Dark Obligations: Book One of the Phantom Badgers (17 page)

“Thank you, and thank you for your help,
Bridget.”

“No problem, it’s a very straightforward device. Now I’m going to get some sleep; we’ve a battle on the morrow.”

Starr shuddered. “I’d forgotten.”

Bridget
laughed. “Keep in mind that the way we Badgers fight is to make sure we face a battle while the other side faces a massacre.’

Arian
finished explaining which markers represented whom, a task made difficult by Kroh, who took exception to the fact that the five-pence coin used to represent him was of a newer mintage than the five-pence coin used to represent Robin, even though he was several decades older than the Human. Starr finally settled the matter by pointing out that Robin had longer service within the Badgers, an explanation which the Waybrother reluctantly accepted.

Durek
stepped up with a sheaf of notes as the monk moved to rejoin the assembled Badgers. “All right, we’re moving the attack forward to today. It seems that the spells that pull the water from the mud are temporary, need renewing, and that right soon. So we hit them before they get around to the entrails-pulling, finish this business up and head for daylight, or starlight as it turns out to be. Arian has devised a cunning plan, and I’ll let him explain it in just a moment, but first Bridget will go over these notes she’s complied so that we’ll all be digging the same shaft.”

“Just so long as we’re not digging our own graves,” Robin muttered to Nuilia, who nodded sourly.

“The numbers are as we first saw,” the advocate announced in her clear, high voice. “The Dark Dwarves...”

“Black Dwarves, if you’re going to call them that,”
Kroh interrupted. “On account of their smelting methods, too much
burunmek
and far too little...” Starr’s whispering finally caught his attention and the Waybrother scowled. “Anyway, their metal’s very dark in a grainy way, that’s why they’re called Black Dwarves.”

“The
Black
Dwarves, so called for the
color
of their metal as caused by their
smelting
processes,” Bridget began again in the tones of one who is doing the best she could under very difficult conditions with damned little in the way of thanks or appreciation. “Are very well armed and armored using their traditional metals; each wears mail, and has shield, war mattock, and side arms, plus crossbows, but these latter are racked and unlikely to be brought into play at first. The Direbreed are well equipped, some of their equipment bearing the grainy dark color characteristic of
Black Dwarven
handiwork. Armor is of lighter types, usually studded leather tunics and jacks, with a few suits of mail. Arms tend towards polearms and impact weapons. Few bother with shields, and there is a distinct lack of missile weapons, which is quite normal with Direbreed, as they prefer their killing up close and personal. It is unusual that the Champion hasn’t bothered to include some non-Direbreed archers in his Talon to compensate, but I for one am not complaining. The spellcaster, whose proper title would be Bloodmaster in this case, is unarmed and unarmored, but should have plenty of enchantments to use if he still alive after the start of the battle, which he had better not be. The Minion of the Void, the Draktaur, is wearing a very complicated suit of armor that covers all but his lower legs and is almost certainly Void-blessed; he carries an axe bigger than Rolf’s and looks like he could whittle a bull into canapés with two swings of it.”

“What is ‘Void-Blessed’
?” Starr asked.

“
Andern
is mixed into the molten metal to enchant it for better service,” Bridget explained.

“Oh yay, huzzah, it won’t be one of those boring fights where we just stomp over the opposition like they weren’t there,” Robin jeered.

“I like a good brawl,” Kroh nodded, missing the sarcasm. “Does you good to work up a sweat and practice the defensive maneuvers.”

“In any case,”
Bridget plowed on, “the Direbreed are mostly from goats and sheep for reasons of economy, although there are a number Harvested from dogs or wolves, and a few from deer. I know some of you disagree, but there is no connection between the type of host creature and the fighting ability of the Direbreed.”

“Balls,” Trellan shot back. “A Direbreed hatched from a carnivore is quicker and tougher than one from a sheep, no matter what you say.” Gabriella and several others nodded in agreement.

