by RW Krpoun
This year greater numbers of men had come to harvest the virgin timber that coated the lands around Oramere. Starr, acting as Landmaster for the colony, had forbidden commercial logging on Badger lands, and monitored the settler's tree-cutting with considerable suspicion, but her writ ended at the edges of the colony. Loggers used Badgerhof as a base (much to the pleasure of the merchants) and cut their trees in the surrounding, unclaimed areas. All Starr could do was ensure that the loggers complied with the Imperial law which required two saplings to be planted for each tree cut down.
The loggers were rough men accustomed to working in remote areas; many hid the brands of a criminal, and more had good reasons to avoid areas where the long arm of Imperial law reached. They could be counted on for making a fair amount of trouble if not kept in line by the threat of prompt, if biased, response by the representatives of Law within the area, to wit, the Phantom Badgers and the Ravenmist Militia. The Lieutenant made a mental note to run a few Militia patrols through the loggers’ area to keep them reminded of who held the power in this region.
Axel sighed and shook his head. Just a few hours ago he had lain in Bridget's arms and the world had seemed a faraway place; now she was gone and all the problems for miles around came to roost on his shoulders. He grinned: in a few weeks it would be nine years since the six of them had come together and Founded the Badgers; they had had no idea in those long-gone days just how complex things were going to get. Back then all they worried about was finding a patron, getting paid, and attracting decent recruits. Now they had a fort to maintain, a colony to govern, laws to enforce, and a populace to keep safe and reasonably content. Of course, the success of the colony would give the Phantom Badgers something they had never had before, something very few mercenary companies could dream of: a future after the fighting was done.
Each Badger received a monthly wage based upon his or her rank, duration of service, and bonuses for special skills, which was augmented by shares of loot allotted in the same manner as was pay; saving for the time when wounds or old age ended a warrior’s career had been the responsibility of the individual. Oramere and the surrounding colony changed all that: now a crippled or retired Badger could take employment within the hold or in the businesses the Company owned in the village, start a farm on the acreage set aside for retirees, or simply live on a wage drawn from the profits the Company earned from its holdings. The exact details had not been fully worked out to date as the colony was not yet a viable enterprise, but the basic concept provided the Badgers with a very real pension plan.
This wasn’t just a command assignment, Axel reminded himself with a wry grin: it was overseeing the future hopes of the Phantom Badgers, as well as the dreams of the farm families hacking a home out of the wild land the Company had sold them and the ambitions of the tradesmen who were starting businesses in Badgerhof. For this summer he had all their tomorrows under his care, not just their lives but their futures as well. The Wizard was no novice to command, administratively or in battle, but this was a situation to give even an experienced leader pause. It must be how a king or emperor feels when pondering affairs of state, he decided, and liked the sound of that; eyeing the vast sweep of forest below, he smiled and gave an autocratic wave. “Axel Uldo, ruler of all he surveys,” he whispered, and shook his head.
Sighing, he gathered his crutches and stood; there were details to oversee and problems to confront. Bridget was gone for the summer, as was the time for flights of fancy and mooning over the distant future. He had a hold to run, and a colony to oversee.
Chapter Six
The sun was a lovely ruby glow in the west that picked out every irregularity in the thin cloud cover as a tired and brush-battered pair of Badgers slogged along the Southroad to Oramere. Rolf and Kroh had led a Ravenmist section on a long patrol south of Southline Creek looking for signs of the Purple Spider or any other potential trouble. It was their sixth such patrol in the eight days since Bridget's party had set forth, and they had yet to encounter anything more dangerous than wild pigs, a fact that both Badgers were grateful for.
"Stupid bastards hardly know one end of a tree from another," Kroh muttered, shifting his axe to the other shoulder. "And that’s saying a lot coming from a Dwarf. At least we've gone through the whole roster and the first section comes up for its second patrol soon. At this rate it'll be next year before we get the entire Ravenmist through the basics."
"They're farmers, Kroh," Rolf reminded the Dwarf. "They spend all day in the fields; beyond setting snares and stand-hunting they hardly go into the wilds. Once they've got a few patrols under their belts it will get better."
