by RW Krpoun
Frowning and rubbing the bridge of her nose with the back of the brush, she stared off into space, twisting and pulling at what she knew. Leaning forward, she plucked a long dark hair from the bristles of her brush and placed one end on the gold dot that marked the escape point. She stretched the hair to the cluster of triangles that marked the den's corpses'. The 'x' marking the cart ambush was a half inch from the hair, between the two points. Humming quietly, she put one end of the hair on the cluster of triangles and stretched the hair deeper into the Inner Keep, keeping to the same angle that had led out from the corral. The humming faltered when she saw that the hair came within an inch of the Hold's Great Hall.
The Great Hall, where the body of the Hold-Mistress and the Captain of her personal Guard were found. Kustar had read the report through carefully: both had been killed with Felher weapons, and Seers had been confident that Felher had done it, which was consistent with their style of raiding. Certainly the absence of the fortress' leader during the raid had handicapped the Direthrell response to the incursion, and had slowed the fortress’ recovery after the raid.
After a moment she dug out her index portfolio and began thumbing; an hour later she had located a report and was reading intently, pausing only when Coke diffidently stepped in with the morning mail and asked if she wished for tea to be sent in. The tray had not arrived when she suppressed a shout of joy; listed in the report were the items stolen from the victory displays in the grand meeting chamber: standards, banners, and the skeletons of seven noble foes of Alantarn, each held in a submissive pose by discrete assemblies of brass wire and carved ivory wands.
With a sure movement of her pen she marked the Hall with a black 'x' and leaned back, reflexively tossing the cloth dustcover over her desk when the office servant knocked at the door with tea and snacks. Taking the tray from the slave at the doorway, she arranged the pot and cups on a side table, mind whirling.
They had split into two parties, or three. One to hit the annex, one to hit the Great Hall, perhaps one to prepare the corral. After hitting their targets the two active parties withdraw to the corral; the Hall group also grabs the cart as a little insurance should their exit be opposed, an act which gives them a critical edge in the fight with the Anlarc's force.
Kustar poured herself a glass of wine, emptying the crystal decanter, and sipped thoughtfully, ignoring the pot of tea cooling on the side table. That was the Why in part, she decided; up to now she assumed the Felher had hired or bribed the Den to place the Gate egran, but now she reversed her thinking: knowing of the low-key war between this particular Felher tribe and the Direthrell, the pseudo-Den had cut a deal with the rat-men. The raid, from the false Den's point of view, was a diversion to cover their activities, because there was something in either the annex or Great Hall that they wanted badly enough to accept the risks. Frowning as she ran her tongue around the edge of her glass, she pondered how they had obtained such detailed information on Alantarn as to know which items were stored in what annex, or which trophies were located where.
One target was a blind, then, to divert from the actual target. Magical items, or bones and trophies that could be ransomed were incredibly valuable; they stood to do well even with the fruits of the decoy hit, and figuring out which was the real goal would be difficult without more data. Absently dipping her finger in the wine and licking the purple drops off the digit, she worked at the targets for a bit, and then shrugged. Without more data on the identity of the raiders themselves she would not be able to unravel that aspect of the puzzle.
With her suspect Den positively identified she knew the How: they had brought andern to sell; coating the Gate components in raw high-grade andern would render it undetectable to all but the best magical detection devices, such as were only used by the guards at the entrance to the Site. This method was mentioned in the documents that the wizards had provided, but been discounted as the Felher would not waste andern, especially high-grade andern in quantities measured in pounds, on a raid with no strategic value. But her little Den would, to ensure that they had a diversion while they mounted their own private raid, and to hide their involvement. Which gave another clue to their identity: these were no followers of the Dark, she reasoned by their callous treatment of andern, the pure stuff of the Void and the basic building block of all major Void powers: only followers of the Eight would use it so basely. And as much as she disliked it, it stood to reason that the Anlarc's estimate of the force that had chopped up his command was inaccurate: Kustar knew it consisted of exactly twelve members. Twelve daring, skilled, and very tough members of a group that followed the Light and the Eight.
