by RW Krpoun
“I see,” Arthol nodded, running his eyes over the list of names on top of the dossiers. He knew all of them: Markan-Fets of the Third Degree, most of whom being priests he had worked with in the past. After checking on the most recent assignments of two of the candidates, he placed his initials next to a name and passed the list and dossiers back to Magda. “I’ll adjourn to my quarters to prepare; I’ll have my report ready for you at the onset of the briefings.” And in full detail as well, he added mentally. He was too old a campaigner to be caught short in his paperwork by a snap transfer; his report was already written in the proper format, requiring only a closing paragraph to be ready for submission.
He knew he had made an active enemy in Magda by receiving this assignment, but it was hardly of consequence; this war would make or break every reputation in the Hern and in the upper ranks of all the Markan, and he was now positioned to stand out. Sagenhoft would fall before winter, and he would wear the three gold bars of a Third Degree. In the next decade the seven-clawed banner of the Hand of Chaos would come to wave over most, if not all, of eastern Alhenland, and he would be there to guide it.
First the Realms; with the Realms came the loyalty of the Plains-dwellers, and with them came control of the Blasted Plains. Control the Plains and you could roll south, wiping out Kerbia and the Thebian States, completely isolating Arbmante from the rest of the continent. Take Arbmante, and the Hand would have half the continent unified under one banner, ready to drive west and bring Darkness and the Void to every living being in the great northern continent.
These were great times to in which to live, an age for which he had prepared and plotted for his entire life.
Chapter Six
Wearing his dress uniform, which consisted of a silver tunic, dark blue trousers, a red sash worn diagonally across his chest displaying his Company Badge, rank insignia, and full decorations, Durek sat in an audience chamber used as a waiting room and waited, his axe across his knees. The Company had been at Sagenhoft for three days now while Durek and Axel made regular trips into the city to search for news; the Captain had also had meetings with two military staffers, a brief audience with a high-ranking officer in the Sagenhoftian armed forces, and had finally been given an appointment to meet with the Lord Chancellor.
In a war such as this mercenaries would not be used in the front line except in desperate situations as mercenary units were too small and their training too varied for such employment, and in any case, mercenaries are not by the nature of their outlook suited for heroic field combat. Mercenary units would be employed as guards for supply wagons and depots, escorts for important personages, cadre for militia-based garrisons, and similar occupations where defensive fighting or small-unit actions were the norm, thus freeing up the regular military for the battlefield. Most of the companies camped outside the city had already been assigned to such tasks, while the Badgers remained unemployed; Durek was becoming concerned as to the reason for this situation.
Even more unusual was the summons to meet with the Lord Chancellor. Sagenhoft was a traditionally-organized Duchy on the Arturian mold, ruled by a hereditary Duke, with the surrounding lands (the Duchy controlled the area surrounding the city out to about forty miles on all sides) overseen by three Lord Protectors. Actual day-to-day supervision of the affairs of state were handled by the Lord Chancellor, assisted by the Lord Mayor of Sagenhoft; why the man who managed the Duchy’s affairs would be interested in speaking to the Captain of a mercenary Company in these perilous times was a mystery to the Dwarf.
He was sharing the waiting chamber with a half-dozen well-dressed merchants, all of whom were pointedly ignoring him, which amused the mercenary; their silent disapproval deepened when a harried aide stepped into the chamber and motioned to the officer. “Captain Durek Toolmaker? This way please.”
“Toolsmaster,” the Dwarf murmured to the aide as they walked down a thickly-carpeted hall. “Not that it is a problem, of course.”
“Ah, yes, the appointment clerk wrote it down correctly, but I glanced at it rather hastily; my apologies, good sir, I’m afraid things become more hectic with each passing day here.” The aide knocked on the frame of an open door. “Captain Durek Toolsmaster of the mercenary company the Phantom Badgers, sir.”
