His would be a proper tribute to the best companion he’d ever have. Lyndruss planned to take many of Takhisis’s minions with him into death, shouting the great bronze dragon’s name.
Tariskatt would thunder once more among his enemies.
Blind
Kevin T. Stein
Dragons … are free to choose among the alignments of the gods.
The Creation of the World
“Cheats,” Borac muttered under his breath. Turning away from his four companions, he pretended to reach into a riding bag. From under the gaze of the men sitting cross-legged at the foot-table, Borac slid off the bottom quarter of the card deck and palmed them in a strong grip. The rest he tossed into a nearby cookfire.
“What game next?” Tynan grunted, drinking deeply from a flask. When one of the others tried to grab the bottle, Tynan scowled and swung the flask into the man’s nose. The man yelped more in anger than pain and reached for his sword. A threatening look from Tynan cowed the man into submission. He wiped at his bloody nose.
Borac used the distraction to run his thumb over the edges of the cards. Under his sensitive fingers, he could feel that half were marked at the edges. He sneered and threw the remaining quarter into the fire, shaking his head in disgust. This time, he didn’t care if anyone saw him.
“What’s your problem?” Tynan demanded, pulling out a handful of dice from inside his battle-worn black riding armor.
The smoke from the camp’s fires mingled with the stink of sweat and unwashed bodies in Borac’s nostrils. His companions were among those of the most unwashed, with the exception of Captain Tynan, who at least had enough self-respect to clean himself after every sortie. But his general appearance was ragged, like a beggar who had stolen his clothes from a soldier found lying in a field.
“Cheats and liars, boasters and braggarts! I hate you all,” Borac said. “You have no honor nor respect for a better man.”
Tynan glanced at his companions, winked. “If there were another man sitting at the table things might be different. All I see is you, Borac!”
Borac clenched his fists so hard the leather of his gloves creaked above the general din of the camp. He had come to this point many times during this war, when he wanted to kill the men with whom he was forced to fight. His muscles strained tightly beneath his immaculate jet black clothes. He rose slowly, carefully, to his feet.
“You, Tynan,” Borac stated coolly, pausing, taking a deep breath with each word, “are so … lucky … to have the Dark Queen’s alliance.”
Borac could smell their fear, all except Tynan, who was too drunk to be afraid. Tynan’s expression dropped to bored neutrality.
“Live with it.” he muttered and took another pull from the wine bottle. When he was done, he looked sidelong at the man with the bloody nose, who now held a greasy rag to his face.
“I’ve more respect for this idiot,” Tynan said, jerking his thumb at the man. “He takes what he wants-or tries to. All you do, Borac, is whimper like a woman about fairness and the Alliance.”
“The Alliance is the only thing keeping you alive, Tynan,” Borac returned. “I’d like to kill you myself.”
Tynan sneered. “Go ahead . . .” The other men shrank back, away from the pair. Borac hesitated, fists clenched. Tynan drank from the bottle and rattled the dice.
Borac’s hands unclenched. “You don’t deserve the honor.”
Tynan laughed raucously. He opened his hand and let everyone see the dice, shook them loudly till they all got the idea, pulling out their own. They all made a point of not meeting Borac’s gaze. They picked their favorites by color and pips. After Tynan’s first roll, they shouted, money changing hands quickly, losing dice picked out among the winners.
“Afraid to fight, eh, Borac?” Tynan said without looking up from his throw. He laughed harshly at his companion’s misfortune and scooped up the coins from the little table.
“You talk of ‘honor’ and ‘respect.’ You demand it.” Tynan looked straight into Borac’s eyes. “We earn it.”
Borac stared back, his muscles slowly relaxing. He let his face go slack.