncommon an occurrence, particularly after a raid. After all, he couldn’t help but notice that the commander of the whole regiment, Kang, hadn’t yet ventured outside this morning. But so many missing that the roster needed to be changed?

He glanced over at Rorc, and saw that the other baaz had lowered his gaze.

“I can’t say I’m looking forward to it, but at least you’ll have a good time on it. I gather the northeast guard tower position is free, so you’ll even had shade and water. Some people have all the luck, huh?”

Rorc’s expression suddenly brightened.

“Just think of me when you’re living the high life, alright?”

He jabbed his left thumb in the direction of the wall.

“Now get moving! Don’t make me prolong this any longer than I need to, or perhaps I’ll hike back up to the shade and leave you here in the heat. Who’s to know?”

Something wasn’t right here, and those last few words confirmed it. Not only was it unusual for the duty roster to be changed at the last minute, but the order was being given by another trooper, not by their squadron commander Rog.

The guy’s up to something. I can tell.

Clotdoth took a moment to think, but couldn’t come up with anything. It looked for all the world as if Rorc was trying to wheedle his way onto guard duty, presumably hoping that no-one else would notice. But why on earth would he do that? Sentry duty was incomparably better than guard duty at the best of times, all the more so on a day like this. And it was hardly as if he could sneak into the storehouses to steal dwarf spirits. Everyone would know who’d done it, and the bozaks would be over him like a rash.

Still, if he just acted professionally, perhaps Rorc would just give up whatever scheme he’d cooked up and leave him be.

You wish.

He put on his best passive face, and spoke curtly.

“Sorry, Rorc. You know the drill. Any reassignments have to come from the squadron commander himself, or from an officer, no matter the circumstances. I’d be happy to speak to one, but I can’t leave the storehouse unguarded. Those are my orders. So I’m afraid you’ll have to go and fetch someone from command yourself.”

Rorc’s expression changed to one of confusion. Somehow, Clotdoth had the feeling the other baaz had just expected to bulldoze his way into getting what he wanted. He smiled inwardly, and nodded politely at his fellow engineer.

“Good day, Rorc.”

For a moment, Rorc’s expression darkened considerably. Then, with a conscious effort of will, that expression was replaced with an attempt at innocent surprise.

For someone who thinks as highly of himself as he does, he’s really not that subtle. But I guess subtlety never really was his style.

“Ah, yeah, I’d thought about that on the way over. But –” and here Rorc lowered his expression to conspiratorial tones – “Rog’s not doing too well himself this morning. None of the command is. They had a big go of it last night, and few of them are really fighting fit right now.”

Rorc stood backwards, putting on his best concerned face. It wasn’t very good.

“Honestly, Clotdoth, you should have seen him. He was giving orders from his quarters, and practically screamed at the guard to shut the door after I’d left – too much sun, I guess. So, you see, he’s really not in a position to come outside just now.”

Rorc smiled.

“You wouldn’t ask me to go and annoy the commander, would you, just for a niggling point of protocol? Not an old pal like you, right?”

At least the conversation was giving him something to concentrate on other than his headache. Rorc was clearly not going to give up that easily. But if he kept on with the stern professionalism, surely there wasn’t anything that Rorc could do? If he just stuck it out, eventually he’d be left alone.

“That’s not my problem, Rorc. You know how this works, and you know the commander would be annoyed if I didn’t check. Besides, if this is as big a change as you say, I’m sure most of the officers will already have been informed.”

Now it was his turn to indicate something, but he tried to be a little less showy.

“Why don’t you try the training field? There are bound to be a few of the bigwigs out there. I think I saw Vruss in the group when they were setting up.”

Rorc’s expression fell, and Clotdoth felt a momentary stab of compassion.

Darn it. Maybe he’s better at this subtlety thing than I realise.

He toned down the heavy dose of brusque professionalism. Perhaps he didn’t need to be quite so adversarial – maybe Rorc just wasn’t explaining himself very well?

“Look, I’m sorry, but my hands are tied, alright? Hey, you remember that time a few years back when the commander was looking into the regiment’s efficiency, and Slith ran all those random operations tests?”

