Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman Read online

  The group on the edge of the pit broke up and Berryc walked over to join the two rangers.

  “Looks like we're moving out at first light,” he told them, shaking his head. “What a mess…”

  “Where are we going?” asked Taarven.

  “We're going to be pursuing the Baasgarta that pulled out this morning. Whatever they found in that sarcophagus down there,” Berryc responded with a wave at the pit, “was important enough for them to start a war over so most likely we don't want them to have it. We're going to go take it back.”

  “That makes sense, I suppose,” said Engvyr, “And the slaves?”

  Berryc shrugged.

  “The 3rd is going to leave a platoon to tend to 'em. They'll put them to work burying the bodies and make sure that they're safe and fed. For now as far as they're concerned they are our slaves, and the easiest way to take care of them is to let them go right on thinking that until we can introduce them to the fact that they are free gradually.”

  “I can hardly imagine what's to become of them,” Engvyr said, shaking his head.

  “I suppose folk will take them in,” Berryc replied, “Eventually. What worries me a lot more is that once we kick the Baasgarta's butts we're going to face this problem magnified a thousand-fold. There are probably tens of thousands of dwarves in their lands.”

  “That sounds to me like a problem that is above my pay-grade,” said Engvyr.

  “What concerns me rather more,” Taarven said wryly, “Is the question of whether or not we can, as Berryc so elegantly put it, 'kick the Baasgarta's butts.'”

  “I dunno,” Engvyr said thoughtfully, “but from what we've seen so far I'm guessing that we can. For all that they are ferocious and fanatically determined they aren't actually very good at these large-unit actions. In the end they'd have to have us massively outnumbered to defeat us.”

  “That's as may be,” allowed Taarven, “but for all we know they do massively outnumber us, and they could have other tricks up their sleeves.”

  “Regardless, we've got it to do sooner or later,” Berryc told them, “And as we're starting early you boys had best get some sleep if you can.”

  Engvyr and Taarven were actually up before first light, having a hot breakfast and coffee. They set out on the trail of the goblins and their mysterious cargo. The rangers would scout ahead while the skirmishers followed along behind attempting to delay the Baasgarta until the main body of their forces could move up.

  “Hopefully they'll be expecting their own regiments to be coming along behind,” Berryc told them as they made ready to depart, “If'n they got word we're coming they could make things pretty difficult for us.”

  “That they could,” Taarven agreed, “There's a thousand places in these mountains where a small force could hold up our regiments for days.”

  They swung into their saddles and headed north moving quickly as they had a lot of time to make up. They had no fear of losing the trail as there was nothing tricky about following a few hundred goblins.

  By mid-day they found the first dead dwarven slave by the trail. He was an older fellow and at a guess had trouble keeping up. They'd simply slit his throat and pushed him off of the path. As skinny and wasted as his corpse was Engvyr didn't wonder that they had not bothered to butcher him for meat.

  The goblins were pressing on hard. They pursued them throughout the long afternoon and well into the night before stopping themselves. They made a cold camp and were on their way again before first light. At dawn they found where the goblins had stopped for several hours. The Baasgarta had apparently been in a celebratory mood and the rangers were sickened by the evidence of the feast that they had left behind.

  “I guess they took more slaves than they needed to carry the artifact,” Taarven observed. Engvyr nodded, feeling heartsick and enraged for their distant kin. There will be a reckoning, he promised the pitiful remains silently. They pressed on, now only scant hours behind their quarry. The trail narrowed, passing into a gully, and they paused.

  “Looks like a great place for an ambush,” Engvyr commented.

  “Or to wait for your friends to catch up,” Taarven said, “Either way I don't think that we want to ride up and just see what happens.”

  Signaling the others to wait, they cut off the trail and worked their way along below the crest of the ridge line until they could see down into the gully. Sure enough, the Baasgarta were there in company strength, positioned to ambush anyone that came along.

