Dark Obligations: Book One of the Phantom Badgers

by Krpoun, RW

  “What about the children?” the tired Advocate asked, absently rubbing at the grime on her face.

  “Leave them where they’re at right now,” Durek shrugged. “They’re safe and out of the way.” He turned to study the battered ex-slave as the priestess hurried off. “So you’re not a follower of the Void?”

  “No, sir, just a fur-buyer from the Empire.” He suddenly grinned ruefully. “Actually, an ex-fur buyer, to be precise: I had a strongbox with nearly a thousand Imperial Marks that I won’t be seeing again. I doubt my employers will ever forgive me for losing their money.”

  “We’ll go into your allegiances in more detail later. For now I want you to gather all the Direbreed and Black Dwarf weapons and dump them in a pile to the west of the bridge, put ‘em at the center of the area. Report back when you’re done.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rolf came down the rope ladder a few minutes later and dropped Arian’s crossbow off with the monk, who was tending to Robin near the blanket-wrapped body of Nuilia, before reporting to his Captain.

  “Get me my crossbow, I dropped it someplace over there, then go relieve Janna.”

  A thousand things to do, and very finite time to do them in. The Captain climbed shakily to his feet, clutching his now-healthy ribs with one hand. After a few seconds to steady himself, he cocked and loaded his crossbow and tried a few experimental steps. Better.

  Trellan trudged up, slinging his cocked but unloaded crossbow. “What’s next, Cap’n?”

  “Take a look at the lifting tackle the Talon has on the bridge. We’ll need to lift about four hundred pounds safely, so if the gear isn’t up to it, see if you can find more in the Talon’s supplies; the block and tackle we used in the cage is pretty well buried.”

  Janna sauntered up just as Arian came trotting over. “How’s Robin?”

  The monk shook his head. “Not good; he took a hard rap on the skull which I’ve Healed, but it will still leave him shaky for a day or so. What is worse is that he saw Nuilia die, and that may very well unhinge his mind in the long run. For now he’s of no use for any task.”

  “Damn; well, tend to Janna’s wounds, and get Robin up on the bridge, winch him up if you have to. Then get Gabriella and Nuilia up there as well, and report back. Janna, once Arian’s through with you, go to where the Fortren dammed up the spring that makes this a mud pit and sketch how it was done. What are the slaves in the south pen like?”

  “Unruly,” The Silver Eagle’s voice was muffled by the effort of removing her armor. “There are three Goblins, two Orcs, a half-Orc, and nine Humans, all male.”

  “Right, well, we’ll sort them out later. Does anyone know if any of the north slaves survived other than Johann? Damn, something else to do.”

  Durek remained on his feet, finding it easier to walk the longer he stayed upright. After a bit Bridget trudged up and sat down on the dirt. “Twenty-eight Breedstones, and an uglier job I’ve not had in a while.”

  “Four missing, eh? Well, no matter, we’ll stay on our toes. Go replace Starr on guard and send her down to me, you’ve earned a rest. Tell Starr where you put the ‘Stones and tell her to move them to where Trellan is working on the lifting gear.”

  Johann came up as Bridget was leaving. “All the weapons have been moved, save the Draktaur’s axe. If I may ask, why was that done?”

  “So when we bring the slaves out of the south pen there won’t be any arms lying about,” Durek explained. “And so that when this place turns back to mud it will be harder to recover them, as Fortren black steel is valued by Void-followers. Now, I want you to establish if any of your cell-mates are still alive, that is, count the dead. While you’re at it, gather yourself a bedroll and field supplies from what’s left of the north pen. Don’t bother with weapons, we’ll issue them to you later.”

  Arian returned. “Done by your command, my Captain.”

  “Why are you smoking a cigar?”

  “A cheroot, to be specific, and because it cuts the Void-awful stench of this place.”

  Durek grunted. “An excellent idea. Do you have another handy? Thank you.” He puffed the twisted stick alight from the monk’s. “Yes, much better. Anyway, I need you to make a rough inventory of the supplies on the north pen, then assemble bedrolls for the children, and see if there are any clean clothes, soap, that sort of thing,” the Captain gestured uncomfortably. “You know, children supplies, keep ‘em happy and quiet.”

