The captain indicated a spot on the map to their northeast and said, “There is a garrison here. Our group, the 3rd Rifles, the 1st Mounted Infantry and the 4th Heavy Infantry, will take and man the gates and lesser forts, then join up with the 2nd Rifles and the 3rd Heavy Infantry to take the garrison. Fortunately it is only lightly fortified; I doubt the Baasgarta ever expected they would face a full-on assault. Worse come to, we can besiege them over the winter, but the Army boys think that we can take them down easily enough given our advantage in numbers. It looks like we will be able to secure our own supply-lines pretty well, as the territory south of the target is completely uninhabited.”
Taarven frowned thoughtfully and asked, “What will our part of this be?”
“Initially you two will guide a company of skirmishers to take the gate that you found. We'll have you coordinate with them on methods,” he said, then frowned at Engvyr, “After you've seen a healer and had a good night's rest. You look like ten leagues of bad road, Ranger.”
“I wish I felt that well, sir!” Engvyr told him with a weak grin.
He felt better after he let the healers fuss over him. He dutifully took his medicine then bathed, changed into a clean clothes and racked out on one of the cots behind a canvas curtain at the back of the headquarters.
--**--
It took the army regiments a couple of days to prepare for the offensive and Engvyr needed every moment of them to recover. He was still bruised and stiff but he was at least past the need to worry about the fever coming back.
Taarven and Engvyr set out at the head of a full company of skirmishers. Since the attack on the dig site in the Makepeace Valley these units had focused on training to work in larger groups. The dwarven army was not immune to the dictum that 'leaders always prepare to fight the last war, not the next.' They had been structured to fight in the relatively flat, open terrain of Dvargatil Baeg's southern valleys or adjacent Afmaeltinn lands, so skirmishers were well practiced at small-unit operations like attacks on supply-lines, sniping attacks and lightning raids. But now that the army was forced to fight in the closed and often difficult terrain of the deep mountains their mission had changed; they needed to operate in company-sized or even larger units. In the future the army would doubtless train dedicated mountain troops, but for now the skirmishers were the best that they had for the job.
The pair of rangers led the force up to the narrow valley before the canyon entrance then proceeded on foot. They needed to establish another route that would take them to the ridges above the gate without being seen by the sentry above the entrance to the canyon.
Their route took them far out of their way, through a neighboring valley and across two ridges before they were in position. Several times they had to scale nearly vertical slopes and drop ropes for the skirmishers to follow. It was nearing sunset before they found themselves on the edge of the canyon with the top of the wall perhaps ten paces below them.
Seen from this perspective the 'wall' was actually a building about twenty-five paces across the top and spanned the width of the canyon, about forty paces wide at that point. The center was a roof, slightly peaked for drainage. There was a walkway a couple of paces wide along the edge at either side behind a flat parapet. There was a doorway into the canyon wall directly ahead of them, likely leading to stairs that would lead to the interior of the building. It was probably very effective against fleeing slaves and wild animals, but it was in no way designed to stand up to a military assault.
There were two guards armed with crossbows patrolling the wall. Another two were on the ground on either end of the arch that passed under the building. None of them ever looked up as the skirmishers and the two rangers eased into position.
Taarven designated several soldiers to join himself and Engvyr, gesturing to indicate which would shoot which guards. Each of them aimed at their designated target and fired almost as one at the shouted command. Had they been dwarves or humans Engvyr would have felt sorry for them, but after seeing the slaves and the massacre at the dig-site he was long past spending pity on the Baasgarta. The four guards were killed instantly by the fusillade of shots from above.
The dwarves immediately dropped knotted ropes and half of them quickly climbed down to the top of building while the other half covered them. No alarm was sounded; apparently the reports of the rifles and carbines had not penetrated the buildings thick stone walls. Once on the top of the wall they released spike-bayonets on their carbines and entered the door in the far side of the canyon.
Taarven and Engvyr waited with the other skirmishers. From their perch above they could hear nothing but the wind. After a few minutes a trooper emerged from the doorway and waved them down. They joined him and he made his report.
“There were eight more inside, half of them racked out so it wasn't much of a fight,” he told them, “There's a passage off through the mountain; Second Squad is following to see where it leads. First is closing the gate.”
“Any casualties?” Taarven asked.
“Hrolf in First Squad took a cut on the shoulder from a thrown ax. They're patching him up now, but it looks like he'll be fine.”
Taarven nodded and said, “Very good. Third Squad! Bring up our mounts and tell the regulars it's time for them to move up.”
Gesturing to the cliffs on either side he continued, “When Second gets back I want one squad on either rim of the canyon- prepare hasty fighting positions and keep your eyes peeled.”
The soldier gave him a quick salute and returned inside. Turning to Engvyr he said, “Well, that went well.”
“Yep,” Engvyr agreed, “Let's not get cocky though; likely it'll only get harder from here. I hope the other raids have gone as well.”
