by RW Krpoun
Dark Tide
Book Five of the Phantom Badgers
By RW Krpoun
Copyright 2014 by Randall Krpoun
ISBN-13: 978-1502902603
ISBN-10: 1502902605
Dedicated to my wife Ann, and to my old comrades of the ‘wrecking crew’ of my patrolman days.
A Glossary of terms is provided at the end of the book.
Chapter One
The Imperial Highway, better known as the Bloody Road for the number of battles and ambushes fought along its length, is the primary land passage between the nations of the Light in western Alhenland (the great northern continent), and the Border Realms. The Road is four hundred twenty five miles of good slate road that was maintained by the local Dwarves, curving through the hilly and thickly forested lands around the northern end of the land-locked Ascendi Sea. Bandits, Cave Goblins, and Felher raiders made travel on the road a dangerous journey in the best of times, and these were far from the best of times.
The sun was sinking below the horizon on the cold, cloudy evening of the tenth of Kammteil (the fourth month of the Imperial Calendar) as a trio of Felher scouts eased through the tall trees to the edge of the cleared ground that paralleled the western half of the Road. The Ree-master in charge of the detail studied the twenty-five wagons of the caravan that was making camp, carefully noting the dispositions of the picket-lines, sentry posts, and tents on a sheet of vellum tacked to a shingle. After adding notes on the arms and armor of the guards and a quick count of the total number of people with the wagons, the patrol leader signaled its two companions and slipped off, eager to be back at the Taupac’s warm camp, which was hidden a mile away in the lee of a ravine. After ten days of watching groups that were too large to safely raid pass by, they finally had found a target they could take. And take it they would, the Ree-master was confident: troubled times were coming, and his people needed to prepare.
Thirty minutes after the Felher patrol had slipped away a second set of scouts eyed the unsuspecting caravan’s night camp; crouching in the shadow of a leafless gray alder Corporal Starr Brightgift studied the cavern and its dispositions for several minutes before summoning one of her section to her with a slow gesture. After dispatching the scout back to the Company’s main body with a message for their Captain, the Corporal gestured for the rest of her patrol to take up defensive positions and returned her attention to the merchants making camp.
Starr was, besides a mercenary scout, a Lanthrell maiden in her sixty-second year, which for her long-lived race made her the equivalent of a Human woman of about twenty years. For many of her people their delicate, somewhat angular bone structure, tilted eyes, slender build, and smoothly-pointed, very mobile ears created an effect of cold arrogance that put many Dwarves and Men off, but Starr’s features were softened by her beaming smile, ready laugh, and carefree ways, making her stand out in any gathering as a beacon of good cheer and enthusiasm. She was also striking in her lack of height: at an inch over five feet, she was a good six inches shorter than an average Lanthrell female, a touchy point with the little warrior made worse by her relative youth.
Little could be seen of her physical beauty at the moment, however: her long golden hair was bound into a practical bun which was covered by a mottled gray-white linen scarf whose long end was wrapped across her face, leaving only her sky-blue eyes showing, the cloth serving both to hide her face and to contain the mist created by her warm breath on a cold day. A similarly patterned loose smock covered her armor, while white cloth encased her belt, scabbarded weapons, quiver and bow case. Wearing gray canvas trousers and white-washed buskins, the little Threll would have been hard to spot against the snowy landscape even without her finely honed woodcraft. The Lanthrell are forest dwellers, living in close harmony with the land just as their cousins the Harthrell lived on the sea, by nature and training highly attuned with the rhythms and patterns of Nature; it was commonly said that a Lanthrell scout could slip up unnoticed on a frightened rabbit and hide in the shadow of a stalk of grass.
The rest of her section were Humans, as Starr was the Company’s only Lanthrell, but she had trained each scout herself, and all were expert by the standards of Humans. Settling in to wait, the scouts kept watch not only upon the merchants, but on the surrounding forest as well, as they knew from experience that trouble could come from any direction.
