Dark Obligations: Book One of the Phantom Badgers (21 page)

Kroh
circled to the creature’s left and bored in again, forcing the Draktaur to turn to bring his weapon into play, each movement keeping fresh runnels of blood bursting through the crusty clots. Janna and Trellan, lacking enchanted weapons, feinted to distract the massive creature, striking at its unarmored lower legs when the opportunity presented itself. Slowly the Draktaur lurched in a circle as it struggled to face the darting Waybrother, blood spattering into the dirt from the growing number of rents in its armor.

Durek
had blacked out for a short while after Rolf began dragging him, but he returned to awareness and found himself lying near the cavern’s north wall, Bridget kneeling over him, waving a sprig of a very strong-smelling herb over his nose. “Put that ‘way,” he gagged. “How long?”

“A minute or so,” the advocate held a cup to his lips. “Now be still and let me get a better look at you.”

He grunted and gasped as her fingers gently probed his side and head. He could see the Draktaur’s painful lumbering as Kroh led it in circle, slashing and hewing for all he was worth. It was down to a match of endurance: barring a lucky blow, the fight would continue until Kroh ran out of energy or the Draktaur bled to death. Looking at the armored bulk, Durek was struck by the amount of work and winching it must have taken to get the Draktaur into this cavern from the bridge, unless the Bloodmaster had been able to make ramps as Bridget could.

The Priestess was cutting symbols into his skin now, the painful progress of the sharp blade making itself felt over the harsher pain in his side. Finished, she laid her hands onto the new ridges and hummocks in his side and chanted in a low, carrying voice, filling his chest with a cold tightness that made it impossible to breath
e and filled him with the sensation that his heart was stopping. Finally Bridget stopped speaking and removed her hands, letting the cold fade and his heart pick up to a normal rhythm. He had taken two deep breaths before he realized that the pain was gone.

“You were lucky,”
Bridget commented, her face deathly pale. “The ribs were fully broken and working themselves inward-much more movement and they would have started slicing you up from the inside.” She rolled the bloody instruments up and stowed them. “You’ll be dizzy and sluggish from the blow on the head; when you next sleep I’ll mix you a brew that will put you out for a few hours and clear it all up.”

“How much more
Healing can you do?”

“Not much.”

The Captain raised himself on one elbow and watched Kroh harry the Draktaur. “Save it for Kroh; he’ll be hurt worse than he looks. Send Rolf over here.”

With an abrupt suddenness the Champion’s crippled front leg gave out and it crashed awkwardly forward, catching itself with its crippled left arm and the haft of its axe. Before the Draktaur could regain its footing
Kroh roared in and buried his axe into the now-exposed base of the creature’s neck with all the force he possessed. A blow that would have decapitated an ox only penetrated a bare few inches, but that was enough in the right spot. Slowly, even majestically, the armored monolith toppled forward into the dirt. Wrenching his axe free, Kroh repeated the strike again and again, severing the Champion’s head from its body in the manner of cutting through a tough old log with a dull axe.

“That’s it, we’ve won,”
Durek observed quietly. Unbidden, his eyes found Gabriella’s body. “Most of us, anyway.”

There were a thousand and one problems that beset the Captain even as the Draktaur fell. His force was scattered, the slaves in the south pen were enthusiastically digging out the bars of their pen, there was the danger of the noise of the battle attracting attention, and
many other issues demanding attention. Ignoring his fatigue and the residual pain in his side, not to mention his throbbing skull, Durek pulled himself to a sitting position and confronted the challenges.

“
Janna, Rolf, come here.” When they arrived the Captain addressed the Silver Eagle first. “Where’s the rest of your Group?”

“Nuilia’s dead, took a hit on the back that snapped her spine. Robin was knocked out, and
Arian was wounded; Arian has Healed himself and is looking after Robin when we came across to help you.”

The Captain eyed the bloody
woman. “Any of that blood yours?”

“A little; nothing bandaging won't deal with until there is Healing available.”

“Right, now, Rolf, get up on the bridge, tell Starr to remain on guard, and to especially keep an eye on the tunnels in case anyone heard the battle, then you go and bring the
komad
here. I hate to send you alone, but we’re very short handed. Gather up the crossbows and give Arian back his after you bring up the pigs.” The half-Orc tossed a casual salute and trotted towards the rope ladders.

“
Janna, go keep the slaves in their pen until we have time to do something with them. I don’t want them wandering around picking things up, whether it be loot or weapons. Send Trellan over here once Bridget is through examining him.”

Smoothing a patch of dirt,
Durek wrote out a list of things to do, wrinkling his nose at the stench beginning to roll through the cavern as the Direbreed corpses began the transition from freshly-killed to final corruption in the space of two or three minutes. Fortunately, most were old enough so that when the process was complete all that remained was a pile of twisted bones and the Breedstone.

“What a stench,” Trellan gasped as he came up. “And we had to be where there’s no air flow, too.”

