by RW Krpoun
Having selected the three best wagons, they unloaded all the caravan's contents, reloaded what they needed on two wagons and as much grain as it could hold into the third; everything else went into the pond. The caravan had carried a large quantity of weapons and tools for the Cave Goblin allies of the Hand, cultist ceremonial gear, nearly a ton of various narcotics, a message chest that burned up when they tried to open it, a chest containing poisons and exotic drugs that was relegated to Bridget's care, and a quantity of coin equal to six hundred Imperial Marks. Kroh and Rolf enjoyed themselves immensely as they dumped the gear, beating the short swords and small axes against boulders to ruin their edges before heaving the damaged arms into the pond.
And of course, they found the primary reason they had attacked the caravan: a stout iron-bound chest containing twenty-six one-pound bricks of andern, each brick lovingly wrapped in waxed paper and nestled in its place in a felt-cushioned wooden tray. There were two bricks of black, three each of indigo, crimson, and gray, and five each of brown, puce, and ocher. Working carefully, wearing gloves that were burned afterwards, Bridget and Henri unwrapped each brick, discarding the Hand seals, and rewrapped it in paper brought for that purpose. The new sealing wax was marked with the impression of the Golden Serpent, using a seal they had captured in their raid on the ‘drayage company’.
The bricks themselves were roughly the size of a construction brick and made up of a material that was a cross between fine wax and moist clay, both resiliently firm and potentially crumbly. As he worked, Henri explained to the watchers that andern's consistency changed with handling. The bricks, the outside edges carefully milled to prevent shaving, were particularly vibrant to look at, being weirdly intense representatives of the colors: the black bricks were especially black, the gray were deeper gray, and so on. Every type of andern was represented, an unusually rich haul and one that sobered the watching Badgers; andern is the pure stuff of the Void, drawn into the world in a process very similar to that which drew forth the Direbreed's Breedstones, and enhancing or empowering nearly all of the magical endeavors of the followers of the Dark One.
"I wish we could just have it destroyed," Arian commented to Durek while they watched the bricks being resealed. "The Felher are no better than the Hand and nothing good will come of their getting any of that damned stuff."
"So would I," the Dwarf nodded. "But we need it to convince the bastards that we're really Golden Serpent. The good thing is that most of it will be used in the Felher's wars with the Cave Goblins and the Direthrell; that's better than being used by cultists in the Empire and Arturia. And we'll provoke an attack on Alantarn with it; in the long run that'll do more harm to the Felher than the advantage they get from the andern. Sometimes you've got to play the odds."
The monk sighed. "True enough. The andern may be the key to recovering the Torc and the destruction of the White Necromancer, so clearly the good far outweighs the bad, but I have to admit, the stuff makes my skin crawl."
The Badgers took the andern, the money, and the narcotics, the latter as additional trade goods for their entry into Alantarn. With the pulvas they had taken from the Serpent and by buying a few cases of wine to round things out they would have a decent cargo with which to complete their cover. When the last of the discarded goods had been heaved into the pond the company drove the wagons another two miles down the track to a night camp. When morning came they smashed the wheels and axles of the seven empty wagons and pushed on, releasing the excess oxen two hours later, keeping the four best teams and all ten warhorses, the latter as mounts for the trip into Alantarn. Their own mounts were too distinctive, and in any case they would have to abandon their animals during their escape from the fortress.
The next day the Badgers split up. Janna, Arian, and Dmitri remained with the wagons while the rest of the Badgers angled off to rejoin Maxmillian's staff, stopping at the first town they encountered to purchase bowstrings and crossbow quarrels and materials for arrows; Maxmillian also picked up another shield.
The group continued north, with a three-Badger detachment leaving every other day on an extended 'task' of one sort or another, allowing the wagon guards to be regularly rotated. The wagon guards picked up the hidden disguises and the pulvas, and exchanged one of the warhorses for a donkey that would serve Starr to ride on the mission into Alantarn.
