Michael Pearce - Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

Now he spoke.

“You are ugly to God! You will all die in pain, and when the Sleeper awakens he will ridta your souls!”

There was more of the same, but eventually he wound down. Deandra had killed men, Baasgarta anyway, in the heat of combat. This was different, but she understood that it was just as necessary. For the first time she felt the weight of responsibility, the reality of the power granted to her by marrying Engvyr. She consulted Ynghilda briefly, being unsure of the proper phrasing and terms. Then steeling herself, she continued.

“Breaks Rock, by the statements of those present and the witness of my own eyes, I find you guilty of attempted murder and Regicide. By the Power vested in me by His Majesty Dvalin Dvalinson, King of Dvargatil Baeg I must now pass sentence.” She took a deep breath and continued.

“Breaks Rock, you are cast outside the law and sentenced to die. Upon review of your sentence by the Crown Court, you will be taken from this place and before the eyes of His loyal subjects you will hang by the neck until dead. May the Lord and Lady have mercy upon your soul.”

“Ynghilda,” Deandra said as she turned to the older woman, “If you would be so kind as to place the condemned in confinement until such time as the appropriate authorities can review his sentence?”

Ynghilda nodded, then turned to the prince and said, “Unless his Highness cares to exercise his rights in this instance?”

Deandra had no idea what the stead-holder was talking about, but the prince, seeing her confusion and guessing at its source, explained.

“One of my many duties is that I am an honorary High Justice of the royal court, and as such I have the power to review your sentence. Given, however, that I am the intended victim of the crime in question I think that I need to recuse myself. Please place Breaks Rock into confinement for the moment.”

Ynghilda nodded and signaled for the prince's men to follow her and departed. Deandra favored the prince with a considering look.

“So,” she said, “It would seem that our procedures for rehabilitating the Braell aren't the only thing that you were sent here to evaluate.”

The prince shrugged, unabashed.

“Lady Eastgrove,” he said without any hint of apology, “A person of, forgive me, foreign birth has fallen into one of the highest positions in our society. Surely you understand the necessity of gauging the mettle of that person as quickly as was practical?”

Deandra nodded reluctantly, but nonetheless folded her arms and gave him a less-than-sweet look.

He did now have the grace to look a little uncomfortable under her regard. “I must confess, I originally had in mind to simply form an impression of your character, not to put you to such an extreme trial. Which you have passed admirably, I must say. Still, I cannot apologize for my actions, merely express regret at having caused you discomfort.”

So saying the Prince bowed gravely to her.

Deandra shook her head slightly and said, “I suppose that I cannot expect you to apologize for doing your duty, so let me say that were apology needed, forgiveness would have been forthcoming, and let us proceed from there.”

“So then,” he said, gesturing to the chairs by the hearth, “Shall we discuss that other matter that brings me here? The situation in Baasgarta lands will be different, having no place such as this to bring the newly liberated Braell into. What would you advise?”

The cavalry hit them at mid-morning. The column was moving up the river valley after the Baasgarta forces with the 3rd Rifles at its head in a double-column eight ranks wide. They were moving along the open ground by the river when the goblins charged them from the edge of the forest around three hundred paces away. They came on in a mass, in hot pursuit of a hapless ranger that had been scouting that flank and might have triggered their charge early. Engvyr and Taarven were scouting on the opposite flank.

The ponies that dwarves could ride were no match for the Afmaeltinn horses that they might face in the south, so while they had mounted infantry that would ride into battle they fought dismounted. That didn't mean that they didn't train to deal with cavalry charges. As the Baasgarta poured out of the trees the horns blew the signal to receive cavalry on the right flank.

The column stopped and immediately executed a right-face towards the enemy. The first rank knelt and the second rank aimed over their heads. The trick to breaking a cavalry charge was to hit them as hard as possible as fast as possible so the dwarves fired two ranks at once. The 3rd Rifles was an elite formation and it showed. Though no signal was given, eight-hundred rifles spoke as one in a near-perfect volley. The charge faltered as several hundred of the lead riders went down.

The second rank knelt and while they reloaded, the third and fourth ranks fired over their heads with devastating results. But even so the cavalry closed the distance in seconds. There was no time for a third volley before the goblins were on them.

The volleys broke the shock of the charge but did not stop it. Traveling in hostile country as they were, the dwarves had their bayonets mounted and used them to good effect. The kneeling soldiers stabbed into the charging ulvgaeds. The second rank rose to stab at the riders. Once the goblins were among them they laid about them with their falchions, their carnivorous mounts snapping at the dwarves. The riflemen struck back with bayonets and iron-shod rifle-butts, their heavy quilted coats, breastplates and kettle-helmets standing them in good stead now. The furthest ranks that had not been able to fire in the volleys sought targets of opportunity, firing over the heads of their comrades at the mounted goblins.

Engvyr watched with concern as the two forces came together in a swirling melee. This was his old regiment; dwarves that he knew and had served beside were dying in the midst of that chaos. He had to forcibly remind himself to keep an eye on his surroundings as well; there was no guarantee that this was the only cavalry force creeping about.

Behind the 3rd Rifles the heavy infantry was swinging out of the column to advance on the cavalry's flank with pikes and slug-guns, but before they could get into position the Baasgarta's horns sounded the retreat. They disengaged and raced for the wood-line, angled away from the approaching force. Sporadic shots from the 3rd followed them. The heavy infantry managed a single volley but the distance had opened too far and it had little effect.

Engvyr couldn't make out details from his vantage but it was obvious that the column of infantry had been ravaged. With an effort of will he put aside his concerns and they continued their scouting.

“We've already moved irregular troops from the northern militias up to fortify the Baasgarta garrison that we took last week; The wounded will be sent there for the moment,” Captain Gauer told them that night after they had joined the army in camp.

“How many?” Taarven asked.

“Over a hundred dead so far,” the Captain reported grimly, “Three times that number out of action due to injuries, some of whom won't survive. Maybe another two-hundred with minor wounds that will stay with the regiment.”

Engvyr winced, and asked, “And the Baasgarta?”

“We've found around four hundred so far. Can't really guess about their wounded.”

This was the heaviest blow the Baasgarta had dealt them yet, but all things considered it was still not that bad. It had weakened them a bit, and would hurt them still more because they would need to detach at least a battalion to escort the wounded to the garrison.