"Another couple patrols each and the Purple Spider Keibia will have all died of old age. We've got to get them working harder, the lazy scuts. Goblins aren't much, killed dozens I have, but these dirt-diggers are even worse."
"They need a lot of work," Rolf agreed, booting a rock into the brush with a skipping stride. "We've got to teach them everything: individual combat, the unit in open defense, the unit defending fortifications, patrolling, and, someday, the unit in attack. It's a huge job, and we didn't get enough done over the winter. Too bad so many are newcomers; the bunch that were here last year are pretty good, at least on the individual level."
"True, but now they're all corporals and learning how to lead. What's worse is Axel insisting that we train 'em for open battle instead of fighting behind fortifications where they might stand a chance."
"Well, we can't just pull back to Oramere or town with the crops in the field," Rolf pointed out. "The Goblins would just raze the fields and then we would all be up a creek. We've got to meet them and beat them before any invading force can do too much damage."
"If this bunch of sheep-molesters can stand and fight," Kroh growled. "That's yet to be seen. This won't be a friendly beer brawl- the Goblins will fight for keeps. Eight help them if the Stone Adder move against us, because they'll have experience and numbers."
"At least there's no patrol for tomorrow. What do you want to do?"
Kroh shrugged and frowned into the growing twilight. "One day to Market Day and unit drilling, but that's already set up: we'll run half the Ravenmist through their paces, two hours of weapons drill, four hours of unit drill in the open defense, and two hours of patrol drill. A drop in the bucket, but it's what we've got to work with. We'll have a corporal's meeting after, go over Goblin fighting, that sort of thing. Tomorrow, I don't know, maybe go to town and beat up some loggers."
"How about we go and scout out the Titan colony?" Rolf offered. "We can get the lay of the land, and then give them an hour of spider-fighting instead of unit drill. Then every other patrol can be a spider-hunt until they're all gone. It'll give them some seasoning."
"Spiders,” Kroh mused. "Titan spiders. I hates spiders, killed dozens, I have. Rock Titans, anyway. Yeah, that would be better than brawling. All right, it's spider-hunting on the morrow. Something to do, anyway."
"I've never hunted forest spiders, it might be fun," Rolf observed. "We can... what's that?" The big half-Orc halted, automatically stepping to the side of the road and checking his crossbow.
Kroh hefted his axe, scowling in concentration. "Sounds like a harp, real sweet, like Starr plays." The soft music drifted to them from ahead and to their right; in the thickening darkness the hill crowned by Oramere bulked up directly ahead, so the musician must be playing at the edge of the cleared ground at the very foot of the hill, out of the two's line of sight behind a thick copse.
"Harp? But Starr's scouting up on Mount Gesham, not due back for two more days," Rolf shook his head. "That's somebody else. Another Threll, maybe?"
"One way to find out," Kroh grinned and moved into the trees towards the music, Rolf slightly behind and to the left. Halfway to the source he abruptly stopped and swore.
"What?" Rolf whispered.
"That bastard," Kroh swore with feeling, not bothering to keep his voice down. "You know what song that is?"
"Child's
song," Rolf muttered, brow furrowed. His face brightened. "It's 'The Toad Went Through the Woods'."
"That's right," Kroh nodded, moving forward again, now heedless of noise. "And this time I'm going to kill the sarcastic son of a squirrel."
The fading light was sufficient for the Badgers to see clearly the figure seated on a stump as they emerged from the copse. It was a male Lanthrell of average height (for a Forest Threll, meaning six inches over six feet, two inches taller than Rolf) and somewhat solid build, having shoulders that were nearly as broad as a Man's, proportionately. The Threll wore his coal-black hair long and pulled back into a horse's-plume which served to accent a face that was both handsome and surprisingly rugged for one of a race known for its delicacy. The face was seemingly composed in thought and concentration as the long limber fingers danced across the strings of an ornately carved small-harp, but an amused smile tugged at his lips. He was dressed in common enough garb: canvas trousers and high soft boots, cotton shirt under a woolen tunic, all plain but of very fine manufacture if a bit travel-stained at the moment, with a long knife at his belt and a bowcase strapped to the pack that leaned against his stump-seat next to a partially-carved walking staff. A cased oboe lay next to the bowcase and the empty harp case, and a case holding two flutes balanced the knife on the minstrel’s belt.