The main body of the mercenary company known as the Phantom Badgers was marching up the road in three platoon groups with the command section in the lead and the five light panje-style carts that carried their baggage safely sandwiched between the first and second platoons, ninety-five warriors and two support personnel, not counting the seven scouts roving ahead.
Captain Durek Toolsmaster, commander of the Phantom Badgers since its founding, led the Company down the frost-coated slabs that made up the road, a male Dwarf of mature years (twelve years past a century old) standing a respectable four feet five inches, with long walnut beard carefully plaited into braids that were tucked under his belt. Clad in a heavy cloak, stout leather boots, thick wool breeches, battle-scarred breast and back plates, with studded leather bracers to protect his arms and a simple steel cap covering his close-cropped hair Durek looked the part of a mercenary officer and seasoned warrior. A shield and crossbow rode on his back, while a dirk and dagger shared his belt with a case of crossbow quarrels and a belt pouch; his enchanted axe Aran Kir Rauko swung in his left hand, moving in counterpoint to his stride.
Most Dwarves leave their underground cities only infrequently, mainly on brief holidays to see the wonders of sky, sun, and stars, or on work details to gather wood and other supplies not available underground, but there were two types of Dwarf who live outside the holds for protracted periods: the Juran, skilled workers who leave to work amongst Humans in order to aid realms friendly to the Dwarves, to obtain goods or services that the Fuar, or clan-nation, cannot obtain any other way, or simply out of a passing wander-lust. The second type were the Umherr, the Ones Who Leave, Dwarves who had come to the conclusion that the war between Light and Darkness, the Void and the Eight, cannot be won by the isolated, inward Fuar or the unaided Human realms. They believe that only by welding Dwarven longevity and experience with Humankind’s numbers and reckless energy can the Light defeat the Void-master, and they leave their homes to travel, advise, and work amongst Men, putting their theory to the test.
Being an Umherr was an honorable course in Dwarven society, but a lonely one: once there had been a young Dwarf maiden back in the mountains who had waited and prayed that Durek would satisfy his need for the Umherr path and come home to her, but decades had passed since she had finally abandoned hope and married another. Durek did not blame her.
After years spent in the Human lands as an advisor, metal-worker, and sundry other positions, he had formed and led the Phantom Badgers both as a mercenary enterprise and as a weapon to be used against the forces of the Dark One, gaining gold, loot, and expertise at the expense of the followers of the Void, forming a small band of footloose mercenaries into a group that had grown until today, nearly eleven years after its founding, the Company was well over a hundred strong and possessing a well-earned reputation as a unit which could be counted upon to complete their contacts as promised.
The appearance of Starr’s messenger gave the Captain an excuse to fall out to the side of the road; while easily one of the strongest and hardiest of the Company, Durek still had a stride that was far shorter than a Man of average height, making a foot march a faced-paced endurance test for him. Although nearly all of the Company was deployed as infantry on this campaign, Durek had allowed certain of the Badgers to bring their
mounts, including himself and Kroh Blackhand, the other Dwarf in this expedition, as it was not practical to expect Dwarves to keep up with the pace set by Humans who were on the average at least foot or more taller. Still, the Captain felt the need to set an example by marching on foot at the head of the column for part of each day.
After receiving the message Starr had sent, the Captain whistled for his mount, a male komad named Brown Axe, and swung himself up into the saddle. A komad was a Dwarven war pig, a huge, thick-pelted beast that stood between three to four feet at the shoulder and could weigh as much as eight hundred sure-footed pounds; Brown Axe was a long-shanked example that fell at the lower end of the scale, weighing around five hundred fifty pounds.
Directing the messenger to repeat his information to Lieutenant Axel Uldo, the Company’s second-in-command, Durek urged Brown Axe into a trot and headed up the road.
