Dragonlance Tales II, Vol. 2 – The Cataclysm

from the summit of Mount Phineous.

“Somebody learned something from your show of godly

power. HE forgives you.”

Marakion slowly began his descent down the mountain,

continuing on his own hopeless quest.

“Revel in it, Paladine, because, by the Abyss, I don’t.”

NO GODS, NO HEROES

NICK O’DONOHOE

The road was blocked just over the crest of the hill. The ambush was

nicely planned. Graym, leading the horses, hadn’t seen the warriors

until his group was headed downhill, and there was no room to turn the

cart around on the narrow, wheel-rutted path that served as a road.

Graym looked at their scarred faces, their battered, mis-

matched, scavenged armor, and their swords. He smiled at

them. “You lot are good thinkers, I can tell. You can’t

protect yourselves too well these days.” He gestured at the

cart and its cargo. “Would you like a drink of ale?”

The armored man looked them over carefully. Graym

said, “I’ll do the honors, sir. That skinny, gawking teenager

– that’s Jarek. The man behind him, in manacles and a chain,

is our prisoner, name of Darll. Behind him – those two

fierce-looking ones, are Fenris and Fanris, the Wolf

brothers. Myself, I’m Graym. I’m the leader – being the

oldest and” – he patted his middle-aged belly, chuckling –

“the heaviest.” He bowed as much as his belly woud let

him.

The lead man nodded. “It’s them.”

His companions stepped forward, spreading out. The

right wing man, flanking Graym, swung his sword.

Darll pulled his hands apart and caught the sword on

his chain. Sparks flew, but the chain held. Clasping his

hands back together, he swung the looped chain like a club.

It thunked into an armored helmet, and the wearer dropped

straight to the ground soundlessly.

Jarek raised his fist, gave a battle cry. The Wolf

brothers, with their own battle cry – which sounded

suspiciously like yelps of panic – dived under the ale cart,

both trying unsuccessfully to wedge themselves behind the

same wheel.

The cart tipped, toppling the heavy barrels. The horses

broke their harnesses and charged through the fight. A

cascade of barrels thundered into the midst of the fray. One

attacker lay still, moaning.

That left four. Darll kicked one still-rolling barrel, sent

it smashing into two of the attackers, then leapt at a third,

who was groping for his dropped sword. Darll kicked the

sword away, lifted one of the barrel hoops over the man’s

head. The attacker raised his arms to defend himself, neatly

catching them in the hoop. Darll slammed him in the face

with his fist.

Jarek yelled, “Yaaa!” and threw a rock at the leader.

The rock struck the man, knocked him into Darll’s reach.

Darll whipped his chain around the man’s throat,

throttling him. Hearing a noise behind him, Darll let the

man drop and spun around.

Two of the others were crawling to their knees. Darll

kicked one and faced the other, prepared to fight.

A hoarse voice cried, “No!”

The leader was gasping and massaging his throat.

“Leave them. Let Skorm Bonelover get them,” he told his

men.

The attackers limped away, carrying their two

unconscious comrades.

It was suddenly very quiet. The Wolf brothers, still

under the cart, were staring at Darll in awe. Jarek – a second

rock cradled in his hand – was gazing at the fighter with

open-mouthed admiration. Graym took a step toward Darll,

glanced at the fleeing attackers, and stepped away again.

“Six men,” Graym said. “Six trained men-at-arms,

beaten by a man in chains.”

“It’ll make one helluva song,” Darll said acidly. “I

suppose I’m still your prisoner?”

After a moment’s thought, Graym nodded. “Right, then.

Let’s reload the barrels.”

Graym and Jarek tipped the cart back upright and propped

a barrel behind the rear wheel. The first barrel was easy to

load. Too easy. Graym handled it by himself. He stared at it

in surprise, then worked to load the second.

The third barrel was on, then suddenly and

inexplicably it was rolling off.

The Wolf brothers, working on top, grabbed frantically

and missed. The barrel slid down the tilted cart. Darll fell

back. Jarek, standing in the barrel’s path, stared up at it with