“From your mouth to the Lord and Lady's ears.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“There was never any doubt that the Baasgarta were our enemies. They raided our farms, killed our people and we were damned sure going to make them understand the cost of that. Then we met the Braell, enslaved in spirit as well as body. After that nothing would do to pay that price but their blood. Preferably all of it!”
From the diaries of
Engvyr Gunnarson
“The trick is, how do we get them to stop being slaves?” Grael asked, looking out over the crowded great hall. It was early in the morning of the day after the Braell had arrived.
Deandra frowned and thought, how indeed? It was a good question with no simple answer. The Braell had no concept of 'freedom,' and when she tried to come up with one herself she realized just how elusive an explanation was to arrive at.
Ynghilda guffawed suddenly and they looked at her.
“Sorry,” she said, “but it just occurred to me. How do you get down off of an elephant?”
Deandra and Grael shook their heads in bafflement.
“You don't. You get down off a duck; it's easier,” Ynghilda said. Seeing they weren't following her she continued, “Don't teach them to stop being slaves. Don't teach them what 'freedom' is and means. Teach them to eat their soup with a spoon, to wear shoes, to dress, to defend themselves. Teach them our values, our language and the thousand and one things that we all know so well we forget that we know them. Sooner or later they won't be slaves anymore.”
“Well then,” Deandra said, impressed, “I suppose the first thing is to teach them our language.”
“That, and the everyday things; you don't need to be able to speak to teach someone to use a spoon,” Ynghilda reminded her.
“Speaking of everyday things,” said Grail, “I was talking to the 4th's Quartermaster last night. Their supply train is passing through on the way to the front this morning, and he's been authorized to give us some of their stocks of spare clothing as well as some of the clothes from the casualties. We ought to be able to get everyone fully dressed by this afternoon.”
“Also speaking of everyday things,” said Deandra with a sigh, “I'd better find Squirrel. We need to get these people fed. Might a
s well get them started on 'spoons' while we are at it.”
--**--
As it turned out they started with an earthier need. Deandra cursed herself silently as Squirrel explained it to her and she immediately got the Braell lined up to use the latrines. She had to show the first few of them how, and then set them to teaching the others as they came through while she retreated to take a moment for herself. Lord and Lady! She thought, the poor dears were practically dying to relieve themselves but they felt that they needed to wait until they were told to! In that moment of realization she learned to hate. She did not just hate the Baasgarta; she hated the very concept of them. That any person, any group could do this to others, rob them of their will and initiative in even life's most basic needs... she earnestly and passionately wished them dead.
Tears of rage slid down her cheeks, but she was no hero, no warrior to slay them all. What she could do, what she couldn't not do in fact, was everything possible to undo the evil that the Baasgarta had done to these folk. With that in mind she dried her eyes and set to work.
It was work indeed, and bloody hard work at that. She bore Ynghilda's advice from the previous night firmly in mind and was firm with them. She did not ask them to do things, she commanded them. It pained her to withhold her empathy, but as much as she wished to be gentle they were simply not ready to respond to that. They didn't know how to respond to gentleness and civility. She could only trust in the Lord and Lady that would come with time.
She was reminded time and again that while the Braell might be tragically ignorant they were by no means stupid. Simple things like serving themselves their morning porridge, eating it with a spoon and putting away their bowls after was easy. Teaching them that they could use the latrine any time that they needed to, to simply get up in the morning and eat when they were ready all without anyone telling them to, that was the hard thing.
Squirrel was a blessing; not only was he more flexible owing to his youth, he was a ratter, a hunter of sorts. This required considerably more initiative than the others’ jobs so the concept was at least less foreign to him and he did his best to explain it to the others.
After breakfast a wagon pulled up outside and soldiers unloaded a few bales of trousers, quilted great-cotes, knotted woolen socks and boots. There were also belts, pouches and duffels. Deandra, Squirrel and a couple of the household got everyone lined up and equipped. They made sure that everyone got what they needed and knew to stow everything that they weren't using in the duffel.
This led to a new set of problems of course. Adult dwarves were pretty much of a size with one another, and that size was about six inches taller than these people, and more heavily built. This made the Braell look like children playing dress-up in the one-size-sort-of-fits-all uniforms. Thank the Lord and Lady for the belts, she thought.
The other difficulty was the boots, which apparently came in three sizes; too large, too small and too tight. Only about half of the former slaves were able to find a pair that would really work for them. But everyone wanted to wear their new boots even if they were ridiculously loose or painfully tight. Eventually she gave up trying to convince them not to.
“We'll need some hides,” she told Ynghilda, “and we'll add a class on boot-making to the list of things to do.”
“We're pretty much right on top of slaughtering time, so we'll have pigskin and ox-hide aplenty soon enough,” the older woman said. “Might be we can reuse the leather from the boots that don't work, too. We'll manage.”
Ynghilda looked them over and shook her head, “I think we'll need to hold off on tailoring things for the moment. These folk will be putting on weight; no sense in doing the work twice.”
“We can at least work on the length,” Deandra disagreed, “That won't change. Except for Squirrel, of course.”
Deandra looked out over the gathered Braell as they stowed their new possessions away and frowned. Something about the scene bothered her, and it took her a moment to figure out what it was.
