by RW Krpoun
This had been just as it should be, but Durek had discovered that what seemed right and proper to a Dwarven Captain and his mercenary officers did not still all that well with the rest of the colony, most particularly the farmers who purchased hundred-acre lots of Badger land in the hopes of building a new life far from home. They eyed the heavily-armed, tough-minded mercenaries with suspicion, and resented their domination. They did not understand that the colony being established by the Company was the mercenaries’ future, their pension fund that would care for them when age or wounds ended their soldiering.
There were four hundred twenty-eight people besides the Badgers living in the area now on a permanent basis, with roughly an equal number of trappers, prospectors, and lumber crews passing through in the appropriate months. Just over half the population lived in Badgerhof and either served the needs of the transient business or farmed the area immediately around the town, but the ranks of the farmers living outside the village were steadily growing, promising to outstrip the townsfolk within a year or so as new families arrived. In the ninety years since the Ward moved most of the prime land thus gained had been settled, leaving those who would own their own farms to look to the less desirable areas, such as the eastern fringe where the Badgers were located. The land there was good, although clearing the trees was hard work, but it was the unsubdued Goblins that had held new expansion to a minimum.
The tension had prompted Durek to order, and pay for, a festival last spring in an attempt to bridge the gap between mercenary and settler, and the result had far exceeded his most optimistic hopes, promoting goodwill that had endured. The spring festival, the Captain quickly decreed, was now an annual event.
The Second Festival was scheduled for the eighth of Kammteil, which also happened to be a Market Day, the eighth and last day of the week and traditionally a day of rest within the Empire; the day was also, according to Elonia’s best and most detailed scrying, in the middle of a stretch of balmy spring weather. The event had been carefully planned by a committee of local business owners and Bridget, drawing upon the previous Festival’s problems and successes and the advice of professional entertainers, and all approached the business with confidence.
The Badgers had a temporary camp in a meadow not far from the militia drill field where the Festival was set up, just simple tents so that they wouldn’t have to return to Oramere after dark. Dress uniforms were the rule, with just a few exceptions: Bridget wore a dress as usual, but Janna created quite a shock amongst her fellows by showing up in one as well, the first time most Badgers had ever seen her unarmed.
Bridget was checking her hair in a small mirror preparatory to joining Axel when someone rattled the flap over the tent’s entrance. “Come in.” A slender girl of fifteen years stepped hesitantly into the shadowy tent in what was obviously a new dress of traditional Imperial style: square cut neckline, half-sleeves, and knee length skirt, worn with long stockings and a matching shawl. “My, that’s a pretty dress, Sunny. You must have a beau in mind.”
The girl, who was of plain features but shedding the colt-like awkwardness of youth for a woman’s grace, blushed and handed the advocate a note. Her real name was unknown; she was one of the orphans rescued by the Badgers four years ago, at that time an illiterate mute; they had cured the ignorance, but the inability to speak had been beyond their ability to Heal. She was given her name by the other orphans for the radiance of her smile, which transformed a plain girl into a vision of happiness.
“Let’s see, aha, yes, this is no problem at all, Sunny, and it won’t take a minute. Let’s see your hands.” As the Company’s strength increased and the first draft of orphans grew up, new positions in the support staff were created and filled; Sunny had become the chief laundress for the Company, and the hands she shyly extended from beneath her shawl were red and lightly chapped, hardly different from those of nine out of ten women at the Festival today, but obviously an source of embarrassment for the girl none the less. Bridget placed her own hands over the girl’s and closed her eyes, murmuring a slow cant. When she took her hands away Sunny’s skin was smooth and faintly tanned. “There you are, lovely as ever.” She smiled at the girl. “Do me a favor and stay away from Axel; I’m beginning to fade compared to you young lights.”
Sunny hugged the lithe advocate and darted back out the tent.
Axel thrust his head through the flap. “What was all that about?”
“Sunny wanted her hands Healed, she has washer-woman skin up to her elbows.”