For Elonia, the trip's hard labors and rough conditions provided a welcome relief from contact with the other Badgers. She had need of solitude, as the proximity of the end of her task and the revelation that she was less covert than she had believed were disquieting. She sat on the tongue of one of the wagons, a tarp held up by the wagon seat and two Orc spears keeping the drizzle off, moodily tossing stones at a water-filled rut. Maxmillian crouched nearby on a block of wood, muttering to himself as he tried to decipher Golden Serpent documents in the fading gray light.
Her whole life had been built upon revenge and now she neared its fulfillment: she intended to avenge her mother through the deaths of the Hold-Mistress Clarevia, who had ordered her mother's humiliations and death, and her own father, Halradtic for the same reasons; additionally, she would see her mother's remains returned to the Forest she had loved. As a bonus, her mother’s prison, Alantarn, would be hit with a Felher raid that would serve it a measure of well-deserved destruction.
Now as the final accounting came closer she keenly felt the pressure of the near-fruition of her plans; pressure and a touch of guilt, which was something new. The Phantom Badgers were her instrument in this undertaking and had been since she had planted the forged letter in the paperwork they had taken from those bandits last year. The Torc was in Alantarn, she had known that for decades; it was simply a matter of encouraging the Badgers to seek it out. She had chosen them specifically because of their problems with the White Necromancer, as only the need for a great and unique weapon would drive anyone to take such desperate risks, and because she believed that the Badgers could pull it off. She had planted the defense plans and the journal, both genuine in the Direthrell files at the spy-post in the ruined temple (naturally, she had known that the ruins were a Pargaie way-station); that Johann had died was a shame but she felt no great responsibility, seeing it as a fluke of battle, no more. By the odds involved, they should have taken no real losses, and such events could happen to anyone, herself included.
Alantarn was a different matter. She worried for her fellows’ safety as they had become much more than an instrument of revenge in these last months, growing to be comrades and even friends, another new experience for her. It was to be expected, however: weeks of shared discomfort, and the exhilaration of shared battle forged bonds between people that could not easily be shrugged off. She had not planned on this, however; she had counted upon her detachment to remain unsullied, having always had fought her lonely war against the Direthrell in specific, and the followers of the Dark One in general, by herself, with no one else involved or at risk. But her emotions had betrayed her; unwillingly, she felt herself being dragged into bonds that went beyond mere comradeship.
She shook her head, frowning. She was committed and so were the Badgers; besides, they still needed the Torc, and whatever her own reasons she had given them a chance for it. She would take every risk they would and afterwards, if there was an afterwards for her or them, she would serve them as best she could to discharge any debts she might owe them. She shivered at the thought of afterwards: what came after revenge?
And what of Maxmillian, she wondered, deliberately changing the train of her thoughts. She had badly misjudged the man-obviously underneath the diffident, scholarly mien was a sharp mind. She should have realized that there was more to him than appeared when she had seen him fight at the Orc fort. Maxmillian was a man of quiet competence and understated courage, and it was time to regard him as such. More importantly, what was she going to do about his incisive mind probing at her secrets? A man clever enough to spot her deft pressures on the plans of the Company might think to probe a
t the fortuitous discoveries of useful written material at every turn.
If the Direthrell blood that ran in her veins was dominant she would simply have arranged an 'accident', but long ago she had vowed to never act as if she was of the Direthrell except towards the Dark Threll themselves. No, she would find other ways; it was not as if there was a lengthy danger. The plan would be complete in a matter of weeks, and during that time the historian would likely be so caught up in operations as to have little time for in-depth contemplation of the events that had led them here; afterwards it would be a moot point, should both he and she survive.
Catching him looking at her, she gave him an absent smile and was amused to see his cheeks flush as he ducked back into his papers. If it seemed that he was drifting too close to an understanding of her actions, she could simply pose for him as he suggested; no doubt just the offer to do so would take his mind off secrets and subtle manipulation.
