by RW Krpoun
And yet here they were, camped two hour's slow march from the valley with three times the number of fires and half the sentries they should have had, and a half-hour of daylight going to waste. Attending the farce of a war council was the Marquis, the wizard Durutte, the Captain of the Halberdiers, the Captain of the mercenary crossbowmen, Dmitri, Maximilian, and a half-dozen sycophant noblemen. Morand's plan was simple and stupid: in the morning, after a leisurely breakfast, no doubt, the expedition would trundle up towards the valley for an hour; then they would stop for a snack and to let the nobles don their armor and switch to their war horses. Then the expedition would advance in a body to the mouth of the valley where the wagons and retainers would be left behind, guarded by the Phantom Badgers and the light foot, the latter under Dmitri 's command. The main force would then go in, kill the Direbreed, and start the victory celebration. Everything he and Elkhart (the Captain of the crossbowmen) had said had fallen on deaf ears.
Maximilian trotted to catch up to him, falling into step alongside. Dmitri had been surprised that the fat scholar had stayed with the Badgers throughout the trip, rising when they did, standing guard, accompanying the advance scouts that he had sent out (which comprised the only scouting performed by the expedition), and training with an old but very fine broadsword the historian had dug out and wore with a schoolboy's self-consciousness.
"I felt your points were very well made," Maximilian offered diffidently. "About the lack of scouting and security."
Dmitri grunted, surprised. "It could get ugly, tomorrow."
The scholar nodded solemnly. He wished that Dmitri would say something else, but the taciturn Serjeant remained silent as he walked the perimeter of the camp; at least he did not ask him to leave. He was conscious that being the paymaster meant very little to these Phantom Badgers, as they had a solid reputation for getting things done and were not inclined to fawn over those who paid the bills.
Maximilian von Scheer IV was all too used to not being fawned over. He bore a distinctive name of proud lineage, and had little else to stand for him. Maximilian I had been a professional soldier who had earned the ‘von’ the hard way north of the Emperor's Ward, fighting Orcs, Direbreed, and Minions of the Dark One. Maximilian II had become one of the foremost scholars at the Brinkmorse University in the capitol of the Empire, and Maximilian III had been a mediocre teacher at that same University trading largely on his father's reputation. Maximilian IV had been an archivist at the University and a dealer in rare books on the side, a solid, unremarkable member of the faculty. He married a sharp-tongued daughter of a wealthy merchant and managed to get Maximilian V, who showed prospects as an engineer, into the University.
At the age of thirty-six the abrupt death of his wife during a screaming argument with a fish-seller left him with a sizable sum of money, a son safely enrolled in school, and a daughter who was engaged to be married. After marching his daughter down the aisle and paying up his son's tuition in advance (his wife's dowry, which she had guarded jealously throughout their eighteen years of marriage, was finally his), he sold his house, took a leave of absence from the University, and set off to find fame and fortune.
Maximilian had always seen himself as an author but other than a work on the first three von Sheers he had produced nothing. He had completed a massive amount of research work on both the Ostwind War and the Pernia Empire, and so had decided to travel east to visit the sites of the battles of the Ostwind, and see the remaining vestiges of the Empire in the hopes that they would inspire his pen.
The scholar was of slightly less than medium height, partially bald, with his remaining hair worn cropped close to the skull. His features, while blunt and strong-boned, were thoughtful, even introspective, and an even-tempered humility showed in his eyes. Although square of build, a scholar's paunch and layers of soft living obscured the solid framework of his bones.
After a brisk workout with his great-grandfather's sword under Kroh's abrupt but insightful tutelage, he ate a supper of ale, hard bread, hare stew and dried apples. Although he would have been welcome at the Marquis' table where they were dining on fresh-killed beef prepared by a master chef, he much preferred the Badger's company. They ignored the presence of a hundred-man expedition and posted their own sentries, scouted ahead, and rode ready for combat at all times. In the last six days by keeping his mouth shut and an alert eye peeled, Maximilian had begun to see what a difference there was between the Badgers, who were professional killers, and the Arturian knights.
