by RW Krpoun
“Ah, more of the esteemed Phantom Badgers,” a man in a finely cut doublet of red velvet with blue velvet shoulder rolls and gold cord piping around the button holes nodded to the four, one hand on the gold pommel of his sword-rapier. “Guardians of the Light and defenders of the oppressed.”
“Who in blazes are you?” Kroh rumbled around his cigar, taking in the half-dozen armed men who trailed along behind the dandy.
“A slaver by the name of Really,” Rolf answered before the newcomer could.
Irritation flashed briefly across the swordsman’s face. “Ebro Reille, purveyor of indentured servants, to be exact,” he smiled. “Tell me, where is your lovely officer, the one with short dark hair and hips that move like a rose in a breeze?”
“She’s married,” Rolf barked, standing. “You ought not to talk about her that way. She’s a priestess, too.”
“Ah, well, my tall friend, does this lovely lass with breasts like ripe peaches have a name, then?” Ebro smiled as his men casually ranged themselves behind him and the other three Badgers stood.
“Serjeant Bridget Uldo,” Rolf muttered, angry. “I said, she’s married, so don’t be talking that way about her.”
Kroh flicked ashes from his cigar and studied the situation, his tattooed left hand resting on the haft of his axe, which lay on the table before him. This slaver looked like a good hand with a blade, and knew it: he could carve Rolf into rashers before the half-Orc could unlimber his great sword. The guards wore ring mail and carried long swords, but had left helms and shield back in camp; all four Badgers were likewise armored and armed, having left missile weapons, shields, and helms behind. Both Bulldog and Mad Dog wore felt-muffled breast and back plates like Kroh’s which gave them an edge in protection, but their broadswords left them on an even footing, weapon-wise, with the guards. Reille didn’t come over looking for a fight, the Dwarf guessed, although he didn’t look like someone who would run from one, either. He was just playing with Rolf, Kroh figured, planning on giving the big dummy some new scars for calling him a slaver, and to get one up on the Company.
“Bridget Uldo,” Reille said thoughtfully, one manicured hand toying with the gold-hilted parrying dagger that rode on the right hip of his tooled leather sword belt. “An interesting name.” He eyed the hulking half Orc with merry eyes, then glanced at the sheathed great sword leaning against the crude chair next to the big Badger’s hand. “You would know: does she only go for one at a time, or will she take on a group, my friend?”
For a long, breathless second the scene stood frozen, Reille still smiling, Rolf speechless and flushed, the uninvolved patrons watching and grinning. Then the big half-Orc moved, and just as quickly Reille did likewise, sword and dagger flicking out of their scabbards faster than the eye could follow. The great, or two-handed, sword is a deadly weapon in the hands of an expert, which Rolf was, capable of inflicting terrible wounds while breaching the strongest armor. What is was not, however, was a fast weapon, being too long and heavy for nimble movement. Great swords are normally worn in a scabbard which is slung across the back and which must be unslung before drawing the weapon, so the bearer will generally carry some sort of back-up weapon for situations where speed or the ability to fight in close quarters is needed.
Reille knew all this, and planned to use his speed and skill to carve up the oaf while the fool attempted to get the big blade out of its sheath, or to use his sword’s length to rip the mercenary to shreds should he try to use the cross-draw dirks on his belt, having an easy go of it either way while his men held the other three at bay. What he didn’t expect was for Rolf to hurl the sheathed great sword at him, the weapon’s five-foot length striking him across the chest and face with enough force to bloody his nose and momentarily blind him with pain-induced tears.
Before the surprised swordsman could react, Rolf leapt in, grabbing two fistfuls of the velvet doublet and jerking up and towards himself as he thrust his head and shoulders forward, slamming his forehead into the slaver’s temple with a crack that made every patron in the bar wince.
Kroh lifted and threw his axe with a single motion of his left arm, drawing his short sword with his right hand as the weapon, runes glowing, flipped across the table and split the skull of the nearest of Reille’s guards. Ripping itself free of the ruined skull, the axe dropped onto the ground as the enchantment faded, Kroh having not spoken the word that would recall it.