“It would gag a Goblin,” the Captain nodded, wiping his streaming eyes. “Good job the fight is over or we would be in real trouble. Are you wounded?”

“Bruises, no more; a day or two and I’ll be as good as new.”

“Good; now, go tell Bridget to examine that ex-slave, Johann, the one that hobbled the Draktaur. Tell her to check him for cultist tattoos and such, and if she’s satisfied with him, she’s to bring him here. Then go and check on Arian, help him to bring Nuilia and Robin over to this side of the bridge. Put her and Gabriella near the rope ladders, wrap them in blankets, there’s plenty over where the
Fortren
were camping. Then report back.”

A weary
Bridget, an even more exhausted (and mostly-Healed) Kroh, and Johann trudged up a short while later; Durek sent Kroh to rest on the bridge where Starr was standing guard.

“
Bridget, make sure the Bloodmaster and all the Black Dwarves are accounted for and truly dead, then get me a count of the Direbreed; it’s very possible one or two wounded may have slipped off during the fighting.”

“What a
bout the children?” the tired Advocate asked, absently rubbing at the grime on her face.

“Leave them where they’re at right now,”
Durek shrugged. “They’re safe and out of the way.” He turned to study the battered ex-slave as the priestess hurried off. “So you’re not a follower of the Void?”

“No, sir, just a fur-buyer from the Empire.” He suddenly gri
nned ruefully. “Actually, an ex-fur buyer, to be precise: I had a strongbox with nearly a thousand Imperial Marks that I won’t be seeing again. I doubt my employers will ever forgive me for losing their money.”

“We’ll go into your allegiances in more detail later. For now I want you to gather all the Direbreed and Black Dwarf weapons and dump them
in a pile to the west of the bridge, put ‘em at the center of the area. Report back when you’re done.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rolf came down the rope ladder a few minutes later and dropped Arian’s crossbow off with the monk, who was tending to Robin near the blanket-wrapped body of Nuilia, before reporting to his Captain.

“Get me my crossbow, I dropped it some
place over there, then go relieve Janna.”

A thousand things to do, and very finite time to do them in. The Captain climbed shakily to his feet, clutching his
now-healthy ribs with one hand. After a few seconds to steady himself, he cocked and loaded his crossbow and tried a few experimental steps. Better.

Trellan trudged up, slinging his cocked but unloade
d crossbow. “What’s next, Cap’n?”

“Take a look at the lifting tackl
e the Talon has on the bridge. We’ll need to lift about four hundred pounds safely, so if the gear isn’t up to it, see if you can find more in the Talon’s supplies; the block and tackle we used in the cage is pretty well buried.”

Janna
sauntered up just as Arian came trotting over. “How’s Robin?”

The monk shook his head. “Not good; he took a hard rap on the skull which I’ve Healed, but it will still le
ave him shaky for a day or so. What is worse is that he saw Nuilia die, and that may very well unhinge his mind in the long run. For now he’s of no use for any task.”

“Damn; well, tend to
Janna’s wounds, and get Robin up on the bridge, winch him up if you have to. Then get Gabriella and Nuilia up there as well, and report back. Janna, once Arian’s through with you, go to where the
Fortren
dammed up the spring that makes this a mud pit and sketch how it was done. What are the slaves in the south pen like?”

“Unruly,” The Silver Eagle’s voice was muffled by the effort of removing her armor. “There are three Goblins, two Orcs, a half-Orc, and nine Humans, all male.”

“Right, well, we’ll sort them out later. Does anyone know if any of the north slaves survived other than Johann? Damn, something else to do.”

Durek
remained on his feet, finding it easier to walk the longer he stayed upright. After a bit Bridget trudged up and sat down on the dirt. “Twenty-eight Breedstones, and an uglier job I’ve not had in a while.”

“Four missing, eh
? Well, no matter, we’ll stay on our toes. Go replace Starr on guard and send her down to me, you’ve earned a rest. Tell Starr where you put the ‘Stones and tell her to move them to where Trellan is working on the lifting gear.”

Johann came up as
Bridget was leaving. “All the weapons have been moved, save the Draktaur’s axe. If I may ask, why was that done?”

“So when we bring the slaves out of the south pen there won’t be any arms lying about,”
Durek explained. “And so that when this place turns back to mud it will be harder to recover them, as
Fortren
black steel is valued by Void-followers. Now, I want you to establish if any of your cell-mates are still alive, that is, count the dead. While you’re at it, gather yourself a bedroll and field supplies from what’s left of the north pen. Don’t bother with weapons, we’ll issue them to you later.”

Arian
returned. “Done by your command, my Captain.”

“Why are you smoking a cigar
?”

“A cheroot, to be specific, and because it cuts the Void-awful stench of this place.”

