Dark Practices: Book Four of the Phantom Badgers

by RW Krpoun

  “So so; I had to clobber one for being disrespectful.”

  “He must have been an idiot to smart off to you,” she smiled at him and the flush, which had begun to fade, flared back up again. “What’s there to do here in Hohenfels of an evening?”

  “Not much; sit here to drink and play cards or draughts, or go walk along the river, that sort of thing,” Rolf muttered absently.

  “A moonlit walk, how romantic, Rolf; I would love to.” Veda batted her eyes, and the flush intensified.

  They set up for the interviews in one corner of the Militia’s drill field, assembling a folding table and setting out two stools, practice weapons, and similar equipment, working their way through a couple meat pies apiece while they were at it. Veda was correct in her manners, addressing him as ‘Corporal’ for the most part as she always did, but Rolf had difficulty releasing the memory of the walk last night; on an impulse halfway through he had taken and held her hand, fully expecting her to pull away or become angry, but Veda had simply held on and kept chattering away. Henri had told him to go slowly, testing the woman’s responses to overtures in the same way that light cavalry or a line of skirmishers probed an enemy force, an analogy that Rolf understood completely; he understood, and quailed at the thought of going any further.

  Romances within the Company were so common as to be the norm, and had resulted in one marriage so far; it was only natural that it should occur within a body that had unmarried men and women serving together, and a protocol had evolved to accommodate such things, amounting to the rule that during duty time the partners in the romance treated each other as if the relationship did not exist; after hours things could return to normal. Rolf thusly focused on the task before him and put off the horrors of courting until after his duty was done. Like fighting fair, his mother hadn’t addressed how he was to treat women, beyond the basic precepts of being respectful. He supposed, after careful consideration, that as long as they were agreeable, you could become quite bold within the bounds of romance and still be treating them respectfully. He wasn’t sure he could be bold, but that was an issue for another day.

  He sat on a stool behind the table while the new recruits straggled up in twos and threes and Veda sat by the pile of equipment. When the sun was two finger’s width above the horizon Rolf instructed the eleven recruits to form a line parallel to his table and called the first one over, pulling a sheet of paper into place and uncapping his inkwell. “Name ?”

  “Armo Tapicer.” The applicant was a scrawny lad of average height, with watery blue eyes and hair that resembled a well-used straw mop.

  “Age.”

  “Nineteen.” Rolf guessed that to be a lie, but let it pass.

  “Previous military experience.”

  “Ah, well, I served for two years in the Militia of my village, it’s about...”

  “Ever see action?” Rolf interrupted; Henri had warned him to stick to the pre-planned questions or he would be at it all day.

  “No, sir.”

  “What weapons are you skilled with ?”

  “Well, spear and bill, that sort of thing.”

  “Very well. Take a few stabs at Badger Sligh here.” Veda handed the young man a simple wooden practice shield and a spear whose head was a squared off chunk of wood coated with chalk dust. She herself was wearing her helm and a breastplate of padded canvas, and carrying her shield and a wooden training sword.

  The youth held the training weapons and stared from one Badger to the other. “But...”

  “But what?” Rolf asked, understanding why Henri had warned him not to mess around.

  “But.... she’s a woman,” Armo protested.

  “So?” Rolf shrugged. “You kill whatever comes at you, or they kill you.” When Armo didn’t move, obviously confused, Rolf motioned for Veda, who was grinning icily, to take back the training gear. “Next.” Seeing a latecomer walking up, the Corporal beckoned him over and told him to leave, that promptness was a trait the Badgers desired.

  “Name.”

  “Jephson Plomer, Corporal.”

  “Age.”

  “Twenty-one, Corporal.”

  “Military experience.”

  “Militia training for four years, and a year of caravan guarding out of Teasau, Corporal.”

  “Ever see action?”

  “Milled around with bandits a time or two, but nothing very big” Jephson admitted frankly, the husky young man standing in a respectful position of ease.

  “What weapons are you skilled with?”

  “Spear, pole axe, war hammer, short sword, and a recurve bow in the fifty-pound range.”

