by Demi Harper
Or at least, I had been keen. Now I was just bored.
The creature we were following seemed to have been suffering from a debilitating lack of purpose. That, or it was lost. Or maybe drunk. The tracks meandered back and forth, sometimes circling a tree, occasionally doubling back on themselves. I’d have suspected it to be injured, except Ris’kin’s senses detected no hint of blood or pain from the badger’s spoor.
Maybe Ket’s right. Maybe we should just turn back.
I was growing increasingly conscious of the fact this wild badger chase was consuming my scouts’ precious stamina, which they would need later for hunting. Longshank’s drained at an even greater rate than the others’ because of the penalties he was still suffering from his missing leg.
But the tracks were growing fresher, which meant we were gaining on our quarry.
Just a little longer…
As Ris’kin ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, I felt a pressure on the edge of her right ear. The squirrel chittered softly, its tiny fingers gripping my avatar’s ear for balance.
The day before, one of the scouts had returned with the corpse of another squirrel, and Gneil had rushed to cover our fuzzy new friend’s eyes. He needn’t have worried. The psychotic little rodent went foraging among the bones—scraped clean by the industrious cooks—and emerged with its prize, chittering excitedly. The unfortunate squirrel had been slightly larger than Furynuts, and the top half of its skull fit his head perfectly, making for a macabre (and presumably intimidating, if you were squirrel-sized) helmet.
Despite his attempt to look fearsome, he had grown surprisingly docile since being provided with other kinds of nuts to eat. He also seemed to be permanently attached to Ris’kin’s right shoulder, as though deliberately guarding what was now her blind side. What was even more surprising was that my avatar allowed it. She really was getting soft.
We both are. Despite my fondness for the nickname, Ket had insisted “Furynuts” was not appropriate, especially given his new calmer disposition. She wanted to name him something more ‘noble,’ and got offended when I laughed at her proposal of “Captain Sycamore.” I’d countered by suggesting “Colonel Kernel.” In the end, we settled on Sir Fura.
The only times I ever saw him and Ris’kin separated were when the little critter scampered off to harass Swift and Cheer. Since he’d joined our party, his nutty missiles—of which he seemed to have an indefinite supply tucked away in his stomach pouch—had helped make sure the two scavengers no longer held up our progress as much as they had before, though that didn’t stop him from continuing to harass them, presumably for fun. After a few more close calls with Cheer’s net-shooter, however, he’d learned to keep his distance while doing it.
He also seemed to enjoy throwing objects at the emberfox, though he limited these to small twigs and balled-up leaves. When his missiles came into contact with the fiery fox’s aura, they would burn and shrivel with a crispy hiss, and the squirrel would clap its tiny hands in delight. Pyra mostly ignored him, though on one occasion she picked up a particularly large twig in her teeth and returned it to him so he could try again.
If only I’d been able to use Evolution. I’d gained the ‘cave bat’ blueprint during my very first week on the job, but never found the opportunity to use it. If I could fiddle around with Furynuts—I cringed at that unfortunate sentence even as I thought it; perhaps Ket had a point about the name—I could give him the bat’s echolocation ability, making him even more effective as my avatar’s extra pair of eyes.
Not that I’d have been able to alter him even with access to Evolution. The ability did not permit me to enhance mundane creatures; only the god-born ones I’d created.
I could always give the echolocation to Ris’kin…
The thought of my avatar’s features warping to incorporate the cave bat’s upturned leaf-nose was unexpectedly horrifying, and I banished the idea for now.
We were getting close. The next tracks we examined had been made only minutes before, meaning our geographically challenged quarry had to be somewhere nearby.
At the head of the party, Longshank froze, holding up a fist to indicate the rest of us do the same. After a moment I saw what he’d spotted.
The burrow was half-concealed among the mounded roots of a particularly large cedar. The roots curled around the entrance, gnarled and twisted like ancient fingers. Fresh claw marks indicated it had been dug relatively recently. The badger’s tracks led right inside.
We were hunting a badger. We’d followed its tracks to what was clearly a badger den. Things could not have been more straightforward.
So then why were my borrowed senses tingling with wrongness?
Ket’s words came back to me. “This smells like a trap.”
The sprite’s fears were making me paranoid. I’d closed myself off to her, but they were clearly still trickling through our bond and affecting my judgment.
Still, my avatar and I held back as the scouts followed their leader in, creeping closer to the burrow’s entrance. Ris’kin’s shoulder companion had picked up on the tension and fallen silent. I could sense him peeking meekly over his tail, which he’d curled protectively around himself. It tickled Ris’kin’s whiskers whenever she turned her head.
The scouts arrayed themselves around the burrow’s entrance, spears in hand. Longshank, armed with one of the brand-new stonebows, stood further away, weapon raised and aimed at the dark hole in the roots.
At his silent signal, the scouts crept closer. Ris’kin prepared to follow. Then Sir Fura emitted a sudden squeak.
The scouts jumped a little at the sudden noise, then resumed their advance.
The squirrel chattered again. My avatar and I ignored him, but he climbed up onto Ris’kin’s head and tugged on her right ear like the reins of a horse.