The caravan, he noted as he halted Brown Axe at a respectful distance and hailed the sentries, consisted of eighteen cargo wagons, five fodder-wagons, and one wagon carrying tentage; or rather, had been loaded with tentage, as canvas shelters were being raised along both sides of the road, the wagons parked between the tents and the dray beasts picketed in lines positioned between the tents and the road. A thin scattering of sentries were positioned between the tents and the trees at the edge of the cleared area, while the rest of the caravan’s people bustled about feeding the stock, and cooking their evening meal over any one of a dozen campfires they had kindled. The caravan had roughly forty people, about thirty wagoneers, a couple scouts, and a complete family including women and children, so far as Durek could tell; he guessed the latter were related to the merchant who either owned or supervised the caravan.
The wagons were well-maintained, the oxen which pulled them appeared healthy, and the members of the caravan were well-dressed and moved with a purpose, but Durek saw little else he liked about the scene before him. The camp-site was as good a position you could find in the area: it was flat, at the top of a low hill which would prevent raiders from firing down upon the camp, and sometime in the past the trees had been cleared away for sixty paces on either side of the road instead of the usual twenty, but there were far too few sentries for such a large camp, and it was obvious from their bearing that they were dray-men rather than mercenaries or professional guards; worse, they weren’t armed or armored as well as they should have been. The tents were equally bad: at the sound of an alarm the rest of the caravan would have to thrash their way out from under canvas in order to meet the foe, while the tall tents accurately indicated every sleeping position to any watchers. Durek didn’t like all the fires, either: the Badgers built fires after rising in the morning to heat their breakfast and water for washing, and again at mid-day; their night-camps, however, were fire-less to help conceal their position from any enemy in the area, as light and the smell of wood smoke can be detected at a long distance.
Moments after hailing the sentries the Captain saw a husky man in a long bearskin coat come trotting up from inside the camp, accompanied by a couple armed wagoneers; at a gesture from the sentry he urged his mount forward and rode to meet the newcomer.
“Captain Durek Toolsmaster, commander of the Phantom Badgers mercenary company, bound for Sagenhoft.” Durek used Pradian, the language of the Eisenalder Empire, and noted that the man in the bear coat was tall, nearly six feet, and somewhat past fifty years old, a bald, ruddy fellow who looked as if he had drunk a mug or two in his life. He was also unarmed and unarmored, so far as the Dwarf could see.
“Marius Rocco, master of this caravan, bound for Wexford,” Marius offered a hand much-calloused and stained by reins-handling, his Pradian thickly accented but understandable. “I must say, Captain, your Company seems rather small.”
“They’re coming up the Road behind me, should be in sight in just a few minutes. My scouts sent word back of your camp, so I came forward to introduce ourselves.”
Marius eyed the tree line. “That’s odd, we’ve seen no scouts.”
“You wouldn’t see mine,” Durek tried to grin in a friendly fashion, wondering if Marius really expected scouts to let themselves be seen. “I take it this is your first trip down the Road?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, it is,” the caravan master gave the Dwarf a sharp look. “How did you know?”
“Not enough guards,” the Captain pointed out. “And you don’t usually see tents or night-fires amongst people who’ve used the Road before.”
“Yes, we’re from Navio, having traded in the main with the Arturians, but with the war coming on there’s money to be made out here in the east.”
“I see.”
“We were told that guards were a necessity when we started out on the Imperial Highway, but we’ve encountered no armies of the Void to date, and I can’t help but wonder if the dangers weren’t greatly exaggerated, perhaps to provide jobs for the smaller mercenary bands, present company excepted, of course.”
“Of course,” Durek shrugged although from his experience, which included five months hunting bandits and raiders along the Road’s eastern half, he knew otherwise. “Night is fast approaching, and I see you have commandeered the best ground in this area; would you object if my Company made camp next to your site?”
“How large is your force, Captain?”
“One hundred four people, eight mules, and two komad, this beast of mine being one, plus five light carts.”