“Whatever. In any case, the Direbreed are split into three equal sections, one bunking in the dirt in front of each slave pen. Sentries are posted outside the gates to the two adult slave pens but they don’t usually bother staying awake. The slaves are worked for about ten hours, then get a five-hour rest period, then work ten hours, and so on; they get fed every third rest period, with food bonuses if they find anything. Most of the slaves are Human, with a number of Cave Goblins and a few Orcs mixed in, and they are all a half-starved lot whose life expectancy is just minutes longer than the time it takes to finish looting the pit and carry everything out to wherever they’ve left the wagons or pack animals, and it is likely they are aware of that fact.”

“In conclusion, the enemy is numerous, well-armed, largely fearless, and completely under the control of their leader. On the other hand, they are not very alert and poorly disposed to resist an attack from outside, apparently having bought off the Bronze Hydra and anyone else who might be in the area. Are there any questions?”

“What are they doing with the dirt?” Trellan asked. “If the slaves are sifting it, what are they doing with it once it is sifted? After all, the whole point of the exercise is to shift all the dirt to get to the buried loot. I always watched them during rest periods.”

“They’re searching the dirt by digging narrow shafts in a tight pattern; once the hole is deep enough, they dump the dirt back in and dig another. Since what they’re looking for doesn't appear to be much smaller than, say, a helm, there’s no need to actually move all the dirt around.”

“A very good briefing, Bridget,” Durek thumped the serjeant on the shoulder. “Now, Arian will go over the plan; I don’t need to tell you just how important it is that everyone knows what to do.”

The monk stood and sighed. “We have to operate under one central objective: we must
kill every member of the Talon. Nothing else will serve, so there are no quick and easy solutions before us. On the other hand, we have surprise and the ability to choose the time of the raid, as well as detailed information about the foe. As always, the first minute or two of the attack will be the crucial period, and the time when we must do the utmost damage to the foe; hurt them bad enough, and they will never recover. The main preparation will begin one hour after the start of the next slave rest period, which is in about two hours. Firstly myself, Durek, Kroh, Bridget, Trellan, and Gabriella will crawl through the various crevices to the north slave pens, where Durek and I will negotiate with the slaves to include them into our plan. Should they not be receptive as a group or as individuals, Bridget will use her enchantments to keep any noise from escaping while we kill those slaves who will not cooperate. We will arm those slaves who will cooperate, and Bridget and I will return here.”

“How are you going to get into the slave cage to kill those slaves who won’t cooperate?” Trellan asked. “
Kroh said that the crevice in question has a couple iron bars wedged across it to keep the slaves from escaping.”

“Before the rest period starts
Kroh will go through the crevices to the north slave pen and saw the bars through to the point where a single sharp blow will break them, using the noise of the slaves at work to cover the sound. We’ve a good metal-cutting saw along and the bars are soft iron.”

“Clever.”

“Now, the attack will be launched in the third hour of the rest period, time candles being used to keep everyone working together. Our force will consist of three groups, Group One in the north slave pen consisting of Durek, Kroh, Gabriella, and Trellan; Group Two will consist of Janna, myself, Robin, Nuilia, and will begin in the tunnel at the south end of the bridge; Group Three will consist of Bridget, Rolf, and Starr, who will start at the same point as Group Two.”

“At the onset, Group Three will crawl out onto the bridge as quietly as they can and prepare for their mission, which will be to support Groups One and Two with spells and missile fire; Rolf will have his crossbows and
Arian’s. When ready, Bridget will make a ramp appear from the bridge down to the top of the children’s pen while Starr slays the Bloodmaster. Group Two will them charge across the bridge and down the ramp, insure that the Bloodmaster is dead, and take on the section of Direbreed resting there. Then Group Two mixes it up with whoever’s still standing from the Talon.”

“Using the ropes and the block and tackle, plus bolts sunk into the stone by
Kroh at the same period as he cuts the bars, Group One jerks the floor out from under the
Fortren’s
feet, dumping them into the slave pens where they will be easy meat, after which Group One and what slaves are willing spill out and mix it up with the Direbreed and Draktaur.”

