by RW Krpoun
“Yes, sir,” Durek tossed his paymaster a salute and trotted back to camp. He wasn’t surprised that the Hand had crossed the Wall without fighting; as the Lord Chancellor pointed out, they had had plenty of time to prepare. It wasn’t his problem, though: right now all he had to do was to figure out the composition of the patrol going to Mancin. It would have to be a strong patrol, he decided, in case the Hand was moving faster than anyone expected; the village sat squarely astride the best road leading to Apartia from the area of the Wall which the Hand had crossed, and the Royal Highway which went west from Apartia would certainly be the avenue of the attack on Sagenhoft. The Hand would need roads to move their heavy equipment and supplies.
Bridget would lead it, he decided, taking the scout section and Henri, which would give her a fast, stealthy forces with wizardly support in case of trouble. And trouble was something he expected in the immediate future, trouble and lots of it.
Durek had ordered the Company to stand to before he left for the council and his patrol was on the road within thirty minutes of his return to the camp, marching fast. Without packs, carrying only their arms, armor, and a ration bag containing three day’s field rations, the nine Badgers covered ground quickly, reaching the Mancin area in just over eleven hours.
“They seem to be in an urgent hurry,” Corporal Henri Toulon nodded to the line of carts and wagons trundling down the road burdened with every type of possession imaginable. The patrol had arrived at the workshop area in mid-afternoon only to find the citizens of Mancin in full flight, pouring down the road leading to Apartia with every bit of transport and portable wealth they could load, carry, or herd. The workshop, with its travelling forge and other wagon-mounted tool stores, was still at work on a score of wagons, and the wizard was chatting with a sentry.
“Shepherds claim to have seen mounted scouts from the Hand army, wolf-riders and Eyade,” the young woman explained. The work-shop was guarded by the dozen-strong mercenary unit known as the Iron Maidens, a rarity in that it was an all-female unit. Henri had immediately struck up a conversation with the sentry, a sturdy young brunette named Meagan.
“Doesn't take much to panic a peasant,” Henri smiled. “So, the ‘Iron Maidens’, eh? An interesting choice of titles.” He leered, a common enough expression for the Arturian Wizard. Henri was a year short of thirty, a slender man of average height and thinning brown hair which he kept cut short, being careful to tan his climbing forehead to minimize the extent of his hair loss. His face was pock-marked with numerous small scars from a battle be had fought in some years earlier (which had cost him much of the hearing in his left ear as well), but the neat beard he had adopted hid nearly all of them from view. “It must get awfully lonely in a unit made up of nothing but women.”
“Not if women is what you prefer,” Meagan shot back, leaning against the shaft of her glaive, wishing this smarmy bastard would take his attentions elsewhere. It wasn’t that he was bad-looking, which he wasn’t, being both handsome and taking good care of his clothing and person, but she was sick of all the none-too-subtle jokes about being Iron Maidens. The name had seemed like a good idea when they had formed the unit a year ago, but it had worn thin since then.
It was also a bit embarrassing to have to deal with these Phantom Badgers, who were in the personal employ of the Lord Chancellor and drawing top pay while they were at it, a veteran and well-known company of good size and excellent reputation, boasting not only first-rate equipment, but actually having some enchanted arms, as well as their own spellcasters and Healers. The Maidens, who had formed after encountering difficulty in finding mercenary companies who would treat women decently, were still a small unit with only fair equipment and virtually no support base.
“Interesting; tell me, have you and a friend ever considered a third party?” Henri’s eyebrows twitched.
The girl sighed. Usually lying about a preference for women stopped them dead in their tracks, but figure an Arturian to try any angle. “No,” she snapped, pretending to turn her attention to the line of heavily-loaded peasant carts. She wasn’t interested in other women, although it was a useful claim to make when trying to get rid of a pushy bastard who figured that because a woman wore trousers and sold her fighting skills she could be talked onto her back with only minimal effort. She had hoped that these Phantom Badgers would be different, as she had heard that they had women and even non-Humans in their ranks, but so far this Badger wasn’t any different than any other sell-sword she had met.
