by RW Krpoun
Feinting, Durek knocked a hole in his opponent's shield, taking a glancing blow to the helm as he did so. Parrying the next, he tried for a side-blow and connected, but not fully; the edge of his axe slipped along the Orc's tunic scales before biting in, inflicting only a minor wound. Enraged, his opponent hurled away his shield and aimed a mighty two-handed blow at the Dwarf, who sidestepped and decapitated the Orc with a full-armed swing.
There was no replacement for him to face: beside him Rolf was clambering over the remnants of the barricade to finish off the wounded the retreating Orcs had left behind, and beyond him Janna leaned on her sword, tired but bearing no serious wounds. Maxmillian had removed his shattered shield and was ruefully wrapping a bandage around his bloody left forearm, while Kroh was following on Rolf's lead. Bridget sent two sling bullets after the retreating Orcs, and turned to the business of tending the wounded.
Pulling his water skin from his belt, the Captain took a long, grateful drink; either the Orcs had broken too quickly or the caravan master had refused to commit the Sevenguard for his own reasons. Either way, they had held and not more than a dozen Orcs remained, many carrying wounds. The only problem was that the second barricade was ruined; after a moment's thought he put away his water flask and turned to survey the third barricade.
"Listen up," he called. "Here's where we finish this mess. Bridget, run back to the horses and bring up the tools and Iron Tusk to the third barricade; check on Arian while you're at it, then stay at the third barricade and do what you can to fix it up. Maxmillian, grab as many spears and javelins as you can carry and fall back to the third barricade; emplace them at an angle facing the caravan to deter a mounted charge, and see if you can fasten the Orc shields to the barricade to give us more cover. The rest of us are going to raid the caravan, then fall back on the third barricade if they've got any fight left."
Starr stumbled on a root and cursed ruefully: her head still swam from the magical attack, and she was lagging behind the other two again. When it had become apparent that the Hand weren't going to send out flankers on this attack, the three of them had proceeded with Durek's plan. Moving at a trot, they had stayed in the brush and paralleled the track until they had passed the caravan, then moved cautiously to the edge of the scrub. The raiders had been assigned by Durek to infiltrate the caravan itself, if possible, in case the caravan master decided to kill the oxen, smash the wheels, and escape on horseback, leaving the Badgers in possession of the loot they desired but lacking the means to move it.
The caravan had been drawn up as they normally were for night defense, in two parallel rows on the shoulders of the track facing south, except that the teams were still hitched. The caravan master, called Zerren they knew from overheard conversations when scouting, was standing on the seat of the western-most of the first pair of wagons watching the Orcs form for the first attack on the second barricade. The two mastiffs were leashed to that same wagon, while Zerran's saddled horse and four other horses were picketed one wagon back. The five remaining Red Guard were mounted and ready on the track; six armed wagon drivers stood guard at the head of the wagons, while the three newly-armed scribes guarded the rear.
The ruthlessness of the Hand followers was evident in the absence of wounded: any who could not keep up had been abandoned.
Henri leaned close to Starr. "Do you feel well enough to pick him off?" He indicated Zerren with a jerk of his thumb.
The diminutive Threll shook her head, wincing at the motion. "Not for some time."
"Damn shame. I would try with my sling but I'm nowhere near a good enough shot."
The three studied the caravan. Finally Elonia nodded. "Our best chance is to cross midway along; the three on rear guard seem to be doing just that: watching the rear and nothing else. We could get under the first row of wagons, and work our way down to the three guards at the rear, kill them quietly, and then see what we can do; perhaps work up close enough to take a shot at Zerren."
Starr nodded painfully; Henri did the same. "Sounds like the best we can do," the Arturian observed. "We should move when the Orcs attack, provided the rearguard pays no attention to it; those up front certainly will be engrossed in its progress."
Very shortly the baying of war cries signaled the Orc's attack, but luck was with the three: the demoralized clerks hardly glanced in that direction before resuming their conversation and disinterested watch to the rear. Keeping low, the Badgers swiftly crossed the ten yards of open ground that separated the scrub from the line of wagons and dove beneath the nearest wagon, the harnessed oxen paying them no attention. After a brief wait to assure themselves that they were unobserved, Henri and Elonia set off towards the last wagon to deal with the sentries, leaving Starr to guard their backs.