Which led, she realized, to two questions: first, how had followers of the Light come across andern, and where had they gone when they exited out their Gate? The first was fairly simple: they had stolen it. The second question had never been investigated to date; it was assumed that all exiting raid forces had withdrawn to the usual Felher-controlled staging areas. But knowing what she did, Kustar saw that her group would not want to end up anywhere near the Felher once their deal was concluded. No doubt they had purchased a complete Gate from the Felher, paying with part of their hijacked andern, and used it to go their own way once their goals had been achieved. The exit would be completely outside the fortress' defensive zones, probably a couple day's ride from Alantarn, giving her false Den a solid head start should anyone figure out the truth even as the raid was underway and attempt to pursue.
The second question was the one she would concentrate on, the dark-haired officer decided. No doubt the theft of the andern would have been done in such a fashion as to put the blame on others; this group was careful and thorough, and besides, shipments of andern, like shipments of gold, occasionally changed hands by violent means. But she wondered if, burdened with wounded and dead, exhausted from the fighting and in fear of pursuit, her false Den had taken pains to dampen their exit site from a Seer's prying skills? Perhaps not, Kustar decided, tossing off the contents of her glass.
Acting on these suspicions would require a person skilled in the wizardly arts to determine where the Gate exit was, a skilled Seer to examine the exit site for clues, and a security force to protect them outside of the hold. This would involve outsiders in her investigations and give telling clues as to the direction she was pursuing to her competitors. Of course, she could use a slave Seer, whom she could safely isolate, but wizards and troops would not be so easily kept quiet. While she was sure she had a better picture of the raid than any of her competitors, she had no intention bringing in half a report in with gaps still in the information, to be rewarded with a promotion and good assignment; she wanted to bring in the complete explanation, with identities and proof, thus putting her career onto a track very few mixed-bloods ever dreamed of.
It took a while, but a smile crept across her lovely features. What she needed wasn't a wizard and troops; what she needed was greater ambition and a partner. It was time to return to the basis of intelligence work: information and knowledge are commodities to be exploited.
Her Pargaie status had been a drawback, for a change, but the atingo carried considerable weight, although less than it would have anywhere else in the Hold. Kustar cooled her heels in an antechamber for nearly an hour, half of which was probably actually a legitimate delay, and they even brought her tea and cakes while she waited.
The power structure within Dark Threll society was based on three roughly equal power blocs: the Ercagrad, or administrative bloc, which controlled the military, the magical academies, the Treasury, the Pargaie, and the central government; the Hold-Master, for instance, was a member of the Ercagrad. Next was the Ercahel, the Temple, which controlled not only the religious body, but its own private guard corps (from which all Anlarcs were drawn), and the cult which summoned the twisted Direbreed beast-men; the latter's formations were technically under the control of the army but drew their officers from the Temple Guard. The third bloc was the Ercamanen, or merchant blocs made up of independent trade
concerns called 'Mana, sometimes called Houses by outsiders. Each 'Mana had its own guard force, and the central committee that represented the 'Mana had its own security organization. Era Ludio had been a senior member of the most powerful 'Mana in the Hold, which had given him the authority to tweak security procedures for the false Den.
Naturally all three blocs constantly plotted and intrigued with against each other, seeking advantages, greater power, and larger shares of the nation's resources. The same struggle affected Direthrell operations at virtually every level, further complicated by each individual's ambitions and agenda. Kustar was a veteran of such intrigues, and saw a way to exploit it for her own benefit in this case. The other investigators she competed with were all Pargaie like herself, and it was that fact that she planned to use against them.
She had prepared herself, but even so, the visage of the one for whom she had been waiting made her flinch. Agyra the Axe had been badly altered by the andern-laced potions that gave him his accelerated powers; strengthened, it was true, but also twisted and changed. The Anlarc was closer to seven feet than six, but so painfully thin as to be a mere shadow of a Direthrell, clad in oddly chitinous armor that seemed to grow off of him rather than be worn, the Void-blessed gray substance seeming to be a cross between horn and metal. His face, and indeed, his entire head, was concealed by a skull-faced great helm that somehow was worse than any face could be.
