by RW Krpoun
Yawning, she carefully packed away all her materials. She had done enough for one night; the pace could ease now, what with fifteen days until her next report to the Hold Master was due. That routine event would serve as an appropriate time to reveal her success, she decided.
As she strolled through the cobblestoned streets of the fortress, fatigue humming in her back and wrists, she considered sending to the slave barracks for a pretty boy and girl for an evening’s sport, but decided against it; she had been abstaining from personal pleasures in the last weeks in order to focus on the investigation, and such a break in habit would draw instant attention from her competition. No, better to remain in her old routine until she had made a full report to the Hold Master and her triumph was certain. Too many victories were lost just short of the goal.
The following day’s administrative bundle brought the departing investigator’s log and summation; Kustar devoted the day to reading it and setting her staff to the tasks involved in verification and evaluation. It was deeply gratifying to see that the officer, like herself, had decided upon visitors to suspect as the agents who opened the Gate egran, but had accomplished very little beyond that premise. He had not investigated the Anlarc’s battle, nor had he noted the ambush of the hecla-laden cart or the interesting placement of Era Ludio’s body. Reading between the lines, Kustar saw that the officer had diligently plowed through the masses of reports generated after the raid, and had quickly floundered in that sea of words.
By the next day her staff was moving along its new course in an efficient manner, requiring only occasional supervision by herself, and generating few interruptions, allowing her to carefully re-write her investigation log (burning each page of her old log) and write her final report to the Hold Master. The latter took only two pages, a disappointment after such a major investigative effort, but such was the way of things, she knew: massive efforts for secrets that comprised only a few words.
Finished, she carefully stowed the log and the reports; summoning a clerk, she used the pretext of returning some volumes to the storage closet as a cover to return the ledgers on mercenary companies to their place on the shelves. The decoy books, once again bearing their true labels, went back into the pile of ‘reference works’ on the side table. A full day’s work behind her, and her task all but done until the crowning day, she turned her steps to a tour of the Inner Keep, absently strolling past the places where the first raid had been fought, careful to avoid the corral where the Badgers had exited.
The Inner Keep was changing, what with construction work still underway replacing buildings burned in the two Felher raids, and the shuffled priorities inevitable whenever high-level changes were made in the command structure. Patrols were more frequent and more alert, and several additional checkpoints were in place. The whole Inner Keep bustled more than usual; summer was here, and with it came the flood of merchants (a large proportion of whom were Golden Serpent cultists) selling goods both mundane and exceptional. She passed a group of such traders, their insignia proclaiming them to be Serpent-followers, half drunk and happily pawing their painted and scantily-clad escorts, a number of whom would be reporting to Pargaie controllers as soon as they left the merchants, relating every conversation and deed.
Soon she would be back in the intelligence community, controlling agents and sifting through pounds of ordinary words and actions for that golden speck of treason, exploitable weakness, or item of telling import. Back with a promotion, of course, raised to Chorapel no doubt, a member of the inner circle of intelligence staff for Alantarn, or perhaps sent back to Arbmante proper; she hadn’t been back in the homelands in decades. Chorapel was the maximum rank allowed to Nepas officers under normal conditions, although exceptional half-breeds were granted status as Ustor, which gave them the rights of a full-blooded Direthrell.
A slight frown creased Kustar’s forehead. Of course, Peria would make her Ustor, would he not? He had promised that should she succeed, her career would reach heights she dared not hope for. Of course, he had carefully pointed out (truthfully) that her career had been ruined before he had appointed her as one of the investigating officers, so perhaps promotion to the highest rank a Nepas could reach in ordinary times was his idea of a suitable reward?
The more she thought on it, the greater grew her doubt. She had succeeded, but was her success enough? How much reward could she expect, and if Ustor status was not part of it, would her next appointment be of a nature so as to afford an opportunity to further distinguish herself, or would she, like so many Nepas who reached the highest rank, be relegated to a secondary posting in order to free up a full-blooded Direthrell?
