Dark Key: Book Two of the Phantom Badgers

by RW Krpoun

  Starr moved with Lanthrell precision and stealth, slipping with practiced speed from a low bush to the trunk of a scrub oak, crossing with a measured pace as it is movement that catches the eye more than anything else, and fast movement the surest revealer. Born to the woods, the Lanthrell are deadly woodmen, superb archers and ruthless ambushers, preferring to trade space and time in lieu of lives, and Starr was fully trained in all aspects of her people's warcraft.

  It had been a lively morning for the Badgers and even more so for the cultist caravan. The company had risen shortly before dawn after a night spent both dry and warm; Elonia had advised them that while they would not see the sun for several days, the rain had passed except for a brief, light shower that would fall in the evening. Setting out under roiling clouds noticeably less gray than the previous day's, the company paused to bag another wild pig and a young deer for provisions before riding hard to catch up with the caravan, which had had its wheels upon the track before the sun rose.

  Such an early start had done the cultists no good as an oxen-drawn wagon on rough, rutted tracks makes less speed than a man afoot, and is bound to that track; the Badgers had no difficulty in overtaking, and then passing their prey, riding a mile ahead of them. There they established a temporary camp at a safe distance from the track where they left their mounts. Arian remained at the camp to prepare a smokeless fire and pallets, ready to receive wounded; while he waited he set himself to skinning and quartering the game.

  Durek separated the Badgers into three teams and oddments; one team consisted of Starr with Rolf and Kroh as security, the second consisted of Janna with Dmitri and Maxmillian, and the third of Henri, Durek, and Roger. Bridget remained mounted to the rear, as a rapid reserve and Healer. Elonia ranged ahead of the caravan, scouting and watching for further trouble which was always a possibility this far from civilized lands.

  Durek's plan for the day was simple; Starr and Janna, the latter wielding her long bow, harried the caravan, Janna from the west and Starr from the east; each would loose a shaft or two from the scrub and withdraw as the nearest Tala charged in after them; the two Badgers on security, armed with crossbows, would cover them if need be. Henri and the third group stalked the surviving novice, watching for an opportunity to take the caravan’s last spellcaster out of the equation.

  It was now nearly noon, and a long and bloody day it had been for the Hand: while the novice still lived, he was reduced to purely defensive spells. Progress had been deadly slow: on five occasions Janna had slain an ox, forcing the entire caravan to halt while spare animals were harnessed, and under fire from the Badgers the entire time. Only the fact that they had but two archers prevented a complete slaughter, but the Hand's losses were heavy just the same: they had slain one of the Sevenguard and wounded another, killed eleven Orcs including one of the Urchek’s bodyguards, and dropped five of the teamsters. Only one of the mastiffs had been killed, however, and the other three were kept inside the wagons.

  Kneeling by her oak, Starr carefully surveyed the battered caravan while slipping the point of one arrow into the drier soil at the base of the tree. Although it had not rained today there was enough moisture left on the branches to have soaked her nearly to the skin, and more than enough mud to liberally coat her. Worse, the wet was forcing her to change bowstrings often, and her supply was limited. Good catgut, well-waxed and cured, could be dried out, trimmed, and re-used, but only a few times before it lost all consistency.

  The caravan was moving at best speed, which was to say slowly. The Orcs moved alertly, frustration and anger in their every movement and gesture. The caravan master and novice stayed concealed within the wagons, a cluster of slaves and scribes around them to block any arrow-fire. Nocking a second shaft, Starr studied the Tala nearest her. Selecting a likely target, she drew to full extension, took a deep breath, released half, and let fly, instantly plucking the arrow she had positioned and nocking it. Even as the first arrow took an Orc in the throat she was releasing the second at a wagon driver.

  Enraged bellows and curses in the harsh Orcish tongue erupted as she scampered away. More than just curses followed her: a throwing club ripped through the brush to the left of her position, and several arrows whipped overhead. The Tala moved to give chase, but fell back after Rolf and Kroh sent quarrels slicing through the brush. No matter how enraged the Orcs might be, they were too well seasoned of veterans to rush into thick brush where ambushes lurked behind every bit of cover.