Bulldog hurled his mug into a guard’s face and leapt on another as Mad Dog drew his broadsword and charged around the table to help.
Slamming his knee into the semi-conscious slaver’s crotch, Rolf spun the man around and held him before him in a headlock with his left arm as two guards leapt to their employer’s defense, drawing a dirk with his right. The first guard managed to ‘pull’ his thrust, merely ripping an inch-long gash in Reille’s doublet, but the second’s wild swing caught the gagging, twitching Reille full in the side, opening up a terrible wound as Rolf drove the point of his dirk through the guard’s neck.
Flicking the fiery stub of his cigar at the guard’s eyes as he closed, Kroh ducked the clumsy swing the man made as he batted at the flying ember and drove the point of his sword into the man’s leg, twisting as he withdrew. To his right Mad Dog cut down the guard that Bulldog had blinded with ale as Bulldog began banging his opponent’s head against the packed dirt floor.
Releasing the hilt of the dirk in the dying man’s throat, Rolf hopped back, dragging the badly wounded Reille with him, the guard following warily. Bracing his feet, Rolf threw the dazed slaver at the guard, who instinctively lifted the point of his sword at the movement, inadvertently stabbing his employer deep in the chest. Ripping his other dirk from its scabbard, Rolf leapt in and cut the guard down before he could recover.
Ducking the wounded guard’s back-swing, Kroh darted back out of range, discarding his sword in order to snatch up his axe. “Had enough, lad?” The Dwarf asked as he hefted the gory weapon, a grin splitting his beard; the guard, a tow-headed youth gone pale with pain and shock, hesitated, glanced nervously at the corpses of four of his comrades, and nodded. “Then drop your blade.”
Tossing the long sword to the ground, the guard hopped painfully to a nearby stool and began to bandage his leg with a grimy bandanna; looking around while still keeping an eye on the young man, Kroh saw that Rolf and Mad Dog were wiping off their blades while Bulldog was climbing to his feet, having knocked his opponent unconscious. “How’s the slaver?” he asked, kicking the wounded guard’s sword safely out of reach and then recovering his own blade.
“Dying,” Rolf said, studying the wounds to the man’s chest. “Pretty fast, too; he shouldn’t have said all that about Bridget....I couldn’t let him say that. It wasn’t right.”
“He was looking for a fight and found one,” Mad Dog shrugged. “Now what?”
“You and Bulldog gather up the weapons, armor, and purses of the dead guards,” Kroh was pleased to discover that the butt he had flicked at the guard was still smoldering, allowing him to light a fresh cigar. “Me ‘n Rolf will take care of the boss. Rolf, get his weapons, purse and jewelry.”
“We ought to do something,” the big half-Orc ventured as he relieved Reille of his valuables.
“We will,” Kroh said, stepping forward and neatly decapitating the dying man. “He knew the rules out here: start a fight, and you take what comes. Me, I’m not paying for a Healer to treat him, and none of the Company Healers would do it for free. He could have just walked on by once he saw the bracers, but no, he had to come over and start some trouble just because Bridget gave him a piece of her mind yesterday.” The Waybrother wiped his axe blade clean on the ruined doublet and picked the head up by the hair. “Better give the tapster something for the mess.”
Rolf rummaged in Reille’s purse and tossed the bar-keeper a silver twenty-five franc piece. “Sorry about the trouble.”
The sight of two blood-spattered Badgers striding through the camp, one carrying a decapitated H
uman head, drew considerable, if brief attention; everyone took a double-take and then wisely decided to mind their own business. Rolf had difficulty remembering where Reille’s camp had been but the pair quickly discovered that carrying a head meant that people were quick and polite when asked for directions, and the two found it without serious difficulty.
The guard stationed by the front of the carts hefted his loaded crossbow and whistled as the two approached; two more guards came to his post as the Badgers trudged up. “That’s close enough,” the oldest guard, a heavy-set man missing three fingers on his left hand, called. “We don’t want trouble with you Badgers, and we don’t want to talk. Take up your objections with our master.”