  “How are you in the woods?”

  “Not so good, Corporal.”

  “Choose a shield and weapon from the gear and see how you fare against Badger Sligh.” Jephson chose a spear and shield and demonstrated at least average competence. He had brought his own bow, and went over to the butts at the other end of the field to show a better than average accuracy. Rolf told him to stick around and called for the third applicant.

  It took until noon to go through the eleven, ending up with three candidates for the Company. The rest were mostly runaway apprentices such as Armo, a couple drunkards, and men who knew how to fight but lacked the personal qualities that the Badgers were seeking. Rolf walked with the three back to the barracks to collect their gear and evict the rejected applicants, then put them on the first river boat heading north while Veda loaded up the gear into the hand cart they had borrowed and rolled it back to the inn. He and Veda would spend the afternoon supervising the cleaning of the warehouse and seeing to the transport of some supplies the Company needed up at New Fork, and then return on the morrow.

  He also asked around about Goblin activity, and found that the local Militia had been patrolling aggressively and had had several contacts, killing a couple Goblins and losing one of their own killed and several wounded. New farms and lumber operations around Hohenfels were being harassed, with both Humans and Goblins losing their lives. The road-building was proceeding without a hitch with two companies of Imperial Legionnaires guarding the convict work crew.

  He and Veda went night-fishing, and star-gazing that evening with a picnic supper, and he held her hand for quite a long while.

  The Silly Bitch was a typical river boat of medium size, forty-two feet long, broad-beamed and shallow-drafted, powered by a single triangular sail and four sweeps, crewed by a captain, mate, and four deckhands and guarded by four mercenaries from the Silver River company, which was based in Teasau and provided escorts for ships travelling the river. The craft was going north to Badgerhof to drop off a cargo of ale and pick up a load of furs and finished lumber, making a stop on the way north at New Fork to drop off several hundredweight of chains for the logging crews there. Rolf and Veda caught a ride on it, the captain only too happy to have two more armed warriors on board. The Purple Spider knew that the river was the lifeline for Badgerhof and now New Fork, and were sniping at the river boats with increasing frequency; fortunately, their boat-building ability still fell far short of the level of skill needed to create craft that could be used to deliver a boarding party to a moving boat in mid-river.

  The two Badgers were sitting in the bow, leaning back against the front-most of several rows of ale kegs that were lashed to the deck, in full armor as per their agreement with the boat’s captain, the Silly Bitch making good headway with a brisk southeast breeze pushing and two sweeps in operation keeping them nosed into the current. They were halfway to New Fork, and would make it by nightfall if the wind held.

  “...so I told her that if that was all she wanted out of life, than go ahead and marry him, but she needed to remember that there was more out here than just...” Veda prattled on, lost in a monologue; she loved to talk and Rolf could listen with the patience of a block of granite, so they were passing the time easily enough. The big Corporal secretly wanted to hold her hand but decided that being in battle gear meant that they were on duty.

/>   “What’s that?” Rolf suddenly rose to his knees, reaching for his crossbow.

  “...really nice shop that... what?” Veda was mildly annoyed that she had been interrupted. “What’s what?”

  “That.” Rolf pointed, then looked back to call to the captain, only to see that the sailor had seen it as well and was alerting his crew and guards.

  “What is it?” Veda muttered, cocking her crossbow and loading a quarrel.

  “Nothing good,” Rolf said shortly, and loaded his own crossbow. The Silly Bitch was coming around a gentle curve in the river ten miles south of New Fork; what Rolf had seen was a jumbled mass of tree trunks piled in what appeared to be an untidy pile forty feet across on the east (right-hand) bank of the river, a pile that Rolf was sure he hadn’t seen on the trip down two days ago. “I think the Goblins have built a fort.”

  The captain thought so too, calling for the sail to be lowered, intending to turn the boat and head back to Hohenfels.