  Darting through the scrub, trying to keep her bowstring dry, Starr zigzagged parallel to the track, looking for another sniper's post. The sudden clarion call of the Arturian hunting horn made her jump: Durek was ordering them to break off and rally at the temporary camp. Unstringing her bow to preserve the bowstring, Starr made her way to where she could hear her security team, weariness clinging to her like the mud that caked her legs.

  "We've done as well as can be expected: we've delayed the caravan, demoralized the wagon drivers, and worn the Orcs down." Durek surveyed the muddy company before him. They were tired, but in good spirits as they ate a cold meal and listened to the plan for the afternoon. "But we've also developed problems of our own. We've lost two wounded: Dmitri, who was hit on the knee by a throwing club, and Roger, who took an arrow in the hip. Both have been Healed by Arian, but they'll be off their feet for a day or so while they recover from the wounding itself and the strain of being Healed. We're running out of bowstrings due to the damp, and worse, we're running out of scrub. The land changes to rolling, open ground five miles down the track. Once the caravan reaches that they'll be damn difficult to harry."

  "As I see it our only chance is to break the caravan before it reaches the open ground. Killing off any more oxen will not do us any good as they'll just fire the wagon and keep moving. If we can kill enough leaders, the Orcs will pull out with what they can carry and leave the primary loot to us. To accomplish this I had Bridget and Elonia mount up and ride to the last mile of the brush, where they created several rough barricades two hundred yards apart. We'll ride to them and fortify them until the caravan catches up. In order to get the wagons through they'll have to seize and clear each one, giving us ample opportunity to bleed them dry. Any questions?"

  "What if they flank us with the Orcs? With only ten we can't secure on all sides," Janna pointed out. "We are just as susceptible to a sudden rush from the flanks as anyone else."

  "Actually, it's my hope that they do so. The first two positions are secured on the west flank by a deep creek bed; we will position Elonia on the east with the horn. Should the Orcs move to flank in full force, we will mount and charge the caravan; with only five Red Guard, two of whom bear wounds, and a half-dozen wagon drivers, we could carry it, or at least maul them. It's not the best situation, but it's all we have to work with. If we had another ten miles of scrub to work with we would do things differently, but we don't have them. Saddle your mounts; we've work to do."

  At least at the Orc fort they had had tools to work with, Maxmillian fumed. Here all they had was two short brush hooks, a hatchet, a small spade, and their belt knives. Even with four hours to prepare and horses to do the heavy hauling the barricades were not something to excite the heart or steady the nerves. The first and second had a core of small boulders and deadfall trees covered in freshly-cut thorn bushes and fronted with a thick belt of stakes; the third had the core and thorn bushes but few stakes, and the last three were nothing more than piles of rocks and brush that were sufficient to bar a wagon from passing but which offered little in the way of protection.

  Despite the poor state of defenses Durek had ordered them to don armor and rest when the caravan was sighted a half-hour distant; the Captain had walked them through a half-dozen different plans that covered most contingencies, or so they hoped. Henri had been exempted from all exertion so that he could nap and recover some of his magical energies, and a small fire built to dry out their socks and bowstrings. What preparations that could be made had been made, and
now the Badgers waited in silence for the onset of battle.

  The scholar scraped mud from his boots with a flat rock, hoping to improve the stability of his footing and to give his hands something to do. The caravan was in plain sight, but out of bowshot; to his left Janna and Durek discussed the possibilities of moving an archer to within range, but from the direction of the conversation, it would seem that they wouldn't bother. So far their plans seem to be based on valid assumptions: the bulk of the Orcs were forming to clear the barricade by brute force, with the mounted Sevenguard positioned to act as a reserve. Starr had scouted the caravan as it had approached and reported that the slaves were nowhere to be seen; it was possible that they had fled but Maxmillian could hear Henri and Bridget quietly discussing the possibility that they had been sacrificed to restore the novice's powers, and the methods that he might use to augment the attack should this be the case.

