sand.
Raising his head, an act that strained to the limit what
few resources he had left, he spat out a grainy mouthful.
Vandor kept his eyes closed. He was not at all certain
he wanted to know where he was. After all, if he were
dead, he might be in the domain of Zeboim … or worse.
Curiosity got the better of him.
All he saw was a beach. Daytime. Brilliant light
nearly blinded him. Closing his eyes, he restarted the
process, allowing himself only a narrow gap of vision at
first.
He allowed that gap to widen when he saw the feet in
front of him. They were not human feet.
“So you survived,” rumbled a horribly familiar voice.
“Some god truly watches over you, human . . .”
Vandor Grizt rolled over, the best he could do at the
moment, and stared at the looming bestial countenance of
Captain Kruug. After a moment, Vandor became aware of
the presence of three other minotaurs, one of whom leaned
heavily on another.
Vandor tried to speak, coughed and spit up sea water.
Kruug snorted. He looked tired. Very tired. “Save
your words, human. I’ve no interest in you. Anyone who
survived that folly . . . and I’m amazed there are any of us
… deserves some peace.” The minotaurs started to turn
away, but the captain held back long enough to add, “If
you’ll take my advice, you’ll go inland. DEEP inland. If I
see your ugly face again, I might remember how I lost my
ship because of you.”
Although he had a somewhat different perspective on
the recent events, Grizt did not think it wise to argue. He
watched in silence as the battered foursome stumbled off.
“You’re lucky, Vandor Grizt,” he said as he lay there
trying to regain enough strength to move on. “The bull-
man must be right: some god does smile on me!” The
thought comforted him. If that was true – and it certainly
seemed so – then it might be a wise time to begin a new
life.
Grizt started to rise, but felt something under his left
hand. He dug the object out of the sand and stared long at
it.
It was the upper portion of Stel’s skull mask – an
eyehole and part of the cheek. Vandor smiled. His
ancestor had bequeathed him a present.
Vandor dropped the battered mask and, finding new
strength, rose to his feet. He looked around and saw that
the minotaurs were still within sight, their pace slowed by
the injured member.
Vandor Grizt ran after them, calling out in order to get
their attention. Kruug turned around, his fists balled tight.
When he saw who it was, his anger was replaced by
annoyance.
“What do you want? I thought I told you – ”
“Please!” Vandor Grizt put up both hands in placation.
“Just a question of directions. That is all I ask. You know
this region much better than I.”
“All right. Where is it you want to go?”
Trying not to sound too anxious, Vandor asked,
“Would you happen to know the way to the nearest temple
of Shinare?”
The Vingaard Campaign
Douglas Niles
FROM the Research of Foryth Teel, Senior Scribe
in the service of Astinus, Master Lorekeeper of Krynn.
Most Gracious Historian, you do me too much honor!
To think of this task – the study of the greatest military
campaign in the post-Cataclysm history of Krynn – and to
realize that you have selected ME to prepare the
documents! I am honored, humbled. But, as always, I shall
endeavor to do my best, so that the truth can be recorded
and saved.
Thank you too, Excellency, for your concern about my
health following my previous mission. My nerves have
settled and the tremors have almost disappeared from my
hands. Also, I am able to sleep for several hours at a time
without suffering the recurrence of nightmares.
As always, a return to my work seems to promise the
most complete cure – and in this assignment, Your Grace,
you could not have provided a more perfect medicine. The
tale of the Vingaard Campaign! The very phrase strikes a