Dark Path: Book Three of the Phantom Badgers Read online

  "Bloodymessofafockin' Festivalwhenyecain't finishamugwithout adamncalltoarms," Dolan commented as he joined the three Badgers; Starr for one had no idea what he had said. The man's thick Thebian accent and habit of slurring his words together baffled her every time, and Royan was no help as he apparently spoke no language other than his native tongue, being content to let his older sibling do what talking was necessary, although he did understand Pradian.

  The trappers stirred uneasily at the appearance of the Thebians; both had the look of seasoned brawlers, and narrowed the odds more than they liked. Starr smiled at Hekbar. "I believe the girl will be coming with us."

  "In a pig's ear she will," Hekbar stood up, real anger stamped on his features. "You'll need more than a runt, a Goblin, and two dress-wearin' foreigners to push us around, so piss off." The rest of his men stood up as well; the Me'Conors carefully set their mugs down and ranged themselves alongside Rolf.

  "Gonnabeabitofheadbashin'," Dolan commented cheerfully to Royan, who was spitting into his palms. The shorter brother grunted in agreement, and then again as he broke wind.

  Starr slipped her own cudgel out of her belt, a feeling of hopelessness filling her. "I'll tell you one more time: let the girl go."

  "Yeah,yafockingpig,let'ergo," Dolan seconded. "Thenwe'llboustyerbloodyheadsjustferpractice."

  "Come and get her," Hekbar's face was red and his eyes blazed with rage. "Just try and..."

  "We won't have to," the hard voice sliced across the trapper's words. Durek Toolsmaster stepped into the pavilion, hand resting lightly on his axe. "Because you're going to hand her over." The Dwarf smiled at the trappers. "Right now."

  "More runts," Hekbar sneered. "I'm Hekbar, and I say nobody pushes..."

  "I didn't ask you for talk, just the girl. Either hand her over or hang." The Captain's flat statement sent a chill through the air. Kroh grinned, dropped his cudgel and drew his axe in one economical movement; Rolf's dirks flickered from their scabbards with practiced ease. The Thebians drew their axes and flexed their shoulders in anticipation, beards twisting in bloodthirsty grins.

  "All right, shortie, take her." Hekbar spat, making a curt gesture. One of the trappers pulled the girl to her feet and sent her on her way with a push while the rest were easing knives back into scabbards and placing their hands on the table, visibly sobered by the sudden shift in direction the confrontation had taken: a brawl was entertainment, while fighting armed mercenaries was not.

  "And now," Durek continued, "You'll leave. Leave the Festival and Badgerhof. If you return within a week you'll never leave. Is that clear?"

  Hekbar turned his back and stomped off, followed by his friends, muttering angrily amongst themselves. The Captain stared after the trappers until they were out of sight, a thoughtful frown twisting his beard. Turning back to the others, he motioned for the weapons to be put up. Taking in the watching tent of drinkers, a significant number of whom were trappers, he stepped up on the bench recently occupied by Hekbar. "Next round is on the Phantom Badgers!" he roared. "Drink up and drink deep!"

  Hopping back to the ground amidst a chorus of goodwill, the Captain approached the still-crying farm girl, digging a clean kerchief from his pouch. "There, there," he muttered nervously, handing her the neatly folded cloth. "Everything's all right now, er, and I'll expect you'll be wanting to get back to your mother presently, no doubt, and…well..."

  He was saved by Bridget who had arrived in time to get the gist of what was going on. Sitting beside the girl, she put an arm around her shoulders and comforted her. Axel swung alongside his Captain, moving nimbly on his crutches. "Trouble?"

  "Trappers pawing a farm girl," Durek led his Lieutenant away from the tent, signaling Starr to follow. "We broke it up without any real trouble. Bunch led by a Hekbar, Human in his mature years, nine all told, at least that were here. Know 'em?"

  Axel shook his head. "Doesn't ring a bell, but I'll ask around. Since the fur traders moved in last year we've gotten a lot of trapper trade through Badgerhof; someone's bound to know them. Rough group?"

  "In a back-stabbing way, no trouble in a real fight, I expect." The Captain grinned suddenly. "Not for the likes of us, anyway. Told them if they came back inside a week we would hang 'em."