“Yes, yes, send him in.” Lord Chancellor Bernian Chaton was seated at a huge, beautifully carved desk made of yellow poplar lovingly polished to a deep gloss whose surface was hidden under neatly-stacked folders, bound reports, and stacks of documents. The Lord Chancellor was a short, pudgy man in his late fifties whose snow-white hair was cut close to his pink scalp; his expression, as he peered at the world with sky blue eyes, was one of mild amazement, even wonder, but Durek detected the signs of a quick, nimble mind behind the innocuous appearance. “Welcome, Captain; take a chair and a glass, I’ll be with you in just a moment.”
“What would you care for, sir?” the aide led Durek to a chair which had been built for a Dwarf’s proportions while it lifted the occupant to a comfortable height so as to be able to see over the Chancellor’s desk.
“Ale, dark if you have it,” Durek climbed into the chair, which, he was impressed to note, even had a pair of carved hooks to hang the obligatory axe upon, a nice touch. No doubt they dug this chair out of storage whenever a Dwarf came to see the Lord Chancellor or similar personage, but it was a thoughtful gesture. The Captain sipped from the beaker of good local ale and examined the office while the Lord Chancellor read the contents of a folio. The office itself was large, even huge, but its size was absorbed by the volume of furniture it contained: the walls were lined with towering bookcases filled with written works, and besides the Lord Chancellor’s desk and guest chair there was a smaller aide’s desk (empty, as the aide had left after getting Durek his ale), two long work tables covered with maps, and four easels supporting framed canvases such as artists used, except that the taut white surfaces were covered with inked lines and strips of colored velvet held in place by pins. Durek puzzled mightily over the function of these devices for some time until he finally deduced that the vertical inked lines marked fixed factors while the strips of velvet indicated variable quantities. Once he had worked that out, he realized that each canvas allowed the Lord Chancellor to instantly see where the Duchy stood in terms of vital supplies: this one showed the current stores of grain and fodder for animals, that one showed the amounts of cartage available, another the supplies of food and rations, and the fourth the quantities of various types of fuels stockpiled. It was a clever device, one that would allow you to see at a glance how things stood in certain areas, with the information being easily updated by moving the strips of velvet.
“They’re used to mark the accumulation of vital supplies,” the Lord Chancellor’s calm, even voice cut into the Captain’s thoughts.
“Yes, by moving the strips across the inked lines, very clever,” Durek nodded.
“Exactly; one of my aides came up with the idea a few months ago, a sort of abacus-sign sort of thing; I thought it was rather strange at first, but it is very useful once you get used to it.” The Lord Chancellor scribbled a signature at the bottom of the last page of the folio and added his ring and office seals to the page before setting the folio on top of a stack of documents on a small side table. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Captain, but the turmoil of the coming war has placed vast demands upon my time. You would think a war would be handled by military men, but much of the planning has fallen upon myself and my staff, especially given the strong possibility that the city itself may come under siege.”
“You don’t believe we can stop the Hand short of Sagenhoft?” Durek was surprised; he himself suspected that the Hand would win through to the coast but he had never heard a high official voice the same fear.
“They made it here during the Ostwind War, and they’re stronger now than they were then. I am no military man, I’m afraid, but I understand logistics and determination, and the Hand has a good amount of expertise in one and en
ormous amounts of the other. Additionally, the Empire is sending out a Legion to garrison the Imperial Highway, which causes me to wonder: why tie up that many troops to secure the Road if you believe the enemy can be stopped at the Wall? I believe they do not expect to stop the Hand short of Sagenhoft, and fear a repeat of the Ostwind War where the Road was taken. The Empire has excellent soldiers who have no personal stake in this conflict; I have found dispassionate professionals to be the best source to consult when an expert opinion is desired. And now, more to the point, I should like to know about your Company, Captain, not just the dry details about your numbers, arms, and armor, but about where you have served and whom you have fought.”