“What, you mean when he overflowed the latrines to simulate a flood, and started a fire in the tool shed, that sort of thing?”

“Yeah. Anyway, I was speaking to Mogu a while back, and apparently there were a whole bunch of tests on the guards back then too. He was unlucky enough to be at that point on the roster, so he experienced a whole lot of them.

“I gather one of the tests went something like this. Slith would send a trooper to relive the guard from their post and, as soon as they’d left it, bang. One furious sub-commander, yelling about the perils of abandoning a post.”

That was a lie. But it was a little one, and it sounded good. And, he hoped, it would give him a little leverage without playing the impassive professional card.

At least for a moment, it seemed to have worked. Rorc looked a little uneasy, as if an angry Slith would suddenly pop up out of the woodwork. But then his expression changed to one of scepticism.

“Really? Why would he do that? Are you having me on, Clot?”

Ah. Out with the names, I see.

Still, he noticed that Rorc was getting more and more edgy. Perhaps there was some crucial element of timing in his plan, something that meant it wouldn’t work if he was delayed too long?

Excellent. Time to bring on the delaying tactics.

“Who, me? You wound me, Rorc.”

He smiled, innocently.

“It’s a simple matter of being prepared for all eventualities. For instance, for all I know, you could be an enemy sivak, one who’s killed you on the walls and taken your shape. One intent on getting our supplies.

“You know as well as I do that there are still small wandering groups out there. What if one of those groups tried to steal from us? If I walked away without checking with a superior, and let an enemy into the stores, I would have more than failed in my duty. I’d be on latrine duty forever!”

Rorc creased his snout in thought.

“Yeah, but I’m obviously me, aren’t I?”

“Those sivaks are pretty good, you know.”

“Wouldn’t it have been pretty obvious if a raiding party had murdered one of us? I mean, a statue of a dead baaz just standing around is a rather obvious sign.”

“Not if they’re being sensible. A quick ambush and they could take out someone without anyone noticing. You know what it’s like in war. One strong push from the wall, and that evidence would be gone forever. Or maybe they’d pretend to be some rogue dwarves from our friendly neighbours, a group who’d gotten a little aggressive with an arrow or two? It’s happened before, after all.

“Either way, let’s face it, an enemy force wouldn’t have much trouble taking you out, would they?”

He smiled. Rorc’s frown only deepened.

“Now ... that’s not ...”

Rorc’s dark expression returned with a vengeance, and he started to look genuinely flustered.

“You’re being a stupid idiot, Clot, you know that? Rog’s asked for you on the wall himself, and I’m to take over. That’s all there is to it. So stop being stupid and get over there already – we don’t have all day!”

And with that, Rorc reached over and firmly grasped Clotdoth’s spear.

That was the last straw.

Clotdoth spun to face the other baaz. He pulled the spear towards him, although Rorc’s hold was too tight to be broken by the sudden movement. But he pulled anyway, for a moment nearly setting Rorc off balance, pulling the two of them a few paces back from the door. Rorc recovered, taken off-guard by the sudden aggression, but he recovered himself quickly. He was an Engineer after all.

Rorc stepped forwards and braced himself, pooling his strength, both hands now clenched around the haft of the spear. Clotdoth widened his stance, and tightened his own grip, furious at Rorc’s dumb insistence. He glared at the other and shouted, all attempts at politeness gone.

“Now look here. I don’t know what your deal is, Rorc, but I’m having none of it! So stop being so pigheaded about this and go back up to the wall!”

Rorc glowered, but said nothing.

“Isn’t that clear enough for you? Ah, why are you so aggravating! I haven’t the faintest idea why you’re so insistent on taking this post, but –”

Suddenly, everything snapped into focus in his mind. Rorc’s strange desire to take over storehouse duty on a hot day, his abandoning of his post on the wall, his concern about the time ...

Rorc had been on sentry duty. He’d seen something. Something that had alarmed him so much that he’d tried to get away from it. After all, those on the wall would usually be the first in the firing line during a raid. But the draconian on storehouse duty always remained on storehouse duty, even during an attack – especially during an attack, for that was when the supplies were most vulnerable.