“Will
the pen come down all that easy?” Nuilia asked in a pouting voice.

“Yep,”
Kroh rumbled. “I had a look while the slaves were at work. It’s just propped together, the weight from above jamming it all in place. With the gear we brought to winch the chest out of the mud we’ll not have any problem.”

“What about weapons for the slaves?”
Janna asked. “We can’t really spare any of our own.”

“We’ve a couple pry bars and mallets in the tools we brought,” Arian explained. “And we’ll cut three-foot lengths from the chains we brought for fishing for the chest to make primitive flails. Plus once the pen collapses there will be plenty of iron bars lying about. Those slaves who survive the first couple minutes will be able to loot weapons off the dead Direbreed.”

“Cor, it’s going to stink down there,”
Kroh suddenly observed; the others nodded: shortly after a Direbreed is slain, its physical being reverts to a state of corruption as if it had died when Harvested.

Durek
had Arian go over every detail of the plan again, and then went over the plan Group by Group and individual by individual, spending the better part of an hour drilling the concept into his raiders’ heads, as well as drilling them in the rather basic maneuvers involved.

When
Durek was satisfied that they were as ready as planning could make them, he ended it. “Kroh, you and Trellan see to the bars and bolts; Janna, pick three people and go about working up those flails. There’s fifteen slaves in that pen, so have that many weapons less two: the bars across the opening of the crevice will arm the two Goblins.”

“How many of the fifteen are Human?” Trellan asked.

“Nine, plus four Orcs and two Goblins,” Durek studied the group. “Any more questions? Then make your peace with the Eight and look to your preparations; we join battle in less than four hours.”

The soft
click
of the oil-drenched lock releasing told the Badger Captain that another task, a minor one, was accomplished. It had been a risk to pick the lock rather than to simply smash it when the attack started, but he had been concerned that the blow might simply jam the thing and cost them precious seconds. Crouching in the deep shadows of the slave pen he eased the hasp free of the links of the chain wrapped around the crude door and set it aside; one sure jerk on the chain and the portal would be open.

The time candle in the hooded lantern had scant minutes left to burn before the attack began; working swiftly and surely in the dark he replaced his lock picks into the leather roll and stowed it in his belt pouch. The block and tackle was rigged, and the slaves (less the two Cave Goblins, who had insisted on escaping back through the crevices rather than fight, and a Human with cult tattoos; these three were safely dead and tucked away in the crevice that led to this place) were armed with the flails, pry bars, and mallets the raiders had brought with them.

While Trellan and Gabriella watched the slaves for any last-minute change of heart, the Captain studied the armored mound on the roof-platform across the cavern. He had seen illustrations, of course, but they didn’t prepare one for the reality of such a monstrosity. It was somewhat bigger than a large ox about the body, with the armored hulk of the humanoid torso sprouting from the front like an obscene tumor, the whole swaddled in green-gray plate armor covered in twisted runes and strange symbols that positively reeked of occult power and deadly enchantment. To his eyes the beaast looked less like a living creature and more like as mighty engine of war given a life and mind of its own. Killing it, Durek knew, was going to be no easy task even were it by itself.

He eyed the scattered figures of its sleeping servitors, some of whom were wearing their armor while at rest in emulation of their master, whose armor was likely bonded to his very flesh. Direbreed were only partially of this world, single-minded and deadly; when the alarm sounded they would be up and ready for combat in the space of a heartbeat, fully prepared to fall on this field of battle in the confidence of being re-Harvested for another
fight. They were twisted creatures, man-sized and man-proportioned, covered in short thick fur in dark hues splotched here and there in strange patterns and conflicting colors. Their faces were obscene mixtures of the host creature and some unnamed predator, with faintly glowing eyes which reflected no shred of life beyond a wild slathering hatred. Some were topped by ram’s horns or stag’s antlers, a few sported wolves’ tails, and here and there a goat-born Direbreed had backward-facing knees inherited from its host creature.