“A pity.” Henri propped a foot up on the hub of a handy cart. “On another note, we’re always looking for skilled warriors; I might be able to put in a reference for any of your unit who would like to become a Badger.” He leered a bit more.
Meagan gritted her teeth, face burning. It was insulting that this bastard would suggest that his company was so innately superior to her unit that any of her fellows might consent to sleep with him in order to improve their chances of being enlisted, and what made it worse was that several of her comrades would certainly consider the option. She herself wouldn’t mind wearing the blue and silver of the Badgers; after all, she was wearing a iron cap, a tunic of padded wool in lieu of real armor, and carrying a buckler, glaive, and spiked club, while this dandy wore a good steel cap, a shirt of bull’s hide re-enforced with a thick coating of steel studs, and carried a sling, parrying dagger, and a sabre which looked, from the rich engraving, like it might be enchanted. The carved staff was definitely enchanted, as he wore a dark blue circle edged in gold with three gold crowns within the circle, a symbol worn by the Integer Verto, a school amongst wizards that was most common in Arturia.
She was saved further discourse by the arrival of the Badger patrol leader, a lithe, dark-haired woman wearing a sword-rapier. “Time to go, Henri; the shop-master is getting things packed and organized, and I want to take a look north of the village to see if the Hand’s scouts are really closing in.” She jerked her fine-boned chin at Meagan in greeting. “Serjeant Bridget Uldo.”
Meagan introduced herself. “Is the Heartland Army going to face the Hand here?”
“Seems like,” the Serjeant shrugged, looking around. “Although the terrain here isn’t the best they could ask for.”
“Its better north of the village,” Meagan advised her. “Are the Badgers hiring?” She hated to ask, but none of her unit was in earshot, and an opportunity like this didn’t come by every day.
The slender Badger shook her head. “Not at the moment, but I’ll keep you in mind when we do. I’m sure we’ll have openings before long.”
Duna Kadal eased around a rain barrel near the northern end of the deserted village, her short recurve bow nocked and ready. Nicknamed ‘Eclipse’ both for the walnut hue of her skin and her insatiable efforts to outdo everyone at anything, Duna was of Ruwen stock, the dark-skinned Humans who occupied the Sufland’s west coast. How she and her parents had ended up on the northern continent was a mystery as she had been left on a temple’s steps before she was a year old. Kidnapped by Orc raiders from her foster parent’s farm when she was thirteen, she was rescued from a slave-cage by the Phantom Badgers a few weeks later along with seven other children, one of whom was Picken, Axel’s apprentice; the other six were back at Oramere working in various support capacities. Now a seventeen years old and holding the rank of a Full Badger (she had been the oldest of the rescued children) Duna was a veteran scout and archer, and was currently on the ‘point’ position as the Badger patrol eased through the empty streets of Mancin. She was a pretty girl, with straight hair the color of weathered oak planks and bright cheerful brown eyes; she stood only five feet one inch (as did Starr), and thus had some problems with weapons which were designed for men, but she was adder-quick and well-muscled, traits which had so far compensated for her lack of height and body mass.
Darting to the lee of a hay rick, the dark Badger frowned and signaled the next Badger in line, Milo Denne, to hold his position; the red-haired man flashed the signal back to
the rest of the Badgers, his foxy face split with his usual evil grin. Concentrating, Duna listened again for the faint noises that had alerted her in the first place. She heard it again, movement noises, the sound of low voices, and equipment rattling, all too low-pitched to be peasants fleeing or looting. Catching Milo’s eye, she flashed the hand-signals for ‘enemy’ and patrol’, followed by ‘coming this way’. He passed the signals back and moments later she saw Starr and Henri moving up the other side of the street, staying close to the small, battered houses. A minute later Bridget ducked behind her hay rick.
