Dark Obligations: Book One of the Phantom Badgers (24 page)

“You’re safe now,” Starr observed, a ball of ice in her stomach at the thought of the horrors these children had endured. “I just wish we could have rescued more, but there were only eight of you left when we arrived.”

‘You were very brave to rescue us,” Duna observed loyally. “We knew someone would come for us, but we didn’t know when. Sunny and I, well, I told the others and Sunny would nod, that the Eight would send someone down here to rescue us, and They did.”

She had to swallow hard a couple times to get the words out. “We got here as soon as we could,” thinking of the votes that had been cast to leave the children behind. For th
e first time she wished that she had been on the cavern floor, in the melee, sword in hand.

Picken mumbled something around the fingers jammed into his mouth. “He said, do Threll really live inside trees,” Duna translated. “Take those fingers out of your mouth.”

“Would you like some dried apricots?” Starr offered the sack, and both children helped themselves. “Well, there are different sorts of Threll; I am a Lanthrell, and Lanthrell live in
Lana
, which are very old, very deep forests. We live in what you would call huts that are built in the upper reaches of very large trees whose branches are trained to grow in certain fashions to accommodate and support our houses, but we don’t actually live
in
a tree,
on
one, I suppose you could say. I am from the
Lana
known as Larnax, the Larnax Forest, which is on the south edge of the Empire at the foot of the Thunderpeak Mountains.”

The boy, his fingers out of his mou
th, whispered to Duna. “He wants to know if you are young, like us, because he heard Threll are taller than people,” Duna relayed.

Her ears burned at that. “Threll live longer than Humans, but
it takes us longer to grow up, so in terms of my people, I would be equal to a Human who was nineteen years old. And yes, Threll are normally taller than Humans on the average, but I’m short.”

More whispering. “He wants to know why your ears are so pointed on top, and long.”

“I don’t know, why are yours so rounded?”

The two young Humans digested that concept for a bit. “You said there are other Threll,” Duna ventured. “I’ve heard of Direthrell, who are called Dar
k Threll; are they dark like me?”

“No, the darkness refers to their hearts, for they are evil in every aspect. They are fair of skin however, perhaps even fairer than I or Picken. Were
your parents from the Suflands?”

“I don’t know much for sure: I was a founding,” Duna shrugged. “The temple staff I was left with said that they were Ruwen, the plainsmen from Sufland, but they didn’t know what they were doing in the Empire or why they had left me.”

“One of our company was half-Ruwen, Gabriella, but she was slain while facing the Draktaur.”

Duna nodded unhappily.
“They said she was dark like me-I wish I could have met her.”

Starr patted her on the shoulder. “I think your skin is lovely; Lanthrell do not tan as much as Humans do, but the Harthrell, the sea-faring Threll, often get nearly as dark as you. I’ve seen Humans who have tanned nearly to your hue.”

“A scholar told me one of my parents or grandparents must have been a northerner, because I’m lighter than most Ruwen.” The girl sighed. “It is difficult, being different and not knowing the details.” Picken whispered again. “He wants to know why your armor isn’t metal, like the others. Picken, honestly, she won’t bite; ask her your questions, it isn’t polite to whisper.”

“Lanthrell do not use metals very much, only as decorations and some delicate work,” Starr explained. “We do not work it at all, buying metal goods and such from Men or Dwarves. Instead, we raise trees whose wood serves us in metal’s stead. See, rap these
plates; the wood is called
iocor
, and is nearly as hard as iron.”

She showed the boy the various examples of Threllian materials that she had and let both children hold Snow Leopard, childish interest and enthusiasm breaking through the fatigue and residual horror in the pair’s eyes. When
Bridget came to take them off to bed the little Badger was secretly disappointed because it had been very pleasant talking to them.

With some time left in her watch, she returned to the chalk sketches she had been making. These were not simple doodling such as is used to pass the time, but a series of exploratory designs. Around her waist Starr w
ore a type of belt called an
amaden
, literally a ‘wanderer’s belt’, a custom common to the travelers of her
Lana
. The belt was made up of plates of
fauces
wood, each plate four inches wide by two inches high and bound to a web of stout leather thongs. In the field the belt was worn inside a leather cover, both to prevent the plates from making noise by striking other objects, and to protect the surface of each plate.

