by RW Krpoun
Rolf having assumed his self-assigned role as camp cook with the cart driver as helper, and Johann and Arian volunteering to escort Maximilian out of academic interest ensured that there were few duties within camp other than guard-duty, training, and caring for their mounts, and even fewer out of it. The Badgers found themselves with ample time on their hands which they expended in various ways according to their individual natures.
Durek and Dmitri took to leading the daily patrols and spending the remaining time resting and discussing the various possibilities open to the company, Henri worked his way through the grimores he had acquired from Durutte, Janna disappeared for extended periods of time on solitary scouting expeditions, and Roger brooded on the misfortunes in his life and drank his way through the party's slender stock of alcohol. Bridget, Rolf, Starr, and Kroh acquired turtles and staged endless series of races which inevitably led to raucous arguments about alleged violations of rules, and Elonia, as was her custom, kept to herself for the most part, although the lure of the turtle-races did draw her interest from time to time.
For Maximilian, it was the best time of his life, full of wonder, excitement, and belonging. Each morning he rolled out of his bedroll as the sky grayed to the smells of bread and stew warming on the fire, the comforting sounds of the Badgers stirring around him. He would pack away his bedroll by touch, needing no light for this familiar task, then sit on the wagon to watch the stars disappear and the sun rise; often Elonia or Bridget would join him in a silent appreciation of Nature's beauty and wonder.
Next would be a half-hour's workout with sword and shield under Kroh's sharp instruction, or dagger fighting from a diffident but insightful Rolf, followed by a cold, invigorating bath in a stream or pond and a hot, if simple, breakfast made from leftovers blended together as a stew, and bread, the latter either hard unleavened trail bread or fresh rye firecakes. A sweet summer's day spent lovingly charting the battle sites, watching as history came alive in front of him followed; in his mind he heard the crash as the Arturian knights and Curirassiers plowed into the disordered ranks of Direbreed and blasted apart demoralized groups of Orcs. Here Imperial Legionnaires stood shoulder-to-shoulder to receive the desperate charge of Hand forces, their iron discipline holding them in ranks until the Eyade nomads and Orcs broke and fell back, leaving behind stacks of dead. With his own battle experience fresh in his mind he heard the crash of weapons, the screams of the wounded and dying, smelled the charnel stench of battle, and felt the pounding rush of adrenaline that came from laying one's life on the line. His pen fairly flew across the pages, emptying bottle after bottle of ink.
His evenings were as good as the days. A cloistered academic, Maximilian had rarely experienced the ready camaraderie of the field-camp; save for a few summers driving a wagon along country roads for his brother’s growing freight business his entire career had been spent within the University’s walls. It was an exotic environment made more heady by the causal acceptance he had earned from these battle-hardened warriors through his service in the Orc-fort. After he had tended his horse, reviewed the day's notes, put in another half-hour's instruction in weapon-use, practiced with the Arturian crossbow he had kept from those left as excess after the Orc fort fight, cleaned his equipment, and washed away the sweat, it would be time for the evening's simple meal.
The evening meals were the high point of the day for him: the light would be dying, but not dark enough for sentries to be posted and the entire expedition would be gathered around in casual camaraderie; there would be jokes, teasing, and idle reminiscing of places, people, battles, and other undertakings. The food was fresh game hunted by Janna or Starr, with bread, cheese, and fresh vegetables if a village or farm had been passed in the last couple days, the whole washed down with ale or wine. After the meal one or two Badgers would move off to stand guard and the rest would entertain themselves in various ways. The turtle races were popular, as were games of draughts or cards. Occasionally Starr could be prevailed upon to sing, and sometimes Kroh would recite Dwarvish ballads in a surprisingly good voice and style. The talking would continue, more personal as the groups were smaller, the kind of banter common to any group of people long in each other's company and comfortable with each other.