Durek grunted. “An excellent idea. Do you have another handy? Thank you.” He puffed the twisted stick alight from the monk’s. “Yes, much better. Anyway, I need you to make a rough inventory of the supplies on the north pen, then assemble bedrolls for the children, and see if there are any clean clothes, soap, that sort of thing,” the Captain gestured uncomfortably. “You know, children supplies, keep ‘em happy and quiet.”

“Right.”

“Set out any rations that are suitable because we don’t have enough of our own to feed this lot.”

Starr trotted up. “The ‘Stones are on the bridge and Trellan says he’s nearly done.” The young La
nthrell’s eyes gleamed. “We
did
it, Captain! We won.”

“Yes, we did,”
Durek nodded, the image of two blanket-wrapped bodies being hoisted to the bridge clear in his mind. “We won. Now, go find a coil of light cord, stuff strong enough to bind a grown man’s wrists, we’ll need sixty feet at least. When you find it, put it by Rolf at the south pens. Then give Arian a hand. That was fine archery, Starr, we couldn’t have done it without you.”

The Captain waited a couple minutes, then walked at a careful pace to the Draktaur’s body. He circled it once, trying to see
in it the man it had been mutated from, but failing: there was nothing Human left in it, nothing natural or normal, just a mound of flesh twisted by the willing acceptance of the Void, and shaped by terrible ambitions. “We killed you, you damned freak,” the Captain muttered under his breath. “It cost too much, but you’re dead and I’ll see the Breedstones of your Talon sent back to the Void. Go tell your Dark One that Durek Toolsmaster says to go to blazes, and take all its Minions with it.”

Using a blanket taken from the dozens littering the dirt, the Captain wrapped the creature’s axe and severed head, still in its ornate helm, and dragged them over to the lines of Trellan’s hoist. He had to rest for a
while, but he was able to tie the bundle to the ropes and see it hauled up. Janna was stalking towards him, swinging a short length of shaft that bore the head of her partisan; the Captain waited for her to arrive, and studied the sheet of parchment she silently passed him.

“Yes, very well drawn,” he muttered, frowning. “Clever work, very nice, actually. Fine, get a saw and a shovel from the north pen, dig a six-inch collar trench around these posts here, here, and here; then saw these support posts halfway through here, here, and here. When the dirt turns to mud it’ll bring the whole assembly down. And fine work on your side of the bridge,
Janna: you and your group handled more than your share of the Direbreed.”

“Rolf saved my life,” the Silver Eagle regarded him with a gaze as unemotional as a sword blade. “I want to recommend him for the Ruby Claw.” She referred to the decoration awarded to a Badger for saving the life of a
fellow Badger or suitable ally in battle while placing the actor’s life at risk.

“Write it up and
we’ll deal with decorations in a day or two. I have no doubt there will be more than a few awarded for this day’s work.” It was only too typical, Durek thought, that Janna’s only acknowledgement of praise was to hold up another’s actions to the light. Her fanaticism had kept her from gaining rank within the Company to date, but he was coming to realize that that had been a mistake.

“Trellan, reliev
e Rolf and take a rest. Rolf, when Trellan relieves you give Arian a hand.” The Captain trudged over to the bloody shambles that was the Direbreed’s camp and set about scrubbing the blade of his axe clean with a blanket and a flask of cheap wine he found, ignoring the pleading calls of the slaves in the south pen.

Johann came up, a blanket roll slung about his shoulders. “Two Humans survived besides me
, and the rest are dead. The two who survived are gone, I don’t know where, either into a crevice or up the rope ladders in the confusion. I don’t really know much about them.”

“Fine; do you know anything ab
out the slaves in the south pen?”

“Not really.”

“Take a break for a bit, you’ve earned it. By the by, that was quite a trick, hobbling the Draktaur as you did.”

The ex-slave flushed. “Actually, he trampled me, and I grabbed his leg in order to keep from getting stepped on. Once I had ahold of it I was too frightened to let go.”

The Captain grinned. “And of such stuff are heroes made.”

After resting for a few more
minutes, he went to the wreckage of the north pen. “How is it going?” he asked the monk who, seated on a nail keg, was taking a break.

“We’ve
a quantity of useable rations, and the children’s bedrolls are assembled.”

“Right, Starr, Rolf, haul the bedrolls and as
much of the rations as the
komad
can carry to the bridge and haul it up. Arian, come with me, I need your expertise.”

The two climbed onto the south platform using the timber steps at one end. “This is the payoff,”
Durek grunted. “Loot. You tell me what is touched by the Void and what isn’t, if I can’t tell myself.”

The south platform bore the pers
onal belongings of the Champion: a stout wooden chest containing linen sacks of coins, the Draktaur’s standard, the chest containing the books they had been sent to recover, a small pile of assorted loot recovered from the mud pit which was still useable, and four racks crudely hammered together from rough boards such as were used to roof the slave pens.

“Bastards sure hauled ar
ound enough timber, didn’t they?” Arian commented sourly. “I asked Johann about it: the Talon escorted pack-lizards down here; apparently they planned to abandon the tools and building materials and just bring out the loot.”