  “Right.”

  “Set out any rations that are suitable because we don’t have enough of our own to feed this lot.”

  Starr trotted up. “The ‘Stones are on the bridge and Trellan says he’s nearly done.” The young Lanthrell’s eyes gleamed. “We did it, Captain! We won.”

  “Yes, we did,” Durek nodded, the image of two blanket-wrapped bodies being hoisted to the bridge clear in his mind. “We won. Now, go find a coil of light cord, stuff strong enough to bind a grown man’s wrists, we’ll need sixty feet at least. When you find it, put it by Rolf at the south pens. Then give Arian a hand. That was fine archery, Starr, we couldn’t have done it without you.”

  The Captain waited a couple minutes, then walked at a careful pace to the Draktaur’s body. He circled it once, trying to see in it the man it had been mutated from, but failing: there was nothing Human left in it, nothing natural or normal, just a mound of flesh twisted by the willing acceptance of the Void, and shaped by terrible ambitions. “We killed you, you damned freak,” the Captain muttered under his breath. “It cost too much, but you’re dead and I’ll see the Breedstones of your Talon sent back to the Void. Go tell your Dark One that Durek Toolsmaster says to go to blazes, and take all its Minions with it.”

  Using a blanket taken from the dozens littering the dirt, the Captain wrapped the creature’s axe and severed head, still in its ornate helm, and dragged them over to the lines of Trellan’s hoist. He had to rest for a while, but he was able to tie the bundle to the ropes and see it hauled up. Janna was stalking towards him, swinging a short length of shaft that bore the head of her partisan; the Captain waited for her to arrive, and studied the sheet of parchment she silently passed him.

  “Yes, very well drawn,” he muttered, frowning. “Clever work, very nice, actually. Fine, get a saw and a shovel from the north pen, dig a six-inch collar trench around these posts here, here, and here; then saw these support posts halfway through here, here, and here. When the dirt turns to mud it’ll bring the whole assembly down. And fine work on your side of the bridge, Janna: you and your group handled more than your share of the Direbreed.”

  “Rolf saved my life,” the Silver Eagle regarded him with a gaze as unemotional as a sword blade. “I want to recommend him for the Ruby Claw.” She referred to the decoration awarded to a Badger for saving the life of a fellow Badger or suitable ally in battle while placing the actor’s life at risk.

  “Write it up and we’ll deal with decorations in a day or two. I have no doubt there will be more than a few awarded for this day’s work.” It was only too typical, Durek thought, that Janna’s only acknowledgement of praise was to hold up another’s actions to the light. Her fanaticism had kept her from gaining rank within the Company to date, but he was coming to realize that that had been a mistake.

  “Trellan, relieve Rolf and take a rest. Rolf, when Trellan relieves you give Arian a hand.” The Captain trudged over to the bloody shambles that was the Direbreed’s camp and set about scrubbing the blade of his axe clean with a blanket and a flask of cheap wine he found, ignoring the pleading calls of the slaves in the south pen.

  Johann came up, a blanket roll slung about his shoulders. “Two Humans survived besides me, and the rest are dead. The two who survived are gone, I don’t know where, either into a crevice or up the rope ladders in the confusion. I don’t really know much about them.”

  “Fine; do you know anything about the slaves in the south pen?”

  “Not really.”

  “Take a break for a bit, you’ve earned it
. By the by, that was quite a trick, hobbling the Draktaur as you did.”

  The ex-slave flushed. “Actually, he trampled me, and I grabbed his leg in order to keep from getting stepped on. Once I had ahold of it I was too frightened to let go.”

  The Captain grinned. “And of such stuff are heroes made.”

  After resting for a few more minutes, he went to the wreckage of the north pen. “How is it going?” he asked the monk who, seated on a nail keg, was taking a break.

  “We’ve a quantity of useable rations, and the children’s bedrolls are assembled.”

  “Right, Starr, Rolf, haul the bedrolls and as much of the rations as the komad can carry to the bridge and haul it up. Arian, come with me, I need your expertise.”

  The two climbed onto the south platform using the timber steps at one end. “This is the payoff,” Durek grunted. “Loot. You tell me what is touched by the Void and what isn’t, if I can’t tell myself.”

