Michael Pearce - Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

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…

“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.”