Disturbed, the lovely woman wandered aimlessly about the hold in the deepening twilight, only half-aware of the salutes she received from passing patrols and stationary guards as she worried at the future. Her steps led her to an open-air cafe reserved for garrison officers; seating herself away from a group of Army officers who were the only other customers, she called for a bottle of wine and moodily worked through it while she watched the moths dance around the freshly-lit lamps.
A second bottle was open before she turned to confront the idea that had been brewing in the back of her skull for some time: if she wanted to be Ustor, she would have to up the ante, increase her accomplishment. There was a way, an awareness of which had been haunting her for hours: the White Necromancer. Every Pargaie officer knew that name and the powers behind it all too well. Believed to be one of the most powerful necromancers in several centuries, the spellcaster (whose true name and sex had defied all inquiries) had used its magic to transcend death, becoming a liche, or Undead creature, with its abilities intact. It lived, or existed, in the ruins of an ancient city in the Northern Wastes, controlling a network of spies and influence throughout the great northern continent of Alhenland, working towards goals known only to itself, assuming that it had goals at all and wasn’t simply amusing itself with its dabbling. The White Necromancer had no allies, associations, or allegiances; it was an independent agent, and always had been. It had, in the past, formed temporary pacts or treaties with other powers when they had something it needed or wanted, but otherwise it kept exclusively to its own machinations.
Kustar lightly rubbed her fingertips together, letting the sensation of the tiny ridges meeting drown out all other sensory input and allowing her mind to focus on the subject before her. To report a successful completion of her investigation would be a triumph, of course, but to be the officer who negotiated a treaty, however temporary, with the White Necromancer would win her Ustor status in and of itself. And she had what she needed to buy such a treaty: the knowledge that the Phantom Badgers had the Torc, a potent relic for hunting necromancers, even those who had gone on to become Undead.
Knowing that the enemy had such an item would allow the liche to prepare specific defenses against it; naturally, without that specific knowledge it could not prepare for every eventuality. What Kustar could do was to, under the guise of her investigation, go to the liche and trade this knowledge for a treaty (limited and temporary, to be sure) between the White Necromancer and Arbmante. In her report she would explain that she had gone to the liche simply to confirm certain facts for her investigation, a point that few would care to question too deeply after success had already been achieved. Naturally, before the fact no one would have any idea of what she was up to.
Tossing off her glass, the lovely Nepas signed her tab with a flourish and set off for her quarters. It was time to take the future by the horns and bend it to her will.
Chapter Ten
Spring was actively expanding into full-blown summer under the encouragement of the mid-morning sun; a hawk hovered over the landscape on brooding wings while its smaller, more peaceable cousins darted from tree to bush in bright plumage, busy with the day’s tasks. The air on the slopes of Mount Gesham was redolent with the sweet blossoms of spring, and rang with the cries and squabbling of a colony of gray squirrels, one of which, fat and bri
ght eyed, paused in its play to study Starr, who was midway up a tall oak, standing casually with one foot braced against a knot on the trunk and one hand holding a limber branch.
The squirrel jumped when the little Badger gave an accurate copy of its warning cry, and scurried behind a thick branch, only to peek back around at the invader a moment later. Starr amused herself in playing a peeking game with the little animal for a few minutes before turning back to her work. Shortly after the raid group had left Oramere Axel had assigned her to a rigorous schedule of scouting: five days on Mount Gesham followed by two day’s rest in Oramere, then three day’s scouting south of Southline Creek, another two day break at the hold, and back to Mount Gesham. It was a demanding assignment but hardly an intensive pace for a Lanthrell, whose favored habitat was the woods; rather, the challenge in the task lay in the amount of responsibility she bore: she was the eyes and ears for Oramere and the community it protected. The scope of her task was greater: even on the five day patrols she could not cover a quarter of the avenues of approach on the mountain, which made an accurate assessment of risk and careful planning essential for her efforts to provide even the minimum coverage.