Rolf waved to her as he slogged by on some errand, smiling shyly when she responded. The big half-Orc treated her like an older big sister, watching her with a childlike intensity that had at first been irritating but had since become familiar, even comforting. It was becoming harder to be objective, she knew; Durek had taken her aside and told her that he was going to see to it that she received the Emerald Claw for her courage in turning back the flanking party at the barricades. She had indicated to him that she didn't want it, but he would carry through with his Dwarfish diligence and sense of rightness. Maxmillian, Rolf, and most of the others had all echoed the sentiment and promised to support the award, and it bothered her that such an action could so touch her.
Gathering another handful of pebbles, she continued her bombardment, and her pondering.
Seven days after the final battle the Badgers reached Narnhelm, the ancient walled capitol of the Pernia Empire, a grim, brooding city languishing under despotic rule. The Badgers took rooms in a tavern well outside the city walls, and handed over a hefty bribe to the Overlord’s guards to ensure that they could operate without overmuch official attention. Elonia escorted Maxmillian on his scholarly forays into the city, both as company and because her knives were legal in the weapon-restricted city proper, albeit barely.
By the time the wagon teams carrying the cover gear and trade goods reached the city two days later Maxmillian had put his wagon in storage and established himself and his scribes in a comfortable rented house. The loaded wagons were left far outside of town, safely guarded by Rolf and Kroh, while the Badgers gathered to discuss their next move.
The first order of business, and the happiest, was the question of awards and decorations. After some discussion it was decided to award Elonia the Emerald Claw for her heroic, single-handed defeat of the four Orcs and mastiff that comprised the flanking move; Honor Roll mentions were made for Durek's leadership during the caravan engagements, Janna's ferocity in the melee at the second barricade, and Arian's competent planning overall. Elonia and Henri were both promoted from Auxiliary to Full Badgers in recognition of their efforts.
"This isn't going to take long," Durek announced, after all the congratulations had been made. "We've just got to wrap up the details. Maxmillian, you start."
"Not much to say about our internal deception, since the Badgers have been ‘assigned’ various far-flung tasks the scribes won't expect to see them around. I've arranged a fake invitation to a noble's estate well outside of town so I'll be 'gone' for an equal or greater amount of time. Meanwhile, I've left my scribes an eight-page list of research to be done, places in town to check on, and the like. All are bona fide research subjects and there's more than enough to keep them busy while we're gone, not counting the time they’ll spend enjoying the city’s entertainments while I’m away. They've been told that I plan to depart to trace Malker's Wall south for a couple weeks, and then return to the Empire, where they'll be discharged from my service. The winters out here on the plains aren't too bad to prevent travel and they know my funds are not unlimited, so this itinerary will be convincing. So far they think that everything has gone according to plan on this trip."
"Good. Bridget?"
"I've polled everyone for ideas and picked up anything anyone could possibly guess we'll need, plus some cases of wine to round out our cargo."
"Fine. Arian?"
"Every page that we have captured has been carefully studied, and since we arrived here I have availed myself of the archives at our temple and brushed up on the Felher in general, so I believe that research-wise there is little more that we can do. There will need to be a team, riding well ahead of the main body, who will go through the contact and negotiation process as the wagons will look strange under the normal contact circumstances, and might excite greed or curiosity in the Felher. So long as our disguises hold up, and I have no real concerns on that subject."
"You believe that we can persuade the Felher to attack the strongest non-Dwarf fortress for a several thousand miles in any direction for a few pounds of andern?" Roger shook his head. "You count on too much luck."
"Luck has nothing to do with it," Arian grinned easily, but no one present missed the anger in his eyes. "And you are wrong in your basic assumptions. First, we are not hiring the Felher to raid Alantarn, second, the 'few pounds of andern' as you put it has a value to the Felher far beyond its bulk: that Darkhost we faced, excuse me, most of us faced, was summoned with a quantity of andern that was far less than what we are going to give them; in fact, they probably used four pounds of the gray, or two of indigo. They could have done it with a quarter-pound of the black, but no one uses black andern for something as basic as Seeding, it is far too hard to get.”