What do you want, you mangy little critter? I thought, irritated by the distraction. Then I saw what he was gesturing at.
We’d all been so focused on the burrow, even Longshank, that we’d stopped paying attention to the ground.
The tracks we’d been following led straight into the dark roots, sure enough. But there were also tracks leading away from the burrow. Many sets of tracks. At least four creatures, maybe five.
These tracks had been made an hour ago. And it didn’t take long to determine which direction they were headed. Alarm jolted through me.
We have to get back to the others, I told Ris’kin.
Adrenaline coursing, my avatar sent a silent hand signal to Longshank— “Pull back”—who looked confused but obediently conveyed the order to his scouts.
“Ket! You’re about to have company,” I warned. I sent an image of the tracks, conveying the nature of the coming threat.
My sprite didn’t immediately reply. Before I could try and contact her again, though, our quarry struck.
The instant the first scout turned his back on the burrow, the badger came barreling out like a bullet from a stonebow. Teeth bared, mouth foaming, it bowled over the scouts standing in its way and charged straight for Longshank. Its oddly pink eyes were fixated on the hunter.
The second it made its appearance, Sir Fura squealed a warning, and Ris’kin unsheathed both her half-spears ready for throwing. She needn’t have worried, though. Quick off the mark and true to his hunter instincts, Longshank discharged his weapon right into the creature’s snarling face. The proximity combined with the stonebow’s power meant Longshank’s bullet penetrated its skull in the center of the forehead, dropping it dead in an instant.
I experienced a moment of regret, but only briefly. There’d clearly been no other option. I doubted even Gneil could have placated the rabid-looking creature.
In spite of the shock, I took a moment to marvel at how effective our new weapons were for use in a tight spot. If Longshank had been wielding a regular bow or a sling, the close quarters and sudden attack would have likely caused him to fumble the shot. With the stonebow, however, all he had to do was pull the trigger.
The badger’s deadly charge had been its downfall. But we weren’t out of danger yet.
From the darkness between the roots came a deep snarl. As one, we all peered warily into the lightless lair. Fingers tightened on weapons as the scuffling sounds of something huge grew louder.
I was torn. On one hand, a small force of mad badgers was heading straight for the gnomish refugees. On the other hand, whatever was lurking in this hole did not sound like something we wanted to leave at our backs.
The convoy has our entire force of warriors, as well as Benin and Coll. They can handle themselves well enough.
Longshank reloaded the stonebow, slotting another bullet into the flight groove and pulling back the mechanism until it clicked. He carefully placed the loaded weapon on the ground. With a flurry of silent hand gestures, he then sent the scouts scattering into position. Three disappeared into the trees, arrayed just beyond sight in a rough semi-circle facing the burrow’s entrance. The other two deftly climbed the roots of the massive tree, crouching on the mound above the burrow on either side.
Once ready, each of the five scouts loaded stonebows of their own. I once again gave silent thanks to the universe for having been able to assign carpenters as well as armorers to work on the ranged weapons.
Satisfied the ambush was in place, Longshank nodded once, then picked up his stonebow again and pointed it steadily at the burrow.
The creature inside was close enough to the entrance now that Ris’kin’s darkvision could pick out vague details. The outline of a hulking form, a flash of white fur, and two sinister glints that might have been eyes.
My avatar took a step back. Sir Fura gulped. A moment later, the creature finally emerged.
One of the scouts gasped. I understood why.
It looked like a badger, except… wrong.
Muscles bulged from every part of its body. Its back was huge and humped, as though it were carrying an enormous backpack beneath its silver fur, and bald spots in its coat revealed painful-looking sores where the unnaturally large bones and muscles grated against the skin from the inside.
Dire Badger Queen
Elite Mammal
Status effect: Fury
Fury? I’d never seen that sort of ‘status’ note from the Augmentary before.
Dire badgers are spawned of arcane forces, though their specific origin is unknown. Like all creatures of the ‘dire’ taxonomy, they operate within a strict social hierarchy (’eusocial’). This particular queen has been forcibly infused with mana which has warped the flesh and bones, even as it strengthens the muscles.
I was seriously regretting my earlier complaints about this trip being boring.
The creature shambled out into the open. It was easily twice the size of our badgers, and ten times more monstrous; it towered over Longshank, looking as though someone had cast Growth on it with the sole intention of giving the beast more attack power. And it did not look happy about it.
The whites of its eyes were painfully bloodshot, even more so than the first badger’s, but the pupils were clouded and gray as if it were blind. That didn’t stop it from eying up Longshank hungrily.
Back in position on my avatar’s shoulder, Sir Fura chirruped loudly, breaking the stand-off. The badger’s orb-like eyes moved away from the hunter and instead fixed their blank stare on him and Ris’kin.
The second the badger’s attention was broken, Longshank shouted a command, as though the squirrel’s distraction were a signal he’d been waiting for. As one, the hidden scouts discharged their weapons. Stone bullets flew in from five different directions. All hit their target—which, to be fair, was difficult to miss.