It was the sort of assignment that Starr reveled in: an independent command, responsibility for the planning and execution of a vital task, and long days plying her native woodcraft against the potential (but very real) threat of Goblin incursions. The arrival of Halabarian just over twenty days ago had completed the ingredients of a perfect summer for the little Threll. She had a crush on the wandering minstrel, and was pleased that he had arrived at a time when she was operating in an exalted position within the Company. Her patrolling schedule had likewise burned off what little weight she had put on over the winter, bringing her down to what she considered her fighting (and courting) size.
She had hoped that Axel would assign Halabarian, who had volunteered to stay at Oramere for a few months and help out, to patrol with her, but the wizard had given her a knowing look and crushed the idea. Instead, Halabarian remained at the Hold, teaching the Ravenmist the arts of spider-hunting and woodcraft, and assisting in the elimination of the spider colony, a task which was well underway. Starr had to admit that including Halabarian on the Militia’s patrols had taught them a great deal of wood-lore, as well as providing them with the minstrel’s deadly skills as an archer, but she was disappointed nonetheless.
Pulling her attention from idle thoughts, the short Badger returned to the business at hand, although even while musing her eyes had been automatically scanning the vista before her, noting bird movement and watching for any signs of trouble. She had climbed this tree as a result of an investigation that had occupied her interest since just after dawn. Rising before daylight as was prudent, she had climbed a tree which had given her an excellent vantage point, and spent an hour studying the slopes before her. While doing so, she had spotted an unusual flurry of birds on a distant slope to the north and much higher upslope of her position, and thought she had seen movement too regular to be animals or wind-stirred branches. Accordingly, she had angled her day’s patrol in that direction, zigzagging across the slope at a safe pace, alert for any signs of Goblins. Her course was not aimed at the point where she had seen the movement, but instead ‘lead’ it to intercept the likely path taken.
There were no new indications of anyone else in the area, but Starr was far from discouraged; the mountain slope was a vast seething mass of ridges, gullies, and streambeds, the whole liberally coated in trees and brush; even a careless band of travelers would be difficult to locate by a single scouting party. Tracks, on the other hand, were a much more reliable indicator of intruders, provided she covered enough ground.
Moving slowly and at an irregular gait (fast or regular movement readily catches the eye, second only to reflecting surfaces and bright colors), the little Badger descended to the ground, pausing midway for one last survey.
Eclipse was waiting at the foot of the tree. Passing the little Lanthrell her bowcase and quiver, the girl raised her eyebrows in silent inquiry. Pleased that her companion had avoided speech, Starr made a negative gesture, and followed it with a wink and shrug, indicating hope and confidence. Slinging the bowcase and quiver, she set off on the next leg of the interception course, Eclipse close behind.
The girl’s presence stemmed from Axel’s adamant stand that Starr not be alone while scouting. It was imperative, the Lieutenant maintained, that the Lanthrell take along an assistant who could act as a runner to bring back word while Starr continued to shadow any force discovered. Who to take had been a problem that had taken considerable discussion to solve; after examining several options, Axel and Starr had settled upon Eclipse as the only workable situation, a solution that no one save Eclipse had been happy with, although Starr had since come to appreciate the wisdom in it.
Eclipse, or more properly, Duna Kadal, had been the oldest of the eight orphans rescued by the Phantom Badgers in the same raid that had liberated Rolf. Nearer thirteen than twelve when rescued, Duna was now not quite sixteen, and completely consumed with the desire to become a member of the Phantom Badgers. She had spent the last two winters coaxing weapons training and field craft from any Badger who was even remotely approachable, and her persistence had paid off, in part: last summer she had been made a member of the Ravenmist, and the control of a portion of her time was taken from Rosemary in order to facilitate her training.
Her nickname stemmed from her desire to outdo any other contemporary, and from her physical appearance: Duna’s parents had been Ruwen, from the tribes who roamed west-central Sufland, the southern continent; what her parents had been doing in Alhenland and what circumstances led to their child being found on the steps of a temple while Duna was still an infant remained a complete mystery. Duna’s skin was a rich walnut hue, several shades darker than even the most weather-beaten northerner. She was exactly the same height as Starr, and very nearly as strong, being a hardy lass with plenty of determination; the weeks spent as Starr’s assistant had burned away the remaining baby fat from her slender frame, accelerating the outward transformation from child to young woman.
