Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

by Michael Pearce

  The camp was already stirring, with dawn breaking just as the rangers arrived. They quickly reported their findings to the Captain, who was able to confirm that others had also seen riders moving south. It seemed likely that at least a battalion of cavalry was going to hit them. The alert was passed along.

  Feeding the two rangers was the last thing the cooks did before tearing down the mess tent. Taarven and Engvyr wolfed down their breakfast before saddling fresh mounts for the day's movement. The soldiers had the camp torn down even faster than they had put it up. The column formed quickly and began to move along the path left by the fleeing Baasgarta. Somewhere ahead the cavalry waited, but they were ready…

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “There are two kinds of powerful people. Those that see wealth and power as a means of helping others, and those that see it only as a way to help themselves.”

  From the diaries of Engvyr Gunnarson

  “Riders coming in!” shouted the sentry from the gatehouse. Ynghilda and Deandra were crossing the court, deep in conversation and paused. Whomever it was that was coming, the guard stood and waved them straight through. From that Deandra deduced that they were known to the guard, and thus most likely to her as well, so she was quite surprised when the riders entered the courtyard at a trot. She was more startled still when Ynghilda gave a gasp of shock and knelt, but not so startled that she failed to emulate her.

  The first, and most commanding figure among them, rode a large bay pony, thick of neck with a long, flowing mane and heavily feathered lower legs. Its tack, harness and saddle were richly made with accents of silver. The rider's clothes were of utilitarian cut, but excellently made and richly trimmed. He was not elaborately coiffed as one might expect from his clothing; rather his beard was in the short, neat trim that Engvyr and Taarven wore, and his auburn hair was cut in a soldier's bob. Deandra had spent enough time with Engvyr to examine the man's weapons as well. There was a long-rifle scabbarded at his saddle, a stout cut-and-thrust sword at his side and a handgun, the first she had ever seen, slung about his body.

  Behind him rode a younger dwarf, only slightly less richly appointed, bearing a standard. They were accompanied by a dozen or so unhappy-looking mounted infantrymen. They bore badges on the shoulders of their great-cotes, the same as the emblem on the banner, a green oak with a circlet around its trunk. Which would make the rider…

  “Prince Istvaar,” Ynghilda said, bowing her head in greeting, “We did not expect you so soon!”

  The prince vaulted from the saddle and waved them to their feet saying, “Now, now, none of that! Save that nonsense for court, where there's already so much silliness that it doesn't look out of place.”

  The two women rose and he regarded them with pleasure. He said, “Ynghilda Makepeace I presume? It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  “And you as well, your Highness,” she replied.

  Turning to Deandra he continued, “And you would be Lady Eastgrove?”

  It took her a moment to realize that he was speaking to her. 'Eastgrove' was the name that she and Engvyr had chosen for their estate, though at present that 'estate' consisted of some pasture-land, patches of woods and the grove of chestnut trees for which it was named. Blushing she responded, “I am. It is a great honor to meet you.”

  “Only because you don't know me,” he responded, grinning like a wicked little boy.

  He pulled off his riding gauntlets and gestured with them to the leader of the soldiers.

  “May I present Captain Kollyr Skullison of the Prince’s Own, and currently in charge of my bodyguard. Don't scowl so, Kollyr!” He commanded, then turned back to the ladies and said, with an air of confidentiality, “He's a bit put out that he couldn't arrive in proper state.”

  The Captain rolled his eyes, and with a look that spoke eloquently of long-suffering patience said, “'He' is a bit put out that you left the bulk of the regiment to ride ahead without adequate precautions or guards.”

  The Prince waved away that concern as the soldiers dismounted.

  “Please,” Ynghilda said, “Have your men see to their horses and make free of our stables; in the meantime perhaps we can adjourn to the great hall for some refreshment? Captain, I'd be pleased to have you join us as well.”

  Then she frowned and added, “I'd be pleased to have your men join us but the hall is near-bursting as it is with our other guests.”

  “Ah yes,” the Prince said as the Captain passed the order along to his men, “The Braell, yes? I must confess that I am eager to see them for myself.”

  “Well then, your Highness, come on in and we'll introduce you,” Ynghilda said, “If it's all the same I'll let Lady Eastgrove manage that whilst I speak to my own people.”

  They entered the great hall, which was fairly teeming with Braell. They were divided into groups, and the last few days had made a world of difference in their appearance and demeanor. The women now mostly dressed like other women of Ynghilda's household in a linen underdress covered by a surcoat composed of the rectangles of fabric, front and back, connected by straps over the shoulder and belted at the waist. The men still wore what were basically army uniforms, but they had gotten past the notion that they must carry everything that they owned at all times. Some wore their great-cotes, closed or open down the front. Others wore just the linen undershirt and trews. They had lost the homogenous appearance that had worried Deandra and Ynghilda at first.

  Deandra smiled to herself as she remembered their first cautious steps into individuality. One morning one of the men, looking very nervous, had been wearing his great-cote open with his shirt belted beneath it in a style favored by some of the men of the hold. The others had all watched her surreptitiously to see how she would react. Oh my, she had thought, realizing what was going on, I wonder if they actually drew straws to see who would brave our wrath. When neither she nor anyone else reacted to his initiative others gradually began to change their own appearance, until now each of them simply dressed in the way that they found most comfortable.

