*
Brokin took life seriously, very seriously indeed, tackling even the smallest and least important tasks with a pride and dedication setting him apart from other badgers.
He stood now on a small ledge far above Badachro Sett, studying the shadows cast onto the rocky cliff face by the moon. He was small of stature and spoke with a soft voice, a fact which led many badgers who did not know him to assume he was also soft physically. This was far from the truth because Brokin was a gifted fighter and justifiably proud of the fact that he could beat any badger in a fight, fair or otherwise.
Turning aside from his shadow fighting, Brokin took a rest and stared down at Badachro Sett spread out below him. It was unlike any other sett in Boddaert's Realm; the tunnels– the few there were– being short and shallow. The ground around Badachro Mountain was very thin and hard to dig, so most badgers chose to live in the caves that extended well into the rocky outcrop.
The badgers dwelling in Badachro Sett were considered deviant by others and Brokin himself was no exception, but it wasn't until he took up his fighting stance that you might notice he carried an extra claw on each foot.
The sound of an argument reached Brokin as he rested from his exertions and he chuckled quietly to himself when he recognised the voices. Checta had strayed into Root's hunting grounds again, something she did quite often, and the fact that she only had three legs, and found it hard to hunt for food, seemed to hold little sway with Root. Once again the bad-tempered boar was chasing her off. Brokin shook his head sadly: they all had their burdens to bear.
Badachro Sett was a loose conglomeration of smaller badger communities and as each group mistrusted the other, an uneasy alliance existed. A Council of Elders kept the peace between the factions, setting down the laws and mores of the sett. Meeting infrequently, usually when a crisis arose, they promulgated their decisions and of necessity, most badgers accepted their rulings.
Brokin had been summoned before the Council of Elders two moons earlier and as he'd listened to Checta and Root's argument being played out below, he thought back over the encounter.
*
Drac, the leading Elder, scowled at Brock as he entered the cave. "You've heard the rumours?" he asked abruptly.
"Yes," Brokin answered with a curt nod.
The rumours referred to by Drac had been circulating the sett for some time now. They concerned stories of badgers being kidnapped, in some cases killed.
Drac nodded slowly as Brokin answered, throwing the other Elders a meaningful look before continuing.
"During the last full moon we sent Elka to Brockenhurst Sett to check out these rumours." The Elder paused, looking uncomfortable for a moment. "He hasn't returned," he finished flatly.
Brokin was not surprised, because from what he'd heard, any badger entering Brockenhurst Forest was likely to be taken prisoner and put to work on some crazy earthworks that were being constructed. Wild stories about badgers being trained as fighters were also circulating, but no one knew how true these were. A large boar named Cherva was rumoured to be in control of the fighters and was reputed to be ruthless in his dealings with any badger who dissented.
"We were wondering if you might agree to go to Brockenhurst Sett and find out what's going on."
The Elder looked at Brokin, uncertainty wrinkling his snout, unsure of what the young boar's reactions might be. Then sighing heavily he stared down at the floor.
"To be truthful, we need your help Brokin," he finally admitted. "We need to know what's happening, because if these rumours are true, and the Preceptor is planning to take over Boddaert's Realm, it's inevitable that he'll attack us at some point in the future."
Brokin's breath caught in the back of his throat and his eyes narrowed. "But I've heard nothing of this. What makes you think the Preceptor of Brockenhurst Sett is aiming to take over Boddaert's Realm?"
The Elder shifted uncomfortably and glanced at the others before answering. Two nodded as though in assent.
"Well," Drac continued slowly, "When I told you just now that Elka hadn't returned from his trip to Brockenhurst, it wasn't strictly true. He was found a half-moon walk from here, dying from his wounds. He had a high fever and wasn't making much sense, but he did tell the badgers who found him that the Preceptor was taking over control of all the setts in Brockenhurst Forest and had plans to expand his power into all of Boddaert's Realm. Unfortunately he died before he could tell us anything more useful.
Brokin stared hard at Drac, as though trying to read his mind. The Elder looked away, then down at the floor again. The dark shadows cast by the uneven walls of the cave hid the fact that the old badger had one blue eye and one brown.
"We know how skilled you are at stalking," Drac continued quietly. "If any badger can get into Brockenhurst Sett and out again without being caught, it's you."
"What wounds?" Drac suddenly asked in a sharp voice.
"What?" Drac responded, shaking his head in confusion.
"You said that Elka had died of his wounds," Brokin reminded the old boar. "What wounds? I want to know what I'd be up against if I went."
A small involuntary shiver ran down Drac's back. "His stomach had been ripped open, his snout crushed, and his leg broken. But he somehow managed to drag himself all the way back here before he died. The Prime Mover knows how!"
"I'll agree to go on one condition," Brokin stated flatly.
They waited expectantly but Brokin just continued to stare at them silently while they squirmed.
Before training himself to such a high degree in the art of fighting, some of these very badgers had made Brokin's life a constant misery, taking great delight in baiting him about his size and the way he spoke. Now he wanted them to beg for his favours, make them realise how much they needed him. He wanted his pound of flesh.
"What condition?" Drac was finally forced to ask.