“Stands to reason, she washes clothes for a living.”
Bridget sighed. “Yes, but she wanted to look pretty for the Festival. No point in toying with a shawl’s fringe when you’re with a boy if your hand looks like you rub sandpaper on it every day.”
“So she’s got a beau, eh?”
“Probably not, or at least, not one that knows how she feels. It would be difficult to flirt without the ability to speak, and Sunny’s very plain when she’s not smiling.”
“Good bones, though,” Axel observed. “She’ll be long-legged and graceful as a deer when she finishes growing.”
“And just how much study have you been giving these matters, Axel Uldo?”
It was the wizard’s turn to sigh.
The Festival was a day-long affair, with events and displays carefully timed and positioned so that anyone who wanted to make the effort could see everything there was to see. Brightly decorated booths lining the field sold a wide variety of trinkets and novelties, as well as some practical items. Others sold all manner of food and drink while professional entertainers wandered about juggling, eating fire, performing sleight-of-hand tricks, and the like. Others took up strategic positions and sang, played musical instruments, or disclaimed poetry. Acrobats performed, puppet-masters worked their mannequins, clowns pranced, and shoals of laughing, shrieking children stampeded here and there at random.
There were serious contests of skill: marksmanship with bow, crossbow, and javelin, horseshoe throwing, pig calling, timed tree-cutting, foot races, arm wrestling, and feats of strength. For the less serious there were oiled-pole climbing, greased pig chases, ring-tossing, feather-bag fights on narrow logs, three-legged and sack races, pie-eating competitions, and cake walks. As the day wore on an area was roped off for dancing, and more substantial food and stronger drink were sold. Learning from problems during the first Festival, the planners restricted alcohol to light ale during the day, broaching the casks and bottles of stronger potables as evening came on, and patrolling the tavern-pavilions with patrols led by Starr, Rolf, and Kroh.
Trouble was held to a bare minimum, a large amount of money changed hands, and a larger amount of goodwill was generated; everyone seemed to have a good time, and the if differences between settler and mercenary were not truly eliminated, they were at least minimized and softened. Romances were sparked, several courtships began and several others abruptly terminated, there were a few fist-fights, some angry tears, a few indignant accusations (and at least one scandalous exposure while in the act), and the usual spattering of marital discord which would provide the gossip-mills with enough gist to keep them churning for much of the summer.
The Badgers conducted themselves better than was expected, due mainly to dire threats of severe penalties to any member of the Company who disgraced themselves on this occasion. Ten Badgers had been left at Oramere, and Durek had seen to it that this garrison included all the troublemakers. Kroh and the other hotheads were controlled through the simple expedient of making them the security patrols around the drinking tents where sufficient brawling would be available to keep them entertained and out of trouble. All in all the mercenaries were on their best behavior, and if they didn’t manage to completely endear themselves, they at least did nothing to worsen their reputations.
There was a brief bit of excited gossip amongst the Badgers when a professional courier arrived in a chartered boat and reported to Durek without even pausing to buy a drink; the Captain paid
him, and added a bonus for the courier to depart immediately before closeting himself with Axel for thirty minutes. Both returned to the Festival, but Badgers who knew both could see that the news they had received was hardly routine. Word was passed for a Company conference at noon on the ninth, and all returned to enjoying themselves.
Chapter Six
The conference was held in Oramere’s Great Hall, which took up all the sixth and last story of the tower, a huge round room fourteen feet high from the gray marble floor to the carved wood panels which covered the ceiling, the walls sheathed in ivory-colored stone panels. Against the north wall, opposite the double doors which hid the staircase stood Durek’s chair of blue granite inlaid with solid silver filigrees on a low dais, flanked on each side by two chairs of the same material resting directly on the floor. The Company’s standard stood at the east, to the north side of eighteen plaques of black granite, each bearing the name, rank insignia, and decorations of a fallen Badger. A carved oak stand to the south of the plaques supported the massive leather volume that was the Roll of Honor, where deeds not quite worthy of a formal decoration but too important not to recognize were recorded. Between the plaques and the doors at the south a carved rack was fastened to the stone, the wood cunningly carved to represent climbing vines; socketed into this rack so they jutted out into the Hall were seventeen standards, banners, and flags captured over the years by the Badgers, including the totem captured in their raid on the Purple Spider kankerta just weeks past.
