by RW Krpoun
She had retired from their ranks nearly eleven years ago when the Eagle leadership had decided to pull her from active campaigning and assign her to Temple duty; she had no stomach for standing around in polished armor guarding altars. She had been a founding member of the Badgers and over the years risen to the rank of Serjeant. Her family name (from her mother, of course) had been Kollack, but she used Maidenwalk as a surname in memory of the days when she had briefly been used as a messenger-maid in the lord’s household. After having ‘Janna! Walk lightly on the floors as a maiden should, don't pound along like a bull!’ shouted at her a hundred times, she had been sent out to the fields as a water-tender.
She would be forty this year, and silver shot through the red tresses she still wore nearly to her waist (when it wasn’t bound up in a coil of braids), but she still could march and fight alongside warriors half her age. Standing five foot six inches in height and well-muscled from years of weapons-work Janna had no trouble using weapons or armor designed for men.
Her relations with her fellow Badgers had always been distant, made more so by the knotted scar that angled from above her left eye, across her flattened nose, and down to the right jaw-hinge, the legacy of a Black Dwarf's axe in the bitter First Battle at Gradrek Heleth, north of the Emperor's Ward. It marred a face more handsome then beautiful, and ruined a voice that had once stirred men more than her eyes, which were the color of good emeralds. Taciturn her entire life, the scar pushed her even further from her fellows.
With her platoon (Blue) settled in and the roster of sentries who would relieve the first watch made and the affected Badgers notified, the retired Silver Eagle was sitting on the tongue of one of the carts eating a strip of dried beef and wondering if she ought to remove her armor and make a quick scout of the trees, even though Starr had already made a patrol. Movement to her right turned out to be Serjeant Arian Thyben approaching, a tall, thin man in his mid-thirties whose country-courtly air and oddly pitched voice often gave a first impression of foolishness, an impression which his gangly build, dominating hatchet-nose and red hair reinforced. It was an impression he cultivated, and one which had no basis in fact: Arian was a Brother-Emeritus of the Order of the Fiery Staff, the latter being the arm of Beythar’s priesthood charged with hunting down hidden cults dedicated to the Dark One. The thin Badger, who thus by rights could be called a monk, had spent nine years hunting cults before retiring, a longer span than most who undertook such a dangerous path. Rather than spend his days training the next generation of cult-hunters or tending a shrine or temple to his goddess as a Brother-Almoner, Arian had chosen to retire from active service in order to travel and see something of the world, and had ended up in the Phantom Badgers seven years ago. He had been Janna’s lover and closest friend for nearly five of those years.
“You’re wasting your time lugging those blankets around,” Janna warned the grinning monk. “It’s too cold and there’s too many people around.”
“Difficulties exist to be overcome,” Arian sat down beside her and flourished a small metal box. “See this? I just bought it from a drayman, you fill it with hot coals and it keeps your feet toasty warm while you drive a wagon in the worst of weather.”
“It’s not a wagon you’re planning on driving, it’s not just my feet that get cold, and there’s still too many people around.”
“Ah, but if you wrap the box in a blanket, it will act as a bed-warmer, and as to the local populace, I thought a short recon patrol might be in order, two veterans slipping through the woods to ensure that no enemy lurk nearby. My platoon has first watch, with yours relieving us, so there would be no problem in crossing the picket line.”
“Oh.” Janna gave that some thought. “I suppose a quick patrol wouldn’t hurt; after all, we two are tasked with camp security tonight, so having a look around would be in order.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Arian leered.
Corporal Elonia Starshine was the senior Corporal of Gold Platoon, which like the other two platoons consisted of a Serjeant, two Corporals, and three sections of nine Badgers, each of the latter led by a Senior Badger. Gold Platoon was enjoying the dual privileges of a night without sentry duty and the use of the carts, so the sounds of Blue platoon’s sentries relieving Silver’s was nothing more than a pleasant reminder that none of the platoon would have to leave their warm blankets to walk a guard post.
