“We could say he deserted.”
Kang glanced balefully at the minotaur, who was now describing the best way to slay elves in hand-to-hand combat. “Him? Desert?”
Slith listened a moment. “Yeah,” he said gloomily, “I see your point, sir. What do we do then?”
” ‘Heart of the battle’ …” Kang mused. Then he smiled, snapped his teeth together.
Slith gazed at him with hope, mingled with wary suspicion. “I know that look, Kang. I know it well. Either you’re going to save us, or you’re going to get us killed faster than Tchk’pal can!”
“Slith, at the conclusion of this inspiring speech, I want you to take personal command of Second Troop. Go down to the Engineer Stores, and find the plans for building a catapult. Then get to work. I want one catapult built by tonight.”
“A catapult? But, sir, we already have the ballistae…”
“Damn it, I know what we have! Do as I tell you. One catapult.” “Yes, sir.” Slith was dubious.
Tchk’pal finished his speech with a howl that was apparently some sort of scale-raising minotaur battle cry, at which-Kang supposed-they were all supposed to clash their weapons together and cheer. The cry had one effect at least-it woke up the troops. The draconians blinked and gaped and stared at him.
Tchk’pal scowled. He wasn’t accustomed to this lackluster response.
Kang gave a rousing cheer. The rest of the draconians, urged by their commanders, joined in. Tchk’pal smiled, pleased. He was gracious enough to dismiss the troops. The draconians, looking grim, straggled back to their quarters.
Climbing the battlements, the minotaur joined Kang, who said to Slith, “You have your orders, Sub-commander. Carry on.”
Slith saluted, and dashed off to the storage sheds to their rear.
Tchk’pal looked after Slith. “What is this all about, draco? I gave that lizard-boy no orders!”
“We have a celebration planned for tonight, sir. It will honor you as our new commander, and prepare us for the glory of tomorrow’s battle!”
Tchk’pal’s snout quivered with pleasure.
“A celebration? For me? This be excellent! I not expect this. You lizard-boys don’t have the proper spirit for battle. This help. But”-the minotaur raised a hand-“no ale or wine or intoxicating spirits of any sort! All troops must have a clear head for the great battle tomorrow.”
Kang bowed. “Of course, sir. We have a very special drink. We call it ‘hard cider’, sir.”
” ‘Hard?’ Why ‘hard’?” The minotaur looked suspicious.
“Because it’s hard to come by, sir. It’s made from apples.”
“Apples, huh?” Tchk’pal licked his lips. “Sounds healthful. Apple a day keeps dark cleric away.”
“We certainly hope so, sir,” said Kang. “You must be certain to take lots of cider.”
*****
But when the morning sun rose, Kang’s heart sank. Tchk’pal-who was supposed to be dead drunk by now-was still standing, still pounding his fist into the table, still bawling out minotaur war chants at the top of his lungs.
“Join in!” he would yell and the draconians were forced to mumble through a verse or two.
Kang eyed the minotaur unhappily. He couldn’t believe it. After eight hours of quaffing their best hard cider, the damned cow was still on his feet! He and Gloth had gone through four gallons during the course of the long night. And the minotaur accounted for at least three and a half gallons on his own. Kang was worried. The minotaur looked sober as a Solamnic knight and the cider was running low.
Slith appeared in the doorway leading into the bunker. He motioned quietly for Kang to follow him outside.
Tchk’pal, downing yet another mug of cider, was promising to relate yet another stirring story of battle. He did not notice Kang’s departure, nor the fact that Gloth had passed out.
A catapult stood just behind the main ramparts. The main arm was made from a timber over eight inches thick. The beams were over a foot thick, and the ropes were massive.
“Well done,” Kang said, adding somberly, “I only hope we have a chance to use it.”
Slith looked worriedly back into the bunker. “I thought you were going to take care of our esteemed commander. By the Queen, he sounds like he’s ready to lead the charge any minute!”