“What is it?” the advocate whispered.
“I hear something, a patrol coming, I think,” Duna whispered back.
The Serjeant nodded, fitting a bullet into the pouch of her staff sling; her weapon loaded, she signaled ‘wait’ and ‘ambush’ to the other Badgers.
Duna kept close watch to the front, confident that the other four Badgers in the scout section that she couldn’t see would have been deployed to guard their flanks and rear. The street they were on was a dirt lane lined with thatch-roofed cottages, simple little houses such as could be found in villages all across the Realms and elsewhere, the hard-packed dirt of the street forever plowed into two furrows by the endless passage of cart wheels. It was deserted save for the Badgers, the inhabitants having fled to the south.
The noises grew louder and clearer, and after a few minutes an Odular, or Goblin patrol, came into view, a mounted patrol out scouting the area, the individual members alert and watching for signs of trouble, talking softly amongst themselves as they picked their way through the village.
The dozen riders were wiry, hairless humanoids with wood-brown skin that was both duller and lighter than Duna’s, oddly-rounded hairless skulls, forward-pointing fox ears, bat snouts, and mouths full of round, sharply-pointed fangs, their wizened features radiating an implacable, humor-filled maliciousness; on the average they stood just below five feet tall when on foot, wearing clean, well-made garments of leather and wool. Each wore a stout leather tunic reinforced with studs, bits of chainmail, and horn plates, and a leather helm, both items of armor liberally decorated with feathers, teeth, beads, and what other adornments the individual warrior found appealing. They carried daggers and small axes or short swords, shields made of leather stretched over a wood frame, and six-foot lances; one in three had a cased short bow on his saddle, and the rest had bundles of short javelins.
Their mounts were called dread wolves, from which the plains Goblin derived their nickname of wolf-riders, but the creatures were only vaguely related to wolves, having been created by the warping effects of dark magic. Each was the size of a pony, long-limbed and rangy beasts whose shaggy coats were usually black, gray, or brown; their feet were cat-like and tough, and their heads, mounted on short, wolf-like necks, resembled a cross between a bull mastiff and a ferret’s, with a short, pointed muzzle filled with sharp teeth. Dread wolves were slower than horses, but long-winded and fearless, if not overly bright and lacking the keen senses of wolves. They reproduced in litters, breeding true, and were omnivorous, making them cheap, effective cavalry mounts for the Goblins, who were the only creatures light enough to ride them.
Wolf-riders were feared out on the plains and steppes for their speed and nimbleness of maneuver, making them difficult foes; here in the confining streets of the village most of their strengths were stripped away by the cluttered terrain, and it was obvious from their nervousness that they knew it. Logic would demand that they dismount and advance on foot as infantry, leaving their mounts outside under the care of handlers, but jongala, or mounted Goblin warriors, are trained from childhood to fight from the saddle, and quit their hairy steeds only under the direst pressure.
Bridget was signaling to someone across the street, but Duna ignored her, keeping her attention fixed upon the Goblins. She had fought forest-dweller tribal Goblins before, who were of the same family as the plains-dwellers before her, and had seen their ruddy-skinned Cave Goblin cousins in action, and knew them to be brave and tough, but lacking in patience, discipline, size, and equipment.
“Henri starts,” Bridget whispered to Duna, who nodded once.
Seconds later the lead two Goblins and their mounts were enveloped in a flaming cloud that roared into being and vanished in the space of a heartbeat, the heat of the flames living on in the blazing hair of the two screaming, dying mounts and the smoldering accouterments of the dead riders. The suddenness of the fire-ball’s eruption made her jump, but Duna mastered her surprise and drew with the focus that Starr had taught her, sending her shaft deep into a dread wolf’s side just forward of the jongala’s knee. She drew and released again, the arrow glancing off a hastily raised shield as the other Badgers employed their bows and slings against the confused patrol.