Rorc was trying to find a way to save his hide. In spite of everything, Clotdoth couldn’t believe that Rorc was a coward. After all, he was one of those who kept advocating using steel and flame against the dwarves, not wooden swords.

So what had he seen?

Images flashed through Clotdoth’s mind. He imagined the massed dwarven armies of Thorbardin, marching on their village, intent on destroying the piratical draconians once and for all. He saw a whole wing of the Knights of Solamnia striding up the valley to destroy them, flanked by huge silver dragons. He saw the First Dragonarmy, not destroyed at Neraka as they had thought, but still powerful, having finally tracked down the draconians that betrayed them, intent on spilling their blood to avenge their slighted honour. He saw ...

He saw Rorc’s eyes widen in horror, even as he heard soft footfalls behind him. And then a huge force in his back shoved him forwards. His head collided with Rorc’s and, unable to support himself, he fell to one knee. The spear clattered away against the wall of the storehouse. Rorc seemed to have fallen over completely.

It took a few heart-stopping seconds for his head to clear, and for him to regain his senses. As his vision cleared he saw ...

Oh.

“Nice day for a good chat, isn’t it? The sun’s out, nice and pleasant, nothing’s going on, and the most stupid dwarf in Celebundin could have ambushed you two just as easily as I just did.”

A huge sivak stood over them, arms crossed, his scales gleaming in the sunlight. Slith glowered down at the two baaz.

“But at least you get to have a good dust bath, right?”

Clotdoth didn’t need the sivak to repeat the warning. In a moment, perhaps too quick a moment, he was on his feet, shaking slightly as the blood rushed to his head. To give him credit, Rorc was also standing, a little worse for wear himself.

Clotdoth made to speak, but one look at Slith silenced him.

“Since we’re all having such a nice time talking, perhaps I should remind you of the importance of this post.”

Slith’s tone was calm, almost friendly, but Clotdoth had to keep his legs from shaking.

I just got up too quickly. Yes, that’s it.

“Behind that door are all our supplies, alcohol, food stores, even The Chest. You know, the blueprints for everything we’ve worked on over the years? I’m sure you can imagine what the dwarves would do if they found that.”

He gestured calmly.

“How do you think Commander Kang would react if the plans for the wicker dragon went up in smoke, hmm? If all the dwarf spirits were set alight, blowing apart this entire part of the compound in a huge explosion? I’d think he’d be very angry, right? Very, very angry.”

Slith’s face grinned, entirely at odds with what he was saying. It was unnerving. Rorc took the bait first.

“Look, Slith, it’s just that –”

Slith spun on the baaz.

“I’m having none of that, baaz! You’ve given me enough trouble recently, and I expect you to give me no more.

“I don’t know what’s going on here, but it stops now! Get back up to the walls, and report to Rog. I’m sure he’ll have plenty to say to you.”

Rorc was clever enough not to reply, but looked hesitant nonetheless.

“Well. Get moving – before I change my mind!”

Rorc started, and then turned and fled.

Uh oh.

It must only have taken a moment, but that moment stretched and stretched. Slith turned back to Clotdoth, his eyes furious.

“And as for you, how many times do I have to tell you guards to keep at your post! It doesn’t matter what the distraction is, nothing – repeat nothing – gets in the way of your duty. I don’t care if all the dragons of Krynn try to get to our stores. No distraction should ever –

“Oh good. I think he’s gone.”

Clotdoth’s mind was too confused to process that.

“Sorry about that, trooper. Some people only ever learn the hard way.”

Slith gestured back towards the wall.

“That Rorc has been giving us a little trouble for a while now. We’ve tried a few things, but my feeling is that he’s so strong-willed that he takes every blow as it comes. But if he sees that his actions affect his friends too, well ...”

Slith waved a claw absently.

“It’s clear that Rorc thinks quite highly of you, you know. He talks about practically nothing else when you’re not around, or so I gather. So this little confrontation was exactly what I’d been waiting for. A way to try out a little theory of mine, and to see if it helps.”