The curve of the west wall supported another vine-carved rack which bore all manner of battle trophies taken by the Badgers, ranging from a complete set of (purified) High Priest’s garb for the Dark Star nation-cult, to the White Necromancer’s scepter and seal, and to a set of insignia from nine different Goblin keibas taken by the Badgers from deceased foes. In the center of the floor inlaid tiles depicted the Company insignia magnified to six feet across, and light was provided by four enchanted globes hanging from the ceiling by gilded chains.
Durek was seated in his chair (with blue cushions, as even Dwarves don’t sit on stone by choice), flanked by Axel and Bridget on his right and Janna and Arian on his left. The rest of the Company sat on padded stools in rows in the center of the hall, their Corporals occupying the front rank, with the rank and file further segregated by their ranks: first the Senior Badgers (whose status was indicated by the fact that their Company Badgers were fastened with their bracers without any sort of backing), then the Full Badgers (whose Company Badges were worn over a blue cloth square), and lastly the Auxiliary Badgers (whose Company Badges were worn over a red cloth square). A map stand and maps stood to either side of the row of stone chairs with Picken, Axel’s apprentice, and Alicia, the hold’s clerk standing by to uncover the maps and indicate places with the pointers; both were orphans from the first draft rescued by the Badgers four years ago.
“I have called this meeting because of an emergency dispatch I received yesterday. Before revealing what the message contained, background information on the situation will be necessary. Lieutenant Uldo, please brief the Company.”
“Yes, sir.” The Wizard gestured for the two orphans to uncover their maps. “The east coast of our continent is home to two powerful and evil regimes: in the northern stretch is the Hand of Chaos, a primarily Human cult that over the centuries has acquired the status of a nation; the southern reaches are under the control of the Direthrell nation called Arbmante. Both worship the Dark One, but the similarities end there; they have fought several bloody wars in the past and intrigue against each other endlessly. The Hand controls most of the Orc, Goblin, and Human tribes on the Blasted Plains, which lie between the east coast and the western lands. In the northwest corner of the Plains, however, is the fortress-city of Alantarn, Arbmante’s strongest fortress. Alantarn flanks the Hand’s ambitions in the Plains, and acts as a conduit for all of Arbmante’s intelligence operations in the west. The Dark Threll’s Pargaie, or spy and assassins corps, are their terrible long arm, and one reason why they are so feared.”
“Alantarn is crucial for another reason other than its key military location: it is the site of a very special place, which is why the fortress was built so far from the motherland. To digress for a moment, the magical power of the Dark forces revolve around andern, the pure stuff of Chaos which is drawn through verax, or True Places, sites which occur naturally. Andern is drawn through the veraxes after the sites have been extensively prepared; there were seven grades of andern, each referred to by the stuff’s color, with the best being black andern. A verax’s natural strength and the site’s magical preparation determines the color and quantity of andern that can be drawn through it; only an specially-potent verax, called an anverax, can produce black andern. Thus far there have only been three anverax opened in our long-suffering world: the Hand controls one, the nation-cult called the Dark Star controls another, and the third was destroyed centuries ago in the Edict Wars as Chaos fought Chaos. Alantarn guards a verax of such purity that when the preparations are finished it will be a fourth anverax.”