"That I'm put in charge of training our fighters if the Preceptor does decide to launch this attack. Do you agree?"
After a short pause and a surreptitious glance at the other Elders, Drac nodded his consent.
Brokin left the cave deep in thought, already planning his strategy should the need arise to defend Badachro Sett.
Later that moon, Brokin ate a good meal of worms, and set out on the long journey to the Brockenhurst Mountains, well satisfied with the way things were turning out for him. From a small insignificant badger, constantly taunted about his appearance, he'd turned himself into a boar whose opinions and skills were sort by the highest authority in the sett. Not bad, not bad at all.
*
Cherva stood quite still, watching the Preceptor standing atop the fortifications. The boar was staring at the stars, and even though Cherva was too far away to hear any words, he instinctively knew that Grindel was talking to them.
The breeze was warm, the moon bathing the forest in a bright white light that brought everything into sharp relief. It was well into the summer-cycle now, but soon life would slow as the winter-cycle approached. If the Preceptor left his planned attack on Badachro Sett much longer, he'd be forced to postpone it until after the cold winter winds had relinquished their hold on the forest.
Cherva decided to check on his guards, they were becoming slack of late. Leaving the Preceptor to his communion with the stars, he quietly slipped away.
Cherva heard the guard's voices long before reaching their position. A bad sign, lax guards were a danger to the sett. These two obviously needed a sharp lesson and he looked forward to giving them one.
Creeping through the undergrowth with a stealth surprising for one his size, the big badger circled the two guards. They were eating worms and chatting animatedly a short distance from the pathway they were supposed to be guarding. Taking his time Cherva worked his way nearer, hardly disturbing the large area of ferns as he moved through them.
"I don't care what Lish says, I've had enough of all this." The guard's disgruntled complaints carried to Cherva as he moved into position above t
he pair.
Cherva had approached the guards through the tangled undergrowth growing along the top of a low ridge running parallel to the forest path, and he now lay directly over their heads, a perfect position from which to launch a surprise attack on them.
He smiled in anticipation.
"Don't talk so loudly Cros! If any badger overhears us, we'll be in deep trouble."
Cherva poked his snout out over the edge of the ridge, studying the guards carefully. He didn't recognise either of them, but that was no surprise, given the large influx of badgers into the sett lately.
The first guard spoke again. "All I'm saying is now's the time to go. If we're going to do it, it has to be now. We can't wait much longer. Our relief will be here soon and when they come it'll be too late to do anything. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life stuck in this place?"
Cherva growled low in his throat as the rebellious words reached him, raising himself to his feet, making ready to attack.
"Don't move, not one muscle, not so much as a whisker." A sharp claw pressing into the large artery under Cherva's jaw accompanied the whispered order.
Cherva instinctively knew the badger at his side had only to make the slightest movement to spill his life-blood onto the forest floor, so he kept very still, hardly daring to breathe.
Moving carefully, Cherva's assailant picked up a small stone and lobbed it over the edge of the ridge.
"Hey you two down there," he called. "Get up here now."
The softly spoken words stirred the two guards below and one cursed loudly.
Cherva waited patiently, aware, that for the moment, the small badger at his side was in complete control. The two guards scrambled their way up onto the ridge and stared in fascination at the scene that greeted them.
Cherva, their taskmaster, head bowed to the ground, held there by a diminutive figure half his size.
The stranger smiled a greeting at them and nodded at Cherva. "This badger was about to attack you," he said. "I thought you ought to know."
Cherva growled quietly, grimacing as the small badger pressed his claw harder into his neck. A warning to be still.
"By Homer badger!" The nearer of the two guards protested. "What are you doing? That's Cherva."
The stranger looked at his captive with a quizzical expression and smiled. "You're Cherva?" he asked, quickly releasing his hold.
Cherva grunted as the pressure on his neck eased and turned to face the small badger who'd attacked him, his eyes smouldering with rage. He responded in a menacing tone.
"You have just forfeited your life stranger," he snarled. Turning to the two wide-eyed guards he pointed at his assailant. "Kill this interloper and report to me when your replacements arrive."
So saying, Cherva stalked off into the undergrowth, leaving his guards to carry out his orders.
Chapter 20
The ten-moon journey from Badachro to Brockenhurst Forest had been for the most part uneventful, which made Brokin's present situation all the more awkward.
He realised now that he should have stayed well hidden after spotting the large badger preparing to attack the guards, but he had hoped to use the situation as a means of winning favour and gaining entrance to the sett.
Brokin stood perfectly still, watching the two guards glance nervously at each other. It was obvious to him that they were unsure of themselves, and because of their nervousness, the slightest movement might cause them to attack him in a panic. So he did nothing, just smiled at the guards, trying to ease the tension.
The badger on Brokin's left moved closer to his companion keeping a wary eye on Brokin all the time.
"What do you think?" he whispered.
The other guard responded with a grunt, looking about nervously.
Brokin kept his equanimity when the pair began arguing with each other, standing stock-still, waiting to see what they would decide to do. He was confident, that should they try to kill him, they would both die very quickly, but he hoped he wouldn't be forced to take that course, surreptitiously flexing his claws in readiness.