Elonia admitted to mixed blood as anyone who looked at her could see the Threll in her grace and expanded life span (Elonia was one hundred thirty two years old, while wearing the weight of age appropriate for a Human woman in her early thirties), but declined to say much about her ancestry beyond stating that her father had been a Harthrell, a sea-faring Threll, and her mother Human. In truth she was the daughter of a Lanthrell (forest-dwelling Threll) female slave given to a Direthrell (Dark Threll) officer in the fortress of Alantarn.
Her mother had achieved some measure of influence within that fortress of Void-worshipping Direthrell by dint of her exceptional singing ability, and had seen to it that her child had been spared the usual fate of molestation and adherence to the Dark One that was the normal fate of slave children. Instead, she secretly taught Elonia the ways of the Light, and how to conceal this from her dark masters. In time Elonia’s mother was sacrificed in a dark ceremony, but her lessons had taken deep root in her daughter, who had gone into Direthrell service with her true allegiances still secret. Over the following decades Elonia faked her own death and assumed the guise of another mixed-blood (called Nepas within Dark Threll society), whom she had killed, serving in the ranks of the Pargaie, or spy-assassins of the Direthrell. From within these ranks Elonia had changed identity several times, using the secrecy and cell structure of the spy corps to hide the fact, each time killing those whose identity she took and gaining authority and power with each change. Once positioned where she wished to be, she began to betray Direthrell operations and spy rings to their enemies.
Finally leaving her charade for good after faking the death of her last identity, she assumed the name her mother had given her (but which she had never used before), and undertook her finest and final revenge: using the Phantom Badgers as her cats-paw (they needed an item in a treasure vault in Alantarn), the mercenaries being unaware that their ‘luck’ in finding information and acquiring contacts that enabled them to make a foray into the Direthrell fortress of Alantarn was possible through the actions of one of their newest recruits. In Alantarn the Badgers, operating in disguise, had obtained their item (the Torc of Suian) and considerable other loot under the cover of a Felher raid while Elonia consummated her revenge: the death of her father, who had mistreated her mother, and the death of the Hold Mistress who had given her mother to her father as a plaything, and whom had ordered her mother’s death. She had also managed to recover her mother’s bones, which had been part of a trophy collection of such victims’ remains.
Her revenge complete, her mother laid to rest, the lithe Badger had been at a loss as to what she could do with her life, finally deciding to remain with the Phantom Badgers, as the vehicle she had needed to complete her revenge had become a sort of family to her. She served now as the Company Seeress as well as Corporal, having some minor skill in the arts of Amplus Novo, or the Inner Sight, and the weaker abilities of Vectius Meum, petty magic.
Her Threll-ness was not as apparent as it might have been, for although the physical differences between the three tribes of Threll appeared to be small to non-Threll, they were distinct enough in their own way; Elonia’s mixed blood thus served to cloak her Threll-ishness, as the two different blood-lines tended to neutralize each other, as well as leaving her sterile. The Threll in general tend to be six to eight inches taller than the average Human, with a lighter build, slender frame, and a pronounced delicacy in their facial features and small bone groupings, such as the hands and feet. Facial and body hair are minimal, and Threll ears lack most of the curling and ridging that is common to Humans, being mainly smooth, slightl
y pointed, and much more mobile than any other race’s. Being of mixed blood Elonia had broader features and a wider body build than most Threll of either parent’s bloodline, although at five feet five inches she was tall as compared to a Human woman. Robust of figure, and graced with sea-green eyes and dark blonde hair, Elonia held the position as the loveliest of the nine female Badgers just as easily as Janna held the position of most deadly, although it would have been hard to choose which of the two was more aloof towards her fellows.
Like Janna, however, Elonia had an exception to her distance from her fellows, that exception being Serjeant Maxmillian von Sheer IV, platoon leader of Gold Platoon and Company Historian, who was next to her on top of the west-most cart’s canvas-covered cargo. The balding Company Historian ( the first to hold that office) was a stocky man of thirty-nine years who, but for the hard muscle which had replaced his academic fat, still looked like the University archivist he had been for nearly all of his adult life; the sudden death of his formidable wife four years earlier had left him rootless and well-to-do, and he had promptly headed off to the Border Realms to gather research material on two books he planned to write, taking a mercenary escort hired from the Phantom Badgers along as security. One thing had led to another until he had joined the Company, taken part in some of its most desperate endeavors, and ultimately rose to the rank of Serjeant.