“Let me remind you that there are only two known anverax, that is, sources for black andern; Alantarn was built to safeguard a possible third anverax site. As far as to whether or not the Felher in question would raid Alantarn, the simple fact is that they have raided it before and will again in the future; they are at war with the Direthrell for the obvious reason that if the Direthrell get an anverax of their own they will gain enormous strength and no doubt expand ever further into the Felher's areas of interest. What we are going to do is offer to open Gate egran for them inside Alantarn at prearranged times and places, give them maps of the hold, and enough andern to prove that we're serious. The Felher have nothing to lose by doing it as the lives of their troops mean very little to the leaders; no doubt they'll be willing to risk a few hundred warriors just on the off chance that we are telling the truth. A strong raid into Alantarn will disrupt Direthrell progress, delay the creation of the anverax, and offer opportunities for loot and slaves, which are reasons enough for the Felher to work with us."
"Maybe, but why will the Felher trust us?" Roger countered. "We're going to walk up and say, 'Here's a bunch of andern. Say, how about we sneak into Alantarn and open a bunch of Gates for you so you can do us all some good? Just civic-minded, that's us.' They'll smell a trap a mile away."
"The andern merely proves that we are cultists and serious. Our proposal to the Felher is that they provide us with a number of enchanted items, including a complete Gate assembly to be used in our escape from Alantarn; we will come close to the truth regarding the Alantarn affair: that we are looking at loot and hostages when the raid hits. What we are offering them is a joint operation with benefit for all."
"Which will help our cover when the Direthrell dig into the causes of the raid, which is likely," Janna noted, with a sour glance at Roger. “Felher raids are a common occurrence for the Direthrell.”
Roger looked unconvinced, but refrained from further objections.
Durek rapped on the table. "All right, anyone else have any more points to bring up? Good. Now, the contact team is a touchy matter as we don't want to send the wagons near the Felher, so that means splitting our force. The main party will head directly towards Alantarn while the Felher contact group will make the arrangements for the raid and then catch up, which should be easy since the main body will be with the wagons."
"Who to send was a tough decision," the Captain carefully surveyed the faces around him. "I've taken a lot of time over the composition of the team, and have made my choices as carefully as I can. Keep in mind that Golden Serpent are not normally multiracial in the key positions, so that rules out non-Humans except Rolf. The team will consist of four for the contacting, and two to advise and act as security. The two for security will be Arian, for his knowledge and Healing, and Elonia as I figure they'll need a Seer more than the main body."
Maxmillian, who had been rapidly running through the list of Humans, swallowed hard.
"The contact team will be Dmitri in overall command, Rolf, Henri, and Maxmillian."
"I can see Dmitri, Rolf and Henri," Roger conceded. "But why Maxmillian? Why not me or Janna?"
"They might be able to sniff out a Silver Eagle, and Maxmillian looks more like a merchant than you. In fact, he's the only one in this bunch that could: Dmitri is too much a warrior, Rolf isn't merchant quality, and they'll smell spellcasting on Henri. Any other questions?"
"Yes, one," Janna nodded. "You said that Serpent Dens weren't normally pan-racial. Won't the Direthrell wonder about the Dwarves and Threll?"
"Good point. We non-Humans will be posing as hirelings of the Den; Kroh and I as weapon smiths, Starr as a scout, Elonia as a Seer. Any more questions? Good. Get ready, we're leaving tomorrow. Oh, one more thing: Kroh and I will drive the wagons rather than buy new komad. If that's all, we'll leave the city in twos and three as usual; Bridget will let you know with whom and when as the details are finalized. Contact team, stay for a minute; the rest of you can go. Enjoy the town as this will be the last we will see of civilized living for quite a while."