  Deandra explained much of this to the prince as they moved among the groups learning everyday skills and language.

  “I'm no expert,” the Prince said, “but the cut of the women's dresses seems a bit unusual…?”

  Deandra nodded and explained, “We'd been worried about getting the women 'properly dressed' as we simply didn't have the fabric. It was actually one of the Braell girls that came up with the solution. We had quite a lot of extra undershirts and the girl, Sunlight is her name, asked if we mightn’t cut them off below the arms and stitch that to the bottom of their shirts to make a skirt. She so wanted to dress 'like a girl!'”

  Deandra chuckled at the memory and continued, “Well, it simply hadn't occurred to any of us, but with a little tailoring it worked out quite well. She's learning embroidery also, and making impressive progress.”

  They joined Ynghilda by the hearth to continue their conversation over coffee and some finger-foods. The Prince quickly took charge of the conversation.

  “So,” he began briskly, “I and my Regiment are not here to reinforce the offensive, or at least not primarily for that purpose.”

  “Oh?” said Ynghilda with a raised eyebrow. Deandra straightened in her chair and perked her ears.

  “My mission is actually to do with the Braell rather than the Baasgarta,” he told them, “I am sure that it has occurred to you that we will be liberating thousands, or even tens of thousands of them. Liberating those people is in fact the purpose of the entire offensive; all other goals are secondary.”

  “That being the case I'd like to spend a few days here to study what you folk are doing. I'll certainly learn a great deal from your experience, and mayhap I can make some useful suggestions of my own?”

  He looked at them with an open, inquisitive expression. Deandra shared a look with Ynghilda and then said, “Well, your Highness, I'm sure that you are most welcome, and we will be happy to aid in your efforts any way that we may.” />
  Ynghilda offered her quarters for his use but he demurred. “I'll stay with my regiment,” he said, then with a somewhat ironic air continued, “I assure you, I will be quite comfortable! I tend to… travel well. King's son and all that; my staff would be horrified to have me travel in less than luxury.”

  Several of the Prince's bodyguards entered the room and stationed themselves here and there about the great hall. Deandra noted that their eyes tracked around the space ceaselessly, never settling for more than an instant and never looking at the Prince himself. Exhausting duty, she thought, staying alert for hours at a time like that. But surely the Prince is safe enough here.

  They discussed their dealings with the Braell, from the moment that the former slaves had arrived until the present. Throughout the conversation he listened with keen attention, asking intelligent and perceptive questions. Any inclination Deandra might have had to think him frivolous, based on his conduct at their initial meeting, evaporated as his formidable intellect and dedication to his appointed task became apparent.

  “Have there been any more problems such as you had with that 'Breaks Rock' fellow?”

  Deandra shook her head and replied, “None at all. They do learn quickly and are used to harsh discipline for the slightest offense. Once they are aware of the rules they abide by them scrupulously.”

  The Prince raised an eyebrow and said, “And he was unaware that we would consider rape an offense?”

  Ynghilda said, with evident distaste, “Not only was such behavior not punished by the Baasgarta, it was sometimes rewarded. Some of them liked to watch. Even so, and very much to the average Braell's credit, only the worst bullies among them participated in such… activities.”

  The Prince leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers as he thought a moment before asking, “And this Breaks Rock fellow, how is he doing now?”

  Deandra made a moue of distaste.

  “Not well. While some allowance has to be made for his injury he has shown no signs that he is inclined to mend his ways. He has been sullen and withdrawn, and while not actually obstructive has made little progress, doing the bare minimum that he can to get by. I'm a bit concerned; some of the others inclined to be bullies are watching carefully to see how we react to his attitude.”

  “How have you reacted?” the Prince asked curiously.

  “Well for one thing he's been skipped over for kitchen duty,” Ynghilda said, “Which is when we issue them their knives.”

  “A point that has not been lost on the other Braell,” Deandra added, “Thus far the combination of his injuries, and possibly the fact that everyone around him now has a knife, has prevented any attempts at violence. Unfortunately I wouldn't bet money that will continue indefinitely.”

  “Well, we have pig-headed, stubborn bullies enough among our own folk,” the Prince allowed with a sigh, “As a change of subject, we'd like to take some of these folk with us when we move north; we're going to need translators, a good few of them at least. Ideally we'll want volunteers, and they'll be carried on the regiment's roles as civilian consultants.”

  Deandra frowned in thought.

  “That will be… problematic. Not only do they not really understand the idea of volunteering, they still don't quite understand pay or even what money is and how it works. We've been gradually introducing them to such ideas but it's pretty foreign to their experience.”

  “Not to mention that it would be very easy to take advantage of them, even without meaning to,” Ynghilda added, “We'll have to be very careful establishing rules for any that go with you, and for the soldiers that deal with them.”