Positioning herself behind the front right wheel of the middle wagon, Starr carefully strung her bow and laid out two arrows. Nocking a third, she waited, alert, and thankful that her head was beginning to clear. As such things always are the wait seemed endless; strain as she might she heard no signal as to how the efforts went at the rear of the caravan. The war cries of the Orcs had given way to the far off sounds of battle and the diminutive Badger breathed a prayer for her comrades. Their chances seemed good, however, as from her position she could still see the legs of the Sevenguard's horses, so apparently Zerren did not intend to commit them to the fight, and Starr was reasonably confident that the remaining Orcs could not dislodge the Badgers from their barricade without arcane support or additional troops.
The sounds of fighting were dying away by the time Henri and Elonia returned. The three sat and watched as the battered remnants of the Urtala return. The Orc Urchek was bloody, weary, and furious to judge from the ranting argument that ensued between him and Zerren: apparently the Badgers weren't the only ones surprised by the absence of the Sevenguard in the attack. It was obvious that only the presence of the Sevenguard kept the Orcs from turning on Zerren. The five warriors remained motionless on their horses, lances resting upon their saddle horns, watching the Orcs closely, the tension in the air clear to all.
The argument ended abruptly; after making a universal (and obscene) gesture to the caravanmaster the Urchek barked orders to his greatly diminished command. Keeping a wary eye on the Red Guard, the Orcs moved to a pile of packs by the first pair of wagons while at Zerren's command the surviving wagon drivers set out bags of provisions. After donning their packs, loading up on food, and looting the property of their fallen comrades, the Orcs departed to the northwest with many a black look and curse aimed back at their erstwhile allies.
While the Orcs were making their exit and all eyes were alertly fastened on them (having broken with the Hand, at least temporarily, they could conceivably seek to acquire some of the wagons' valuable cargo, or even eliminate any witnesses to their desertion) Durek and Rolf darted from the scrub to the rearmost of the wagons and carefully made their way to the trio.
"Is everyone all right?" Starr whispered as the two battered Badgers joined them. "Where's Kroh?"
"Everybody's fine," Durek assured her. "Maxmillian got a nasty gash on his arm, and everybody picked up some cuts and bruises, but there weren't any real casualties thanks to dimwit there holding back the Sevenguard. Kroh's with Janna in the scrub; he's too tired for melee so I gave him our last working crossbow. Maxmillian and Bridget are building up the third barricade but it looks like we won't need it." Although he experienced enhanced focus of mind, indifference to pain, and accelerated energy during a battle rage, the Waybrother paid for it afterwards with a deep exhaustion that lasted far longer than the rage.
"No, it doesn't look like they're going to try the track again. I believe that once they're confident that the Orcs are gone they'll grab what they can and run for it," Henri observed. "How are we going to stop them from taking the andern?"
The Captain studied the situation, frowning and stroking his beard. "Twelve of them, and seven of us; best odds we've seen all day. Starr, how are you feeling?"
&nbs
p; "Better; my head's clearing steadily. I can use my bow if the range isn't too long."
"Good enough. We need to kill the Red Guard and what's-his-name, Zerren, right, the Sevenguard and Zerren. The wagon drivers are nothing special so let them go if they want to run. They're all watching the north and west for the Orcs, so Starr, Henri, me, and Rolf, in that order, will creep along the outside of the eastern line of wagons, where Janna and Kroh can see us; Elonia will keep pace under the east line of wagons. Starr and Henri will engage with their bow and sling, and Rolf and I will charge past; Janna and Kroh will be firing as well. Elonia will guard our flank and watch for any opportunities."
"When do we start?" Starr carefully put her three ordinary broadhead arrows away and selected one of the two enchanted arrows she had left from the dividing arrow used at the Orc fort.
"Right now. Any minute they'll starting killing oxen and smashing wheels, or simply grab the andern and run. When it starts, Starr will stay below the wagons and shoot anything that moves; Henri, get on top and do the same."