"Halibut, you scurvy snake!" Kroh roared as he saw the harper clearly. "Toad, is it? I'll see the color of your..." Rolf's hand on the Dwarf’s slung crossbow stopped his charge before it could begin.
"Not with the axe," the big Badger counseled the Dwarf, releasing his hold.
"And is this any way to greet an old comrade-in-arms with whom you've faced the deadliest of perils?" Halabarian finished the song with a flourish, knowing full and well just how close he was to a vicious beating. He had pricked Kroh's temper before, and even Rolf, who was as good a sort as you were ever to encounter in a half-Orc, didn't care much for him; but risk was in his nature, and confidence was in his soul. He could handle this. "If it isn't the thick portion of the Badger's front line, their granite-browed cornerstones of any action, Kroh Blackhand and Rolf Lightseeker! Hail and well-met!"
"Shared, my butt," Kroh jeered, gesturing sharply if obscurely with his axe. "We did all the fighting, you just helped us look for the hermit-woman." The Waybrother referred to an incident nearly two years earlier in Hohenfels, where Starr and her little squad met the Forest Threll for the first time.
"I stand corrected," the musician made a graceful gesture of acknowledgment. "Surely your martial prowess carried the day once my cognitive powers illuminated the issue. Yea, verily, we were a team that would be hard to match, were we not, myself for the cerebral functions while you acted as the limbs and lower orifices. Halabarian of the Forest Solus, wandering maker of music and poetry, at your services." He executed a sweeping bow.
"It's good to see you again, Halabarian," Rolf offered shyly while Kroh scowled and worked furiously at the Threll's statement. Pradian, the language of the Eisenalder Empire, was not his native tongue, although he had spoken it for decades. He suspected, no, knew that he was being mocked, but could not quite put his finger on the specifics. "What brings you to Oramere?"
"Why, to renew old friendships, see old comrades, and to refresh myself in the company of the illustrious Phantom Badgers. I had heard of your Festival, and had hoped to attend, but other business delayed me too long, I fear. Was the celebration a success?"
"Well enough," Rolf nodded, stooping to pick up the Threll's pack. "We've been patrolling all day; let's go get some supper. You're welcome to stay at the hold, I'm sure."
"An excellent idea. Routine patrolling, or is there trouble afoot? And why only a patrol of two?"
"Plenty of trouble," Rolf shrugged, glancing back at a muttering Kroh, who was trailing along behind ticking off some point or other on tattooed fingers with the air of one decoding a treasure map. "We've the Purple Spider to 'tend with, you remember them from Hohenfels, and there are the Stone Adder Goblins who are interested in Mount Gesham," the big Badger gestured to the black looming shadow that was the mountain, "And we're concerned about a colony of Titan spiders that's been growing really fast. The bulk of the Company is off on the Bloody Road for the summer, so we're working hard with the Militia, the Ravenmist. They made up the rest of the patrol, we usually take a dozen or so. Starr is scouting on the mountain, won't be back for days; are you staying long?"
Halabarian did not miss the interest in the last question. He had courted the delectable little Starr for several weeks during their stay at Hohenfels, the musician's winter base for the last few years, an undertaking that had been viewed with deep suspicion and hostility by both Kroh and Rolf; neither held any romantic aspirations towards the lovely Lanthrell, viewing her instead with the adoration of brothers.
Brothers who could snap his spine without much effort, he reminded himself. Kroh was hot-tempered but short of attention, and he was easily deflected from any idea that might prove dangerous to Halabarian; it was Rolf who concerned him. Still waters ran deep, but should the big Badger take it into his head to pound a certain Lanthrell harper into a pudding, mere words would not stop him unless they came from Starr herself.