Dressed in almost comically oversized, uniform clothing they looked all alike and a bit ridiculous. Add in their brands, the nearly identical limping and the eye lost track of the fact that they were individuals. It makes them seem childlike, she thought; the danger is in the other dwarves seeing them that way. It might be that this generation of Braell would never fully integrate into dwarven society, given their small stature, scars etc. But that did not mean their children couldn't unless they were already viewed as being 'less' than other dwarves. An underclass.
“Problem?” Ynghilda asked.
“Potentially...” Deandra said and explained her thoughts to the older woman.
“So maybe some tailoring sooner rather than later, and some different clothes as soon as we can manage,” Ynghilda said, “And we may need to rethink the idea of distributing them among existing households too; it would be too easy from them to assume the role of 'servant,' especially while they are adjusting.”
By the time everything was sorted it was lunch-time. The former slaves simply couldn't believe that they were required to stop at midday and eat more food. When they realized she was serious they were ecstatic. She was pleased by their fastidiousness as she watched them eat until she realized that it was not out of a desire to be neat. It was to make certain that no scrap, no crumb or drop of broth was wasted.
Ynghilda joined Deandra as she watched the former slaves eat.
“The army boys also dropped off a load of arms and such scavenged from the Baasgarta,” she told the younger woman, “Which included a couple of cases of thwittles and sheaths. I reckon we might hold off on passing those out for a bit.”
Thwittles were small, simple single-edged knives used for everyday chores and as an eating utensil. Everyone carried them from the time they were five or six years old, but among the Braell only the cook in each crew had one.
“I've a plan for that,” Deandra said, and explained it to the older woman.
“You've a talent for this work,” Ynghilda said, “That's going to come in right handy. We need to take note of what we're doing here, what works, what doesn't and what sort of problems we have. Remember, were going to be faced with this problem a thousand times over after the war.”
Deandra was startled by the thought.
“Not us personally!” she protested.
“No, but the folks that do could benefit from our experience,” Ynghilda said, “I'm given to understand that a party has already set out from Ironhame. You can bet they'll want to talk to us and review what we've done.”
After lunch they broke the Braell up into groups with different tasks. The cook and one other person from each crew were sent to the kitchens, where they first helped to wash up from lunch. They also set to washing the knives that the army had brought. Deandra didn't even want to think about what the Baasgarta had used them for. After the washing was done Aunt Gerdy set them all to simple tasks, slicing and peeling ingredients, learning to make bread and the like. Aunt Gerdy of course insisted that they sample things as they went along 'so that they would know how it was supposed to taste.' Naturally each of the 'assistants' was given a thwittle of their very own to help with the work. Deandra smiled to herself and thought, kitchen-duty is going to be very popular for a few days...
In the great hall the remaining Braell were divided into groups. Some of the household showed one group of them how to fit and resew their clothes. Several of the militia were brought in and helped another group with the boots. As yet the supply of hides was limited so they mostly focused on modifying the boots they had. A last group helped with the laundry. They did not yet have any of their own but the household and militia had brought plenty back with them.
Throughout the day Deandra was teaching them the language as they went, identifying each new thing that they encountered and making them repeat the words until they got it right. Squirrel was kept busy running from group to group and translating as best he could when needed. Most of the tasks were simple enough that t
hey required little more than showing the Braell what to do and how to do it.
The Braell started out on these tasks dutifully, but as it dawned on them that they were doing these things for themselves and each other their enthusiasm grew. As alterations were completed on clothes and boots the groups rotated. The laundry was completed early, so that group joined the others as well.
Many of the former slaves already knew things like a simple whip-stitch from mending their clothes in the mining-pit. From what Deandra could gather they had also stitched hides (provided by the Baasgarta) around their feet to protect them in the winter-time.
One of the women, a girl really, approached Deandra shyly and pointed to the embroidered trim on the cuffs of Deandra's dress. She held it up for the girl to examine and she did so eagerly, fingering the stitching and examining how the trim was stitched on. Then the girl pointed to the trim and to herself and mimed stitching.
Deandra indicated the stitching and said, “Embroidery.”
The girl repeated this a few times and Deandra mimed stitching on the trim herself and said, “Embroider.”
In a very few minutes the girl understood the difference between the two words and Deandra pointed to the girl and asked, “You want to embroider?”
After a little more pantomime the girl understood and nodded her head enthusiastically. Deandra spotted Squirrel and waved him over.
“Please tell her that if she will sit with me by the hearth this evening I will teach her to embroider.”
This led the girl, appropriately named Sunlight, to learn the words 'thank you.'
--**--
The Braell were in a celebratory mood at dinner, animatedly discussing their day and what they had seen and done. After dinner they lingered at the tables while Ynghilda, Deandra and other folk of the steading gathered around the hearth. Ynghilda beckoned Squirrel over.
“Each crew has a leader, do they not?” she asked him.
“Yes Ma'am, they all have a boss,” he said.
Dwarven Rifleman Series: Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman Page 21