“Got a bit of news for you, there,” Kroh barked in his normally over-loud voice, lifting the head into plain view. “You’re under new management: mine.” Rolf’s nudge brought an angry scowl, but the Waybrother took heed. “Ours. The Phantom Badgers, I mean.”
The three guards exchanged whispers for a few moments, clearly concerned. Finally the guard with the maimed hand spoke up. “What is it you want?”
“The slaves, and your boss’s cash box and belongings; you four can have the carts and horses,” Kroh stroked his beard thoughtfully. “You and the two that’re still alive from the six who were with him. I guess you can divide up the dead guards’ gear, too.”
The guards exchanged glances; finally the spokesman removed the bolt from his crossbow. “Let’s have a closer look at that head; if it’s really Reille, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“So it’s a bondage sort of thing, then,” Luci shook her head. “I tole you, it’s double for tying up, and extra for strange stuff.”
“No,” Bridget snapped, clasping her hands together to restrain herself from punching the stocky red-head who was the spokeswoman for the four whores Axel had hired for the day. “It is not bondage! There is no ‘weird stuff’! How many times do I have to tell you that there will be no....copulating at all, with anyone, under any circumstances! We just need the four of you to pretend that you are captives being sold as slaves, for which you will be paid.”
“Oh, sure, like we all haven’t been ‘captive girls’,” Luci sneered.
“Or ‘wench taken from looted village’,” another girl added. “Old hat, those are. I had one, he liked to paint himself up like a Goblin, he did. Charged him triple for that.”
“I suppose it’s better than wearing a sheep’s hide and going ‘baaa’,” a slender, plain-faced brunette observed half to herself, causing the four other woman to turn and stare at her. Realizing she had spoken aloud, the girl half-smiled and shrugged. “Five times the pay, and the pelt was clean, what can I say?”
“Anyway, it’s double, and that’s that,” Luci tore herself from the mental image and returned to business. “Tying up is tying up, period.” She hesitated, then looked back at the brunette. “He really wanted you to go baaaa? Cor, men.” She shook her head.
The advocate sighed and rubbed her head, wishing she had just drawn her sword and taken her chances the day before; dying would be preferable to this obscene negotiating. “All right, all right, double pay for the tying up, and since there’s no ‘stuff’, weird or not, there won’t be anything else to work out. Half now, half when you’re done, and a bonus for a good performance.”
“Heard that line before,” Luci snapped, and the others muttered agreement. “Full pay up front, bonus afterward.”
“....all right,” Bridget muttered through clenched teeth. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this, not her clerical training, not personal combat, not leading hardened men in battle. “If you will wait here, I’ll go get the money.”
Cursing under her breath, the advocate marched across the Badger’s camp towards where Durek was studying the accounts books with Corporal Henri Toulon, the latter having drawn the onerous duty of accounts-master for this campaign. She had chosen to interview the whores in the privacy of the Company’s carts, which were parked in two uneven rows near the Road. Halfway across the camp she stopped and stared at the sight of Rolf and Kroh escorting Reille’s slaves into the camp, all twenty-two free of their chains and carrying bundled possessions. Two struggled along with a small cash box, and several others carried various bags and packages.
Dazed, the priestess wandered over to the Captain as Rolf explained the chain of events that had led to the liberation of Reille’s slaves and personal belongings. When the half-Orc had finished the Captain turned to Bridget. “Did you have anything to do with this?”
“No...of course not; Rolf and Kroh weren’t even on my list of personnel to use as they stand out too much, too easily known. I had another plan...”
“Huh.” The Captain studied her for a moment, then shrugged. “All right, Henri, inventory what they’ve taken, interview all the slaves, ex-slaves I suppose, and keep your hands off the girls, willing or not. Report back when you’re finished. I suppose that you’ve done well, you two, but I’m not entirely sure; still, this Reille should have known the rules around here: if you go looking for trouble, then you can’t complain when you get more than you were planning on. Couldn’t you have put the head in a sack instead of lugging it all over the camp in plain view?”
“Didn’t think twice about it,” Kroh shrugged, using a twig from the fire to re-light his cigar.
“And that surprises me? Very well, that’s all.”
