The War of the Lance by Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman

Author:Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman [Weis, Margaret & Hickman, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Fantasy, Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science Fiction, Fantasy - General, Fiction - Fantasy, Fantasy Fiction; American, Krynn (Imaginary place), Short Stories, Comics & Graphic Novels, Fantasy - Short Stories
ISBN: 9780786937776
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast
Published: 2005-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

"How many soldiers are standing guard out there?" Jastom whispered.

"Two," Grimm whispered back, peering through a narrow opening beside the canvas flap that covered the tent's entrance. "Both are draconians." Jastom tugged at his hair as he paced the length of the cramped, stuffy tent. The air was musty with the smell of the sour, rotten hay strewn across the floor. The only light came from a wan, golden beam of sun spilling through a small hole in the tent's canvas roof.

"There must be a way to get past them," Jastom said in agitation, clenching his hands into fists.

"Too bad we can't get them drunk," Grimm noted dryly. Jastom shot the dwarf an exasperated look. "There's always a way out, Grimm. We've been in enough dungeons before to know that. All we need is time to come up with the answer." Grimm shook his head, his shaggy eyebrows drawn down in a scowl. "Even now, the goblin's gruel will be burning Skaahzak from the inside out, as sure as if it was liquid fire he'd drunk. He'll be dead by

morning." The dwarf paused ominously. "And I suppose we will be, too, for that matter."

Jastom groaned, barely resisting the urge to throttle the glum-faced dwarf. His energy would be better directed toward finding a way to escape, he reminded himself. Once they were free, THEN he would have all the time he wanted to throttle the dwarf.

With a sigh of frustration, Jastom sat down hard on the musty straw, resting his chin in his hands. Grimm's doom-and-gloom was catching. The tent's entrance flap was thrown back. The two draconian guards stood against the brilliant square of afternoon sunlight, their forked tongues flickering through their jagged yellow teeth.

"It's mealtime," one of the draconians hissed, glaring at Jastom with

its disturbing yellow eyes.

For a startled moment Jastom didn't know whose mealtime the draconian meant: Jastom's or its own. With a rush of relief, he saw the bowls that the creature carried in its clawed hands. The draconian set the

two clay bowls down, their foul-smelling contents slopping over the sides. The other draconian threw a greasy-looking wineskin down with them.

"The commander ordered that you be given the finest fare in the camp," the other draconian croaked, a note of envy in its voice.

"Skaahzak must hold you in high esteem, indeed. Consider yourselves fortunate."

After the two draconians left them alone, Jastom eyed the bowls of food warily. The lumpy, colorless liquid in one of them began to stir. A

big black beetle crawled out of the gray ooze and over the rim of the bowl. Jastom let out a strangled yelp. The insect scuttled away through the straw.

"Paugh!" Grimm spat, tossing down the rancid-smelling wineskin.

"What do these beasts brew their wine out of? Stale onions?" Jastom felt his gorge rising in his throat and barely managed to choke it back down. "If this is the finest fare the camp has to offer, I

really don't want to think about what the common soldiers are eating." He

began to push the clay bowls carefully away with the toe of his boot, but

then he paused.

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