She was wet, filthy from crawling on the muddy ground, tired from a hard day's labors, hungry, and still a little wool-headed from the fight at the first barricade, but Starr led the little squad of Badgers forward with a will, nocked arrow held tight against her bowstring, heart aquiver with the excitement of battle and hoping desperately that this would be the last fight of the day. It seemed like a year since she rolled out of her nice warm bedroll this morning to the smell of pork stew and fresh-baked flat bread.
They inched forward, passing the team of the middle wagon, the next-to-front wagon itself, and were preparing for the smooth, not-too-quick, not-too-slow crossing of the team and open gap to the lead wagon when a hissed warning from Elonia dropped them to their knees. A moment later the five remaining Sevenguard trotted past the head of the caravan heading down the track, evidently intending on making some demonstration to hold the Badgers in place while the wagon drivers did their work immobilizing the caravan.
The leader saw them and started to swing his shield up, rein his horse around, and shout a warning as Starr's arrow bored through his breastplate and into his heart. The unwounded warrior next to him was transfixed with a yard-long shaft of Janna's, while that unfortunate’s right-side companion was swept from his saddle by both a sling bullet and a crossbow quarrel; both Henri and Kroh had separately decided on the same target.
As Rolf and Durek roared past her Starr tried for another Sevenguard with her other enchanted arrow and cursed when she missed completely: without a doubt the precious shaft was gone forever into the scrub. Dropping to her knee she drew and released five shafts in rapid secession, killing one mastiff, hitting a wagon driver first in the leg as he stood on the far side of the west line of the wagons and again in the chest when he fell down, and missed another driver twice despite a distance of perhaps thirty feet.
At the first sound of battle one of the mastiffs broke its leash and shot towards Elonia like it was launched from a ballista. Lacking the room under the wagon to swing her net, the Seeress threw four knives faster than she ever had before, hitting with two. The knife strikes and poison slowed the dog enough that she was able to finish it with her manoples, impaling it on her left blade while she sawed away at its throat with her right, the impact of the dog's charge driving her back three feet. Finally the frothing, blood-spraying beast stopped its screaming and frenzied attempts to get its teeth into her throat and expired.
Henri leapt to the canvas-covered back of the wagon, painfully whacking his left knee on the wagon's side and dropping the bullet he was loading into his sling. Digging out another, he found himself facing the livid caravanmaster, who had apparently just climbed onto the seat of the second wagon on the west side. Zerren, he noted in a detached manner as he slid the lead sphere into the sling's pouch and gave it the absolute minimum number of spins, was an individual of medium height and stocky build, much tanned and fit-appearing from hard service in the outdoors, clad in a sturdy leather jerkin, worn woolen trousers, and a good steel breastplate. It was a surprise to note that he was in his early thirties for the Arturian had earlier formed the opinion, based on long-range observation, that he was older due to the caravanmaster being completely bald; all in all, the wizard decided, Zerran looked like the sort you would see sitting in a tavern common room in a town that saw a lot of trade, but for the breastplate and the crossbow he was swinging up to fire at Henri.
He heard the 'tunk' of the crossbow action just as he released his shot; in the same instant an unseen hand punched his lower belly, knocking him backwards. Losing his balance, he toppled off the wagon and crashed into the ground, which was painfully uneven and screamed what sounded like curses. He rolled once, receiving a savage stab of pain in the lower belly and an even coating of mud, coming to rest on his back.
Lying there in the mud, hurting all over but especially in the lower stomach and a matching area in his lower back which convulsed with pain, he stared up at the cloudy, darkening sky and wished for one patch of blue and a little honest sunlight, straight, clean, and pure, not this dingy stuff that was strained through twelve layers of cloud. Yea, blue like the eyes of a pretty girl, with tufts of white cloud like raw silk...
Elonia's face, upside down and only mildly interested, inserted itself into his field of view. He felt a tugging at his waist, and grew annoyed. "I'm dying," he admonished the Seeress. "Leave me be. No doubt I'm pierced through and through."
