Michael Pearce - Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

“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?”