After the meal he dug out his writing kit and resumed work by the light of a candle. After listing the events of the day and giving a detailed description of the council of war, he turned to his work on the Badgers themselves. He was fascinated by such a diverse group, each with his or her own motivations, and style. They were a bewildering mixture of peoples, weapons, and abilities, but the longer he remained with them the clearer it was that this variety of skills and styles was an advantage. What had struck him at first was the amount of magical arms and superb quality of the arms and armor borne by this group, but it had been explained to him that these twelve were the elite of the Badgers, and bore the best weapons and armor the Company boasted.
While each Badger wore the armor he wished (and the best the Company could obtain), and bore the arms of his choice, there was a strong sense of order and organization within the group. The Badgers worked as a team, all eyes fixed upon the common goal. Any one of them, he believed, could have been a lieutenant in any ordinary mercenary company.
Carefully trimming a quill’s point, he dipped it into his ink pot and frowned: what subject tonight? Their insignia, he decided. Each Badger wore their company insignia on a black bracer worn on their dominant forearm, consisting of the Company badge, with rank insignia, special assignment insignia, and gold or silver studs below. The Company badge was a three-inch disk (most were pewter, a few crystal) depicting an attacking badger done in misty colors of silver and blue, the Company colors. Status within the rank and file was shown on the badges as well: Auxiliary members wore a round badge with a black rim, Full Badgers wore a round badge with a silver rim, and Senior Badgers, who acted as leaders whenever the Serjeants weren’t available, wore a round badge with a gold rim. Ranking Badgers (Serjeants and above) wore an oval company badge with an undecorated rim. Three of the six founding Badgers were on this mission, and wore a gold acorn on their badges to signify their status.
Rank was shown by gold badger’s heads: Durek wore three inside a wreath as Captain and company commander; Dmitri and Bridget Iola Uldo, who had been away from Tarnhen when the expedition left, wore two heads to mark their Serjeant’s rank; the company's Lieutenant, who commanded at Oramere, wore three without a wreath. There was only one specialist in the dozen Badgers on this mission, and that was Johann, the Company standard-bearer; he wore a gold clenched fist below his badge.
The Badgers had a variety of decorations, and a strong indication of the elite status of the dozen was the number of decorations worn. No less than five of the Badgers in this section had formal decorations: Durek, Kroh, Starr, Arian, and Rolf, and most of the dozen wore at least one of the tiny gold skulls that marked an entry in the Company's Roll of Honor, a lesser form of recognition. All but Elonia and Henri had at least one gold stud that marked participation in a major battle or campaign, and the retired Silver Eagle, Janna Maidenwalk, who had also been away from Tarnhen when the expedition set forth wore seven.
Silver studs were worn to mark a full year’s service in the Company, and every one of the twelve wore at least one, while most had several, up to the eight worn by the founders.
Maximilian felt himself to be in the company of a band of heroes, and was deeply honored by the simple fact of association with them.
The Badgers held their own war council when Starr and Elonia returned from scouting the valley. The diminutive Threll explained the features while Elonia drew them with chalk on the inside of Maximilian's shield.
"The valley
is roughly three miles long and three-quarters of a mile at its widest." Starr indicated the outline drawn by Elonia. "See, it looks like a spearhead. We will enter the south end, where the spearhead meets the shaft. Not far from this entrance, on the crest of a short ridge running into the valley, is an old Orc fort. About midway up the blade, or valley, a creek runs east to west, and someone had a farmstead on it a long time ago. You can't see much but a few foundations, but what is important is that whoever lived there planted an orchard along the creek. The trees have thinned out over the years, but those left are very big. It cuts the view of the Valley completely in half; from the pass we enter you can't see the whole valley unless you climb the slope, which we didn't as there was too much company around." She paused for dramatic effect, sky-blue eyes agleam. "There are Direbreed and humans down there, plus pens containing quite a few rams, goats, and stags. The people were making stone monoliths, and the whole valley stank of blood."