Clotdoth released that he was staring at Slith in surprise. He mentally shook himself, and stood as he should in the presence of the sub-commander.

“Good. I hope I didn’t startle you too much, Clotdoth.”

Slith grinned.

“As it happens, I was looking for you anyway. That unfortunate trooper was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. In more ways than one.

“I’ve been watching you. You’ve been attracting some interest, you know. You’re a solid trooper, dependable, always on task and always on post, no matter what you’re assigned. Even if it’s after a somewhat heavy night.”

Slith’s eyes spoke volumes, and Clotdoth felt a little sympathy for his pounding headache. He wasn’t sure what else to think.

“Dremon slept in today. Too heavy a night, I think, and that’s a shame. He’s a good one, but not always there when the chips are down.

“He was duty officer for today and, as you know, we can’t do without a duty officer. When he failed to show, I had to find a replacement, naturally. And I thought of you.”

Clotdoth was stunned. He wasn’t important enough to do anything as important as being duty officer. And wasn’t that –

“Of course, that post can only be filled by an officer. So I suppose we’d have to make you an officer, at least temporarily, until this whole crisis is solved. There’s just no other way.”

Slith grinned at him.

“I, I ...”

Get it together! Don’t mess up this opportunity!

“Of course, sir. I’d be honoured. I’ve paid close attention to the work of the other duty officers, so I’m sure I’d be able to follow their example.”

There was a pause. Slith looked pleased.

“I’m happy to hear that command has faith in me, sir.”

“Think nothing of it, Clotdoth. Or, should I say, Officer Clotdoth.”

The word sounded strange in Slith’s mouth, but very, very good.

“Now, I’m not going to throw you in completely unprepared. Word’s come my way that Stemhmph and his reconnaissance party have been spotted down the valley. They’ve sent a runner ahead who should reach the walls any moment.”

Oh, so that’s what Rorc was so wound up about.

“Why don’t we go and see what they have to report? After all, this should be fun. They weren’t flying colours, so we know it’s nothing hostile. This could be something truly new.”

Slith indicated, and the two of them started walking towards the gate. Clotdoth was beaming inside, but tried his best to keep a professional look on the outside. He only slightly succeeded.

For here’s the thing. While there might not be hope for the race itself, he’d just realised something important.

There was hope for him.

By quietly going ahead, living and working as best he could, he’d attracted the attention of his superiors. They’d noticed his hard work and rewarded him. From now on, he was an officer – everything would change. His life had improved.

Who was to say that it wouldn’t change again, and again? Perhaps he would eventually become an understudy to one of the senior officers, or even one himself? Perhaps he could really start to work with the powers that shaped his little world? Even if the race was doomed, he as an individual wasn’t. In his work, and in his life, he could improve himself. And that was important.

His mind’s eye suddenly brought up a vision of Rorc fleeing towards the walls.

He had no idea that Rorc thought so highly of him. Maybe he’d been too dismissive there. Clearly Rorc was having some difficulties, and perhaps he could help with that. And perhaps, just perhaps ...

It’s funny how a little thing can change your perspective sometimes.

All of a sudden, the world seemed full of hope.

~
~

Afterward:

<The Blue Bird: Charles Villiers Stanford – Birmingham Conservatoire Chamber Choir>

For those people not familiar with the series, this story is based on a little collection of Dragonlance works featuring the bozak Kang and the draconians under his command, both during and after the War of the Lance. In all, there are three short stories, and two novels, ‘The Doom Brigade’ and ‘Draconian Measures’, penned by a combination of Don Perrin and Margaret Weis. The series is sometimes referred to as ‘Kang’s Regiment’. If you liked this story, and you’d like to read more, do go and check those works out. They’re excellent, and well worth your time!

I first came across Kang and his Engineers way back in 2018, in what turned out to be the very first book I read in the Dragonlance series. I’m something of a latecomer to the show, as you can see! I’d picked up a collection of short stories, ‘The Dragons of Krynn’, which happened to feature the very first Kang’s Regiment story.

I enjoyed this story so much that I decided to look up the authors, who I didn’t know. It was then that I learned that there were not one, but two novels featuring these same draconians! I knew then that I wanted to read more, and so I ordered both books, along with a few other Dragonlance works.

