Michael Pearce - Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

“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.

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.”

“Where did we get clean shirts for so many?” Deandra asked.

Vaalketyr looked grim and said, “There were plenty of spares in the kits of the fallen soldiers from the 1st and 4th.”

“We'd best get them organized, then,” Ynghilda said with grimace. Turning to Deandra, “I believe Squirrel said that they were broken up into 'crews?' That might be the best way to break them up now.”

“Why don't we start with Squirrel's crew, then? These folk are likely to be nervous about the whole process, and this group can help with the ones after.”

In the end of course it was both more and much less simple than that. First off they did not wish to give up their clothes. Filthy rags though they might be, for most of them they were their only possessions. Deandra tried to be patient with them, to explain that they would be given new clothes but they became increasingly agitated and some began to cry. She was tired already from the long day and was at a loss for what to do. Ynghilda came in and sized up the situation immediately.

“Squirrel!” She barked. He looked up at her fearfully and she continued in a firm, no-nonsense voice, “Tell them to take off their clothes and pile them by the door. NOW.”

He repeated her order and the men and women of Squirrel's crew obeyed immediately. Ynghilda turned to Deandra with a sigh.

“Deandra, these people have been slaves their whole lives. Don't cajole, persuade or explain. They don't understand it and it makes them more afraid because of that. Tell them what to do and they'll do it. Orders are what they understand and are comfortable with.”

Deandra tried that and the Braell relaxed somewhat and did what they were told. They might have wept silently or rolled their eyes in fear but they did it. Vaalketyr provided a strong, medicinal-smelling soap and insisted they wash their entire body, hair and beards thoroughly. They had to be shown how but they did so willingly enough.

While they bathed Deandra asked Ynghilda about the state of the steading. Ynghilda shook her head in wonder.

“It's the damndest thing,” she said, “There were signs that the place had been searched, but the worst thing we found was the pots from the last breakfast left dirty. Oh, there's minor damage here and there but we had things ready for you long before you got back. What kind of army doesn't plunder?”

Deandra was as baffled as Ynghilda. She would at least have expected them to take something. Not a mystery we'll solve tonight , she thought, and returned to tending her charges.

After their baths the Braell were each given a linen shirt and a cord to tie at the waist before Deandra led them into the hall. Squirrel stayed behind with the soldiers and Vaalketyr to translate for the next crew. She got them seated at the benches by the table, having to show them even this. Aunt Gerdy and one of her assistants brought out bowls of soup and loaves of black bread. They set these before the Braell. Deandra began to eat and the Braell merely watched her raptly. They had never seen a spoon, of course and seemed entranced by the way that she used it. She weighed the matter in her mind, considering how to teach them to use a spoon and quickly discarded the notion. Setting it down she ripped a chunk of bread from the loaf, dunked it in the soup and ate it. The Braell looked at each other, and one of the largest among them, hesitantly aped her motions. He watched her intently and when she didn't object he dunked the bread, raised it to his mouth and bit into it. His eyes widened as he chewed and swallowed, staring at the bread in wonder. He gestured and the rest of them tried it, with a similar reaction. Lord and Lady, she thought, they've never even had bread?!