  “I'll keep watch here,” Taarven said quietly in Engvyr's ear, “You let the skirmishers know about these boys.”

  Engvyr nodded and backed carefully away from their viewpoint. Making his way to the ponies he mounted and began to ride back down the trail left by the Baasgarta. The simplest way to find the skirmisher's…

  “Halt!” came the command from the undergrowth alongside the trail.

  …was to let them find him. One of the soldiers came out to speak with him and he quickly described what they had found. Others came out of hiding as well to listen. In the end a full company followed him north to ambush the ambushers.

  They quietly rejoined Taarven, then the rangers and half of the skirmishers slowly worked their way past the Baasgarta. When they were certain they were clear of the goblin's sentry-line they moved back to the trail and set an ambush of their own. Soon they heard the troops on the hillside open up, firing down on the Baasgarta from above. The quieter slams of the goblin's crossbows answered and before long they could see the enemy retreating towards them, their full attention focused on the force above. The skirmishers that were lying in ambush on the trail took them from behind in a deadly crossfire. The goblins were unable to shelter from the fire of both forces at once and it was over in minutes.

  “Neatly done,” Engvyr complimented the company commander afterwards while they waited for one of the soldiers to bring their ponies up from where they had hidden them.

  “Worked a treat,” the commander agreed, “Except for the part where we lost two hours taking care of this bunch. We're that much further behind the Baasgarta and only an hour or so ahead of the regiments.”

  “One more delay like this and our chances of catching up with the Baasgarta go from 'slim' to 'none,'” Taarven observed, “Not to mention that as soon as this bunch realizes we're coming up behind 'em we're likely to bite into something a lot tougher to chew up than these boys were.”

  “And we're coming on to sunset,” said Engvyr. After thinking about things for a moment he continued, “So we're about to go charging into the night into unknown territory, not knowing our enemy's numbers, disposition or even if they know we're pursuing them. I'm as game as the next dwarf, boys, but does this actually sound like a good idea to anyone?”

  The Commander frowned and said, “Not to me it doesn't. It was all well and good to chase after them on the off chance we could catch up and do them a mischief. But I do not believe that we can, and it is no longer prudent to try. We're going to go defensive and wait for the regiments.”

  “Makes sense,” Engvyr agreed, then looked at Taarven, “Suppose that you and I just take us a bit of a look around in the meantime?”

  Taarven grunted and said, “Might be best. Lord and Lady know what might be lurking hereabouts. We could be a half-mile from an army and not know it in these mountains.”

  “Best you be about it then,” the commander told them, “and the Lord and Lady watch over you.”

  The rangers traveled cautiously through the darkness. Around midnight they found another company-sized ambush. They left markings along the trail to tip off the regiments and skirted the goblin force and continued, deeper into the unknown.

  They holed up in a gully off the main trail and rested for a few hours at dawn, even risking a tiny fire to heat some coffee before moving on. Occasionally they left markers along the trail to indicate that the way was clear. They stayed off of the path where they could and moved with painstaking caution where they couldn't.

&n
bsp; Late that afternoon they passed through another narrow valley. The trail skirted a small lake. They examined the area from the edge of the forest and saw the trail enter a crack in the rocks at the far end. Engvyr was about to ride out when Taarven stopped him with a hiss.

  “Look at the cliff-face on the left side of the path, a hundred paces up the mountain,” he told him. Engvyr did as he was told and caught a flash of light. They waited and when the flash came again Engvyr pulled his spyglass and scanned the rock face. He caught the flash again and nodded.

  “Yep. There's someone up there with a glass,” he said, handing his own instrument to Taarven.

  The other ranger examined the face for several minutes, then said, “There he is. Well, that presents a bit of a problem…”

  Engvyr examined the lay of the land. The slopes were forested in pine and aspen with a strip of mountain meadow running down the center of the little valley up to the lake. It would be wet, almost marshy in the middle of that grassy area.

