Doesn't make them any less our enemies. It's a thing to think on after the war.”
Taarven poked at the tiny fire with a stick and said, “Which begs the question of what happens to all of these 'folks' when the war is over?”
Engvyr shrugged again.
“I honestly don't know. Fortunately that will be someone else's problem.”
“You dearly hope,” said Taarven with a wicked grin, “Lord Eastgrove.”
Engvyr reached out and casually shoved the other ranger. Taarven, crouched by the fire, had to flail to keep his balance, duck-walking sideways. He snickered and Engvyr glared at him.
“Don't you start that 'Lord' business with me! I've been your partner too long… I might just start to 'reminisce' with Ynghilda some evening…”
Taarven assumed a look of offended innocence and said, with mock-righteous indignation, “I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about! M'Lady and I have no secrets between us.”
“So she knows about that barmaid over in Sgeggisdale? The fat one?”
“That was one time, and I was drunk!” Taarven said, then looked at him reproachfully and admitted, “So maybe a fella needs to have some secrets…”
At first light they crossed the valley to the opposite slope and picked their way along under the trees. They saw other plantations and many Braell working under the watchful eyes of their masters. A road paralleled the river connecting the farms, and as the day went on the land below the slopes became more and more densely populated. They had to move more carefully now, as they came across evidence of logging and other activity in the forest. They dismounted to skirt these areas, one of them leading the ponies and the other scouting ahead, creeping from cover to cover.
Engvyr was scouting along the edge of a clearing when he literally ran into one of the Baasgarta. He rounded a large old-growth fir and a startled goblin rose and turned to face him, dropping his basket of mushrooms. Unlike the goblin Engvyr was primed for the encounter and struck immediately. He felt the iron-shod butt of his rifle crunch into the Baasgarta's temple with sickening finality. The mushroom-picker dropped like a pole-axed steer.
The ranger crouched and froze, looking for others. After several minutes he was satisfied that the goblin had been alone and signaled Taarven forward. They examined the corpse curiously; this was the first time they had seen a Baasgarta in their normal dress. He wore a light shirt bloused into homespun trousers and a leather jacket, fairly normal-looking boots, a belt with a knife and pouch and a broad-brimmed hat to protect him from the light. In the dimness under the trees he had undone the scarf that covered his face and they could see that he was hardly more than a youth. Engvyr's blow had cracked his skull and killed him instantly.
The dark brown leather jacket looked odd to Engvyr and examining it more closely he made a revolting discovery. The odd appearance came from the lack of seams, explained by the remains of a slave-brand on the back of the right shoulder. It was the complete skin of a Braell's upper torso, tanned, dyed and lined with woolen fabric. It was split up the front with buttons to close it.
“OK… that's just… wrong.” Taarven said. Engvyr was battling his own disgust as the reality of the Braell's true condition and situation became further apparent. They weren't merely slaves to the Baasgarta, they were a resource.
“Yeah… well, we're not at war with these people because we like them,” he said. They tossed the body down a rocky gully, hoping that when the corpse was found it would look like an accident.
They continued as they had been and as darkness approached they moved further up into the hills to find a camping spot. Looking to the northwest they could see a faint glow on the horizon. It was the reflected glow of light on the smoke of many fires.
“Could be their army,” Engvyr said.
“Or a city. I expect we'll find out tomorrow,” Taarven responded.
In the morning things had changed in the valley. The fields were empty and the central road was choked with groups of Baasgarta in 'civilian' clothes and Braell loaded down with bags and boxes. There were some carts and small wagons pulled by some sort of beast, ulvgaed perhaps. It was hard to tell from their vantage point.
“Refugees,” Taarven said, “I think we might be back to the main river valley after all.”
“This many nervous people moving around I think that we'd best stick to the heights today,” Engvyr said and Taarven nodded agreement. They spent the day moving along the upper edge of the tree line, the folds of the land bringing the refugees below in and out of sight. That afternoon the valley turned sharply north, and in the bend on the opposite side they could see what must be a Baasgarta city. They broke out their spyglasses and looked the place over.
The city had a low wall dividing it from the fields. It appeared to be ten to fifteen feet tall, varying with the rise and fall of the land. Past the wall were more of the low stone buildings that they had become accustomed to seeing, and as the ground rose along the side of the valley the slope was cut into terraces. Some of these had buildings butted up against the hillside, others had arched gates leading underground. With their spyglasses they could make out people moving, but whether these were Baasgarta or Braell they could not tell. Most likely it's a mix of both, Engvyr thought.
The refugees were funneling into the city through several gates in the low wall, crowding into the streets and moving through the arches into the underground.
“Looks like quite a bit of the place is mined back into the hills,” Taarven noted.
“Yeah… Gonna' be fun digging them out of there,” Engvyr said, “And that's a whole bunch of Braell. Don't know how they're going to figure into things, but I doubt they're going to make it simpler.”
As sunset approached and the refugees outside the city began to thin out they could see Baasgarta directing large parties of Braell outside of the city. When it became apparent what they were up to Engvyr began to swear softly. They were digging defensive earthworks and trenches, and the dwarves were all too familiar with the effectiveness of such when properly defended. With the large crews of dwarves at work the defenses began to take shape with remarkable speed.
Supplies and people moved in and out through the night. Taarven and Engvyr kept a cold-camp where they could keep the city under observation, sleeping in short shifts with one of them always watching. While it was hard to make out details the overall impression was of orderly efficiency. By first light activity had begun to taper off.
Dawn revealed the completed defenses and Engvyr was impressed. Over the course of the night a veritable maze of parapets, berms and trenches had sprung up. Studying the layout Engvyr saw that the works, while extensive, were far from perfect. There were interrupted lines of sight here and there and the overall layout wasn't optimal, but it wasn't bad. When those defenses were filled with determined defenders it was going to mean a hell of a fight to get to the city beyond.
“They moved the last of the Braell into the city just before sunrise,” Taarven told Engvyr, who had been taking his turn to doze. He started to say that if it came to a siege, as it surely looked to do, it was foolish to take so many of the Braell into the city. Then he realized why the Baasgarta had taken their slaves with them. They were a resource. He shuddered and mentioned his thoughts to Taarven, who shrugged.
“On the bright side,” Taarven said with dark humor, “The longer the siege lasts the less we'll have to worry about the Braell getting in the way…”