Maxmillian was by nature a calm, thoughtful man who had never imagined that he could end up as a platoon leader in a mercenary Company, a trained warrior with numerous actions against a broad variety of creatures under his belt. More impressive in his personal, unvoiced estimation was that for the better part of the last two years he and Elonia had been lovers.
The soft noises of the changing of the guard had awakened the historian as it had the Seeress. Casually he slid a hand onto Elonia’s nicely-rounded hip. “Still interested?” he whispered.
“Mmmm, why not?” she sighed back. “After all, Janna and Arian have the watch, and with those two on guard, the camp’s as safe as Oramere; besides, we won’t have another chance for days.”
Before going to bed the two had slipped into the merchant’s camp and secretly re-arranged the sacks of grain in one of the half-empty fodder-wagons into a more convenient arrangement, leaving a shuttered lantern behind to warm the air under the thick canvas tarp that covered the load. Gathering their weapons and blankets while the guard was changed, the two crept back into the caravan’s camp before the sentries were back in position, planning on slipping back before dawn.
Corporal Rolf Lightseeker of Blue Platoon, the Company’s sole half-Orc, took charge of the sentry line from Gold Platoon’s Corporal Philip Milden. Both Corporals were somewhat surprised that neither of their Serjeants were where they were expected them to be when they went to report that the guard had been changed, but it was a cold night, both were tired, and both had changed the watch a score of times before, so neither was inclined to inquire too deeply into the matter or to bother the Captain. Once the second shift was in place Philip headed for his blankets and Rolf began the on-going effort of staying awake, a task made easier by the cold night air.
Silence settled back over the Badger’s camp.
Chapter Two
The Taupac-master eased forward and studied the camp, comparing the scene before him to the crude map the Ree-master had drawn. After several minutes’ study the Felher leader nodded, satisfied that his scouts had done a fine job, other than they had missed five carts and a few mules on the west end of the camp, and there seemed to be a few more guards on that end, but it wasn’t a significant difference.
The Taupac commander’s name would be an unpronounceable jumble of whistling squeals and teeth-clicks to a non-Felher, but roughly translated his common name would be ‘Whiteback’. He was a typical example of the Felher race: a stooped and twisted humanoid standing an inch over five feet tall, dressed in a shapeless tunic-like upper garment, leather leg wrappings, and a dirty parka of bleached yalla hide. Beneath his garments he was covered in gray-brown fur except for a plate-sized patch of white on his back (hence his name) and his arms, which where an ugly expanse of course gray skin covered in swirls of tattoos and ritual scarring that indicated his rank, status, training, and honors; his face was likewise bare warty skin dominated by a beaver-like snout jutting over a weak chin and a loose-lipped mouth filled with sharp brown teeth. His watery yellow eyes seemed to glow from within with both intelligence and malice, and his conical, hairless pate was flanked by equally hairless bat’s ears.
The Felher are a race of artificial origins, created by dark sorceries by the Fortren, or Void-worshiping Dwarf-clans nearly two millennia ago to serve as a cheap source of expendable laborers. The Felhers’ subsequent revolt smashed the Black Dwarf (as the Fortren are sometimes called) clans and ended most Void-worshippers interest in using the Dark Arts to create new species. The Felher find themselves caught between the forces of the Eight, who hate them for their Void-spawned origins, and the forces of the Void, who distrust them for their rebellion and subsequent crippling of the Black Dwarves. Only the Felhers’ rapid birth-rate and sheer viciousness had allowed them to survive, but it had been a hard, violent road, and even today they remained the poorest of the races.