  "Might as well, I know that girl by sight, and she’s not the type to look for trouble. Maybe we'd better take some precautions."

  The Captain nodded. "Pass the word: Hekbar and company are not to be back. Put someone to watching the girl and her family, discreetly, for the rest of the Festival; it would be just like those bastards to circle back and grab her to make a point. The last thing we need is to have something like that happen, especially at the Festival. We can't convince these people we can hold off the Goblins if a lice-eaten trapper can kidnap one of the children. At least Starr caught this mess before it got beyond scaring the girl."

  "What about the Watch? They're pretty upset that you put Starr and her pair in charge of the Festival drunk-bashing instead of giving them the detail."

  "Tough; they're in the Watch for a reason: they aren't good enough to be field Badgers. Gottri's thick as a stump and Kurt can't handle soldiering anymore, and after only two campaigns! No, they're good enough to keep the town safe and ramrod the militia, but this is too important, so use our people. By the way, do you have any Company money on you? Good, I bought a round for the tent; see to it, will you? It wouldn’t do for the Company to welsh on a round.”

  Axel sketched a salute with an easy grin. "Things were so much easier when we lived out of saddlebags, eh, Durek?"

  "Too damn true." Durek said with considerable feeling, and motioned Starr over as his Lieutenant swung away. "Keep a sharp eye out for that bunch, I'm thinking that they might be back, try for the girl again or some such stupidity. Take no chances with them, chop them up if they try to resist or start any trouble. Axel will see to it that the girl is watched"

  The Threll nodded. "Captain... I'm sorry it got so far out of control."

  The Dwarf shrugged. "It’s not your fault, there's only so much you can do with bastards like that, and even less when they're near drunk. We need to put up a couple heads on pikes, get a reputation for law and order established around here. One word of advice for the future: sometimes it might be better for Rolf to do the talking. He's not as clever as you, but some words need a deeper voice to make them heard, especially where idiots are concerned. Don't ever be afraid to let your subordinates act in situations where they’re better suited."

  Starr nodded somberly. "I'll remember that."

  "Good; don't worry, you handed that about as well as you could be expected to, sometimes these things just blow up by themselves. You've been doing good work today." He grabbed her by the shoulder and gave her a casual shake that rattled her teeth: although nowhere near Kroh's bulk, Durek was stronger than most Men. "I know I can rely on you, Starr."

  Chapter Two

  As the warm spring day crept into a balmy spring evening the Festival forged ahead as planned; the three-legged races, wrestling competitions, battles with bags of feathers while balancing upon a log and similar energetic entertainments gave way to musicians, both individuals and groups, slight-of-hand performers, play-actors, puppet shows, and similar spectacles. A large tent-roofed pavilion was opened with a band for those who wished to dance, and the carrousel lengthened its rides. Booths selling more substantial food opened, and strong drink flowed freely.

  The watch on Gerta had fallen to Henri Toulon, the Company's second Wizard. A lean, sharp-eyed Arturian in his mid-twenties, Henri was a member of the trusted inner circle of veterans that ran the Phantom Badgers, and a capable wielder of the art of magic known as Vectius Menana, or wizardry.

  Born to humble shopkeepers, he had been apprenticed to a temple of Kiy at the age of twelve in the hopes that he would become a priest, monk, or at least a scholar. His parents’ hopes were quickly dashed when it was determined that his aptitude lay with the far less respectable arcane arts, and that his
personal attitudes fell far short of the rigorous personal discipline required of a cleric of the Eight. Less than a year after leaving home he had been apprenticed to a wandering Wizard. Four years in the Oxton University at Aldenhof had polished his magical education, and nearly two years with the Phantom Badgers had honed his practical skills; in all, Henri considered himself a thoroughly well-rounded individual. His only regrets in life was the early, and steady erosion of his hairline, a defect he fought as best he could with a short haircut and a carefully tanned forehead.

