Dark Path: Book Three of the Phantom Badgers

by RW Krpoun

The sun was a narrow hour’s journey from the west horizon when the long green-clad mound that made up the Third Ward hove into view, with its flanking hard-surfaced road and distantly-spaced timber watch towers. Where their northern highway reached (and terminated at) the east-west Ward Road a town had sprung up, fueled by the traffic on the highways, what trade trickled in off the Wastes, and the pay from the Legionnaires stationed in the neatly laid out fortified camp a half-mile away.

  Zvolen, as this place was called, was a-bustle with wagon caravans, troops of hard-faced mercenary scouts, Legionnaires on an afternoon’s pass, and travelers of all sorts, but this was its normal condition, and it was only a short search for the Badgers to locate proper stabling for their mounts and two clean rooms for themselves.

  “We’ll spend two days here to rest the mounts and scout out what information about the north is available,” Bridget advised her little command, now cleaned up and gathered around a table in the inn’s common room. “It’ll be hard riding and cold camps once we leave here; from now on it’ll be thirty-five miles crossed before we make camp.”

  “Makes an attractive prospect, doesn't it?” Henri murmured, drinking deeply from a mug of wine. “And I seriously doubt we’ll manage to traverse the entire distance and back without some trouble.”

  “Nine hundred miles as the crow flies,” Elonia indicated the map laid out on the table top. “A thousand ridden; say, twenty-eight days’ riding one way, not counting breaks to rest the horses. And living off the land for an added spice.”

  The serjeant nodded. “Everyone go over their gear one more time; we’ll replace everything that’s even moderately worn. Make sure that you have everything you need, and not an ounce more; I intend to load us down with as much grain as we can carry, with a few pounds of salt and two day’s dried rations for emergencies. We’ll have to forage, but the horses will need grain to keep up their strength. The trip alone is going to be an effort worthy of an epic, I don’t believe anyone outside of the Ceth has ventured so far north in this century, not overland. It’s a pity we’ve never recruited any of the northern peoples into the Company as some expert advice, not to mention a guide, would be worth pounds of gold.”

  “I’m taking ink sticks to save weight,” Maxmillian grinned. “And the spare spaces in the traveler’s desk are stuffed with sausages. We can do no more on the academic end.”

  “I suspect the academic ends themselves shall be a good deal lighter before this journey is over,” Henri refilled his mug. “I know that there are several pounds of prime Arturian magician which were misplaced on the ride from Oramere to this Eight-forsaken point; Light knows how much of me will return to the Ward.”

  “Hopefully all the key elements, anyway,” Bridget laughed. “The first two rounds are on me; I for one have no intention of ending this night sober. Who stands guard?” It was an iron-clad rule that at least one Badger remained sober when in a strange town; given the diverse nature of the Company, it was never too hard to find someone for the detail.

  “I’ll take it,” Maxmillian offered. Elonia, who normally abstained from heavy drinking, generally took the detail, but the historian was glad for the excuse to abstain. The sight of the long line of the Third (and real) Ward had unnerved him; beyond lay the wild lands, home to some of the worst beings the world could offer, an area prowled only by men of iron and idiots. Maxmillian knew exactly which class he fell under.

  Chapter Nine

  An occasional drop of rain pelted Kustar as she wandered aimlessly about the empty corral, controlling her impatience with the full force of her will. Delay had begat delay over the last few weeks; Agyra had agreed to her general plan and promised her the full support of his personal Talon and his influence with the Temple, but that had been the last quick advancement to her investigation. Ever wary of the competition, she had set up methods for covert communications between the Anlarc and herself, and spent the next week reviewing reports on incidents that had nothing to do with the direction of her investigation to throw off the spies the other investigators had undoubtedly created in her staff, just as she had suborned clerks on each of the other staffs.