I read the two novels back to back at the start of 2019 after returning from my Christmas break. I had a whale of a time, and the books were every bit as good as I had been expecting. It was nice to see the small group of draconians given time to develop in novel form.

There was something about these draconians in particular that I found inspiring, and a few chapters in to The Doom Brigade, I knew that wanted to draw them in something. It wasn’t long before the idea for this work came to my head, and the concept of ‘Your Turn!’ was born.

Part of the idea stemmed from the short encounter with Clotdoth. This draconian appears only briefly in The Doom Brigade, although he does get a speaking part! For some reason, his name stuck in my mind. I knew that he would probably be one of the draconians I wanted to draw. Rorc also appears in The Doom Brigade, in the first few pages, again with a speaking part. I didn’t remember him until a little later but, once I did, I knew he would be perfect for this work.

The other draconians mentioned in this story are taken from across all of the Kang’s Regiment stories, both the short stories and the novels. It’s nice to see them all together in one place!

However, the idea of the art for this piece was quite daunting, to say the least! I knew what I wanted to make, but I didn’t know how to begin. The work was put on my to-do pile, and got delayed until I had enough time to properly dedicate to it.

This work was first published very early on during the 2020 Coronavirus outbreak, which was a sad and difficult time for many of us. I tried to make something positive out of the troubles we faced at the time. I had a lot of free time during the first Covid lockdown in my country and, if nothing else, it was a great opportunity for working on art without any interruptions. Thankfully, working on this piece was hugely rewarding! If you some time on hands at the moment – hopefully for happier reasons! – I’d encourage you to try something similar if you can. You might be surprised by how it turns out!

One reason I found the idea of this work to be daunting was because it featured more realistic creatures than I have drawn in quite some time. The last time I really attempted to draw a humanoid in a more realistic manner than my usual style was almost five years ago – and here I was planning to draw two! Still, the available time made the idea of working on this piece quite tempting, and I’m glad that I took the plunge in the end.

Thankfully, working on the musculature of these draconians, and their clothing, was not nearly as terrifying as I had feared. Certain parts of the drawing came much more easily than I had thought. Even the background came together quite quickly. All in all, I’m happy with how this work came out. There are still elements I believe I need to improve on – the musculature of the legs for instance, and a few other details, including the hands, which are far from perfect – but I think this is a good step along the road.

As with the past several pieces of art, I continued with my experimentation in shading in this piece. The new method I came up with for ‘Thissa in Thassaka’ really came in to its own here, and allowed me to produce shading patterns that are much more complex than was possible using my original method – and it’s straightforward! It was a pleasure to focus a little more on the little details, such as the shading under the draconians’ eye-ridges. I look forward to doing some more experimentation!

I was a real pleasure drawing these two draconians, and stepping back into Kang’s world in the story all the more so. I hope you"ve enjoyed what I’ve put together! Who knows? I had a great time here. Perhaps I’ll come back to Dragonlance again in the future?

Let me give a brief little thank you to White. White made me a little artistic present out of the blue a month or so before I started work on this piece. That small gesture was inspiring, and made me think about these draconians again after all this time. So, thank you for sparking a little inspiration, White! Thanks also to Paulo Coelho, who almost certainly has no idea who I am, but whose book ‘The Pilgrimage’ (in an English translation) was more than helpful in inspiring my work on this piece. And thanks too to one of my neighbours who, for several consecutive evenings while I was working on this, lit huge bonfires in their garden. This provided a great atmosphere to work in!

And thank you for looking at my art. If you are reading this during a difficult time for you, as the time when I was creating this was difficult for me, I wish you all the best.

The draconians in this piece were modelled on shots of draconians from the film ‘Dragons of Autumn Twilight’, along with a prototype drawing released on the film’s website. The covers of the two Kang’s Regiment novels also proved most helpful. In addition, material from the short summary at the end of Draconian Measures, which describes the draconians, their appearance and habits, and their use in D&D, was an extremely useful guide. What a good idea in including it in such a book!