Finally, after full dark, more sword practice (night-fighting was one of the Badger's fortes), and star-gazing if the night were clear enough, and the scholar would return to his bedroll, tired but happy. He liked lying there under the dome of stars, the land's empty blackness stretching away all around him, feeling as secure with the Badgers as he had in his own home in Aldenhof. The weather was generally good, and thanks to Elonia’s Sight they had ample warning of any rain, which made for easy and comfortable travel.
Morale and spirits were high, therefore, when the party reached the old Imperial Highway near the northern end of the Ascendi Sea. They made camp there for two days so that Maximilian could consolidate his notes and prepare to extend his studies into the history of the Pernia Empire, a nation that had existed for over nine centuries during the mid-First Age and early portion of the Second. The Highway had served to connect what was once that Great Empire, encompassing all of the modern Eisenalder Empire, Arturia and Navio in the west, to the eastern realm of Pernia, and still served as a land route to the eastern Border Realms, now a polyglot collection of twenty-two petty kingdoms and the first line of defense against the Void-worshipping nations to the east.
Henri spent the time starting fires with new skills acquired from his captured books.
Chapter Six
The north shore of the Ascendi Sea was its shortest and most dangerous. The shores themselves were actually steep cliffs dotted with breathtaking waterfalls created by the dozens of streams running off the Thunderpeaks; the land immediately adjacent was a series of rugged ridges cut deeply by stream-scoured ravines that rose to become a section of the Thunderpeaks, the whole densely carpeted with tall pines. In its day the Imperial Highway that crossed this area (known as the Bloody Road since the Ostwind War) had been an engineering marvel: four hundred twenty-five miles of paved roadway to cross just under three hundred miles as the crow flies, boasting twenty-one minor and one major bridges (the latter across the river Tabir, which marked the halfway point), four major forts, and eight fortified outposts.
Of course, the Bloody Road had not seen anything like regular maintenance since the fall of the Pernia Empire nine hundred years ago. The Dwarves saw to it that the bridges were standing and that the Cave Goblins did not get so ambitious as to try and occupy any of the old forts or outposts; crews of wood-cutters and resin-gatherers from Sagenhoft regularly made forays into the area and in so doing kept the trees and brush cleared a full bowshot or more from the road on the eastern half.
Traffic was relatively regular: merchant caravans carried crafted goods from the Eisenalder Empire and Arturia east and returned west with artwork, gold, furs, glassware (the best casting sands were located in the Border Realms), and horses. Heavy manufactured goods (headed east), timber, grains, wools, cotton, and marble (headed west) moved by water due to their bulk and weight. Dwarves from the eastern edges of the Thunderpeaks often used the road to move goods as well.
The Badgers and their paymaster moved down the road at a slow but steady pace, pausing to examine the forts and several battle sites as they went. Twice they were passed by caravans going east and once by one going west, the latter bearing several wounded and warnings about Cave Goblin activity on the western half of the Road.
That the western half should be more dangerous was no surprise; the Road itself was a mere notch through the trees, providing ample hiding places for ambushers and restricting mounted travelers to the roadway itself. The frequent slopes and the road's switching back and forth like a snake's trail ensured that no matter how small a group was, it would be broken up and strung out unless precautions were taken.
Traversing the western half, therefore, required either fatalism or exaggerated caution and planning.
Janna Maidenwalk knelt beside a Kerbian pine's arrowshaft-straight trunk, eyes sweeping both sides of the road. A dozen paces behind her Roger and Arian waited as well; the three were the Badger's forward scouts, staying as far ahead as they could given the limited visibility. The main body would not start downslope until the scouting party was on the next crest and had signaled to come ahead. The main body itself consisted of the wagon, the party's horses led by Maximilian and his scribes, three dismounted Badgers for security, and a mounted reaction force consisting of both Dwarves and Starr. Fighting mounted amongst the trees was too dangerous for normal riders for although there was little underbrush the pine's dense branches started about eight feet up the trunks which could unhorse a human rider; the Dwarves on their komad and Starr on her battle-trained pony were sufficiently short to pass under the branch-ceiling. Three Badgers on foot trailed the main body as a rear guard.