The twisted, spindly figure marched in like a wind-up puppet and halted in the center of the anteroom, just as motionless as a spider the second before it springs. Kustar had been a spy, assassin, and warrior all her lengthy life, but the Anlarc was the deadliest individual she had ever seen.
She gave him a moment to speak, and when he remained silent, she stood and introduced herself and explained her position as an investigator. He ignored her hand and words equally; resuming her seat, she surveyed the situation and decided to plunge ahead.
"In the initial raid you lost half your personal retinue and most of an Arm of Direbreed."
The helm moved fractionally in a nod of confirmation.
Kustar smiled. "I'm not a soldier- spying is my forte. But I imagine that it was not an engagement that would sit well with a warrior, especially one such as yourself."
"Come to the point." The Anlarc's voice was a bit breathy, but otherwise the most normal thing about him, Kustar decided.
The Pargaie officer grinned, knowing that the hook had been set. "How would you like a chance to fight them again?"
Chapter Four
Oramere's Great Hall was perhaps not big enough to rate the term 'Great', but it was close enough for the Phantom Badger. After years of discussion on life-and-death subjects held around smoky campfires or in noisy, dirt-floored taverns, it seemed opulent enough, and it was theirs, bought with the bloody execution of the plans hatched around campfires or in dirt-floored taverns.
Durek sat erect in the Hall, axe across his knees and mug to hand, lost in thought. In an hour the final meeting of the Badger's inner circle would be held to cover any last minute details. There really was very little to review that hadn't been gone over a dozen times before, but the meeting before moving out was a Badger tradition, an affirmation of sorts. It was quite possible that for some it would be the last time they would be together. The inner circle was the hard core of the Badgers; the last two, very tough missions the Badgers had mounted had been made up of only the very best, and the bonds between them had grown deep. This summer, however, the Company was resuming normal operations, so the veterans would be serving in the larger, less familiar body. All told, the Badgers now numbered forty-four warriors, not counting the support staff and retirees, more than at any other time in its nearly nine years as an organized body.
Durek planned to lead the bulk of this force, thirty-seven members including himself, to campaign for the City-State of Sagenhoft along the Bloody Road. Seven Badgers would, in theory, remain behind at Oramere to give Axel a much-needed stiffener for the local militia company. In reality, four of those seven would set out against the White Necromancer once the main body was safely gone. Thus it was that all seven stay-behinds had to be veterans of the raid on Alantarn, so that the secret would go no further (Axel being the only one who hadn't been on the raid who knew the truth of what had been done), which spread his veteran cadre rather thin. In recognition of this, he had broken precedent and promoted Arian Thyben to Serjeant, making three such positions; this left him still somewhat short on officers, but he resisted too many promotions too fast.
After much personal debate, he had decided that the four to be sent against the liche were to be Bridget, for her expertise in things necromantic and her grasp of both faith-based magic and the Healing Arts, Henri, as a Wizard would be needed and Axel was not yet up to field duty, Elonia, as a Seer would be very useful, and Maxmillian, as the scholar-turned-Badger was a competent swordsman. Durek would rather have sent a better combatant in Maxmillian's place, but both Janna and Arian were needed to help lead the main body, Kroh was too unpredictable for this type of mission, and Rolf was not nearly as clever as the ex-scholar. The Captain felt that on this sort of mission wits were more important than fighting prowess.
Starr and her two confederates would remain at Oramere to steady the Ravenmist company, as the local, half-organized militia was named, and to ensure that no one tried to rob the Badger hold. It was unnerving to realize how unlikely it was that the inner circle would ever all serve together again, due to the demands of securing what they had while sallying forth to gain more.
The Dwarf took a long pull at his tankard and let his eyes wander about the Hall. Oramere's Great Hall was located on, and made up all of, the sixth and last floor of the tower that was the main portion of the Hold, a lovely room fourteen feet high, with a ceiling of carved oak panels, a floor covered in pale gray marble, and the walls sheathed with ivory-colored stone. Durek's chair, made of blue granite decorated with solid silver filigree, sat on a low dais at the north side of the round room, directly opposite the heavy double doors that opened off the stairway. To his left and right were two identical chairs resting on the floor, which would be occupied by officers and Senior Badgers.