The missiles may as well have been made out of wool. The badger roared as they sank into its flesh, but the pain seemed to galvanize rather than impair it. Growling and slavering, it barreled straight toward Longshank.
The hunter had clearly anticipated this move. He’d held off from firing his own weapon, and now loosed his bullet point-blank at the charging animal.
Unlike the first badger, this beefed-up beast did not drop dead; it didn’t even slow when the hunter’s bullet pierced its eye with a wet thunk and an eruption of bloody fluid. Its gaping jaws snapped shut around Longshank’s torso.
The badger’s charge took it several steps further forward before it managed to stop itself, then it turned to drag Longshank back into its burrow.
This feels annoyingly familiar…
However, the creature’s momentum had brought it closer to Ris’kin, and she didn’t need my command to tell her to attack. She leaped forward and plunged both half-spears into the side of the badger’s neck.
My avatar immediately leaped backward out of melee range, but not quickly enough. The badger swung its massive head to the side with a roar. The sheer force of the blow knocked Ris’kin backward, leaving her momentarily stunned.
It kept shaking its head, trying to dislodge Ris’kin’s spears. Blood spurted from the wounds as it pawed the ground furiously; I saw that it had extra toes on both front paws. The claws were twisted and tangled like the roots of the tree behind it. That can’t be comfortable. No wonder it’s so angry.
The scouts had re-loaded their stonebows and were now shooting at will. Recovering her wits, Ris’kin just managed to duck a wayward bullet thanks to Sir Fura’s warning shout; the bullet smacked into the badger’s nose and made it roar, releasing Longshank. The hunter dropped to the ground and instantly rolled away from the beast’s stomping feet and gnashing teeth. It pursued him, its blind eye and other wounds making it clumsy, but Longshank kept rolling. The scene would have been almost comical if the tribe’s only hunter hadn’t been at risk of getting torn apart.
He reached a thick patch of bramble and rolled underneath, thorns snagging at his skin and armor. The badger’s attempt to bite its way through the branches left it with a snout full of thorns, but instead of abandoning the hunter in search of easier prey, it threw its head back with a snort and began digging at the ground beneath the brambles.
Shaking off the last of her dazedness, Ris’kin darted in at its exposed backside, drawing her daggers and slashing them across the backs of its misshapen legs where she guessed its hamstrings to be. Blood spurted, and the creature squealed, but otherwise it did not react to her attacks. Seeing their leader in peril, the scouts also emerged from the trees to better shoot at the beast. Those atop the mound of roots were shouting and waving their arms in an attempt to distract it.
But if there was one thing I’d learned about badgers, it was that they were tenacious buggers. Once they’d set their minds on something—like Bruce defending the Grotto from kobolds, and Flea’s ceaseless attempts to befriend Binky—there was no turning them from it.
The beast snorted as it dug furiously, straining and snapping its jaws into the half-tunnel that was taking shape beneath the brambles.
A fist lashed out in response. Three swift punches had the badger rearing backward with an ear-splitting squeal. Blood sprayed from deep, ragged cuts in its nostrils.
Longshank crawled out from beneath the brambles. He’d wrapped some of the thorny, vine-like branches around his fists to make deadly-sharp knuckle dusters—as the badger had just found out.
Ris’kin’s spears still jutted from its neck, and the fur all down its chest was drenched in dark crimson. Pink foam flecked from its mouth, and blood streamed from numerous bullet wounds. Yet still it bared its teeth in defiance.
I found myself almost admiring the creature. But something was off about its behavior. Badgers were territorial as hell, yes, and clearly Longshank and the scouts needed to die horribly for the crime of invading its personal space. But it had emerged from its burrow to aggressively attack us rather than remaining inside to defend against intrusion.
Then there was the first badger, whose purpose almost seemed to have been to lure us out here.
I instantly berated myself for such stupid thoughts. The badgers are organizing?
But ther
e’d be time to speculate on this later. For now I had other things to worry about.
“Ket?”
The sprite still hadn’t responded to my earlier warning. I’d been too distracted with the fight to really notice, but now I was starting to get concerned.
“Ket? Bekkit?”
There was no response. My Sphere was silent.
Thirty-Seven
Fury Badger
Corey
Panic rose inside me. I tried to fight it down, but it was impossible. Why hadn’t Ket responded? Ket was never silent.
I had to go back.
“Finish this creature off, then return with Longshank and the others,” I commanded Ris’kin. Then I deactivated Double Sight, trusting my avatar and scouts to take care of the monstrous badger. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long; the thing was nearly dead, after all.
I appeared in god’s-eye form about ten feet above the ark. It took me a moment to get my bearings; the camp had been assembled strangely, as if my denizens had known they’d be under attack.
The wagons and portahuts were arranged in a tight defensive circle. The builders had only had time to make one more of the foldable huts since the prototype; both of them had been erected on opposite sides of the circle, plugging gaps left by the wagons so as to accommodate all seventy-six of the tribe’s non-combatants. I was relieved to see Gneil and the acolytes at the very center; someone had seen fit to give them spears, and they waited atop the chariot looking nervous but determined. Whether they were focused on defending the gem inside the ark or the owlets nesting on top of it was unclear.