Dragonlance Tales II, Vol. 2 – The Cataclysm

past. And if sawtooth crags now stood where before had

been dagger-spire peaks, if what had been meadows now

were fields of strewn stone, if entire forests that had stood

yesterday now lay fallen and desolate, it was not theirs to

worry about.

It was over. The world was still here, and they still

walked on it, and it was time to regroup.

“You!” one of them shouted, brandishing a whip. “Back in

line and stay there!” Ahead of him, a small, terrified

creature scurried back into its place in the ragged line

proceed ing northward. “Gully dwarves!” He spat. “We

won’t show much profit from this haul, Daco.”

“Better than nothing, though,” his companion said.

“They can be sold for simple work. They’re strong enough

to tote and fetch.”

“They won’t bring a copper a head.” Daco sneered.

“Slave buyers know about gully dwarves. They’re

unreliable, they’re clumsy, and they can’t be taught

anything useful.”

“Devious, I’ve heard,” someone added. “I wouldn’t

want one for a slave of my own. Always plotting and

scheming. They’d be a danger to have around if they could

concentrate on anything for more than a minute or two.

You, there! Get on your feet and walk! Nobody said you

could stop and sleep!” He turned to the flanker opposite

him. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. The one with the

curly beard there . . . just like that, he was taking time out

for a nap.”

The motley assemblage made its way northward across

a strange and tumbled land, a dozen armed men driving

several dozen gully dwarves. The little creatures – barely

half the size of their captors – stumbled in an erratic double

line, each bound to those in front and behind by a length of

cord tied around his neck. The men surrounded them,

herded them like cattle.

The slavers had been two separate parties only days

before, and each party had been successful. Good slaves for

the market. Human slaves – men, women and children. Then

the Cataclysm – whatever it was – had occurred. Each party

had lost its captives in the ensuing chaos, and now they had

nothing to show for their expeditions except these pitiful

gully dwarves they had chanced across.

Little enough to show, when they arrived at the main

camp. Still, the gully dwarves were better than nothing.

The line topped a ridge, and they looked out on yet

another scene of chaos. A forest of tall conifers once had

lined the narrow valley. Now, hardly a tree was standing.

The valley was a patchwork maze of fallen timbers,

scattered this way and that as though some giant thing had

trod there and paused to scuff its feet.

The men stared at the scene in wonder, then movement

caught their eyes. “Ah,” Daco breathed. “There. Look.”

Among the fallen timbers were people, a ragged line of

them making their way northward. Even from the ridge top,

it was obvious that they were refugees . . . from something.

There were at least a dozen of them, maybe more, and

among them were women and children. No more than two

or three carried weapons of any sort. “Well, well.” Daco

grinned. “It seems our luck has just improved. That lot will

bring a fine price at the pens.”

*****

This Place was a mess. Whatever had happened was

through happening, but the entire cavern was a litter of

fallen stone, gravel dumps, and dust. Holding candles high,

the Lady Drule and the others with her poked about, seeing

what could be salvaged. There wasn’t much: a few iron stew

bowls, Hunch’s mop-handle staff, about half of the

Highbulp’s prized elk antler, a few bits of fabric, a reaver’s

maul, a battered stew pot, a stick used for stirring . . . odds

and ends. Most of what the clans had owned was either

destroyed or lost.

The Lady Drule shook her head sadly. “Gonna need to

forage soon,” she said. ” ‘Bout outta stuff.”

She wandered toward the entrance – or where the

entrance had been – and looked at a mighty wall of fallen

stone. There was no way out. The entrance was sealed.

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