  Spring was creeping into summer and Alantarn was being flooded with traders and merchants selling the supplies that the fortress needed, and items required for the development of the anverax site. Pargaie assets were stretched so badly that the investigators were required to attend to special details, despite the inevitable slowing of their investigations. Kustar herself had spent three weeks as an escort to a high-ranking member of the embassy from Fremlar, the Dark Threll nation in the far northern reaches of the Thunderpeaks.

  The embassy had arrived with a veritable train of rich gifts and had been closely followed by five caravans bearing trade goods spaced a few days apart; watching all the visitors strained Alantarn’s intelligence assets to the breaking point, a necessary task, for while war between the Direthrell nations was unknown, intrigue and rivalry was common. Kustar had spent a week after the embassy left detailing every action and word she had observed the Fremlar negotiator make, an exhaustive task considering that she had been at the lady’s elbow throughout the day and in her bed at night.

  The detail, in Kustar’s opinion, displayed what was worst about Arbmante’s Pargaie operations: overloaded efforts, and overwhelming reports. Watching the members of the Fremlar embassy and caravans halted all other intelligence operations in the fortress, and in the end produced such a mass of reports that it was impossible for one person to obtain a clear picture of what had transpired. If Kustar had been a part of Fremlar’s Pargaie she would have had Thane or Nepas agents in Alantarn posing as merchants before the embassy arrived; then, while Alantarn’s intelligence apparatus stood on its collective head to watch the obvious, these agents could make contacts, recruit spies, and do any other tasks they needed to, confident that they were unobserved.

  Of course, it was possible that her masters had held back a number of agents to counter just such an effort; Kustar was hardly operating on a level to be privy to the details of such secrecy, but she doubted it. They were obsessed with guarding the physical Site, and declined to consider the larger opportunities provided by the fortress’s location; conversely, they also closed their eyes to the grave dangers Alantarn’s distance from Arbmante proper posed.

  The lovely Nepas mentally shrugged. It wasn’t her problem at the moment; she studied the matter to broaden her understanding and experience, and filed her ideas for use in the future, when perhaps she would hold the rank and position that would allow her to make changes. For now she wandered about the corral where the Anlarc had fought the suspect Den as it retreated from Alantarn, waiting for the Anlarc’s pet wizard to finish his enchantments that would, she hoped, reveal where the Den emerged.

  Absently kicking a clod of mud aside, her eye was caught a gleam of wet metal; carefully digging with her dagger she uncovered a damaged arrowhead with a bit of muddy shaft still attached. Although no expert, she knew it wasn’t Felher casting. Tossing it from hand to hand, the Chora resumed her pacing.

  Finally the spellweaver strolled over to make his report, his deliberate unconcern and stately pace irritating Kustar to no end, but wisely, she held her tongue; spellcasters, like Healers, were smug and arrogant about their knowledge and prerogatives. This particular wizard was a Human Thane assigned by the Temple to Agyra’s Talon, a short, round little man with a carefully combed fringe of hair, fussy features, and silver teeth. “It is done, Curor,” he nodded, using the honorific employed with a superior only slightly above his station, another annoying liberty. “I have marked the place upon this map; it appears to be some sort of ruins perhaps a day’s ride outside the Outer Line.”

  Kustar examined the map. “You are sure? Very well. How precisely could you find where they emerged?”

  “The very spot, now that I have, well, for lack of a better word, seen the patterns they employed. The Gate and enchantments were Felher work, but I believe that it was a Human who cas
t the activation incantations,” the magician’s voice was puzzled.

  “Do you, now,” The Pargaie officer murmured, fixing the pudgy man with a steely eye. “That is something you would do well to keep to yourself, along with anything else you have learned on this errand.”

  “As you wish.” The Temple magician kept his tone respectful. No doubt Agyra had told him the very same thing.

  “Now I would like for you to obscure the site of the Gate as well as you can.”

  “That is simple enough; when I am finished, no one will ever be able to trace it from this end. In fact, in a few days it will be impossible to tell that a Gate was ever opened here.”

