by RW Krpoun
His saddlebags were packed with the daily necessities: a compact wooden lap-desk holding his writing kit, a flask of mineral oil, some rags, and a whetstone for his weapons, a lizard-hide bag holding a big bar of soap, two towels, toothbrush and powder, a shallow bowl for meals, a fork and spoon, a change of clothing, candles, tinderbox, two day's dried rations, and the odds and ends that any traveler carried. A bedroll held his otter-hide cloak, a blanket, and a leather groundsheet, the latter on the outside. He had also been allowed one bag which would go on one of the two pack horses; horses and packs had left with the main body and now awaited them downstream at Hohenfels. His bag merely contained extra writing supplies and additional clothing, as he had learned last summer that traveling light was the best possible way.
His weapons were laid out as well; Maximilian carried a light crossbow, a dagger, broadsword, and war hammer. The sword's griffon-head pommel seemed to wink at him from its ruby chip eyes as he slid a handbreadth of the gray blade free of the scabbard, the wire-bound leather of the hilt feeling both familiar and comfortable. The blade was Dwarven-forged Risarn, light, flexible meteoric steel, worth more than its weight in gold. The sword belonged to the Phantom Badgers, taken from the corpse of an Arturian noble after the Orc-fort battle last summer. Arian had carried it all last summer, until he had been awarded an enchanted blade from the Alantarn loot. Maximilian had been issued the weapon when he decided to retire his great-grandfather's sword, in accordance with Company rules that the best weapons went to the most deserving.
His hands shook a little when he hefted his war hammer; it was his the way the sword was, that is, Company property on loan, but it was his all the same. He had received it from the Alantarn loot, tangible proof of his admittance to the Company's inner circle. It was a simple, austere device of war, consisting of a brass-bound oak haft supporting a steel hammer-head backed by a curved steel spike and topped with a two-inch blade. More importantly, a potent enchantment bound steel, brass, and oak into a weapon far more fierce than ordinary. Maximilian had heard and read of enchanted weapons all his life, and had always imagined them to be virtually dripping with gems and dire, portentous runes and engraving; it was quite a surprise to observe that most of the enchanted weapons the Company bore were plain arms, unremarkable to the untrained eye.
Reluctantly he set it back down and checked his armor; he had a plain conical steel helm, a stout wooden shield with an iron-bound rim, and felt-muffled breast- and back-plates, with studded leather bracers to protect his arms. He had purchased a mail shirt last year on the onset of his journeys at the Badger's advice; it had seen hard use and done him good service during those months, but over the winter Kroh, while teaching him the use of the hammer, had won him over to rigid armor. It was quiet, as opposed to the jingling mail, and there was no danger of a savage blow driving broken mail links into a wound. Of course, the plate did not flow with his movements like the mail had, but Kroh and Rolf had shown him how to compensate, especially since the use of the broadsword and hammer did not require subtle movements. The plates were laid one inside the other and bound together with light cord; he would not be wearing it today, with luck. Some warriors carried their helms and shields in leather cases to protect them, but Durek had forbidden it in the Company; in his estimation, such items were expendable, and the ability to don them quickly when in need was far more important than prolonging their service life.
The historian studied the war gear laid out on his bed and shook his head. That he possessed such items, much less was moderately skilled in their use still awed him; that he, a balding ex-archivist closer to forty than thirty could be considered for epic endeavors was still unreal to him. Of course, after a summer's hard campaigning and a winter of regular weapons training the rolls of academic fat had vanished from his sturdy frame and been replaced by pads of hard muscle; his skin was browned from the sun and his hands were calloused from weapon-hafts. His service with the Badgers had changed him physically, but inside he felt he was still a hen-pecked archivist with limited prospects. Perhaps, he mused, running a finger over the haft of his hammer, perhaps this raid on the White Necromancer would change all that. Perhaps it would rebuild the inner Maximilian the way these last months had rebuilt the outer.
He gathered his bathing gear and headed for the bath room, musing on this concept.