  Gerta and her family had wandered about the Festival oblivious to their escort, who had little problem remaining unobserved in the crowded confines of the more popular events, but now they had purchased drinks and some sweet rolls to augment their packed dinner and moved away from the main area to dine. While the area they had chosen, a low-walled field used for pasture, contained a scattering of like-minded Festival-goers it was empty enough for their guards to stand out and for trouble to take place. Henri frowned as he stroked his nut-brown mustache, considering the situation carefully; Durek had been very clear that the security was to remain unobserved, but at the same time insisted that the girl be kept absolutely safe.

  Nodding to himself, he turned to the junior member of his detail, a stolid ex-Arturian soldier named Pug. "Go get yourself something to eat and go sit on the north boundary, look at the girls, and act normal. We'll go to the southeast corner and watch from there."

  As duty goes, this is hardly a hardship, the young wizard mused as he settled himself on the fence. The rest of his detail consisted of Tonya Oesau, a veteran of the Eisenalder Legions, and Henri's next paramour if his plans went as he intended, although it had been tough going so far. Tall, and leggy, with curves that hard muscle only accented, Tonya was a pleasing package to view or to hold, although Henri’s offensive had yet to achieve any significant success. Her features were on the plain side; handsome was the strongest compliment that could honestly be applied, but her eyes were an electric blue that caught and held an observer's attention and her long waterfall of walnut tresses did much to increase her attractiveness. She was rock-solid in her practicality, a calm young woman not given to flights of mood or temper, but Henri, who had first been attracted by the body only to be snared by the mind, found a spirit of uncommon interest lurking behind her even gaze, an animation that (to his way of looking, at least) held a rare and wondrous charm. She was within weeks of his own age, newly a Badger, and not nearly as impressed with the Wizard as he felt she should be, or would be.

  "So now, here we are, just a pair of young lovers wanting a bit of privacy," he grinned at Tonya, offering her his engraved wine-flask with a flourish. The flask had originally been the property of an Arturian Marquis who had died bravely and stupidly at the onset of last summer's campaign, and Henri had seen no reason to let it go to waste. "What could be more natural?"

  Tonya rolled the eyes that so intrigued the spellcaster. "You Arturians: always just one thing on your mind."

  Axel levered himself to sit with his back against the ox hide that was laced to the railing, hooking the neck of the wine flask as he did so. "Ahhh, now that I needed. That, and that, it would seem." He smiled as he ran a finger down Bridget's bare arm; the priestess pouted coquettishly and let the light blanket slip away.

  "Perhaps in a while, my love, but duty calls, and the flesh is damned glad for it. Pass my small-clothes over, would you?" Moving carefully, he turned and rose to his knees, wincing. Acting nonchalant, he rested a forearm on the rail and casually studied Badgerhof below. Durek, considering the possibility that Hekbar might spot Greta's guards and vent his spleen on the (largely empty) town itself, had told Axel to assign two Badgers to keep watch. The wizard chuckled, imagining the look on his Captain's face if he knew how the sentries were passing the time. The Dwarf tended to be on the prudish side, on the whole.

  Not that he was an exhibitionist himself, he admitted. Intellectually he knew that this platform on top of the Badger's Den, the Company-owned tavern near the center of town, was the highest point in town; with the ox hides covering the rails, the fact that he was bare as a newborn could not be seen by anything other than birds, but it still made his skin crawl with embarrassment to raise above the rail to do his sentry duty.

  He jumped as fine-boned hands slid over his thighs. Absently he intercepted one short of its goal. "Not just yet, lass. Let the troops reform and rest before another charge. Besides...hello, what's this?"

  "What's what?" Bridget rolled away from her husband to her discarded dress and pulled it over her head. "Trappers?"

  "Not directly," Axel murmured, distracted by the task of balancing on one knee while pulling on his drawers. A year ago he would have had to lie flat to do it; in another year, he would ride a horse again, and so it went. At least the scars and twisting of his shanks hadn't put Bridget off, he had known of too many marriages ended over ugly wounding. "No, it’s a dead dog."

  "Ah," the priestess nodded as she cinched the amber and yellow-topaz belt about her waist, and, with a graceful flick of the chain, looped the matching amulet around her neck; the bracelet that completed the ancient set had never left her right wrist. The Badgers had recovered the set, relics attuned to Hetarian's faith, some years before, and it went far to augment Bridget's powers. "What's so significant about a dead dog?"