To his left, at the east side of the Hall was stored the Company Standard in its ornate oak stand; behind it on the wall were thirteen black granite plaques, each bearing the name and decorations of a fallen Badger, and to its left was a matching oak book stand bearing the massive leather volume that contained the Roll of Honor, a meticulous listing of valorous deeds that had not warranted a formal decoration. Between the plaques and the doors was a carved rack made to resemble a climbing vine pattern, ten feet wide and rising to the ceiling; the brass and oak stand had cunningly hidden sockets, and was used to display up to twenty-eight standards or totems, the shafts thrusting out nearly horizontally into the room; currently fifteen banners, flags, standards, and totems were so mounted, ranging from the simple officer's flag taken from the infamous outlaw Great Bear mere weeks after the Company's Founding (the fight which began their reputation), to four Direbreed Fist totems taken last summer in the defense of the ruined Orc Fort.
To his right, the wall supported another oak and brass ivy stand, this one covering all the free wall space, and supporting a diverse collection of weapons and items, souvenirs of the Badger's many encounters. Items ranged from the bandit-chieftain Gold Eagle's sword and shield, to a Orc Waghorctein’s (war leader’s) full suit of armor (complete with chest-rent from Durek's axe), to a Draktaur's skull. Set into the floor at the center of the room was a six-foot wide copy of the Company insignia; the entire room was lit by four enchanted globes hanging from the ceiling by gilded chains, loot from their campaigning north of the Ward.
It gave the Captain a strong sense of comfort to sit in this Hall, surrounded by the symbols of success and the reminders of victories old and recent. It took his mind off things such as the White Necromancer's plots, the signs of Cave Goblin activity in the mountains to the east, and t
he constant worry that the Direthrell at Alantarn would somehow uncover who was really behind the raid on their fortress. The Dwarf sighed and took another pull at his mug; sometimes being Captain was the most depressing thing he had ever done.
It was still dark when Rolf got up, but that was not unusual: the burly Badger slept little, and disliked wasting the light of day. He had heard it said once that all intelligent creatures are products of their personal pasts, and, after giving the idea careful thought over several days, decided that it was true, especially in his case.
Certainly his sleeping habits had been influenced by his enforced eight-year stay deep in the granite bowels of an abandoned Dwarven city; there, sleeping too hard or too long could have been fatal, and all those lonely months buried deep in a mountain gave him an appreciation for sunlight that rivaled a Threll's. But it also went further back, to his childhood on his grandparent's farm. Rolf, as it was to be expected, was the product of rape, and unusually was raised by a decent family in the Empire, his mother having refused to allow the usual practice of dashing the half-breed's brains out immediately after birth. Back then Rolf, who by the age of three was nearly twice the physical maturity of a full Human child, rose early to be at his mother's bedside when she awoke.
It was her love that set the course of his life, and her teachings that guided him along the thorny paths of conscience. Sickly, a near-invalid, her gentle influences rang just as clear and sharp across the two decades since her death as they had when she made them. Rolf, called Lightseeker, was the gentlest of the Badgers, a hardened warrior whose peaceful nature had survived a hundred bloody fights, a contradiction rarely found outside the religious orders.
After his mother's death Rolf was banished to the family barn, where he woke early every day to tend a herd of swine, a dirty, thankless job that might have hardened the spirit of a Human child of ten, but which failed to scar the half-breed. Solitary by nature and mindful of his mother's admonitions to fulfill his duties to the best of his abilities, he ignored the insults of others and went about his chores with a stolid determination that would have gladdened the heart of an Imperial Centurion. When he was hardly sixteen, but standing a head taller than an average Man, Rolf was bound over to a promoter of combat events in the semi-legal gladiatorial pits. Rolf was intensively trained and then exposed to even more intensive combat. After a few weeks of active 'sport', in which he did intense soul-searching, the young half-Orc deserted his master, the first, and perhaps the only dishonest act in his life. He was motivated by his mother's teaching, of course; that practical woman had not forbade him combat, merely charging him to shed blood only for a worthy cause.