"How many Direbreed?" Dmitri was not impressed by the lovely little Lanthrell’s dramatics.
"Not many that we saw, but as I said, we didn't leave the pass or ascend the slopes. I would put the number we observed at fifty or so, including some Centaurs."
Elonia learned forward. "It would seem that the rumors are true: Harbingers of the Darkness conducting a Seeding." Seeing Maximilian's frown, she explained. "Harbingers of the Darkness are followers of the Void, and practitioners of Mordulare Quattour, the dark art of summoning. They create a Seeding through the use of a ceremonial spot, including carved monoliths, and the sacrifices of sentient creatures. This Seeding opens a rift in time and reality, exposing the world to the Void. Through this rift are drawn life-forces, each of which are contained in jagged crystal shards about the size of arrowheads, called Breedstones. The Breedstone is Harvested in a second ceremony in which it is bathed in the fresh blood of a sentient creature and then driven into living flesh, usually a herd animal although sometimes wolves, dogs, and other carnivores are used. The host creature is literally ripped apart from the inside by a creature growing from its flesh; in a few minutes you have a Direbreed, a creature that is a mixture of man and the host creature. If you have never met them before know that Direbreed are the children of the Void: cruel, murderous, and utterly ruthless."
Maximilian nodded thoughtfully. "But a goat or ram is smaller than a man, and I thought that the Direbreed are intelligent and cunning."
"The Direbreed simply takes over and grows what it needs. Direbreed learn like people do: from experience, and killing them is not a real death: the Breedstone can be removed from the corpse and Harvested again, and the Direbreed will remember everything it had already learned. The 'Stone grows larger as the beast-man learns- I've seen some the size of a dagger blade. To really kill them you must place the 'Stone in a Flame of Purity summoned by a worthy priest in a temple. That destroys the Breedstone and the life-force within it."
"Where do they get the Centaurs, then?"
"A special Harvesting that requires larger amounts of andern, the pure stuff of the Void itself, and an expert Harvestmaster. They ensure that only part of the host body is warped, so that you can have Centaurs, which are man-horse, Boartaurs, which are man-boar, Bulltaurs, which are man-bull; there are also Minators, with the body of a large beast-man and the head of a bull, nine feet tall and horribly strong, but only a few Harvestmasters can bring them forth."
"How many Breedstones can they summon?"
"It depends on how much andern, sites, and sacrifices they have. You can build the place you need in a couple weeks, and the Seeding itself takes a few hours. The Harvesting is the real work as you need everything the Seeding requires, plus an animal for each Breedstone, and a weapon for each Direbreed. It's a good idea to have a cadre of veteran Direbreed along to control the new ones."
"So if we strike quickly enough most of the Direbreed will still be Breedstones," Maximilian mused.
"That's the idea, but as Starr said, the valley reeks of blood. They've already begun Harvesting." She didn't need any dramatics to hit home with that comment. "There will be Scarred Ones to lead the Darkhost, and veteran Direbreed to steady and control the wild new ones."
"Fighting, without a doubt," Starr interjected, her sculptured beauty highlighted by a flush of excitement. "If the Scarred One in command turns away from a fight, the Direbreed will desert him."
Kroh grunted around his cigar. "I hate Direbreed, killed dozens I have. Fought a Draktaur, too, and wasn't impressed. By the Stone, even Starr’s killed Direbreed, and I bet..." Starr patted his shoulder and calmed the Dwarf. "Anyway, we can cut our way out of anything in the valley, so long as we stay away from that bunch of idiots." He jerked a tattooed thumb in the direction of the Arturians.
"Kroh's right," Dmitri nodded. "We'll keep clear of the main body once we reach the valley. The Arturians will draw all the attention and we'll gain a little time to figure the situation."
"Do you think it will really be that bad?" Maximilian asked.
"It could. The Marquis isn't serious enough about any of this. If the Harbringers know what they're about, we could face an entire Darkhost. Elonia, can you pick up anything from out there?"
She frowned. "No. The Seeding and Harvesting make it impossible: too much magical distortion in one place."