  “What’s he so worked up about, that thing is out of range for Goblin bows...” Veda began as a faint thump sounded ahead and something dark arced out of the log-fort and flashed towards them. The two Badgers tumbled into a heap as something struck the boat’s bow a foot above the waterline, knocking the craft into a sudden halt with the heart-rending sound of shattering wood.

  “Ballista.” Rolf gasped as he rolled free of Veda, then shouted it back to the captain.

  Veda risked a look over the rail. “Looks like a five-pounder, put a hole in us very nearly on the centerline just above the water.”

  Too late the cursing Captain realized that his decision to change course had left his boat slowed nearly to a stop and turning broadside to the war engine emplaced within the log fort. Shouting orders and vulgarities, he set his crew to abandoning the half-furled sail and manning the two other sweeps while the mate went below to investigate the damage.

  A second thump signaled that there were two ballistas in the fort; a moment later the impact of a carefully carved stone ball shoved the entire boat a foot to port, crashing into the side midway between the deck and the water. Veda and Rolf had hurled themselves flat at the sound of the weapon’s release; rising up on his elbows, Rolf eyed the fort. “Maybe we’ll drift out of sight before they can reload.”

  Before Veda could answer a sudden volley of smoke-trailing arrows erupted from the east bank, most striking the half-furled sail. The smoke came from a smoldering lump of pitch that coated each arrow just back of the head; about a third missed, and many that did hit either ripped through or had had their pitch go out on the flight, but enough worked as intended, and within seconds flames were darting along the folds of dry canvas.

  One of the boat guards stood up at the rail and hurled a javelin into the bushes forty feet away from which the volley came, and was struck by a half-dozen arrows for his trouble. Arrows and slung bullets swept in over the rear deck, cutting down both sailors on the starboard sweeps and wounding the captain, who was at the rudder. The sailors on the port sweeps abandoned their posts as more burning arrows began dropping around them. A boat guard popped up behind the aft starboard sweep and aimed his crossbow, but a slung bullet shattered his skull before he could release.

  Rolf drew a quarrel from his quiver and used it to pry the bungs out of two barrels, tucking the wooden cylinders into his belt as he discarded the damaged bolt and drew a dirk. “Cut the barrel lashings,” he told Veda as he sawed at the nearest rope. The female Badger scowled uncertainly but drew her dagger and went to work, staying low while she did it.

  The canvas sail was nearly consumed and the mast and boom had fully caught when Rolf wrestled the two opened kegs free and tipped them on their sides, using a second quarrel to carefully pry out the vent bungs, the ale gurgling out across the deck.

  “That’s not going to stop any fires,” Veda pointed out, flinching as a slung bullet stove in the side of one of the upright kegs.

  “I’m not worrying about the fires, I’m getting something to keep us afloat,” the big Corporal said, ducking as the ballista released back in the fort and an object swept in to strike amidships. This projectile was a sealed clay pot with a smaller sealed pot inside; the inner pot held a liquid mixture of resin and tar; the space between the inner pot and the outer was filled with burning coals. When both pots shattered on impact their cargo was mixed and sprayed across the deck, the coals igniting the resin, which clung to the dry wood of the desk.

  Tearing a kerchief into quarters, Rolf wrapped each of the bungs with cloth before hammering them back in place in the empty kegs while Veda tied ropes around the barrels to give them something to hold onto. The fire amidships was growing while the Goblin archers kept a steady fire at anyone who moved away from cover; fortunately, the ship’s position and the ale kegs gave the two Badgers considerable protection.

  “Time to go,” Rolf hefted a keg experimentally. “Leave your helm, shield, and pack behind. Try to keep the keg between yourself and the east bank.” Rolf dug in his pack and extracted the flask of oil he used on his weapons and a pocket flask of brandy he carried in case of colds. Emptying the brandy out, he forced his spare crossbow strings into the watertight container and carefully capped the lid; Veda followed suit with a flask she carried hair oil in.

  “Are you sure these kegs will hold us up?” Veda asked unhappily.

  “No, but I know we’ll burn to death if we stay here. You first.” The big Corporal lifted the first keg to the rail; Veda grabbed the rope and dove over the side, dragging the keg after her. Rolf picked up the second, discarding his helm, and followed Veda into the cool waters of the Burgen.