  The south platform bore the personal belongings of the Champion: a stout wooden chest containing linen sacks of coins, the Draktaur’s standard, the chest containing the books they had been sent to recover, a small pile of assorted loot recovered from the mud pit which was still useable, and four racks crudely hammered together from rough boards such as were used to roof the slave pens.

  “Bastards sure hauled around enough timber, didn’t they?” Arian commented sourly. “I asked Johann about it: the Talon escorted pack-lizards down here; apparently they planned to abandon the tools and building materials and just bring out the loot.”

  “What happened to the lizards?”

  “They were the payoff for the Hydra.”

  “So these are what all this was about,” Durek mused, studying the racks carefully. Resting on nails driven into the untreated planks were weapons: axes, maces, and swords, each rack supporting a half-dozen. Each had the distinctive dark cast to the metal that spoke of Fortren work, and each was etched and engraved with weird glyphs, twisted runes, and strange sigils; milky stones of unhealthy hues gleamed at the pommels and upon the hafts of many of the weapons, and inlays of scarlet and green wire drew evil symbols.

  “A group hauling them must have been lost on that bridge, just as Leofric’s books were,” Arian shrugged. “Ugly buggers, aren't they? Void-blessed metal each and every one, it will take a temple of the first order to destroy them.”

  “We can’t lug them out of here, there’s too much else we have to carry, but we’ll scatter them about the entire cavern, and drop the bridge for good measure. They’ll have to work twice as hard to get them back next time. Now, let us have a look at this other pile, we can count the money later.”

  The pile of assorted loot had not been paid much attention by the Champion, and most of the items still wore a thick layer of dirt. The racks held what the Draktaur had come here to recover, so these items were simply a bonus. There were several Dwarven-crafted weapons and pieces of armor looted from the hold above whose protective finishes had not yet been ruined by the mud pit’s wetness, a few pounds of iron-work that wasn’t too badly rusted, and even a small trove of enchanted items: a black bastard sword, two brass torcs, a buckler, and a hammered brass pot containing a small collection of enchanted paper packages.

  “Some sort of spell embedded in these,” Arian resealed the pot. “None of these items are Void-infected, but whatever’s in this pot needs a wizard’s attentions. The rest are pretty straightforward, so Bridget or I should be able to sort out how they work in a few hours, when we get the time.”

  Durek nodded absently as he examined a shirt of Dwarven mail. “Good, we’ll deal with them later. Take a break; as soon as Starr and Rolf are done, set Rolf and Johann to shifting the loot to the bridge, and then scattering those damned weapons on the racks. You and Starr scatter the Bloodmaster’s gear where the mud will be the thickest, and then release the children and get them up on the bridge. I’m going to clean up this shirt as my breast-and-back’s ruined.”

  Moving slowly to conserve his strength, the Captain trudged over to the wreckage of the north pen and obtained a metal saw, a stout hammer, and a selection of chisels from the scattered tools there. Painfully ascending one of the rope ladders, he stopped to survey his detachment on the bridge. The corpses and supplies winched up had been transferred to the niche where the he and two other scouts had stopped before crawling to the bridge; all that was on the bridge was a snoring Kroh, Bridget on sentry duty, and a battered Robin who sat with the bloody great sword Moonblade across his knees, staring out into nothing.

  Durek stopped by him to lay a comradely hand on his shoulder and murmur a few words, but the bearded man who now appeared a decade older than his years gave no sign that he was even aware of the Dwarf’s presence. Pausing to bring Bridget up to date on the items they had found on the south platform, the Captain marched to the north end of the bridge and gave the structure’s fastenings a careful study. Jotting notes in chalk next to key couplings, he neatly stacked the tools and returned to the lifting gear, whose mountings he studied with equal care. Satisfied, he seated himself upon the bridge and began to devise the Company’s dispositions for the next stage of operations.

  When Janna had returned, the loot and children were gathered on the bridge (the former roped together in two groups of four each), and the Void-blessed weapons and the Bloodmaster’s possessions scattered across the width of the cavern.