Although Starr had not been happy to be saddled with the woman-child, she had made the best of it, and Eclipse’s willingness to learn had gone a long ways to mollify the Lanthrell. And as the girl learned, she had begun to ape Starr’s mannerisms, a flattery that had gone far with the cocky little Lanthrell; she had even begun to spend a few hours on each of their two-day breaks teaching Eclipse the finer points of combat archery.
Starr in the lead, the two moved at a pace somewhat slower than ordinary walking, pausing frequently to listen, zigzagging a hundred paces or more to either side of the course they were taking in order to widen their search area. It made for slow overall progress, but there was no better way to effectively scout. The summer sun’s heat was less on the mountain’s sides, and made less so by frequent shade, but whatever benefit they received was offset by the need to wear long sleeves and buttoned collars to protect themselves from branches and thorny vines. Using animal trails to avoid breaking brush (and making noise) meant considerable crawling, and the rugged nature of the mountain terrain made climbing near-vertical slopes a common event, making the entire effort one of considerable discomfort and hard work. One annoyance was spared them, however: a liberal coating of domhain sap kept the insects at bay, although it did attract dirt in sufficient quantities to literally encase the scouts in a layer of grime by the day’s end.
Effort and discomfort were finally paid off: Starr gave a warning hiss and motioned for Eclipse to freeze. Moving with care and caution, the little Threll slipped forward a dozen yards to the banks of a shallow stream. After carefully studying the surrounding area for signs of an ambush, the Badger scout slipped across the stream and knelt to study the disturbed ground that had caught her forest-keen eye. After studying the area in front of her for a few moments, she motioned for Eclipse to join her. Tossing the girl her water flask for filling, Starr began m
oving downstream a slow, crouching step at a time, studying the ground before her. Half an hour and a hundred paces covered, the little Threll returned to her companion, massaging the small of her back.
Eclipse waited until the Threll had taken a long drink from the dripping, stream-cooled flask before asking the burning question. “Who are they?” The dark girl motioned to the boot prints marring the stream bank. “There are hundreds. Are the Stone Adder invading?”
“Not hundreds,” Starr shook her head. “Remember, a formation tears up the trail far more than an equal number of individual walkers. No, this is less than fifty, but not by a great deal. They’re Cave Goblins, no mistake, and that means Stone Adder. More to the point, this is a raiding party, there’s far too many for an ordinary scouting party. There’s a burning farmstead and a butchered family or two at the end of their trail.”
“Unless the Badgers and the ‘Mist get to them first,” Eclipse nodded eagerly. “Should I set off now?”
Starr stroked Snow Leopard’s hilt, the oily soot that darkened the enchanted sword gritting under her sensitive fingers. It had been no mean feat, locating this group in the vastness of the mountain’s slope, much less crossing their trail only an hour or so after they had passed, but she suspected that the importance of her deed might very well go unnoticed in the excitement of repelling the raiders themselves. The little Lanthrell frowned at the disturbed mud that spoke of Goblins passing; she hated all Goblins, and held them in no high regard as fighters, Cave Goblins in the woods all the more so. It rankled to have to send for help and then placidly trail the bastards after weeks of hard scouting, leaving all the glory to Rolf and Kroh. The Company was growing; Durek had mentioned that soon they would be creating the rank of Corporal to provide enough leaders to control the new-hires, and Starr was determined to wear that rank. She had left armor, helm, and buckler back at the hold, carrying only her yakici (the wickedly recurve Lanthrell bow), Snow Leopard, and her daggers; Eclipse had a light recurve bow of Human design, a short sword, and dagger. The Human girl was no great shakes as an archer, but at the ranges one fought in heavy brush that would make little difference.