"You might be if you stay here once Starr recovers-she's pretty angry with you," Elonia nodded. "But that's the only way-you should have picked somewhere else to land." She held up an undamaged, unstained quarrel. "Old Zerren never changed his bowstring, it would appear; either that or he didn't have any spares. Your shot-bag stopped it." She shrugged. "Anyway, you're not dead yet so get off your duff and pick a wagon: it's over. By the way, you got Zerren, rather a nice shot, too, smashed his chest in, breastplate and all.”
"Which sounds like what he tried to do to me, you stupid..." Starr's outraged voice lapsed back into her native tongue. Groaning, Henri rolled to his hands and knees, preparatory to crawling to his feet. The battle was won, and a retreat was in order.
Chapter Eleven
The next forty-eight hours were ones of extreme trial for the Captain of the Phantom Badgers: they had won their victory but their ranks were grievously depleted, making exploiting it a massive task. Nevertheless, he set about his duties with a will, keenly aware that the fruits of victory are more often lost by post-victory lassitude than for any other reason. His people had a saying: 'ore's not ore until it's in ingots', which was a bit contradictory, but the spirit was there; a victory wasn't won until the profits were banked.
Despite the shortage of manpower, the Badgers managed to accomplish their aims; by history and inclination they had always persevered before, and they saw no reason they should not continue to do so. Durek sent back for the mounts and the Badgers at the last barricade while the rest of them checked the bodies of Zerren and the Sevenguard for loot, and then began the tedious chore of getting the caravan turned around and headed back the way it had come. There weren't as many healthy Badgers as there were wagons to drive, especially after he had sent Janna with two spare horses to recover their gear from the cleft and Bridget to bring in Dmitri and Roger, but the oxen were weary after a hard day's driving, and were willing to plod placidly in a column without a great deal of control.
Maxmillian came into his own in this endeavor, as it turned out that he had spent some student summers driving a wagon on University expeditions, and had a brother who ran a freight company. He turned nearly all the wagons himself, ran from wagon to wagon explaining the intricacies of reins and brake while moving, and when the Badgers made a cold camp, personally unharnessed every ox himself. In no short order he found himself appointed as Caravanmaster First Class with Rolf, who had a way with animals, as Underchief for Oxen Care, and Elonia as official assistant.
They camped less than
two miles from the final battle site, having run out of daylight and energy before having gone far. It was a cold, fireless, and largely cheerless camp for the exhausted and battered Badgers, but most were too tired to care. Janna, who was always her best in any crisis, and Durek stood the watches, letting the others get desperately needed rest.
The next day started well before dawn; despite considerable difficulty with the wagons, the Badgers were on the trail before the sun was clear of the horizon, eating a cold breakfast in the saddle or driver's bench as the case may be.
Starr scouted on foot, easily keeping ahead of the wagons, while Maxmillian darted from driver to driver; by afternoon the Badgers had picked up enough experience so that the scholar was able to devote himself to the lead wagon, releasing Kroh to mount up and act as a mobile reserve.
The sun peeked through rents in the clouds and the day warmed; with the mud thickening and no harassment by archers the Badgers passed the last night-camp of the Hand cultists and proceeded several miles further north before camping. A sober reminder of their activities was brought home as they passed the bloating bodies of dead Orcs and Men, left lying where they had fallen alongside the track.
"Think this will do?" Starr asked, tossing a rock into the pond, which was a water-filled gash between two rock ledges created by the long-ago collapse of an old sinkhole.
Durek studied the distance to the track, and nodded. "It'll have to, I'm not dragging all ten wagons around forever. Yes, this will have to do. Ride back and advise Maxmillian that I want the wagons drawn up in a triple row starting here, and then extending over to here. It's going to take a couple hours to do this right."
With the final battle nearly two full days behind them Durek was eager to stop and sort out what they needed to keep for their mission and to dump the excess. At every daylight rest break Bridget and Arian had been examining and listing the wagon's contents, an exhausting business, but at last they had made a complete inventory. They had been hampered by the late Zerren, who had at some point burned or buried all the caravan’s documents.