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!”
“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 as 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.