Read Dark Obligations: Book One of the Phantom Badgers for Free Online Page B

was set into the slate panels near the center of the floor.
    The incongruous structure, the fir st artificial construction they had seen in over two hundred miles of riding trapped their attention for longer than an experienced scout would consider wise, but the structure’s lack of any symmetrical proportions, spacing, or scale held the eye like a magnet gripping iron. Finally Gabriella broke the numbing fascination of the odd pavilion and rubbed her eyes, reaching blindly to her side and jabbing the Threll in her mail-covered ribs until Starr hissed a response.
    Blinking hard in the manner of one crossing snowy ground on a very sunny day, Gabriella ignored the pavilion (as she chose to term the strange structure) and was shocked to see that the meadow was well-occupied, a fact that had completely eluded her until now. From the sighing grunt next to her she knew Starr was just realizing that they were not alone.
    Below them was parked a two wheeled cart such as they themselves had brought along on this expedition, a high-wheeled, durable vehicle that could be easily drawn by a single sturdy mule across the roughest terrain; this cart was still loaded, a worn tarp stretched tightly over its load, the harness hung neatly from the driver’s seat. A patch of ground had been cleared of grass and a circle of stones for an eveni ng cook fire had been assembled, a five-gallon water bag and a partially opened sack filled with dried dung for fuel nearby. Five bedrolls were laid out near the fire pit and two more a short distance away.
    A person was slumped against the inner side of one wheel of the cart, barely visible at this angle; two armed men lay a few feet from the pavilion’s edge, either dead or unconscious. No mounts were visible, although a length of rope still tied to a picket pin was visible a short distance from the cart. None of the figures were stirring, and nothing about them gave any clue as to their origins or alliegences at this distance.
    After studying the scene for several minutes, Gabriella eased over and tapped Starr on the elbow. Without lifting her head, the Lanthrell turned her face towards the knife-fighter and wagged her eyes in the gesture that equaled a helpless shrug. The dark woman moved one finger in a half-circle and pointed with her chin towards the pavilion, whose ability to fascinate seemed to be broken. Slipping back from the crest, the two circled around to enter the meadow with the pavilion between themselves and the cart.
    The two were closing on the odd structure when sudden movement in a clump of low bushes sent Gabriella diving for cover, the harsh snap of Starr’s bow and a ragged scream ripping the silence. As the dark Badger rolled to her feet she heard the bow release again and the sobbing howl abruptly cut off.
    “Moving,” she warned the Threll, shoving her sling (she had lost the bullet when she had ducked) under her belt and drawing her yataghans, the deadly Navian fighting dirks whose expert use rivals the quarterstaff and the sword-rapier in terms of death-art. Darting to the twitching form in the bushes, she kicked the figure in the shoulder, rolling the Human male out onto the grass. It only took a moment’s glance to know that he was no longer a threat: one arrow, likely the first fired, had caught him high on the chest, going in at a steep angle between the left shoulder and the throat; the other, likely the second shot, had struck him in the center of the throat, sliced open the airway and at least one major blood vessel, and then embedded itself in his spine.
    The man had been in his late twenties, a fighting type from his build and equipment, Gabriella noted as she expertly searched the body while Starr knelt nearby on guard, arrow nocked and ready. He had been dressed in unremarkable clothes, with a padded undertunic marked with the snags and rust marks from being worn under a mail shirt. He had a broadsword and a dagger of good quality at his belt, and a belt pouch