Henri Toulon double-checked the ties that held his rolled studded leather tunic to his saddle alongside his simple iron cap, then went on to check saddle bags, water flask, bedroll with groundsheet on the outside: all were in order, just as they had been before breakfast. That the Arturian Wizard was nervous there was no doubt although he worked hard to disguise it. Just pre-campaign jitters, he assured himself; they go once they were firmly committed to the trip. He adjusted the wide belt that supported his enchanted sabre, dagger, and sling pouch; tapped his right boot with the toe of his left to insure that his boot-knife was in place. He patted his thinning brown hair, stroked his neatly-trimmed mustache, and then headed back towards the kitchen to get something to eat just so his hands would have something to do.
It didn't help passing Maximilian en route: the damned ex-scholar looked as complacent as a calf, not a worry in sight. It wasn't fair; he, Henri, was a much more seasoned veteran than the historian, yet look who had the jitters? It didn't help that breakfast was a half-hour past and still Bridget hadn't come downstairs yet; still saying goodbye to Axel, no doubt, and while Henri would normally approved of such passion, right now it merely irritated him. More than anything else (other than not going at all) he wanted to be on their way, with problems and dangers to take his mind off dying horribly.
Elonia Starshine sat cat-comfortable on a keg near the stables, a mixed-blood (Direthrell and Lanthrell, the mix being a secret to all but Starr; all others believed her to be the result of a Human-Harthrell liaison) female who appeared to be in her mid-thirties although she was in fact ninety years older than that, a striking woman with a mass of dark blonde hair framing emerald green eyes and attractive features. Robust of build, more so than her Lanthrell ancestors, although at five feet five inches somewhat below average height for a female of either race whose blood she shared. The Seeress was keeping an eye on their horses out of habit rather than necessity, a good habit carefully maintained against future need. The wait was getting to Henri, who was nervous anyway, she could see; Maximilian was equally scared but hiding it far better than the Arturian. And herself? She was amused at her comrade's nervousness, and impressed by their willingness to go on yet another desperate undertaking. She herself had had decades of training in patience, and an equal time spent living in terrible danger, the whole time buoyed by a lust for revenge that had burned hotter than any flame.
That flame had been extinguished last fall with the deaths of her father and the Hold-Mistress of Alantarn at her hands, and the recovery of her mother's remains from that dread fortress. She had slipped away during the winter and seen to it that her mother was properly interned in her beloved Forest, thus completing her sworn purpose. On the first day of spring she had gone out alone and dug a grave; into its earthy maw she had tossed the Hold-Mistress' baton of rank, her father's rank insignia, and the wire and ivory stalks that had been used to display her mother's bones in the Grand Hall of Alantarn. When she filled in the hole, she pronounced the old Elonia to be dead and gone; vengeance was sated, the wrongs were as avenged as far as it was possible this side of death, and it was time to go on. She waited now, expectantly, to discover what this new Elonia was going to be like.
Her musings were interrupted by Bridget's appearance; the slender priestess, features both flushed and blushing, hurried out of the tower's entrance, amber sword-belt catching the dawn's feeble sunlight as she strapped it on.
"Difficult way to start a journey, riding night and day," Elonia murmured as the serjeant passed by, Bridget's realistic cat-yowl and hisses in reply bringing a smile. The Seeress gracefully flowed off the barrel and headed for her horse, Henri
and Maximilian close behind. For better or worse, they were beginning.
Bridget was gone only four hours but already Axel missed her keenly. There had been too many separations, too many nights spent alone for his taste, although he had to admit that the separations had made the time they spent together far sweeter and special; every moment in each other's company carried the sure knowledge that another parting loomed ahead, lending greater passion to everything they did.
Axel Uldo sat on the narrow stone wall that circled the seventh, and top, level of the tower. This turret had a circular peaked roof assembled from wooden sections cunningly fitted together and held by greased wooden pins; it could be taken down by four men in a quarter hour, leaving just the stout six-foot support posts standing. Wires could then be run from post to post to deter harpies and other flying beasts from attacking the defenders manning the heavy ballista mounted on a rotating base, or the heavy crossbows mounted on the eight pintle mounts spaced around the wall.