  “I'm pretty sure,” Engvyr said at length, gesturing to the western edge of the valley, which was already in shadow, “that at twilight we can work our way along that edge on foot and have a look up that canyon.”

  Twilight was actually a better time to attempt the approach with the ground dark and the sky bright, the watcher above would be nearly blind to anything going on in the deep shadows.

  Taarven agreed, and said, “Can't see as there is a way around it. Can't say as I like it, either.”

  “Best we leave a mark along the trail, then get these ponies stashed and maybe get some rest. This is shaping up to be a long night.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “How do you tell someone that they are free when even the concept of ‘freedom’ has never occurred to them?”

  From the diaries of Engvyr Gunnarson

  The 4th Heavy Infantry moved through the camp late in the afternoon of the breakout. The refugees cheered them on their way; they had a proprietary feeling for the regiment due to the battalion that had sacrificed itself to allow them to get to safety. The regiment settled into the defenses at the mouth of the pass where they would spend the night before following after the other regiments.

  Word of the slave-camp and the pursuit came to the camp late the next morning. Deandra had listened with horror to the account of the mass-execution of the mining slaves. It was all Ynghilda, Deandra and Grael could do to keep the enraged dwarven refugees from following the regiments en masse in pursuit of the fleeing Baasgarta.

  Squirrel was picking up the language quickly in the way of children immersed in a new culture. The Dwarven language and the dialect of the slaves were both descendants of a common tongue, which helped. There were still many words he didn't understand but after a few days he could for the most part make himself understood. It's getting him to understand us that's the problem, Deandra reflected, and that's a problem much greater than mere words.

  The boy was sitting nearby peeling turnips. When presented with the task and a small knife with which to accomplish it he had been wide-eyed with joy. Apparently among the slaves being a cook was a high-status position. He approached the job with single-minded determination worthy of a much more complex task. Deandra had watched the boy with concern as the story of the executions unfolded but he had kept working diligently, seemingly little affected. While the others discussed these events among themselves Deandra spoke to the boy.

  “Squirrel? Are you alright?”

  He looked up at her warily and said, “Yes Deandra. I do good job, yes? Finish soon!”

  She blinked in surprise at this response.

  “Did you understand what the ranger was saying?”

  He appeared puzzled, but nodded and said, “He say many dwarves, Braell like me, killed by Masters, yes?”

  “Yes, that is what he said,” She confirmed, “Does that upset you?”

  The boy thought about that for a moment, “If my ahfnoon, how you say? Crew? If they dead I miss them, be sad for me. But happy thing, yes? They reborn to Gotlaeyef, is better, yes?”

  “Gotlaeyef?” she asked, “I don't know this word.”

  He frowned, and said, “When God is repaid, Braell die and are born in better life. Is called Gotlaeyef. No branding, no leg-cut. Have nice clothes, be warm, never hungry.”

  He looked pensive for a moment and gestured around the room.

  “This maybe Gotlaeyef I think.”

  Deandra let that sink in for a moment. Lord and Lady! She thought, what must his life have been like that he thinks sitting in a corner peeling vegetables is paradise?

  — **-

  The 4th pulled out of the defensive works to catch up with the rest of the army the next morning and were replaced by the militia. The area was clear of any serious military threat but there were still Baasgarta scattered throughout the valley. According to the rangers they mostly seemed intent on heading north as quickly as they could.

  “We're going to hold off on a full-scale return to the valley for the moment,” Ynghilda said, “But we are going to re-occupy the palisade and steading. It's defensible enough and we need to get the Braell inside before real cold weather sets in or we're going to lose a lot more of them.”

  She turned to Deandra and said, “I'll be wanting you to take Squirrel and a party of volunteers to the excavation to collect the folk there. The boy can help translate and explain what's going on. We can settle them in the great hall for the moment. It'll be tight but they'll all be indoors and safe.”

