Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

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 began 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.