  Kustar watched as the Thane went about his duties. Success justified all, and only the first successful report would be credited; there must be no chance of one of the other investigators stealing a march on her. The only proofs of what she had found were the Inner Keep map with the various points marked and explained on it, the Anlarc’s original report, and a narrative investigation log that detailed each step of her investigation and the conclusions she had drawn, all of which never left her possession; any other clues had been destroyed or concealed. She added the new map to this slender store of proof, and nodded to herself. She was getting very close to a full understanding of what had happened here, and the rewards that such an understanding would bring.

  Five days later she was riding out of Alantarn’s gates, escorted by the pudgy wizard, a slave Seeress she had picked at random from a list of those available in the fortress, and four Human Thane guards borrowed from Agyra’s Talon. The guard and horses had been arranged in secret by the Anlarc; she had signed out the Seeress and met them with only minutes’ notification of her office staff that she was going to be outside of Alantarn for two days.

  Kustar glanced back at the receding walls and smiled. By now her competitor’s spies would be reporting her departure but it would be impossible for them to tail her. Of course, her interaction with the Temple was now blatantly exposed. It was a unavoidable necessity, however: unlike any troops at her disposal the Anlarc’s people could be counted on to keep their mouths shut, and she had provided Agyra with a copy of his altered report and impressed upon him the importance of keeping the truth secret.

  As best as her own spies could determine her four competitors had had far less luck deciphering the puzzle before them, although all apparently had chosen outside help as the most likely avenue and at least two were studying the same Den she suspected. The latter two would have a tough go of it: besides altering the report from Agyra, Kustar had also gone back to the warehouse and, after examining four other site gatherings, meticulously gone over every item taken from the corral fight. Any item that might link the Den to the Great Hall raid or the assault on the strong-room was removed and replaced with ordinary junk, and, using an enchanted pouch with the internal capacity of a chest she had acquired from the Anlarc, she exchanged the snake-decorated great sword for an ordinary one of poor steel, decorated with crudely-etched Felher symbols. A similarly-decorated broken broadsword was left to replace the one she had stolen earlier; anyone following in her footsteps would find no reason to link the suspect Den with the battle in the corral.

  She documented her subterfuges in her investigation log that she always carried; after each find she re-wrote the pertinent pages, or the entire log itself, and burned the old copy, stirring the ashes into a fireplace afterwards. Kustar intended to present the Hold-Master with firm proof of who the Felher’s allies were, and why they helped the rat-men, fully supported by maps and reports. It was going to be a coup that would propel her into the highest ranks of Alantarn’s intelligence community, and perhaps be the first step to a ranking position within the Pargaie command structure for Arbmante itself.

  It was a pleasant day, the Thane guards stayed at a respectful distance, the Wizard kept his own counsel, and the Seeress, a plain Human woman of middle years, huddled within her saddle and spoke only when asked a direct question. Kustar was thusly free of annoying distractions and able to use the time to enjoy the sights and review her plans. On the first rest stop outside the Outer Line, on the pretext of a call of Nature, the lithe Nepas moved away from her escort and buried the great sword, broken broadsword, ivory fragments, and other items she had taken from the warehouse, carefully noting the site in her log.

  They found the ruins the wizard had mentioned after an easy day’s ride, with plenty of sunlight to spare. Kustar ordered the wizard to enter first and locate the point where the Gate egrai had been located, marking the point with a scarf tied to a dagger; while they waited, the Thanes went about setting up camp for the night. When the wizard had accomplished his task, she took the Seeress aside and gave her careful and explicit instructions before sending her into the ruins.

  Pacing helped pass the time; Kustar knew it would take the Seeress the rest of the daylight to examine the area as carefully as she desired, but the knowledge did not make the waiting any easier. The ruins were not as she had expected; they consisted of an earth rampart and ditch, the rotting stumps of a log palisade, and a score of round brick structures, most having caved in, their surviving walls barely six feet high. There were also a couple square earth foundations and a few ancient fire pits, but nothing else. Absently she wondered what race had built this place, and for what purpose.