Shaking her head, the advocate returned to the four women and handed each of them an Arturian franc. “Here, this is for your time. We won’t be needing you after all.”
“Heard that a few times,” Luci joked to the other girls, dropping the coin inside her bodice. “Still, while we’re here there looks to be a lad or two who might be lonely; shame to waste the morning.”
The dark-haired girl hung back as the others strolled along the sentry ring of the Badger camp, calling to off-duty mercenaries. “Where might I find the handsome chap with the limp, the one who hired us?”
“I believe you’re referring to my husband.” The advocate’s eyes glowed like a blacksmith’s forge.
“Ah...well, perhaps the two of you would like to...no, I suppose not,” the whore smiled weakly and stepped back carefully. “Good day to you then.”
Bridget spat a curse and kicked a cart wheel, cursing again as she bruised her toe. “Mind your feet.” The voice made her jump; spinning, she saw Elonia hopping down from a cart’s driver-seat.
“Have you seen Axel? I need to tell...anyway, do you know where he is?”
“Last time I saw him, he was heading into the rest-camp,” the Seeress grinned. “He said something about wanting a really clean sheep’s pelt.”
“What is it about this week?” Durek raved. “Can’t anyone follow the rules? I’ve got rank and file who jump when I say jump, and officers who are in a state of mutiny on a good day!” The Captain glowered at the two sullen women before him; both were dirty and tousled, and Elonia’s left eye was beginning to swell shut. “Elonia, your conduct on this campaign has already been lacking, but Bridget, you’re a founding Badger, you ought to know better. I expect trouble with Henri, and Kroh getting in a brawl is something I plan for, but you two, you are the ones I thought I could count on. Have you anything to say for yourselves? No? I’m not surprised, there isn’t anything you could say. One week’s pay for brawling, then, to remind you to act more like officers and less like green recruits after their first pay parade. Dismissed.”
Shaking his head, the Captain sat down on his folding camp stool and sighed. “Elonia was never a minute’s trouble before, and now I’ve had to deal with her twice in a week, and Bridget, I never thought I would have to deal with her in terms of discipline.”
“It’s the war,” Kroh grunted. “Wars always get everyone all antsy and foul-tempered.”
The remainder of the Badger’s stay at the Crossing went quick enough; Axel and Durek questioned every west-bound traveler they could find about the conditions in the Realms, and while doing s
o found the Arturian-born ex-slaves working passages to get them back home, each carrying an impressive-looking document drawn up by Henri, complete with seals and ribbon, proclaiming their period of indentured servitude to have been lawfully discharged while in the Realms. The signature was Henri’s and the seals those of a Navian merchant the wizard had acquired in a dice game, but the papers looked impressive and likely would pass muster in Arturia. Several of the ex-slaves declined to return home, choosing instead to find work with east-bound caravans or at the Crossing.
“I hear Henri lost a week’s wages,” Axel passed his Captain a mug of tea while the Company formed up in the early morning darkness. “Sleeping with one of the rescued girls, was it?”
“Only two days’ pay, as it turned out the girl was one of those who decided to stay on here at the crossing. She’s a whore now, so instead of disobeying an order, it became allowing a non-Badger within camp without permission.”
“It never fails: either he or Kroh will lose some wages at every major stopping point.” Axel grinned. “Although lately it hasn’t just been the usual offenders.”
“Yes, well, I’m taking steps: I bought a small tent while we were here with Company funds; it will be set up a short ways from camp, a discrete distance, for the use of any pair of Badgers who have an interest. Janna will have charge of the tent and its placement.”
“An excellent idea.”
“One learns with experience, I suppose. What do you think of the new-hires?” Durek had hired five of the male ex-slaves; since they were completely unskilled, he had assigned them to cart-driving and camp-tending duties until Kroh could train them.
“They’re able-bodied, willing, and grateful for their rescue, so they should be prime recruits,” the Wizard shrugged. “Time will tell. Certainly it will be hard to find replacements once the fighting starts, as the regular militaries will be grabbing up every able-bodied man. Until they’re trained they’ll make field living a bit easier on all of us.”