Satisfied with what she saw, Janna signaled Arian to flash a mirror-message back to the main body that the crest was secure, and settled more comfortably against the tree; the scouts would remain in place until the main body ascended the slope behind them. Leaning her throwing axe against the tree she removed her helm and rubbed the knotted scar that angled from above her left eye, across her flattened nose, and down to the right jaw-hinge, the legacy of a Black Dwarf's axe in the bitter First Battle at Gradrek Heleth, north of the Emperor's Ward. The weapon’s Void-blessed metal had contained enchantments which had precluded the use of the scar-less Healing Arts, forcing her to recover from a near-fatal wound by natural means and marking her for life. It marred a face more handsome than beautiful, and ruined a voice that had once stirred men as much as her eyes, which were the color of good emeralds. Taciturn her entire life, the scar pushed her even further from her fellows.
It was the tall pines that took her back: she had been raised on the east slopes of the Mondschien Mountains, the bastard child of a serving woman and the old landowner; her earliest memories were of the unbroken lines of tall pines upslope of the pastures on the Duke's holdings.
Though only of medium height and build, she had been graced with shoulders a boy would have been proud of and a natural exuberance that seemed to make her want to explode. After a disastrous attempt to train her to be a maid, they used her as a messenger, a task she took to with far too much enthusiasm. After a hundredth shouted "Janna! Walk lightly on the floors as a maiden should, don't pound along like a bull!" she was sent out to work the fields, carrying water to the hands.
The gamekeeper, his task a much more dangerous one there on the edge of civilization, took the scarlet-haired girl under his wing and taught her the mysteries of the spear, throwing axe, long bow, and the ways of the forest and glen; shortly after her fifteenth birthday he taught her the ways of love. A small smile tugged at her scar: at the time she had thought him a wise elder mentor, a veteran of the Legions and a man of august years, but looking back from the age of nearly four decades she realized that he must have been all of twenty-five.
He had been called up when the Dark Sun launched the Fifth Ward War, and never returned. In her sixteenth year, weary of life as only a heart-broken teenager can be, she had fled to the temples of Beythar with the hope that the priests of that grim supporter of order would help her enlist in the Legions so she could avenge her lost love (or find the bastard and pay him back, if he had remained in the Imperial ranks instead of coming home).
The Priests there were astute in their judgments; although the practice of admitting women to the ranks of the Empire's fighting troops was relatively new at the time they were open to the concept, and kept the girl at the temple for several days to study her determination.
What they determined was that she was intent on becoming a fighting woman and had the capacity for such a life; more importantly, they found that she possessed qualities that made her far too valuable to send to the Legions. Janna, giving her family name as Maidenwalk in wry memory of her childhood, was eventually inducted into the Silver Warders, the temple guards. After nearly a decade of sterling service she was inducted into the Silver Eagles, the elite holy warriors of Beythar.
She and the Silver Eagles had parted ways the year the Phantom Badgers were formed as she had tired of serving within the rigid confines of the Order. One year short of thirty, with a serving-girl upbringing and an adulthood of iron discipline and barracks life, she had struck out on her own, determined to see some of the world and live life on her terms. It was a decision she would never regret.
Behind her she could hear the main body making its way up the slope, still a good ways off; she ran a finger down the pine's bark and wandered down old paths of her memories, relying on her veteran's instincts to interpret what her wolf-keen ears would detect.
The whisperings between her two scouts broke into her thoughts, or rather, Arian's whisperings and Roger's sighing grunts: the monk was at it again. Roger was nearly a Founding member of the Badgers, having joined six months after the company was formed, and had been a good comrade for most of the time since, reliable, brave, and willing to carry his share of the dirty details. That had changed not quite two years ago when his common-law wife, an active Badger and the unit's first standard-bearer, had been killed. Since then he had withdrawn into himself with a severity that boded ill for his future. The veterans amongst the Badgers expected the swordsman to either get himself killed or to simply drink himself out of his profession.