For the next thirty minutes Durek explained the policies, practices, and methods of the Phantom Badgers, of their past victories and defeats, their struggles and triumphs, their losses and tribulations. He told of the Company’s acquisition of a Dwarven-built fort and the surrounding wild lands in the northeast corner of the Eisenalder Empire and their efforts to establish a village supported by farmers on those lands defended by the Badger fort in order to create a cash base which would be used as a pension fund for Badgers who were removed from active service because of wounds or age. The Lord Chancellor listened intently, occasionally asking intelligent questions or clarifying a point. Durek still had no idea what had prompted this interview, but he had endured too many hiring interviews not to recognize one when he saw it. Why the Lord Chancellor would want to hire mercenaries separate of the regular military was a mystery.
When Durek had finished the Lord Chancellor nodded, flipping through pages in a bound dossier. “I must say, Captain, I am impressed. And I am certain you are wondering why you are speaking with me rather than someone on the military’s review board. In this coming war Sagenhoft will be a central target of the Hand, being a key to the road network in the central region as well as the Realm’s chief port. Not incidentally, Sagenhoft has weathered four major sieges in its time, including two by Hand forces, the most recent of which was the Ostwind War. It was the battles on the Red Shores and the Imperial Highway which settled the course of the Ostwind, but in the minds off those who live in the Realms it was Sagenhoft’s stand that made the victory possible, perhaps because no significant Realms forces took part on the Road or along the Red Shores. Should Sagenhoft fall, it would be a devastating blow to the morale of any Realms forces still fighting, and the Hand priesthood must surely be aware of this. They will stop at nothing to achieve victory.” The Lord Chancellor took a sip of tea. “Naturally, the defection of Alantarn gave us all a clear sign of what was to come. The Lord Marshal and the Duke will prosecute Sagenhoft’s part of the conflict, leaving me to supervise the civilian sector. I’m afraid they are subscribing to a view that I believe is faulty: that the Hand will be broken at or near where they cross the Wall; their fallback plan is the usual one: settle in behind the city’s walls and wait for Arturia and the Empire to rescue us. It worked last time, so it will work again, so goes their thinking.”
“I, on the other hand, am concerned that things may not go as well; last time the Hand kept primarily to military operations, but I do not believe they will do so again. I believe that they have been infiltrating agents into the Realms for decades, spies and assassins who have established ties with other Void-followers and criminal or rebel elements who could be used as tools during a war, or more importantly, a siege. Oh, we have cult-hunters here from the various religious Orders, and they have done good work, with more arriving every month as war draws close, but I still believe that there is a significant, even major threat posed to the Duchy by these secret elements who will strike when we are the most vulnerable. As Lord Chancellor I feel that some action needs taking, and as I have failed to interest the military in my concerns, I have undertaken certain steps under my own authority.”
“The Duke, may the Eight protect him, has taken the daring step of ordering his entire family and chief ministers to accompany the military into the field to hearten the common folk by their example. I am told that this a bold and brave maneuver, and perhaps it is. In any case, the Duke’s Guard, the Lifeguards Squadron, will be fully committed to protecting the lives of the Duke, his heir, and his two other children; naturally, the Lord Marshal has bodyguards drawn from the regular military, but I have no one to stand between myself and an assassin’s blade. Thus the Duke authorized me to hire a troop of mercenaries for the protection of myself and my staff while in the field, a vaguely-worded order which I, in my role of keeper of the purse strings, have chosen to interpret in a certain fashion. I have been examining the dossiers of the mercenary companies the Duchy had placed on contact, searching for the right unit, one with not just a solid reputation for battle, but one which has experience in dealing with cults and unusual combat situations. A company, in fact, such as the Phantom Badgers.”
“I see,” Durek nodded.
“Good. On the surface, your position will be to act as security for myself, my staff, and our baggage train, but once hired, you will also be available to carry out missions at my direction, most generally scouting or actions against subversive elements, whether cultists or others. I realize that a hundred troops is not many in a conflict such as this, but for what I am anticipating I think they may be adequate.”
“As I explained, we hold a wide variety of experience within our ranks,” Durek tried to sound modest.
“Excellent. I am willing to offer you a contact specifying the usual conditions regarding captured goods and ration issuance, plus the compensation of six thousand five hundred Sagenhoftian Ducats per month, with two months’ pay tendered in advance, and the monthly payment to begin sixty-four days after acceptance.”
