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you killed him?
Brack stared down at the little figure. What are you going to do about
it? he shouted.
The gnome seemed to quail for a moment, then said, I guess we ll
have to give back your cows, then. He departed, leaving Brack
speechless.
The cows did not reappear immediately, not for the rest of that day, nor
with dawn of the next day. The pro-visioner-general did appear at dawn,
and Brack found him inspecting the vacant paddocks.
You had four hundred and fifty-three head of cattle, said the
provisioner-general, an officious skeleton of a man, regarding Brack over
the top of his glasses. They seem to be missing.
Well, yes, started Brack, we have had a problem with gnomes
taking the cattle.
The provisioner-general looked dubious. Gnomes? Raiding cattle?
Unlikely.
Ah, said the guard at Brack s side, Well, these gnomes have had, uh,
exceptional leadership. He was trying to help, but Brack shot him a
venomous look.
Yes. The provisioner-general flipped through a sheaf of papers
attached to his clipboard. This would be the Rumtuggle mentioned in
your earlier reports.
Brack looked at the guard again, then sighed. Yes, that would be
correct, but we have ordered the gnomes to return the cattle, and they have
said they will do so.
Hmmm, said the provisioner-general. Did they give you any idea
when they would be returning said cattle?
Brack opened his mouth to respond, but instead there was only the
noise of a distant twanging, followed by the approaching sound of a
lowing, panic-stricken cow. From overhead.
The gnomes were returning the cattle by catapult. The first of the four
hundred and fifty-three head of cattle smashed into the ground between
Brack and the provi-sioner-general, knocking both off their feet. Brack
immediately started scrabbling away as the provisioner-gener-al held his
clipboard over his head in hopes that paperwork would stop the rain of
cows over the dragonarmy camp.
* * * * *
Augie slapped the table with the fleshy part of his palm. So it s a cow
story, then! he said laughing.
Brack managed a thin, patient smile. It s a gnome story, one of those
where you underestimate the gnomes and they turn out to be more
intelligent, inventive, and dangerous than you thought. They found a way
to hide the cattle, then built catapults. . . .
Cattle-pults, snorted Augie, almost spitting beer out his nose.
Brack sipped at his tankard, and Augie waved for another round.
Another gnome appeared with more ales. Augie pulled himself slowly
back together and rubbed the tears from his eyes.
So the jig was up, he said at last. Your little imaginary friend was
revealed at last, and you were cashiered.
Brack shook his head. Not yet. The cow-shot attack was only the
beginning. We sent out forces, of course, but the gnome towns were
abandoned.
They fled before your victorious armies?
They had abandoned them earlier, said Brack. They were keeping
the cows inside the buildings. Of course none of our hobgoblins wanted to
go find out because. . .
These gnomes were dangerous! shouted Augie, almost losing his
composure again. They were followers of Rumtuggle!
Rumtuggle the Rebel, said Brack. Who was supposedly dead, but
now was being sighted everywhere, rallying the gnomes and the kender
and whatever other races they could find against us. That just brought out
the worst elements of all.
Oh no, not. . .
Adventurers, said Brack, staring into his mug. Any tinpenny warrior
with a dream and a sword. They started rallying the gnomes into a real
organized force. And if we caught and killed any of them, then more
showed up.
So what did your highlords do when all this activity suddenly showed
up in your comfortable backwater? asked Augie, smiling.
Brack sighed. The worst thing they could possibly do.
You mean?
Yes. Brack set down his empty tankard and picked up the refilled
one, They sent more troops in. To help us put down the imaginary
gnome.
* * * * *
The dragonlord s armor was a shiny jet-black, and he rode an emerald-
colored mount, its reptilian scales shimmering greenly in the wet morning
fog. What Lieutenant Brack remembered most of all was his nose. It was a
thin, aquiline nose with a great distance from tip to bridge, and the
dragonlord looked down the entire length of said nose to regard Brack.
You have rebel troubles, said the dragonlord icily, in the tone of a
man who had far more important things to do. Brack wished the
dragonlord was doing them.
In a manner of speaking, said Brack, as calmly as possible. There
were some thefts
Cows, said the dragonlord. You lost some cows.
But we got them back, put in Brack.
Not in the same shape as you lost them, said the dragonlord. He
struck a pose. Rebellion must be crushed wherever it raises its head!
Brack wondered if the pose was supposed to be heroic or just
uncomfortable. It has been a very peaceful area.
Until now, said the dragonlord in a voice as serious as the grave.
Until this . . . Rumtuggle chose to challenge the might of our armies. He
will live to regret it.
The dragon snorted in agreement. Lieutenant Brack looked at the
dragonlord, wondering if he should laugh or scream.
By the end of the first week, he would have opted for screaming. More
forces arrived, and with them a plethora of lieutenants, captains, and
colonels. All answered to the dragonlord, and Brack was reduced to little
more than a concierge, rushing about and making sure that all their needs
were met. Most of these units had served together and had rivalries
ranging from friendly and competitive to bitter and dangerous. Most of
Brack s forces were now kept busy keeping the other encampments from
raiding each other over slights, real and imagined.
The dragonlord was oblivious to such problems within the ranks, as
was usual with those in charge. The various commanders jumped when he
shouted orders, and they scuttled away to enact them. Usually that
involved some new demand upon outpost commander Brack.
While overseeing a crew to clear still more land for the encampment of
a newly arrived unit, Brack realized what was bothering him he had
suddenly rejoined the army, and he did not like it one bit.
The weather did nothing to help. The fogs that had helped created
Rumtuggle in the first place had continued and, if anything, had gotten
worse. They were combined with continual rains that drenched the area.
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