All but Arian. The monk had been present in the fight where Roger had lost his love, and had never stopped trying to pull the Badger back from his despair. It was Arian's attitude that time was on Roger's side: the longer the warrior's drinking was kept under control and desperate acts of valor prevented the greater his chance of recovering from his loss. All agreed that Roger had lasted far longer than any would have expected, and even the doubters were beginning to come around to the idea that Roger could be saved.
It was because of Arian's stubbornness that Janna had taken Roger along when she picked her scouts this morning. One of the monk's theories was that Roger needed to be kept active in order to help him; when Durek had instructed the trio leaving Tarnhen to seek information on Beydar’s Way to take a fourth Badger along for security, Arian had seen to it that Roger was the one chosen in order to keep him out of the taverns.
Janna had quietly supported Arian’s decision to take the swordsman along on their information hunt; she had done it to lend a hand to the monk, for although she had served with Roger for nearly eight years she felt no special camaraderie with the swordsman, dating back to a bitter argument over whom should be awarded the great sword Moonblade seven years ago. She and Roger both claimed the weapon, the assignment of which was settled by three throws of the dice. Although she never could prove it, she suspected that Roger had switched dice on her. Worse, for years he had made a habit of gloating over the weapon in her presence.
No, she hadn't helped get Robin included in the trip for Robin’s sake, that was certain. The reason she had assisted was more painful to her than that: no one in the Badgers suspected it, but for nearly two years she and Arian had been lovers. Only occasional lovers, true enough, but lovers nonetheless. It was at her insistence that they kept the business secret, although there was no good reason for it: both were unmarried and there certainly was no religious stigma. Arian served Beythar in the Order of the Fiery Staff, perhaps the most elite body within the Church and neither his Order nor hers demanded chastity. Nor was it uncommon for Badgers to be involved with Badgers of the opposite sex: Bridget was married to Axel, Lieutenant of the Badgers.
Why it was so painful to her to acknowledge what was going on was nearly impossible for her to explain. Certainly it was no shame for Arian; although he was thin and gawky, with a big nose and features that looked like they were carved out of a rock there was no gainsaying that he was a good man, fearless in combat and Durek's chief advisor. Before joining the Badgers the monk had excelled in hunting down followers and cults of the Void,
often with only a Silver Eagle or a couple Warders for security. No, it wasn't Arian she was hiding, and it wasn't as though he was the first man she had slept with, either. She had not been wanton, but she had had several long-term relationships, usually with other Warders or Eagles. That none had gone to marriage was simply because of the life she led.
A bit put out, she patted her coiled bun, which only irritated her more; her brick-red hair that had once driven a gamekeeper to distraction was still thick, glossy and vibrant. She had kept it longer than was the norm for a warrior, claiming that the coils of hair would soften any blow to the back of the neck when worn as a bun (the mass of hair would make a helm uncomfortably hot if worn otherwise); the truth was she had always been proud of it. Arian had complimented it at the start of their seeing each other, and remarked he liked women with long hair; since then she had let it grow to her waist, although doing so had irritated her beyond words. Why was she doing something just for him? And why not?
Arian's low whistle ended her internal debate. Slipping on her helm, she hefted the throwing axe and motioned for the other two scouts to follow. There was another crest to reconnoiter.
It was the location that threw them off, at least for a moment. Lesser troops would have fallen for it, but the Badgers, and Janna in particular, were veterans of the first order, killers who had learned not only from their successes and mistakes, but from other's as well. On terrain such as the Bloody Road the prime place for an ambush was on the steepest point of an upward slope where the carts or wagons would be the slowest and where everyone would be straining to heave their weight up the hill.