  With a howled cry and the distant clatter of armor the Orcs moved forward at a trot, coming down the rutted trail on as broad a front as the brush to either side would allow. Maxmillian stepped into the stirrup of his crossbow and cocked it as Janna released her first shaft, the yard-long arrow flashing out to impale a green-skinned warrior. Orc short bows returned the fire, but the shafts wobbled to the earth yards short of the barricade.

  Another twenty heartbeats, a period of time both agonizingly long and fearfully short, and Durek gave a quiet command; the crossbowmen (Durek, Arian, Kroh, Rolf, and Maxmillian) raised their weapons and fired a ragged volley. The methodical effort of cock, load, fire and recock helped steady the scholar's nerves and distracted him from the pace of things. He was aware that Starr had begun plying her deadly bow as he aimed for his second shaft, and that between the third and fourth shaft Orc arrows began to drop amongst them with no accuracy, being fired on the move.

  He was also aware that Henri and Bridget were holding themselves out of the fight, not even wielding their slings, but the significance of this did not occur to him until the priestess shouted a warning. There was a soundless thunderclap that enveloped the defenders; Maxmillian's head rang and his crossbow discharged impotently into the ground before him. He was aware of Arian lying stretched out flat and Starr sitting dazed in the mud, but little else registered as the universe was filled with a roaring that filled his ears and sent tendrils of numbness twisting through his mind. Then the oppressing pressure lifted abruptly and a series of small fireballs exploded in the ranks of the Orcs, now scant feet from the stake-belt, throwing them into confusion.

  "Fall back! Fall back!" Durek roared, slinging Arian across his broad shoulders. Covered by another eruption of fireballs, the Badgers fell back to the second barricade, Starr being carried by Kroh.

  Elonia crouched motionless in a thick tangle of brush, eyes and ears alert. The series of sharp whistles from the barricade indicated that the Orcs were forming up and that the main attack would come down the track, but that did not mean that there would be no flankers. It did mean that any threat made on the flank would have to be dealt with entirely on her own. Carefully she prepared her spells; as a low-ranking practitioner Vectius Meum she was no battle-mage, but she did know several modest defensive spells.

  The sound of the flankers carried to her long before she could see them, but the sound itself was enough to prompt a hiss of dismay, and the sight merely confirmed her fears. The flanking force was small, four Orcs with the looks of veterans about them: one archer, and three ordinary warriors armed with bundles of javelins. Worst of all was the burly mastiff that strained at its leash, rendering the patrol proof against a close ambush. The Seeress bit her lip, a frown creasing her forehead: four armored Orcs and a war dog were a force that would tax Kroh, much less an unarmored knife-fighter. Still, there was no other way around her duty: she secured the flank, and there was no time to get further help, not that anyone could be spared from defending the barricade.

  Murmuring softy she wove her spells around herself; her visible form blurred, and various wards settled into place. Checking the straps on her manoples, she arranged the folds of the fighting net and eased forward. The dog alerted at once to this movement, and either jerked free or was released by its handler. Ignoring the volley fired by the Orcs, Elonia concentrated on the massive black and brown beast bounding towards her; the arrow clipped a branch and was deflected anyway; haste and another branch accounted for two of the javelins, but the third flew true and was only deflected by her magical defenses.

  Stepping into the throw, she swept her net at the mastiff whose momentum carried him directly into the heart of the weighted mesh. Howling in pain and rage, the dog tumbled, snarling and biting at the folds and their bruising lead edge-weights. Springing forward, heedless of the arrow and javelin her weakening wards deflected, Elonia silenced the dog's howls with a single savage thrust that ripped through the net and the short-haired hide, glanced off the beast’s spine, and sliced through the large vein that ran alongside the dog’s windpipe. Twisting her blade as she withdrew, the Seeress opened the creature’s windpipe as well before ducking away into the brush.

  Safely hidden, and with the advantage back to her, she repaired the damage to her wards with the last of her power and readied her other net. The Orcs were hesitant, keenly aware of the dangers to them with the loss of the dog, and moved forward with caution. With equal caution, the Seeress stalked them, easing around to come upon them from the rear.