“Really?” Marius’ eyebrows climbed. “Quite a respectable force. Of course, feel free to share our little home in the wilderness. Perhaps you would care to join myself and my family for supper?”
“Thank you, that would be kind. We’ll set up camp here on the west side of your camp.”
“Not much room for a group the size of yours,” Marius eyed the area.
“We need less than you think,” Durek assured him, wondering at the man’s carelessness about extending the invitation: with only a few dozen poorly-armed draymen, Marius would be completely at the Company’s mercy, and while the Badgers had never indulged in road-murder and banditry, the caravan-master had no way of knowing that. However shrewd a haggler Marius might be, and he apparently was a businessman of no mean ability to command as large a caravan as he did, he seemed to have no concept as to the dangers that existed in the wilder lands.
“Well, I’ll leave you to settle in, Captain; you can find my tent there, the tall one in the center of my camp; we’ll eat in an hour or so.”
Watching the man march back into his noisy, well-lit camp (they were putting out lanterns now, on poles near the tents so as to be able to see what they were eating, the Dwarf guessed) Durek felt a bit disoriented: one of them was acting in an insane manner, and in the face of Marius’ complacency the Dwarf had a moment where he wondered if it was himself and his Company who were out of place.
The Badgers moved into their night camp with the ease of frequent practice. Their two-wheeled panje-style vehicles were parked on the Road; the eight mules (five to draw the carts and three) were picketed on line just off the road to the south, while the two komad were unsaddled, fed, and left to their own devices. Each of the three platoons (Blue, Silver, and Gold) set up sleeping areas as they always did, with Blue to the northwest of the carts, Silver to the northeast, and Gold southeast of the mules, while the scouts and command group set up southwest of the carts, thus encircling the Company’s vulnerable transport.
The mercenaries moved into position quickly and quietly, without showing light of any sort; Serjeant Janna Maidenwalk circled the camp once and then led the two other platoon leaders back around, indicating sentry posts. Half of a platoon (fifteen mercenaries) would stand watch over the camp as long as they were in position, with half of another platoon relieving them mid-way through the night; thus each Badger received two uninterrupted night’s sleep out of four. One platoon would sleep on the removable driver’s benches and tailgates of the carts, or on the cart’s loads themselves, while the rest of the Company cut pin
e branches to lift them up off the frozen ground. The privilege of using the carts was rotated each night amongst the line platoons; since the scouts and command group were exempted from sentry duty, they had to make do with pine branches every night.
Compared to the merchant’s camp, the Badger area was both tiny, dark, and very nearly silent.
There were nine females amongst the one hundred fifteen warriors that made up the Company’s fighting strength (a small detachment of Badgers had been left behind to secure the Company’s fort, Oramere), and all were present on this campaign; of the nine, Serjeant Janna Maidenwalk was clearly recognized as the toughest, and in fact, she was counted amongst the best fighters in the Company. She had been born the bastard child of a rich landowner and a serving woman in the western Empire; the big estate had been a happy place, the servant’s quarters comfortable and full of love, the work far from onerous, and the staff one big family. In her teens it had shrunk somehow, gotten so small that she threatened to explode from within if she didn’t go somewhere or do something. She had ended up as an assistant to the game keeper after spectacular failures as a serving maid, messenger, and water-tender. There on the eastern slopes of the Mondschien Mountains the job of gamekeeper was a dangerous one, and (besides becoming her first lover) the poacher-hunter taught her the ways of the forest and her first weapons-use. When the game keeper was called up with his Militia cohort for the Second North War and didn’t return she had gone to the temple of Beythar to gain assistance in joining the Imperial Legions in order to seek out revenge for her lost love (it wasn’t until years later that it occurred to her that wanderlust, and not battle, might have kept her game keeper from returning), and she was recruited for the Silver Wardens, the temple Guard, later rising to the ranks of the Silver Eagles, the elite holy warriors of Beythar.