T
he plates were more than just a belt, they were an artistic medium for describing the wearer’s encounters and adventures while venturing outside the
Lana
. When a period of wandering ended, the plates were removed from the belt-web and displayed in the Threll’s home; on lengthy or particularly adventuresome excursions (or for those like Starr whose narrow waist would not accommodate much in the way of recording space) the oldest plates would be removed and stored so as to make room for blank plates upon which to record the latest events. An engraved plate was called a
maztil
while a blank one was a
patik
.

Starr’s be
lt consisted of four
patiks
and one
maztil
, the latter depicting her participation in the battle with the Undead. She had carved it in a ripping grass pattern (to mark the location as the Northern Wastes), a crenelated line across the bottom of the plate representing the Ward, with several stylized skulls to represent the force of Undead, the bow-and-spear symbol of battle, and a bearded Dwarf’s head over a life symbol to mark Kroh’s rescue, the whole done in the traditional Threllan style.

She was
planning to create two more
maztils
, one to mark her exploits in rock-crawling and the battles with the spiders, and one to mark her participation in the battle which freed the children. The chalk was a clumsy device with which to work, but she found that if she drew the squares three times the size of a
patik
she could manage well enough. There would have to be the symbol of the Badgers in each to note her allegiances, as well as the battle symbol and indicators of the various creatures involves, but it was the background which was giving her troubles: how does one indicate an underground setting?

Scowling, she moved a few feet for clean flooring and began another design.

Durek let the ‘night’ last an extra four hours to give everyone additional rest, and exempted both Arian and Bridget from guard duty in order that they might recover more of their abilities. Durek stood the last watch, pondering as he did the problems of getting this larger force out of the mountain and across the Wastes to the Empire with seven extra adults and eight children, and only two spare mounts.

When the raiders and their charges were roused, fed, and readied,
Durek gathered them together and explained the order of march. Due to the large number of noncombatants, they would not be able to afford the luxury of scouts going ahead, so they would have to travel as a single group. Three Badgers would lead, including one Dwarf; the
komad
would follow, then three Badgers, the children roped together into two files of four each, two Badgers, the pack-bearers, and two Badgers as rear guard, including a Dwarf to watch for an ambush from behind. Robin, who was somewhat recovered from his searing depression but was still far less effective than he normally would be, would remain in the group of three Badgers following the
komad
. Johann had agreed to enlist, which helped make up the losses a bit. Both the children and the pack-bearers were warned that silence was essential.

Last-minute preparations were undertaken, and the
raiders moved out, leaving
Gradrek Heleth
yet again. Arian found himself with Rolf and Robin at the head of the children, and as they approached the entrance to the Felher siege tunnels, he looked over to the thin half-Orc, who had slung his axe across his back and was loading his crossbow. “Almost there, eh? Must be a pretty happy moment for you?”

The new Badger shrugged. “We’re not out yet.
Durek told me it’s a half-day’s march to the surface with all these children and the pigs being so overloaded. A lot can happen in a half day.”

The monk was surprised at the pessimistic tone from the normally cheerful Rolf. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“The Bronze Hydra view these upper regions as their territory, and it is possible that their patrols detected some sign of your passage coming in and are now watching for us. That is the risk you take when you traverse these wild places.” He shifted the dirks in their scabbards. “It’ll be too tight in there for my axe; one quarrel and then close-quarter work.”

Arian
nodded thoughtfully. “I see what you mean; I wish we could leave by another route.”

“I do too, but
Kroh said that the Company only knows one safe way. Of course, it has been a week since you came in, and Cave Goblins aren’t known for their patience, even if they did discover that you passed through their territory.”

The monk loosened his sword in its scabbard and stepped into the stirrup of his crossbow to cock it. “Still, it can’t hurt to be careful.”

Moving with considerable care, the raiders worked their way through the siege tunnels and into the road-bisected vault, and
on into the cold underground stream. As the threat of ambush was virtually nil in the stream’s tube, Durek had the Badgers carry six of the children while the long-suffering
komad
bore the other two. Once in the crudely worked tunnel on the other side, the Captain called for a break to rest and change any wet socks.

While the party rested, the Dwarves,
Bridget and Rolf conferred. “Goblins about, I can smell ‘em,” Kroh dragged in a huge lungful of air to illustrate his remark. Rolf nodded somberly.