  Her rush, covered by the howls of the Orc charge on the track, caught the four by surprise: the archer was enveloped in a net before they were aware of the attack. Her first slash hamstrung the warrior nearest to her, whom she finished with a thrust to the base of the skull; her wards deflected a savage thrust with a javelin before collapsing. Spinning, she caught the weapon in the tines of her left manople before it could be withdrawn and jerked it to the side, opening the Orc's guard; before he could recover her right blade had thrust in to open the large blood vessels in his throat. Flinging the javelin from her weapon-tines into the face of the unattacked Orc, Elonia fled.

  Circling around once again, Elonia was gratified to see the two survivors withdrawing.

  Durek cursed bitterly as he watched the Orcs dismantle the first barricade. They had levered him from a good defensive position without even closing to melee; worse, his force was so badly shaken from the magical assault that a counterattack was out of the question. They had killed several Orcs and accounted for that damned novice, finally, in this first attack but they had paid far too high a price: Arian was so badly stunned as to be out of the battle, and had been sent back to the horses; with him gone, Bridget couldn't engage in further magical actions as she had to conserve her powers for Healing. Henri had expended his remaining powers in killing the novice, leaving the Badgers on the same footing as the cultists in terms of arcane support. To make things even worse, Starr was too shaken from the magical assault to use her bow, so Durek had sent her to aid Elonia on the flank until she recovered.

  Without magic and with only one archer the battle would become a matter for cold steel, an area where the Hand with its superior numbers held the advantage; obviously the three rearmost barricades behind them would have to be written off as points to hold. They would either have to break the caravan at this barricade and the third if given time to improve it, or allow them to pass.

  Frowning, the Dwarf stroked his beard, thinking hard. His basic concept remained the same, while the actual plan changed several times as he weighed risks and available forces. Coming to a conclusion, he pulled Henri aside and briefed him carefully before sending him off. Moving from Badger to Badger, Durek warned them of the change to their plans, and tried to cheer them a bit.

  The assault on the second barricade began just as the first: the Orcs, ranks somewhat thinner, surged forward into the Badger's fire. Durek loosed two quarrels before tossing his crossbow aside; the water-weakened catgut was stretching too much to recock. Hefting his axe Aran Kir Rauko in one hand, he readied their last Storm of Dis
ruption in the other.

  The sandstorm swept through the Orc ranks just as they piled into the stake belt, causing several to rip open calves and ankles on the stakes. As the storm dispersed Kroh's axe made its unnatural flight to smash the skull of a Talachek closely followed by three throwing axes from Janna. Then the fight was joined at the barricade as the Orcs tried to claw their way over or around the obstacle, and the Badgers fought to stop them. Footing was uncertain on both sides as the hastily-built barricade began to unravel, rocks and slender tree trunks sliding out in every direction.

  Anchoring the left end of the line, Durek skipped over a loose rock and twisted to let a renac scrape harmlessly along his side, then chopped at the wielder's arm, the enchanted steel of his axe cutting through the leather bracer and slicing deeply into the flesh beneath it. He broke a spear shaft with his backswing and risked a glance to see how the rest were doing.

  Rolf, blood streaming from a bad cut on his jaw, was doing well; fighting with a half-Orc's natural hatred for his non-Human forbearers he had accounted for one of the Urchek’s bodyguards and a Talachek. Janna held the center of their short line, wielding her black bastard sword two-handed, its blade gleaming wetly. Maxmillian fought on her right, faring better than Durek had hoped; apparently four months of regular practice had made a swordsman out of him. Kroh, anchoring the right flank, was in a Waybrother's heaven: killing Orcs. Bridget, lacking the armor for this type of fighting, stayed behind the line wielding her staff sling which at this range could send a bullet right through a steel helm and blast open the skull within.

  The Orcs weren't doing so well: while having spent two days being sniped at from ambush meant that they had great enthusiasm for coming to grips with the foe, they were physically tired after a long day's march, chasing after elusive snipers, making two charges on the barricades, and ripping apart the first barrier.