Duna saw a brilliant beam of light leap out from Henri’s hiding place and rip open a Goblin’s chest as she drew a third arrow to full draw, the arrow crippling another dread wolf. She jumped as Bridget blew a shrill porcelain whistle next to her, signaling the Badgers to withdraw. Reacting to her training rather than by thought the dark little Badger leapt to her feet and raced back to Milo’s position, a javelin flashing past her as she ran. She slid next to Milo as the red-haired man released an arrow at the Goblins and then turned to run back down the street. Pulling a shaft from her quiver, Duna aimed and released as Bridget ran back to her position and turned to use her sling as Duna raced further back down the street. With some Badgers employing missile weapons as others ran, the mercenaries were able to keep the Goblins under a constant volume of fire as they withdrew, never allowing the wolf-riders time to recover from the shock of the ambush.
Dazed and decimated, the Odular did not pursue the Badgers. Bridget was the last of the nine to reach the shed on the south end of the village which she had designated as their rally point in case of trouble.
“That went as smooth as silk,” the advocate grinned. “Anyone hurt?”
“I slipped and fell into a pile of goat dung,” Milo laughed from where he was swabbing at his legs with a curtain he had torn from an open window. “But it doesn't appear to be fatal.”
“It might be an improvement,” Duna shot back and giggled. “We really caught them flat-footed.”
“I counted three jongala dead or dying, along with eight wolves done for,” Starr said from the rafters, where she was keeping watch through a small hole she had made in the roof’s thatch. “It doesn't look as if they are eager to come after us, but I can see another Odular to the east, circling the village, and there’s movement to the north.”
“Time to go back, we’ve found out what we needed, which was that the peasants weren’t panicking, there really are wolf-riders in the area.”
“Couldn’t we stick around and hunt Goblins a bit? The rest of the Company won’t be here for hours.” Duna was eager for action. Starr seconded the suggestion from overhead.
“No,” Bridget’s tone brooked no discussion. “We’ll see plenty of fighting before the week is out, and more than we’ll ever want before this war is over. There’s no profit in killing scouts, and plenty of opportunity to get hurt. Where there’s wolf-riders, Eyade nomads can’t be far behind, and I don’t want to run into them.”
The Badger patrol withdrew south of the village to a low hill that overlooked the surrounding fields, and were surprised to find that it was already occupied by a squadron of Imperial cavalry; the Imperial Legionaries on the sentry line merely waved them on, a few calling out comments about the ambush, which they had apparently watched from the hill. At the crest of the hill an officer called them over.
“Captain Schye, commander of the Fifth Legion’s cavalry squadron; we were advised that there were Phantom Badgers in the area.” He waved towards the village. “We saw you mixing it up with some wolf-riders; what can you tell me about conditions down there?”
Bridget introduced herself and pointed out what she knew while Schye listened intently. Further to the south, coming up the
road the Badgers had followed, Bridget could see a long line of Imperial troops marching up.
Schye caught the direction of her glances and nodded tiredly. “We’re at the head of the entire Imperial Eastern Field Force, that’s the Fifth Legion you see arriving down there. We were supposed to advance to the fields about a mile north of the village to secure the site for the engagement with the Hand forces, but it seems that they’ve stolen a march on us. There’s at least a Lardina of wolf-riders in the area, roughly one thousand Goblins, which would be bad enough, but the patrols I sent to circle the village have encountered at Eyade, at least one Ket, or perhaps two. My squadron can’t clear the village or advance beyond this hill without additional forces, and from the looks of that dust-cloud to the north, the Hand is bringing up infantry as we speak. I’m guessing if we fight here, it will have to be south of the village, instead of north.”
“I believe you are right,” Bridget sighed. “The Hand is moving very quickly.”
“It’s those blasted Eyade, they give the Goblin wolf-riders shock power they wouldn’t have alone. I had heard about them, but it appears that they’re better in life than they were in rumor. Have you ever faced them?”
“Once, a skirmish, but they’re as vicious as Orcs and just as hard-fighting.”