“Now, the Hand covets further expansion, desiring to dominate, if not outright occupy, the entire continent of Alhenland. The first step in that goal is to crush the Border Realms, which are the west’s first line of defense, and to secure a major port on the Ascendi Sea, preferably Sagenhoft. They tried this two hundred years ago in the Ostwind War, laying siege to Sagenhoft and crossing the Sea to invade Arturia, only to meet with a bloody defeat. Since then the creation of the fortress of Alantarn on the northern flank of the Realms by their enemy Arbmante would seem to have forestalled any further attempts on the Realms, holding the Hand in check. It has been rumored for years that the Hand has been quietly preparing for another major war, although whether this was aimed at Arbmante or the Realms has not been clear.”
“Obviously, Arbmante has taken expensive precautions to make Alantarn an incredibly strong fortress, and just as surely it has taken detailed precautions to ensure that the hold remains loyal to the motherland despite the thousands of miles that separate the fortress and Arbmante proper. The simplest and surest method the masters of Arbmante use to bind the fortress to the homeland is that the fortress has no treasury; other than normal operating funds for a few weeks (which is of course a huge sum in and of itself) and troves of magical items kept to fuel the bribery efforts of Pargaie operations in the west, the fortress has no real money, no treasury at all. Each month the garrison’s pay, the cash needed to fund the fortress’ day-to-day expenses, and the money needed to fuel a few weeks’ of work on the future anverax site is passed through the numerous Gates which connect the fortress to the homeland. With the anverax decades from production and the fortress living hand-to-mouth in terms of money, even if the hold commander or a cabal of his officers managed to bring the garrison to a state of revolt against the homeland’s authority, they could not maintain the fortress for the time it would take to develop revenues from other sources, much less the time and investment required to complete the creation of the anverax.” The Wizard sat back in his chair, his briefing complete.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Durek let his eyes rove over the assembled mercenaries. “So you see, things are very carefully balanced to the east; Arbmante checks the Hand, who lusts after the west, with Alantarn a key piece in the balance. Thus the news we have received by the courier is dire indeed: Hold-Master Peria, commander of Alantarn and the best of Arbmante’s generals, closed the Gates connecting his fortress and the homeland and has proclaimed himself to be the ruler of the independent city-state of Alantarn.” The Dwarf let the silence linger after his words before continuing on. “He acted on the second of this month, immediately after receiving his monthly stipend; initial reports indicate he carried the garrison and the Temple troops without significant resistance, and neutralized or killed the Pargaie assets within the fortress. From a military standpoint the fortress is his.”
Starr raised her hand on cue. “Captain, you said that the f
ortress has no treasury; certainly it will fall within a few weeks after the stipend is exhausted.”
“It would appear so upon first examination, but that is not the case,” the Captain stroked his beard. “Peria appears to have been planning this for decades. When he took command of Alantarn after the sudden death of the previous hold-commander in a Felher raid roughly two years ago he replaced all the staff and much of the garrison (both of which having been badly thinned in the raid which coat the former hold-mistress her life) with troops and officers known to him and upon whose loyalty he could count on; his new administration was much more austere and economic than his predecessor’s, and thus he has managed to set aside enough money a little at a time until he has built up a few weeks’ operating funds independent of his stipend. This has given him breathing room to initiate the most cunning portion of his plan: as was noted, Alantarn controls virtually the entirety of Arbmante’s Pargaie assets in the west; Peria has sold the entire network to the rulers of Fremlar, the other Direthrell nation on this continent. Fremlar is almost due north of us, a small nation grown up around the city-state of the same name on the western slopes of the Thunderpeaks where they enter the great ice fields.”
“So Alantarn will gain a treasury from their northern cousins,” Starr observed, sticking to the script Axel had devised to keep this briefing from being side-tracked by questions from the audience.
“Yes, in part; additionally, Peria is negotiating a huge sum from the Hand in return for the masses of secret data the fortress holds on Arbmante proper, a sum that will be made up in part by large amounts of andern, including quantities of the black.”
“So it would seem that Peria has successfully created a new city-state,” the little Threll observed on cue. “How does this affect the balance of power on the Plains?”