"Beset on all sides, eh? No doubt you've faced longer odds and won, I'm sure. As to my stay, no longer than my welcome, surely, but I had hoped for a number of days to renew old bonds and make new; but it occurs to me now that I would be amiss in my obligations as a friend to leave so soon with deadly peril all about. I'm no warrior in the manner of the two of you, but as scout and archer I can modestly claim no peer save Starr, and even exceed her, perhaps, with the bow. It would seem that my talents would be of use to you in the days ahead, and for me there should be a tale or song in it, gold enough to one of my ilk."
"They'll probably not even show," Kroh grunted. "Don't trouble yourself."
"Well, it'd be up to Axel, our Lieutenant, but I'm pretty sure he'd be glad to have you here," Rolf said slowly, brow furrowed in thought. "We could use all the help we could get." The big Badger held the sally port open for the Threll. "It could be nothing, like Kroh says, or there could be a great deal of fighting."
"Might even get your dainty little hands dirty," the Waybrother sneered.
"Risk is the spice of life, it is said," Halabarian observed. "Still, as Kroh himself pointed out, back in Hohenfels you shouldered an unfair portion of the violent action; it seems needful that I remain here with the hopes of discharging my debt."
"You know anything about hunting Titan spiders, the forest sort?" Kroh spoke suddenly, an odd look on his face.
Halabarian gestured airily. "A common skill in our people; the Elder Woods are a favored haunt of the pests."
The Waybrother grinned evilly. “Good; we've a spider-hunt planned tomorrow; you can come with us and make the first installment on your debt."
"My pleasure," the Threll smiled to hide a sinking feeling. "No time like the immediate, I always say."
It was that time just before dawn when the mists and darkness cooperated with the imagination to twist the world into fanciful shapes. Halabarian, scouting ahead, was lost to sight; Rolf, just scant feet away, was a ghostly figure. Trudging along with a full belly and the memories of a pillow not far past, Kroh found himself seeing the misty stands of trees sweeping up on either side of the trail as the ribbed buttresses lovingly carved from living stone that graced his native halls. It was a wonderful and haunting thought.
He had gone home over the winter, back to the Mondschien Mountains. He had seen his family and spent time in the Guardian's Halls, drinking with other visiting Waybrothers, telling new stories, examining new trophies wrested from the foes of Dwarvenkind and revering the old; singing the old songs and chanting the familiar ballads. He had met newcomers to their Brotherhood, seen old friends and mentors, learned of who had died and how, and who had added to their race's laurels. It had been very good, refreshing the spirit and gladdening the heart. You did not belong to the Guardi
ans of the Way, you were; it was part of you as surely as your beard or hands. You couldn't become a Waybrother any more than you could temper mud: either the fire was within you from the start or it wasn't, and that was the way of it.
The fire had always been within Kroh, as far back as he could remember. Some of his earliest memories were the big Cave Goblin raids that had claimed his older sister's life, cut down right in front of him, Kroh himself just a child, roughly the same as a Human of five years. H would have died that day, too, had his mother been a second slower with her hammer; he had buried her when he was the equal of a Mannish boy of nine, and far too many others since. All Dwarves are warriors, whether they are mothers who only fight if the nurseries or homes are breached, or the professional troops of the Clanguard, but for Kroh there had been only one direction in his path: the Guardians of the Way, the best of the best in the Dwarven fighting brethren. He would never again feel the fires roar in fear as they had the day his sister died; instead, he sought out the foes of Dwarvenkind and slew them on their home grounds, far from the sacred halls of his people.
The Phantom Badgers had been a good change for Kroh, instead of his solitary war, he now fought alongside others; with a Dwarf's need for companionship, order, and belonging, the Company served as a substitute for Clan and Hold. They also got him into the thick of things, which was where a Waybrother needed to be.
And into the middle of it was where they were headed now.
The three spider-hunters halted for a break after they reached the first warning marker, which was a simple stone cairn with a spider painted on the biggest rock in red, an arrow pointing ahead. All carried flasks, a day’s food, and three torches; Rolf and Kroh were in full armor and arms, while the Threll wore no armor, and bore only his knife, bow, and a leaf-bladed spear he had borrowed at Oramere. Kroh also carried a bundle of rusty red cloth that had been ruined by a winter spent stored in the wet, Rolf had a coil of rope, and Halabarian was equipped with a hatchet and a short shovel.