Finally the pair reached a decision and glanced over at him.
"Stay where you are and don't move," one ordered. "We're going to get help. If you move, one of us will come back and kill you!"
Brokin managed to keep a straight face at the guard's audacity, but only just. He nodded slightly, letting them know that he'd heard and understood their orders.
These two idiots had no intention of going for help, he thought. They were about to take off as fast as their cowardly legs would carry them.
Brokin watched the pair scramble over the edge of the ridge and down onto the path, still arguing as they went, and as they disappeared along the forest footpath, he quietly slipped into the air vent they'd been guarding.
As Brokin squeezed himself along the narrow vent, keeping alert for any guards that might be posted along the way, he found his small size a distinct advantage.
Deeper into the sett the tunnel became more and more stuffy, the scents invading his sensitive nose making him gag. Moving quickly now, he followed the twists and turns, trying to keep track of the direction he was travelling in.
Gradually a sound began to make itself felt, a soft rumbling that got louder the further he went, and suddenly he realised what was causing it– voices.
It was the noise of hundreds of voices echoing along the tunnel towards him. Slowing his pace to a crawl, Brokin proceeded with more caution, his excitement building.
At last he reached the end of the tunnel and stopped just short of the opening, tentatively poking his snout out over the sheer drop for a look. The noise and stench hit him like a physical blow and he quickly withdrew, trying his best not to gasp too loudly.
After some time, he was able to breathe the feted air without wanting to vomit and decided to try another quick peek, discovering that the air vent he'd so laboriously manoeuvred his way along was situated high up on one wall of an enormous chamber.
Looking upwards he could see that a gigantic root pierced the roof, snaking down until it disappeared into the floor far below him. High up in this root, a large chamber had been fashioned.
Brokin's eyes widened as he suddenly realised what he was looking at. This was the fabled Great Chamber of Brockenhurst Sett itself. The very burrow that had been dug by Boddaert all those generations ago!
The Great Chamber was packed tightly with badgers of every shape and size, the whole conglomeration filling the space available to overflowing. In some places badgers were so tightly squeezed together that they were almost standing on top of each other. As they jostled for more space an occasional fight broke out, but even these outbursts were quickly smothered by lack of room.
The almost unbearable noise suddenly quietened and Brokin saw that a boar had entered the taproot chamber and was now staring down at the assembled badgers. He studied the seething mass far below him, the corner of his lips upturned in an unconscious sneer. Brokin guessed that this must be Grindel, the Preceptor of Brockenhurst Sett.
"Badgers," the boar's harsh voice boomed out, bringing every eye in the Great Chamber to his position. "We are almost ready. Our defences have been built. We have captured females for our pleasure. And together, we have crushed those setts standing in the way of what is to come. Only one obstacle remains now and that is Badachro Sett."
The Preceptor paused for a moment, licking his lips before continuing, as though savouring his next words before their delivery.
"When Badachro Sett is finally destroyed, Boddaert's Realm will be ours for the taking, and every badger living in it will bow to our power."
As the Preceptor paused again, the badgers assembled in the Great Chamber exploded into a cheer that almost deafened Brokin in his hiding place, and it was as well that they did, because the shock of hearing the Preceptor's words had wrung a loud gasp from his throat.
Withdrawing back into the vent, Brokin tried to steady his rapidly beating heart. He must get back to
Badachro Sett at once and warn the Elders.
As he struggled to turn around in the tight tunnel, the Preceptor's voice washed over him again.
"Winter is almost upon us badgers, so we must wait. But after it has shed its cold embrace, then we will attack Badachro Sett. Under Cherva's command, our fighters will search out and kill every malformed freak living in that cesspit, so that no misfit is left alive to contaminate our future. Not one boar. Not one sow. Not even a single cub, will escape our retribution. Then, then my brothers, we will be free to restore the splendour that once dwelt in every sett throughout Boddaert's Realm. Once this curse has been lifted from our beautiful domain, our cubs will inherit a land of plenty. No more winters so cold that the lowest levels freeze. No more summers so wet that our setts flood. We will live in a land of abundance, a land with a future, fit for all who hold true to the mores. What say you my brothers? Is this not just? Is this not our right?"
The noise of the baying badgers echoed up to Brokin as he negotiated the tight turn and set off along the tunnel as fast as his legs would carry him.
Finally reaching the welcome fresh air, he slowed his pace, and after a moment's hesitation to check whether the coast was clear, broke from the air vent at a fast run, hoping to catch any guard stationed there by surprise.
He need not have worried, the two deserters had not yet been replaced.
*
Brock slowly realised that he was not going mad after all.
A badger named Skelda had invaded his mind and had somehow taken over his body. All that was left to him now was this deep recess in his consciousness where he was forced to hide like some frightened cub. But along with this realisation, came a determination to wrest back control and throw out this invader of his being.
There must be a way, what one badger could do, then another might undo. Thinking about Soffen had given Brock the strength to fight back once before and he reasoned that it might do so again.
Tentatively sending out his anima, Brock let it slither through the pathways of his mind like a slow-worm, wriggling along the edges– slyly, stealthily, so that Skelda would not be alerted.