Durek calculated quickly as he examined the document the Lord Chancellor handed him; a two-month advance in pay covered the first and last month’s pay, thus ensuring that a paymaster could not withhold the last pay draft in an effort to achieve economies after the troubles had passed. Mercenary companies were paid on the basis of so much money per month; from that pay the mercenary commander was expected to equip and pay his own men. The pay a unit received was intended to provide overhead and a modest margin of profit, with additional profit coming in from loot and captured valuables or bonuses for achieving certain conditions. The Badgers normally operated in or near the Eisenalder Empire, and used that nation’s gold Marks as their most common currency. Sixty-five hundred ducats translated into roughly six hundred fifty Imperial Marks, prime pay for a company of about one hundred warriors.
The contract also guaranteed that the Badgers could draw food and fodder from the Army’s stores, the issuance level being the same as for the regular military. Death and wound bounties, compensation for other situations, bounties on specific enemy, and the like often found their way into contracts, but the document before Durek was stark in its approach: the Badgers would draw food, fodder, and sixty-five hundred Sagenhoftian Ducats each month they were employed.
“It seems in order,” he murmured, having studied each word and gone over the document as a whole three times. “Would it be possible to obtain part of the pay in gemstones at a fixed rate?”
“Yes, of course, I’m well aware of mercenaries’ fondness for portable wealth.” The Lord Chancellor smiled tiredly. “And speaking of portage, your first duty will be to assign a competent officer with experience in quarter-mastering to examine the rolling stock and planned loads for my staff’s baggage train; I’ll need detailed advice within three days. I’ll also want you to have one of your people brief my staff on field living, security procedures, all that sort of thing.” He accepted the signed contract back, signed and sealed it and an identical copy, and passed the copy to the Captain along with a sheaf of documents. “Here are your ration authorizations, some other pertinent documentation, and orders admitting you and your Company into the city with the use of a barracks near the docks; the barracks is actually an old warehouse, but it should serve your needs. Send someone to our offices twice a
day to check with Senior Aide Subervin, who will also be your point of contact within my staff. I expect we will leave the city within four days to join the military forces at or near the Wall, so there is absolutely no time to waste. Do you have any questions?”
“None that your aide cannot answer.”
“Excellent. A good day to you, Captain Toolsmaster.”
“And to you, Lord Chancellor.”
The move into Sagenhoft turned out to be a very temporary change of quarters; on the first of Natterteil (the fifth month of the Imperial Calendar) the Duke left Sagenhoft to join his troops at the Wall, taking along his entire family (brother, two sons, and a daughter), a household staff, the Lord Chancellor and his staff, and his Lifeguards Squadron. The group travelled down the Royal Highway into the Kingdom of Ilthan, whose west border was the Duchy of Sagenhoft and whose east boundary was the Wall.
Bridget had done well in the short time she had had, ably assisted by Maxmillian who had become the Company’s expert on wagons and carts. Their first step was to deny the Lord Chancellor and his ten-man staff two-thirds of the creature comforts they had planned to take along, and likewise vastly reduced the volume of personal belongings. Next they traded the bulky, deep-bodied wagons for panje-style carts such as the Company itself used, which held far less cargo but which a single strong mule could pull through mud, snow, or cross-country. With the vastly reduced loads the Lord Chancellor and his staff only required three carts, which was still a heavy load for so few people, but a vast improvement over the long line of bulky wains that comprised the rolling stock for the Duke and his household.
The Royal Highway was in poor shape despite the efforts of crews of convicts and local labor who struggled with endless repairs; the spring thaws, rain, and miles-long columns of wagons going in either direction were pounding the road and its bridges to pieces faster than anyone could possibly repair. The demands of imminent war were manifested in other areas as well: hardly a mile was passed without encountering a dead horse, ox, or mule on the side of the road, and the ditches were littered with broken wheels, axles, boards, tack, wagon tongues, and other signs of repairs made to rolling stock.