  The Captain sat on a wheelbarrow and studied the slaves, his crossbow across his knees and one of Rolf’s, cocked and loaded, close to hand. Eight bedrolls and cargo-packs of provisions had been prepared; since the freed slaves would be unburdened by weapons or armor, each pack held enough food to feed a man for twenty days. While it was unacceptable to leave them to die down here, the risk of bringing along followers of the Void or thieves or murderers was a real one, and would make heavy demands upon the depleted ranks of his detachment. Nevertheless, it had to be done.

  Durek took up a position to the left and well away from the slave pen door with his and three spare crossbows, with Starr to the right of the door and well away, her bow at the ready and her quiver refilled with the spare arrows she had stored on the komad. Rolf and Trellan stood at the door, each with a dozen two-foot lengths of light rope under their belts while Janna, sword and shield ready, stood nearby, ready to move to their aid. The lock was chiseled off the chain and one by one the slaves were allowed through the door to have their wrists bound behind their backs and their bodies searched for weapons. Janna led each bound slave to the side and sat him down well away from his neighbors. Under the threat of the crossbow and the Lanthrell archer, whose abilities had been amply displayed during the battle, the slaves were docile enough.

  When the last slave was seated on the dirt Durek nodded to Rolf, who took up his axe and moved down the line, methodically beheading the Goblins and Orcs. One of the latter died on Janna’s sword as he sprang to his feet in an attempt to escape the death that was stolidly moving down the line towards him. The half-Orc and Humans stirred uneasily but refrained from moving too much while covered by the archer and crossbow-wielding Dwarf. When the last of the five was dead Durek faced the ten remaining slaves.

  “We had agreed to let the Orcs from the north pen depart unharmed if they helped us, and would have honored that had they lived; that offer did not apply to those in the south pen. We are loyal servitors of the Light and the Eight, and have no mercy for the minions of the Void or the Dark One. Each of you will be untied one by one so you may strip; if you are free of cult markings or tattoos, you will have the choice of striking out on your own or of staying with our group, under my command, until we reach a place suitable to you. While you are under my command you will obey my orders and the orders of my troops, or you will die.’

  Seven Humans remained when this search was done, as three had had cult tattoos upon their persons; two elected to depart on their own, opting to take the north tunnel from the cavern. Durek let them take a bedroll and supply pack apiece, a
nd to choose what they wanted from the ordinary arms and armor scattered about the cavern.

  The five remaining were loaded down with supplies and bedrolls and sent up to the bridge to man the block and tackle. When all the raiders were safely in the south tunnel Durek gave the command and the five heaved on the drawlines. It took them four tries, but after the second partially-chiseled fastenings and saw-weakened links were breaking on the north end and at the fourth effort the bridge treadway broke free from its north and central moorings and crashed to the dirt below, leaving only the ceiling chains hanging down to mark its passage. The slaves were put to work cutting the south end free from the stone under Kroh’s watchful eye while the rest of the raiders prepared to withdraw.

  Down below timbers had been stacked atop the Black Dwarves’ weapons and armor, and oil-soaked blankets were laid across the planks. Starr fired an arrow bearing a ball of burning pitch into the blankets, starting a blaze that would ignite the planks. The fire would destroy the crossbows and damage the temper of some of the metal gear, as well as ruining the finishes that protected the weapons from rust. Few if any would survive their entombment in mud.

  “It took more effort to tidy up after the battle than to do the actual fighting,” Arian commented to the Captain as the last of the chains were cut and the bridge’s south end fell to the cavern floor, raising a huge cloud of dust.

  “That’s how it goes,” Durek nodded. “How are the children?”

  “Well enough, all things considered. They’re happy to be rescued, although seeing the battle shook ‘em up some. Youngest is eight, oldest is thirteen, so they will be able to keep up,” he added, aware that a Dwarf would be unclear about a Human’s capabilities at those ages. “They shouldn’t be much trouble.”

  “What about those five,” Durek jerked his chin, or rather the top of his beard, towards the ex-slaves. “Johann seems all right.”

  ““Yes, I think he will be no problem, but as for this lot, there are two who wear the marks of time spent in Imperial penal work gangs. The rest might be all right, it’s hard to tell.”