From his vantage point the Wizard had an excellent view of the lands under his care: Oramere sat on a long hill, actually a fragment of ridge that was broken away from the grim wall of Mount Gesham to the east, itself part of the Thunderpeak Mountain range. The ridge, carefully cleared of trees and brush to deny cover to attackers, rode like a ship on a green leafy sea of forest, although that sea was now spotty with shoals of newly cleared fields. The Badger's chartered area was bounded on the north and west by the curving Burgen River, on the south by the nearly arrow-straight Southline Creek, and on the east by Mount Gesham, encompassing an area roughly five miles north and south, and six miles east and west.
Oramere was neatly centered in this area; from it the Northroad led to Roger's Way (until this spring known colorlessly as the River Road) on the banks of the Burgen, and to the south the Southroad led to Heleg's Road, which flanked the Southline Creek. To the west Nudri's Road led to Badgerhof, also the terminus for Roger's Way and Heleg's Road. Axel thought that naming the various roads for fallen long-serving Badgers was a nice touch, but equally hoped that both the North and South roads would hold on to their bland titles for a few more decades. He didn't like the idea of either becoming Axel's Lane any time soon.
It was a thriving little colony he overlooked, fully furnished with a fortress (Oramere), a quarry (the east terminus of Roger's Way), plenty of wood and water, and a town that boasted both grain and lumber mills as well as other essential businesses. It was also seventy-odd river miles north of Hohenfels, the nearest town of any note, itself just south of the Old Ward. The Emperor's Ward, the defensive line that marked the Empire's north border, was roughly twenty-five miles of trackless forest to the north; the nearest Imperial garrison that could respond was thus too far away to respond in any reasonable time frame, explaining why the Imperial authorities were so willing to part with Oramere and its land for a song and a handshake. Should any trouble start out here the Badgers and the Militia were on their own. More to the point, for this summer Axel and the Militia were on their own.
It was not the first time that the Badgers had confronted the problem, and indeed, they had done wonders in protecting the area. Oramere, Dwarven-built (which meant the finest in stone fortification construction and design), had been reconditioned by Dwarven craftsmen before the Badgers had occupied it, and been further strengthened by clearing the ground around it and adding light defensive works outside the walls. Besides Axel, himself a Wizard, and his three veterans, Oramere held Rosemary and her eight charges, all of whom were capable of dropping rocks on attacker's heads from tower firing slots, and the cook's husband and the hold's horsemaster, both retired Badgers. With this force and a modest warning to rally the militia Axel was confident that he could hold Oramere against any attackers he might encounter.
For the rest of the area's defense the charter had authorized the Badgers to form a Militia company for local defense, subject to Imperial laws. Accordingly they enlisted every adult male (by which it was meant every male big enough to hold a horizontal spear steady at the shoulder) and any capable female volunteer into the Militia, which they dubbed the Ravenmist Company. The Ravenmist was led by a Lieutenant (the town's Mayor and a retired Badger), two Serjeants (the town's Watchmen, and also ex-Badgers), and ten Corporals; it held, besides the officers noted, seventy-nine rank and file, divided into the Inner Guard (townspeople), and the Outer Guard (farm folk).
The Ravenmist was fairly well-trained as individuals but, due to the steady expansion and difficulty in drawing them together, poorly trained as a unit. They were poorly equipped as well, although both Durek and Kroh had spent long hours every winter at the hold's forge trying to make good the shortfalls in arms and armor. Each member of the Ravenmist had a spear and fighting knife, a shield (some iron-bound wood, but too many of leather stretched on a wood frame), a helm (some iron caps, but most leather), and studded leather jacks. In Badgerhof were stored twenty light crossbows, two light onagers (light field engines), and plenty of ammunition; the town itself was guarded by light field works. They planned, of course, to improve the Militia's armament, and had made progress each year, but the steady arrival of new settlers (whose male members and willing females were promptly drafted), and the Badger's limitations in both time and numbers diluted the effort.