T
he Captain squirmed to adjust his mail and wished it were plate as he never liked flexible armor. Still, he was stuck with mail until they reached Oramere and he could replace the breast-and-back ruined in the cavern. “I agree. If we didn’t have the children and the ex-slaves, we would be less vulnerable, and they might hold off. What do you think about the chances of an ambush?”

“They’ll hit us,” Rolf nodded. “The children and pack-bearers are slave material, and we’re
clearly carrying loot and dead, so they’ll have to give it a try.”

“Cave Goblins,”
Kroh sneered. “Let 'em try, I’ll cut up a dozen in the first rush, I will.”

“You’ll have to,”
Durek observed calmly. “I would guess a
Serao
, perhaps with a shaman in support, do you agree? Fine, anywhere from thirty to a hundred Goblins, most likely in the mid-range, say sixty for sake of argument. Can we take them?”

“Six to one odds,”
Bridget shrugged. “Worse if Robin can’t pull out of his black mood. And not much chance to use missile weapons in these tight quarters beyond one volley from the crossbows. It could get down to very bloody work.”

“Dwarven work,”
Kroh grinned evilly. “There’s plenty of room for a good axe-swing.”

“We could move the ex-slaves to the rear of the column without a rearguard,”
Bridget suggested. “That would reduce the separation of our forces.”

Durek
thought about that for a moment. “No, that would mean writing them off completely in any sort of an engagement, and I’ve dragged the worthless bastards this far; besides, we’ll need the extra food they’re carrying to feed the children on the trip home.”

“What about taking the extra weapons we have, the ones taken from the mud pit and Gabriella’s, and strappi
ng them to the ex-slave’s packs?” Bridget offered. “The Hydra would think that they’re fighting types, and would have to worry about them as well.”

“That would help,”
Durek nodded slowly. “But make damn sure we have an exact count of the arms when we do it; I don’t want any of them armed when we are on the surface.” He stood and dusted off his breeches. “Pass the word to all hands: we stay on full alert until we’re on the surface and see that Gottri and Kurt are still alive. The Hydra might try for us once we’re out of the mountain, but they’ll pay for it: with two more Badgers and room to maneuver we’ll chew them up and spit out the bones.”

“We'll do that anywhere they try us,”
Kroh scoffed. “I hate Goblins, killed dozens, I have.”

“Let’s hope you can do it again,”
Bridget grinned. “Once we’re outside we should be safe, as the Hydra are deep-stone Goblin, and they don’t care for surface fighting.”

Dozens of Goblins was a fair estimate for Kroh’s tally, but he still moved carefully when the raiders set out with himself in the lead accompanied by Bridget and Rolf; he had his crossbow in his right hand and his axe in his left, knowing fully well that in these close quarters an attack would materialize with incredible swiftness.

He kept t
he pace to a slow march for if the Hydra were out there waiting for them there would be no hurrying past them, and moving slowly gave him the best chance of spotting something that would give away an ambush. Cave Goblins were not known for their discipline, patience, or cool-headed nature.

The slow pace also allowed him to do one
more thing, something he would never had admitted to a non-Dwarf, and to a fellow Dwarf only if directly challenged on the subject: on the pretext of looking back to keep an eye on the rest of the band, Kroh was watching Iron Tusk. The
komad
was war-trained and a veteran of both skirmish and battle, and her senses of smell and hearing were keener than his.

Carefully the raiders moved through the crudely-worked tunnel and the secondary crevices to enter the great fault that led to the narrow shaft that
was their last leg to the surface and their waiting camp. They had more room here, and fairly sure footing so Durek waived any breaks and ordered the Badgers to press on: they were at best a mile’s walk from the surface.

The Waybrother moved cautiously, a step at a time; the walls of this fault were honeycombed with crevices, cracks, and other openings, each a perfect hiding place or passage for Goblin warriors. While he feared no Goblin in a fair fight, he knew all too well the way the Goblins could pour from the shadows in a screaming wave like rats fleeing a burning ship, overwhelming better armed and armored foes by surprise and sheer weight of numbers. There was a good reason why Dwarves hated the wild areas of the underground world, and the Goblins were
the reason.

They were about halfway down the fault when
Kroh glanced back and saw Iron Tusk hesitate in mid-step, her ears standing tall and her nose in the air, her snout moving in short upward jerks as she sought the source of a specific odor. That was enough for the Waybrother, whose own instincts were howling. “Ambush,” he hissed to Bridget as he pretended to scrape something off the sole of his boot. “We’re heading into it.”