"Wouldn't that mean that they're bringing through a lot of Breedstones?" Maximilian ventured.
The Seeress fixed him with a thoughtful stare. "Perhaps," she said slowly. "And perhaps the effort of creating Centaurs could account for it. I honestly don't know. But it is possible."
Upon that dark thought the war council ended.
The morning dawned warm and clear, a delightful spring day. It was nice, as Henri observed to Maximilian, that so many condemned men got to see such a pretty morning on the day they died.
The young magician, too inexperienced to truly be called a Wizard, was more nervous than most on this beautiful day as he was concerned that he himself might be one of the condemned men. Although born in Arturia he shared none of the blithe unconcern displayed by his countrymen, for while he was not much past his first years’ service with the Badgers he had learned enough to clearly see that considerable danger lay ahead.
A slender man of average height and a receding hairline, Henri kept his drooping mustache and thinning brown hair short and neatly trimmed; the Company’s champion in the romantic field, his escapades with the opposite sex had made the young magician rank with Kroh in terms of headaches for his Captain.
Henri had been apprenticed at the age of twelve to a local temple of Kiy with his parent's deep hopes that he would become a priest. Unfortunately for their aspirations, he lasted barely a year before it was determined that he had no prospect in that calling; rather, his innate ability lay in the much less respectable arts of magic. The temple passed his apprenticeship on to a wandering wizard in whose employ he had remained for eight years, learning a great deal as he and his master traveled about. He had spent the next four years in the Oxton University at Alderhof polishing his education, learning fencing, and researching the underlying principles of magic, the university being considered one of the finest schools of magic in Alhenland. When his money ran out, he took employment with the Phantom Badgers who were always on the lookout for any sort of spell-caster.
While his family may not have been happy with the direction his life had taken he was by no means displeased. He had travelled much of the known world with his master and acquired both a classic and practical education in the process. Like all magic-users, his abilities stemmed from one part natural knack, and nine parts hard work and study. Innate inclination was a prerequisite, as the vast majority of people could not encompass any sort of spell-casting, but no matter how much affinity for the arcane Arts you were born with you had a long, hard, and dangerous struggle to master the actual use of any sort of magic.
Long, hard, dangerous, and expensive, to be precise, he reminded himself, which was why he was on a road sloping upwards
to a pass that would lead, there was no doubt, to a battle. The study of magic did not eliminate the basic needs of food and shelter, while adding the needs of expensive works on the arcane Arts and the leisure in which to study them. The Badgers were willing to foot the bills of basic research and to exclude him from such drudgeries as guard duty and camp details so that he could study; in return, they expected his services to improve proportionately and to be available to them.
Henri was far from what could be considered an expert. However, he was still capable of simple spells, and a poor spell-caster was far better than no spell-caster at all, as far as the Phantom Badgers were concerned.
It was, predictably, taking the expedition forever to get formed up and packed away even though the expedition had been doing it for nearly a week now. Dmitri, having no faith in the City Watch officer who had been leading the light foot, had immediately exercised his new authority as commander of the rear guard by placing Starr in charge of the light foot, with Rolf as an assistant. Being commanded by a female had offended the footmen, but the novelty of Lanthrell leadership had offset it for some, and Rolf's imposing bulk kept the rest in line. Although women warriors were becoming less uncommon Arturia was still a newcomer to the practice.
In a similar exercise of his new position, Elonia was placed in charge of the six wagons, twenty-four oxen, forty-four horses (the noblemen's war mounts, which they would exchange for their riding horses when they donned their armor), two Brothers of the Order of the Heart of Mercy (skilled practitioners of the Healing Arts), their six acolytes, six teamsters, twelve servants, a cook and three helpers, four grooms, and an outraged quartermaster whose authority had just been usurped. Maximilian was made her assistant to keep him out of the way, but he immediately proved his worth by following behind Elonia and smoothing ruffled feathers with an unexpected tact and charm. The historian knew a great deal about the operation of wagons as well, a surprising but extremely valuable store of information.