But up to this summer the main body of the Phantom Badgers had occupied Oramere, a force sufficient to give any ambitious would-be raider serious pause. Up to this summer, but no more; this was the first year since the establishment of the Phantom Badgers in their new home that they had resumed full operations, leaving the Ravenmist, and Axel, to sink or swim on their own.
There were a wide variety of potential threats that worried Axel as he looked out over the forests below. The first, and greatest, was the Stone Adder Cave Goblin Keiba, or clan-nation, in the mountains to the east. The Adders were feeling the pressure of expanding Dwarven enclaves to the south, and rumors of Felher excursions to the east; for the last few years they had been sending scouting parties all over and under Mount Gesham with an eye to establishing a new home. The appearance of a reoccupied Oramere had not pleased them at all, and earlier this spring Elonia had reported (based on her Sight) that the Adders were going to do some raiding into the Badger's area to test the possibilities of clearing away the new colony by force.
The next greatest threat was the Purple Spider Keiba of Tribal Goblins living in the forests some distance to the south. The Spiders had fallen on hard times since the Ward moved north just over thirty years ago; expeditions by Imperial troops and incursions by Human settlers into the area had forced the Goblins into a countless series of bloody and fruitless battles. The Badgers had occupied what the Spider considered their northernmost range, although other events had distracted them for a while, culminating in a series of bloody fights with the Hohenfels Militia (aided by Starr and her two companions, who had been in the area on Company business) two years ago. They had skirmished with Badger patrols last summer, and every indication showed that they would be back causing more trouble again this year. They were a lesser threat than the Adder simply because their numbers had been ground down to a mere shadow of themselves by their constant fighting with Humans, especially the Imperial military. While the Adders could put well over five thousand warriors supported by various creatures and beasts into the field, the Spiders could manage perhaps a fifth of that by throwing in every able-bodied male in the Keiba.
A third, merely vexing problem was the expansion of a colony of Titan forest spiders on the slopes of Mount Gesham to the northeast. The spiders had been there before the Badgers arrived, but they were a normal hazard, and Durek had simply ordered that trails leading to that area be marked and had put off clearing them out until time and manpower were available. Lately, however, reports indicated that the colony was growing in numbers, which not only presented a danger in the spiders themselves, but also in that it encouraged an excursion by the Purple Spider, who tamed and trained such beasts for use in war. The colony needed
to be destroyed before the Goblins got wind of it, or before it started putting out sub-colonies.
Stroking his beard, Axel frowned at the distant blue ribbon that was the Burgen River. It was not in his inclination or experience to wait on trouble; like Durek he would have preferred to marshal his forces and launch preemptive raids on each of the Goblin groups in turn, to take the edge off their appetite for conflict this summer. But to put it simply, the Ravenmist were not up to it, either in training, equipment, or above all, in morale. While it was likely that they would fight like madmen in defense of their homes and kin, most did not understand the military logic of hitting an aggressor before he could organize and hit you, especially when the operation would interrupt spring planting. From experience he knew that there would be no changing their minds until the Militia had fought at least one good fight on their own territory; there was nothing like seeing your own granaries going up in flames to set the idea that it is always best to fight wars on the other party’s homeland.
Stripped of the option of preemptive action, Axel had decided to fall back on the next best thing: active and energetic scouting. Starr would soon begin a series of extended patrols on the slopes of Mount Gresham; if the Stone Adder came for them in any strength greater than a sheep-stealing group the little Threll would spot them. He would send along someone to act as a messenger for Starr so that a warning could be sent back to Oramere while the scouting continued; additionally, the Lanthrell maid was a murderous archer, and some accurate sniping would take the edge off the Goblin's appetite for mayhem. Rolf and Kroh would lead sections of the Ravenmist on patrols south of the Southline; it would toughen up the Militia and give them some warning should the Tribal Goblins decide to try their luck this year.
As for the Titan spiders, well, they would do to blood the Ravenmist. Titan forest spiders were, at least in his opinion, less of a threat than the cave variety, but they were no minor problem.