The serjeant casually stepped back and called softly to
Janna, who was with Robin and Arian behind the
komad
, to take a rest, adding a word which for the Badgers meant a covert alert. Janna passed the message on down the line.

“We can’t turn back, and we can’t run the ambush with the children,”
Bridget hissed to Kroh after briefly conferring with Janna. “Robin will release the
komad
from their packs at the first sign of trouble and we’ll assault the ambushers, break the back of the
Serao
, send them packing.”

Kroh
nodded and resumed his slow pace forward. The serjeant’s idea was as good a plan as any. The Goblins wouldn’t stick around once a fight turned against them, so if surprise and the first rush failed to carry the day they would fade back into the side-passages and reform to try again elsewhere.

The Waybrother knew that
Goblin ambush would involve warriors hiding in the fault’s cracks and crevices waiting for the
Serann
(the
Serao
commander) to sound the attack, which would be when the Badgers were centered between the lines of hidden Goblins so that the entire party of raiders could be attacked at the same time. Such a position was known as ‘being in the kill-zone’, and the danger to the Goblins would be that some young or hot-headed warrior would spring the ambush before the Badgers were properly positioned, robbing the attackers of much of their advantages.

It was that very reaction that
Kroh provoked when, a half-dozen feet from where the Badgers had halted for their brief ‘rest’, he suddenly stopped and bellowed, “Ambush, have at ‘em,” at the top of his lungs. Hardly had he gotten the words out when the cervices nearest the Waybrother belched forth Cave Goblins, a half-dozen at first, then dozens more as the
Serann
sounded the attack in a desperate attempt to salvage something from his ruined plan. A handful emerged from either flank of the raiders, but the bulk flowed from the shadowy crevices and openings further ahead: the surprise had been lost and the Badgers were outside the kill-zone.

The Cave Goblins that poured out onto the raiders were bandy-legged humanoids whose course, hairless hide was a ruddy clay color; each stood an average of an inch or two below five feet in height, scrawny and wizened as if far older than their years. The bare orbs of their heads we
re flanked by tall forward-curving ears that resembled those of a hairless fox’s; their faces were stamped into the roundness of their skulls with pinched little features that reflected a jolly malignance which was emphasized by their fang-like teeth. Their clothing was rat-leather and bartered, stolen, or captured cloth, clean as a rule, while their armor was rat-leather strengthened with metal studs or disks.

Kroh
dropped the nearest attacker with a quarrel through its thin chest, hurling the spent crossbow at the next’s legs, tripping it up; snatching up his axe, he beheaded the creature as it stumbled. Spotting a garishly dressed shaman in the hordes spilling into the fault ahead, he hurled his axe, the runes glowing hotly, but the press was too great: the axe cleaved apart the chest of a warrior who inadvertently stepped in the weapon’s path a dozen feet short of its goal; ripping itself free from the dying Goblin, the axe flipped back into Kroh’s waiting hands as more foes swept in.

Focusing on each word,
Bridget began a lengthy offensive cant as the shaman gestured imperiously; purple sparks leaping in a cloud from his fingertips, but a fresh section of warriors spilling unexpectedly from a crevice blocked the spell, losing three of their number to the lethal bursts of light that erupted where the sparks touched living flesh. Seconds later a half-dozen flaming rings encircled the shaman, each a yard distant from his body. They hung in the air for a breathless heartbeat, and then abruptly constricted, burning the life from the Goblin.

“Forward and have at them
!” Bridget howled, drawing her sword-rapier as Rolf discarded his spent crossbow.

Kroh
was already moving forward, ripping his axe through the air in a savage figure-eight pattern that disemboweled both Goblins facing him, an evil grin twisting his beard. Leaping over their convulsing bodies, he ignored a spearhead that punctured his breastplate (which had been weakened by the Draktaur’s blows) and tore into his side as he hacked open the chest of a Goblin
Pa
, or corporal, the blood rage pounding unchecked in his temples. He had caught sight of the
Serao’s
totem up ahead and had marked it for his goal; hacking off the spear-wielder’s arm, he knocked the bloody weapon free of his side and pressed forward, unaware that Rolf was trailing behind him, keeping the Goblins off the Waybrother’s back, dirks already red to the hilts.