  The Prince nodded, and said, “Well, we’ll need to work on that, then. I think we need to look for our volunteers among the best-adapted of the Braell, which will likely mean the young. Which could lead to its own set of problems…”

  The problem with Breaks Rocks solved itself that very afternoon. The prince was introduced to the Braell as a group. Deandra was not sure that they managed to convey who exactly he was; the Braell still had only the shakiest grasp of the idea that Ynghilda's lands were only a small portion of a much larger area but they did get across that he was important.

  The Prince was speaking to the group of them in the language class when there was a commotion. By the time Ynghilda and Deandra arrived they found Breaks Rock face-down on the floor at the bottom of a pile of Braell. They were holding his arms and legs, and several lying across his body as he was struggled and cursed. He still clutched a long kitchen-knife in one hand. Ynghilda stepped on his wrist and plucked the knife from his grasp. The Braell took this as a signal to release him, but even as he rose to his feet two of the Prince’s bodyguards took him firmly by the arms.

  “Sir,” one of the bodyguards explained, “This fellow pulled out that knife and made to go for your Highness's back, but before we could fire, the Braell all grabbed him and piled on.”

  “Ma'am? If I may?”

  Deandra turned to the speaker, the female crew-boss called Drill Fast.

  “Yes?”

  “Breaks Rock, he hate being here, say we all sinning, betraying God again and he fix. He kill important-man and God love him again, then he die and go to Gotlaeyef.”

  Deandra shook her head as she parsed that, and said, “You did well to stop him, but you should have told us.”

  Drill Fast hung her head and said, “Some say so, but we not know, maybe he do, maybe is talk, so we watch, wait for him to do.”

  “Well you did fine, but next time tell us before something happens,” Ynghilda said. She looked to The Prince, who in his turn deferred to Deandra.

  “Lady Eastgrove is, I believe, the local Crown Authority, as well as being in charge of these people?”

  Deandra shot him a glance, but his face was bland as he waited for her response. She had never thought much of her position as a Lady of the Realm; it meant less to her than it did even to Engvyr. Certainly she did not think of her position as placing her above Ynghilda, but in fact, in the legal sense, it did convey to her one particular, special obligation that Ynghilda did not possess. The right, the duty, of pronouncing High Justice. The power literally of life and death.

  The Prince of course could claim that right, but he had abstained from doing so. It dawned on Deandra that he was testing her, and would be judging her performance of her duty. Her sentence would be reviewed by the Crown of course, but she still must act in accordance with her station.

  She drew a deep breath, squared her shoulders and addressed the Braell, and for that matter all present.

  “Breaks Rock stands accused of attempting the murder of a Prince of the Royal House,” She said, “We have account of his actions from this witness. Is there any among you that can dispute her claim?”

  She waited a moment and turned to the Braell and said, “That means, do any of you say Breaks Rock was not trying to kill him?” she said, pointing at the Prince. They all remained silent, and a few of them shook their heads. She turned to Breaks Rock.

  “Do you say that you were not trying to kill him?” she asked him, indicating the Prince again. He simply glared at her from his one good eye, so she continued asking, “Do you have anything to say in your own defense?”

  Now he spoke.

  “You are ugly to God! You will all die in pain, and when the Sleeper awakens he will ridta your souls!”

  There was more of the same, but eventually he wound down. Deandra had killed men, Baasgarta anyway, in the heat of combat. This was different, but she understood that it was just as necessary. For the first time she felt the weight of responsibility, the reality of the power granted to her by marrying Engvyr. She consulted Ynghilda briefly, being unsure of the proper phrasing and terms. Then steeling herself, she continued.

  “Breaks Rock, by the statements of those present and the witness of my own eyes, I find you guilty of attempted murder and Regicide. By the Power vested in me by His Majesty Dvalin Dvalinson, King of Dvargatil Baeg I must now pass se
ntence.” She took a deep breath and continued.

  “Breaks Rock, you are cast outside the law and sentenced to die. Upon review of your sentence by the Crown Court, you will be taken from this place and before the eyes of His loyal subjects you will hang by the neck until dead. May the Lord and Lady have mercy upon your soul.”

  “Ynghilda,” Deandra said as she turned to the older woman, “If you would be so kind as to place the condemned in confinement until such time as the appropriate authorities can review his sentence?”

  Ynghilda nodded, then turned to the prince and said, “Unless his Highness cares to exercise his rights in this instance?”

  Deandra had no idea what the stead-holder was talking about, but the prince, seeing her confusion and guessing at its source, explained.

  “One of my many duties is that I am an honorary High Justice of the royal court, and as such I have the power to review your sentence. Given, however, that I am the intended victim of the crime in question I think that I need to recuse myself. Please place Breaks Rock into confinement for the moment.”

  Ynghilda nodded and signaled for the prince's men to follow her and departed. Deandra favored the prince with a considering look.

  “So,” she said, “It would seem that our procedures for rehabilitating the Braell aren't the only thing that you were sent here to evaluate.”

  The prince shrugged, unabashed.

  “Lady Eastgrove,” he said without any hint of apology, “A person of, forgive me, foreign birth has fallen into one of the highest positions in our society. Surely you understand the necessity of gauging the mettle of that person as quickly as was practical?”

  Deandra nodded reluctantly, but nonetheless folded her arms and gave him a less-than-sweet look.