  The weight of his armor and weapons tried to pull him to the bottom, but the twenty-gallon keg was water-tight and immediately yanked him back to the surface. He emerged from the water to see Veda’s keg chugging steadily towards the bank, a froth of water showing where she was kicking. The half-Orc glanced longingly at the west bank, which was Goblin-free, but the Silly Bitch had drifted with the current and was much closer to the east; to head west would mean his shoulders and head would be exposed to Goblin fire.

  He was halfway to the bank before the first arrow kicked up water near him; the Goblins either hadn’t noticed before or thought the kegs had simply broken free. Two more arrows flashed by and a slung bullet threw up a gout of water as Rolf crossed another ten feet and paused, letting his equipment pull him down, finding that his feet touched bottom while his nose was still above water. Pushing with his feet, he ‘walked’ ashore, keeping the keg between himself and the archers. Arrows came at irregular intervals; the Goblins were having too much fun cutting down the remaining sailors and boat guards to worry about hitting a difficult target. Still, two arrows ripped into Rolf’s keg, which began to take on water, but by then the river was chest deep on him and dropping with every step.

  Ahead of him Veda discarded her arrow-studded keg and scrambled up the bank and into the brush; a minute later Rolf followed, carrying his keg like a shield between him and the Goblins, abandoning it when he reached the relative safety of the bushes.

  “That was too close for comfort,” Veda gasped, wringing water out of her hair.

  “Yes. We better get moving, head due east and circle around the fort so we can get back to New Fork.”

  As they trotted through the brush Rolf slammed his brandy-flask against a tree, smashing the wood container so he could extract the bow strings wrapped in wax paper that he had forced inside. Veda passed him her hair oil flask and he cracked that as well. Four hundred yards inland they paused to catch their breath and restring their crossbows.

  “I’ve six quarrels left, what about you?” Rolf asked.

  “Eight.” She grinned and punched him on the shoulder, having to reach up to do it. “That ought to be plenty, we’ll never get to reload in these confines anyway.”

  “True. We better get moving, the Goblins will be looking for us.”

  As the two Badgers slipped through the trees as quietly and quick
ly as they could, angling towards the northeast, Rolf worked at their situation. Both were armed and armored except for lacking their helms, and they had missile weapons, although they were slow to reload. Veda had lost her shield, but he didn’t normally fight with one; if cornered, then, they could give a good accounting of themselves. The problem was that neither one was a scout, or expert woodsman. Both had been on enough patrols to be able to operate in the woods fairly well and to avoid getting lost, but Rolf had no illusions that they would be able to lose any trailing yasama. He debated finding a good spot and trying to ambush any Goblin scouts who were following, but discarded it as impractical: ambushing scouts was best left to other scouts.

  “What are we going to do?” Veda gasped as they trotted along.

  “Go another three hundred yards and then angle back to the river,” Rolf decided out loud, shortening his steps so that Veda could keep up. “We’ll be past the fort by then and out of sight of it. That way they can only come at us from three sides, and if we can find a way to cross to the west bank or hail a river boat we’ll be safe.”

  “Good idea.”

  Rolf was watching towards the rear and Veda was concentrating on moving fast while wearing wet boots and soaked socks when they burst out onto the river bank and found themselves face to face with five Goblins; fortunately, everyone was equally surprised.

  The Goblins wore cord armor and had small axes at their belts, but they had no helms, and were carrying fishing spears; two younger members had wicker baskets slung pack-style on their backs. For a moment the seven stood frozen, staring at each other twenty feet apart. Then Rolf raised his crossbow and fired one-handed, killing one of the pack-bearers and breaking the shock; Veda threw her crossbow to her shoulder and shot an unencumbered Goblin as the other five turned and bolted into the brush.

  “Reload and run.” Rolf cocked his weapon and fitted a quarrel into the slot, then paused to stab both Goblins to ensure that they were indeed dead, and taking their ears before following Veda.