  The sun was a red glow in the west when the Seeress returned, weariness graying her pallid features. “It is done, Orbi,” she murmured, using the honorific appropriate from slave to non-slave. “I have Seen all there is.”

  “And what was that?” Kustar tossed the woman a flask of good brandy and motioned for her to sit, reflexively glancing about to insure that the wizard and the Thanes were all safely out of earshot. An iron amulet she wore that detected any sort of spellcasting within a few hundred feet assured her that the spellcaster was not using his Arts to eavesdrop.

  After taking a grateful drink, the Seeress sat facing the ruins. “There was a great magical disturbance where the gentleman marked, a Gate egrai, I believe. Through it came a band of warriors, not Felher nor the Direthrell or their allies. These warriors bore with them wounded and dying, but more were hale then injured. They had been here before, preparing this place, I believe, but the traces are very weak. Horses and some other animals were left here for several days, and there is a place where they buried magical items of notable power for a similar length of time, and then dug them up. All this happened near to the time of the first raid last year. They stayed here overnight, and made great use of Healing magic, which covered a great deal of their traces. Time has covered more; all I receive are the barest echoes.”

  “What specifics can you tell me about the warriors?”

  “There were perhaps a dozen, more or less, and at least one died here. There were several races represented amongst them, and more than one spellcaster; their commander was a Dwarf of powerful personality and complete authority. A Seer was included in their ranks, a woman, I am sure. As I said, Healing and time has worn down the traces to bare remnants; I cannot draw any clear impressions of individuals beyond what I have told you.”

  Kustar nodded slowly. “What of their organization? Did you get a feeling of their origins, or patrons, or allegiances?”

  “Merely a hint; there was a deception that they were maintaining: I saw a vision of serpents and flickering colors; under that was a real identity, one that they kept hidden even while shedding the deception. There was the merest breath of it, no more: a mist, and an animal. That is all I Saw.”

  “What sort of animal, and how was it associated with the mist?”

  “I do not know; all I received was impressions. It could be any creature, normal, altered, or imaginary.”

  The Nepas officer sat on a convenient rock and thought over the Seeress’ words. The false Den had emerged here after leaving the corral, wrecking their Gate behind them. This was where they had hidden any magical accouterments and insignia that could serve to identify them o
r compromise their cover; they had also left behind mounts to escape on. That tied in with what she already knew, and the road the false Den had entered Alantarn on passed close to these ruins. The racial makeup of the false Den had included Dwarves and a half-Orc, although their leader was supposed to have been a Human male.

  The raiders had tended their wounded, recovered their hidden equipment, changed their identity from a Golden Serpent Den to some neutral identity, and headed off, south towards the Border Realms, she was willing to bet.

  What was new was the clues to the raider’s identity: a mixed bag led by a Dwarf, with spellcasters, Healers, and a Seer. That spelled a competent mercenary company, or rather, a portion of one; no doubt the main body stayed out on the Blasted Plains while an elite cadre carried out the mission in Alantarn.

  An animal and mist for a unit insignia was sufficiently vague as to encompass a great deal; smoke could be mistaken for mist, and creatures were common in heraldry. But she had information to narrow the scope: the unit had several non-Human members, was successful enough to warrant several enchanted items or weapons, was very good in a fight, boasted several spell-casters, and had a Dwarf as commander or very high in the ranks.

  The mystery of the Who was wearing very thin, but the Why was still a solid lump of unknowns. Why would a highly successful mercenary company gamble everything on such a perilous raid when the returns were so mundane? Admittedly, the ransom of the trophies in the Great Hall would be lucrative, and the strongroom’s contents were all enchanted, but nothing taken was of a caliber that would make such a raid worth the risks.

  “Unless there was an item taken of a specialized nature, whose value to the raiders was far and above its obvious worth because of their need,” Kustar murmured to herself. Frowning, she stroked her slender nose with a graceful fingertip, thinking hard. Finally she pulled herself back to the present. “There is nothing else you can See? Perhaps after a night’s rest?”