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A dusty land, about to be watered by blood. Knight of the Crown Mikael Keratius looked around the place where, in all likelihood, he and his men were about to die, and found it deeply disappointing. A series of lightly scrub-ridden ridges, baked by the hot eastern wind, rising to where some cataclysm (or even Cataclysm) had caused the underlying stone to break through, into a range of cliffs that ran for dozens of leagues each way. Except here. Where some fluke of the stone or forgotten act of power had punched a hole through the cliffs, fully 300 yards across, leaving rubble slopes, and a clear passage.
In which they’d die. Keratius had barely two-score knights under his command, each leading militia and soldiers from the local towns. As the Dragon Purges had swept the continent, as strange beasts had multiplied and screamed in the night, every (surviving) settlement had its armed men and women ready to stand to. He would not call his command veterans, but they were not green warriors, and months of training had got them to be an army he could be reasonably proud of. But they were still only about 800 strong, and what was coming at them…. Would leave them smeared across the landscape. Watering the dust.
Behind them, in the fertile valleys of the mountains, his squires and servants were frantically evacuating the people to high fortified refuges and hiding places. Before them, the dust of their passage rising across the plains like a banner, came an army of red dragonspawn. Coming to kill and mutilate and eat them all. If they were very lucky, in that order. So here they’d make their stand. The best defensive position, where the numbers of the dragonspawn could be minimised, where discipline and courage might matter somewhat against raw power.
He sighed inwardly, maintaining the confident commanding expression for his men. The scouts would be back soon, and then he’d know how long they had left. At least, in the shade of the cliffs, they weren’t getting too hot.
“My lord! My lord!”
From below, where his men were resting in the shade, grabbing a last bite to eat, came Squire Filibus, dust clinging to his sweaty face.
“Report, Squire….”
“Lord Keratius, they’re about four hours behind me. At current speed, the Reds will be here mid- afternoon.”
“How did they look?”
“Like an angry rabble, Lord Knight.” Filibus managed a grin. “They’re too tired to fly, and rolling along in no real order.”
Praise be the silent gods for undisciplined enemies. Trouble was…. “How many, Filibus?”
The grin died. “I make it a little under two thousand, milord.”
Better than it could have been. Worse than he’d hoped. Just low enough odds for hope, just high enough to make it pitiful. Still.
“There’ll be a lot fewer when we’re done this day!” Maybe they could kill or injure enough that the dragonspawn wouldn’t be able to shred those behind them. “Where’s Squire Calvin with our report from the rear?”
Calvin arrived scant minutes later, spurring his horse into the pass in a frothing exhausted rush, stopping almost at Keratius’ feet.
“What in the seven hells are you doing Squire?!”
Calvin all but fell off his horse, staggered a step or two closer to Keratius, saluted hurriedly, and gasped softly, “force coming in behind us Sir….”
Mikael scanned the lands behind them. There, far too close, the slight dust haze of an army marching through the hills towards them. And above, as veterans of the Purges always checked, a single flier, coming closer, closer….
“Blast it Calvin, how did they get behind us? Have they hit the villages?”
“I didn’t see any signs that they had, my Lord.” Calvin gasped, coughed, got his breath back. “And I don’t think it’s the Reds….”
That flier was getting bigger, noticeably. What on Krynn?
The troops, getting into position below, had noticed, and a couple of squads of archers were being mustered. He held up a hand and bellowed. “Hold shafts! One is no threat! We don’t shoot messengers!”
Even if these were the last days of the Solamnic traditions, they would hold to their honour and the rules of war.
The flier swept down, coming in to land. Yes, it was man-sized, a dragonspawn, it was….silver?
“What in Paladine’s name?!”
“Greetingss, Knight of the Crown… but not in Paladiness name, I’m afraid.” The large silver-scaled figure, tucked his wings neatly behind him, and gave a recognisable salute.
Keratius, out of reflex, saluted back. “You’re a Sivak!”
“Well done, Commander! You have studied your hisstoriess.” There was a jovial smile discernible on the snouted face, and Keratius fancied a twinkle in the eyes. “I pledge that I am here on peaceful mission, as a messenger. I am Lieutenant Sathiuss of Teyr.” There was a pause. “To whom am I sspeaking?”
Keratius bit his tongue, having been caught out of courtesy by a… a Draconian by the gods! Who should have been long dead with the War of the Lance! “Knight of the Crown, Lord Keratius, commanding the forces here gathered. My apologies sir, your race caught me off guard.”
Sathius waved a clawed hand dismissively. “No matter.”
“Your message, Lieutenant?”
Sathius reached inside the light armoured vest he was wearing, withdrew a scrollcase, and handed it across. “The formal introduction and offers, Sir Knight, but time pressess, may I summarisse?”
“Please do…” Keratius spared a glance down the pass. His men were setting up basic fortifications, a ridge of broken stones to fight atop, on the clear pass floor. That banner of dust down the slope had gotten closer.
“I repressent a …. Large group of draconianss who have been hidden for many yearss. The great dragonss are consuming all magicss they can, and we’ll be very much in their path…. So my commander has ssent us forth to fight against them, and make ssome friends along the way….”
A wild trumpet of hope was ringing in Keratius’ mind. “You come… to stand beside us?”
“We do. We were heading for thiss passs ourselves, but you beat uss here….”
“Beat you here from….?”
The Sivak held up an admonishing finger, and flicked out a tongue. “Not yet, Lord Knight. Let uss fight and bleed together thiss day, and then talk of secretss should we all ssee another ssunrise.”
Keratius smiled. “How many warriors do you bring, Sathius?”
The tall silver Draconian drew himself up proudly. “We march forth, two thousand sstrong. Kapaks and Bozaks and Baaz, mosstly, with a few Sivaks. Hardly a Dragonarmy of lore…” he grinned, showing a lot of pointy teeth, “but a nasty ssurprise for the Reds thiss day, I think…”
Keratius nodded back, in his mind a wild predatory howl. “Having spent some time looking at this field, I think your men….” He stumbled.
“Males, females, Draconians, Men, itss fine. Thiss is your command we join. Where do you want uss?”
“Achem. If you and yours are able to handle the scree slopes on either side, I’d like you there. When the reds go for me and mine on the pass floor, you should be able…. “
A few hours later, the rampaging red dragonspawn threw themselves at the Solamnics shining before them, to be flanked horribly by the Draconians, who swept down on them from the heights like a shining scaled storm. And for the first time in Krynn’s history, armies of Solamnic knights and Draconians fought side by side. And it was glorious….