  “That's probably best,” Deandra agreed, “They're going to need considerable training. Apparently apart from their specific jobs they don't know how to do anything for themselves.”

  “Well, we'll just have to train them along with everything else,” Ynghilda said. “While you're getting them shifted I'll be taking a party of militia and some of the household with me to make things ready for them.”

  “Do we have wagons that I can use to fetch them?” Deandra asked, “The adults will move rather slowly else-wise.”

  Ynghilda looked at her and asked, “Why would that be?”

  “You didn't hear about the 'leg-cut' the adults receive?” Deandra asked. Ynghilda shook her head and Deandra felt her heart sink. She said, “Squirrel says that when a Braell becomes an adult the Baasgarta cut the back of their left leg. To cripple them so that they cannot run. Ever.”

  The older woman swore.

  “Maker take them all!” she said. Mastering her anger with a visible effort she continued, “Yes, I suppose that we had best round up some wagons. Why don't you attend to that tonight. We'd planned an early start tomorrow, and you'll need it if we're to have the Braell under a roof by nightfall.”

  It was noon when Deandra and the train of wagons arrived at the excavation site. The platoon of soldiers left behind to watch over the former slaves greeted them gladly.

  “What will you do now that we are taking charge of them?” Deandra asked the Sergeant in charge, “Will you go with the 4th to re-join your own regiments?”

  The sergeant shook his head and said, “No ma'am. We were told to look after these folk and that's just what I mean to do. Here or at the Makepeace Steading makes me no never-mind. Matter a‘fact it'll be a sight easier havin' them within walls. Harder for 'em to wander off and out here; they’re as helpless as a bunch a' wooly sheep.”

  Deandra looked across the pit to the rough sheds that sheltered the Braell for now. Some of them sat around outside but most were out of site. She turned to Squirrel.

  “If you go to them and tell them to come get into the wagons, will they do it?”

  He ducked his head and said, “I tell them you say do, they do.”

  “Then please go do that now,” she said. He started to scamper off but she halted him and he looked back. “Squirrel- don't waste time with stories or explanations just yet, eh? We'll tell them what they need to know when they are settled in the great hall.”

  The boy nodded and ran off. After a time the Braell be
gan filing out of their shelters and coming forward. Deandra was shocked afresh at their condition. They were a good six inches shorter on average than the dwarves that she knew, and more lightly built. At first she thought that they were mostly older, but they were merely wizened by the sun and they all limped to greater or lesser degree, which increased the impression of age. They kept their gazes fixed on the ground before them. Though the soldiers spoke to them gently they cringed and flinched when a guiding hand touched them.

  All were branded on the cheek and the men and women all wore threadbare pants with a ragged, filthy shirt that exposed the brand on the back of their right shoulder. Each carried a tattered roll of fabric that she guessed was their bedding.

  Deandra made a quick count and found there were roughly a hundred survivors. Squirrel returned and with him translating loading the wagons went much faster. He was very excited, as he had discovered that his crew was still alive. He rode in the wagon with them chattering excitedly, showing them his knife and the new clothes that he wore. This actually seemed to make his crew more nervous, and several times she caught them glancing at her fearfully.

  Deandra sighed to herself. I imagine this must be terrifying for them, she thought, being thrust into a life not merely new but unsuspected.

  They pulled into the yard inside the palisade as the sun was nearly touching the peaks. Ynghilda was there to meet them with an old red-haired dwarf that she did not recognize. He was dressed much like the soldiers, but wore no armor or weapons, excepting the ubiquitous sax-knife worn by most dwarves.

  “Deandra, I'd like you to meet Vaalketyr, a healer loaned to us by the 3rd Rifles. He's to help us get these folks tended to and settled in.”

  The healer bowed to her, then looked over the folk in the wagons, wrinkled his nose and said, “I think the first thing will be to run them through your bath-house and get them into clean shirts. Before we take them into the great-hall and examine them.”