  "Might be nothing, but it was either dragged into a corner behind a rain barrel or crawled there leaving a line of blood in the dirt of the road. Since we've no wagon or cart traffic, and no sounds of a dog fight since we got up here I'm thinking someone killed it and hid the body." Axel dropped below the rail to address the problem of his breeches.

  "It wasn't there when we last looked," Bridget admitted, peering over the rail as she buttoned the bodice of her dress. "I wish I had worn a higher neckline. Still, we might not have noticed a dog fight, distracted as we were. That's the brewery; pretty mean dogs there, as I recall, and not too likely to lose a fight with another dog. Damn."

  "We'll have to go and look, half dressed and all," Axel agreed, shrugging into his shirt. Without bothering to tuck it in, he pulled on his shoes. "I wouldn't want to explain to Durek how his two senior officers let something happen while we were on guard duty."

  "It wasn't my fault," Bridget observed primly, running fingers through her short dark hair. "You're an animal."

  "Your resistance was noted," the Lieutenant noted drily. "Both times. Over the side seems best. Why didn't you bring a sword?"

  "I'm wearing a dress," Bridget pointed out, tugging at her neckline irritably. "Thank the Lady I'm not as buxom as Janna. Besides, you didn't bring one either."

  "Crutches and a rapier don't mix; I've a dagger on my belt," Axel offered. "There by my tunic. Hurry along, woman."

  "Got it. Ready?" Bridget tapped her husband on the forehead and muttered a short cant. "This would be easier if you knew how to fly like all the wizards in the ballads."

  "No aptitude in that area," the Wizard shrugged as he rolled over the rail and hopped off the roof, tucking his crutches under his arm. Pinning her skirts between her legs and gripping her neckline, Bridget followed. Each dropped at an unnaturally slow rate, landing on the ground as if they had merely stepped off a curb rather than having fallen three stories.

  Moving nimbly across the rutted dirt that served as a lane, Axel crossed over to the dog, taking care to remain out of view of the brewery's few windows. "Blast," he muttered as Bridget joined him. "Stabbed and dragged. It may not be the trappers, but there's something going on. Go and get some help while I scout around."

  "Why don't I scout around while you go for help?" the priestess argued. "I left my slip, stockings, and blouse on the roof; I'm practically naked."

  "Because you're faster than I am," her husband explained patiently, tapping a crutch for emphasis. "And because my offensive spells are more varied and work close in, unlike yours. And because I'm ordering you, Serjeant! "

  "Oh, pish," Bridget crossed her eyes a
nd stuck out her tongue to demonstrate what she thought of his rank. "Very well, but be careful." She kissed him before trotting off, clutching her neckline, red-faced already.

  Axel watched her for a moment, an easy smile on his face, before turning to the business at hand. It had been years since he was last in action, which made the prospect immensely satisfying. After a brief review of spells, he murmured preparatory words and moved around to the side door he felt would be a likely approach for any intruders.

  Although he was a practitioner of Vectius Menana as Henri was, Axel was both far more experienced and since his wounding had made him home-bound, he had devoted thousands of hours to research and practice, honing his skills to a degree unusual in one his age.

  Bridget turned the corner of the street at a brisk trot, denying the urge to wave or look back: wasting time was a tactical sin. With her right hand at her neckline (which was nowhere near her neck; the dress was meant to be worn with a light blouse underneath) and her left hand lifting her skirts for better speed, concentration was required to keep her balance while moving quickly on the rutted dirt street in low cloth shoes that gave nothing in the way of traction or ankle support. Too much concentration, it turned out: hardly had she made the corner than strong arms clamped down upon her, eliciting a girlish shriek of surprise as she was bodily lifted off her feet and crushed against a barrel chest, a belted dagger or cudgel digging painfully into her left buttock and a greasy beard scratching the back of her neck. The stench of an unwashed body, old blood, and freshly drunk ale gagged her as she was bounced by her attacker to a slightly higher hold in the manner of a man adjusting the balance of a sack of grain.