Whiteback’s orders were to raid caravans and travelers along the Road for loot, especially weapons, gold, and refined metal which could be recast into arms. Slaves were welcome, too; while the Felher had ample numbers to provide the labor force for any undertaking, they had never forgotten that the Fortren had created them specifically to be used as a slave force, and thus demonstrated their independence by enslaving any intelligent creature they could capture. His Taupac consisted of a command group and seven Rees, each Ree having a Ree-master and between five to ten warriors; in all, his force consisted of sixty-four Felher warriors counting himself. Every warrior carried one or more stirrup-knives, called theeb, which consisted of a metal bar gripped in the fist and a heavy knuckle-guard from which sprang a long, thin, and slightly curved blade; and an adze-like war hammer called a hekka. About a quarter of his force were categorized as karlic, or missile troops, evenly divided between bundles of javelins, slings, or quivers of two-foot-long darts and a throwing stick to hurl them, while the rest were kislic, or infantry armed with spears or polearms. Almost none of the Taupac wore armor or bore shields, as the Felher disdained the latter and were too poor to be able to afford much of the former.
The Taupac-master’s plan was simple: six Rees would attack out of the tree line from the north, focusing on the main camp area and above all the loaded cargo wagons, with the seventh Ree held in reserve. He expected the Humans, who didn’t appear to be particularly well-armed or alert, to either be trapped in the strange canvas structures they had built or to simply flee into the woods, in either case leaving the cargo to his troops. Once his force had secured the loot, he would send for the transport Pac that had been assigned to his command, and the loot would be loaded onto its mules for transport back to the underground warrens his Weehoc (tribe) occupied.
There wouldn’t be much fighting, Whiteback figured: the Humans were poorly led, having allowed their sentries to bunch up at the west end of the camp, with only a half-dozen covering the rest of the site, including all the wagons. The only clever action they had taken was to build lots of camp fires and then allow them to smolder for half the night, cloaking the entire area in a layer of wood smoke that, while too thin to affect vision, was still strong enough to negate the Felhers’ superior sense of smell.
One by one the Ree-masters sent messengers that they were in position, and at the last runner’s report Whiteback gestured to his musician. The Felher blew a single owl’s cry through his bone horn, and the line of Felher began their stealthy advance to the edge of the tree line, where two owl hoots would send them crawling across the open ground. A shrill whistle would signal the charge, which would come only after a Human sentry raised the alarm.
With a bit of luck, Whiteback, told
himself, they would get to within a few feet of the camp before he had to order the charge.
The foot-warmer had turned out to be a thorough success, warming up their little nest in a clump of brush just inside the tree line until it was as cozy as anyone could ask for. In fact, it worked all too well: warm, relaxed, and comfortable, both Badger Serjeants dozed off.
Arian opened his eyes, jerked from sleep to full awareness by the veteran’s instinctive reaction to unfamiliar noise, footsteps crunching snow to be exact. With sudden horror he realized that he had been fully asleep for an unknown duration; he and Janna, only lightly dressed, were a tangle of intertwined limbs in a tight cocoon of blankets, their armor and heavy outer clothing stored in hide backs at the foot of their ‘bed’. From the tenseness of her limbs, he could tell that Janna was awake and had heard the steps as well.
Slowly the two disengaged themselves from each other and tried to position their scabbarded swords, which they had taken into the blankets with them out of ingrained habit, for drawing, all the while trying to avoid any sudden movement which would give their position away. Both froze when another set of footsteps moved close to their brush pile.
Holding his breath so as not to release a plume of mist that would alert any watcher, the monk carefully eased his hand through the tangled blankets to the cold night air outside and managed to make enough of an opening to see through. Only strength of will kept him from cursing out loud as he slowly let the blanket fall back into place. “Felher,” he breathed into Janna’s ear, which he located by touch. “More than five.”
“Time?” she whispered back.
“Dunno. Hold blankets.” While Janna lifted the blankets off their bodies Arian got his clothes adjusted and pulled on his boots, trying desperately not to make any noise. As soon as he had completed those basic tasks and laid his sword-belt on his chest, he held the blankets up while Janna put her clothing in order, her boots on, and got her weapons to hand, all the while expecting Felher spears to come through the entangling blankets at any moment.
