The Lion of Farside by John Dalmas

With Tarlok’s and Jesker’s advice, he selected two platoon leaders, a sergeant at arms to enforce discipline, and a commissary chief. In the future, foragers would write chits for what they took, payable when Gurtho was thrown down. He named Jeremid his chief of operations, to see that men got trained, and to schedule foraging and other work assignments. Melody would lead the actual training. Tarlok would still be the recruiter, along with Verder, who could tell firsthand stories about Macurdy, but they’d take only two men with them, instead of four or five. One of the older men, a smith himself, would travel around the district visiting smithies, to get production started on spearheads and arrowheads in quantities. Tossi and his cousins would find a suitable smithy and begin to train local smiths in the making of swords.

And Wolf would take Macurdy to visit the rebels in his district. They were a larger, considerably more effective band, and sooner or later coordination would be desirable.

When he’d worked these things out, Macurdy called a muster by shouting, reminding himself to see about getting bugles or trumpets or something. Squads were created, and assigned to platoons. Then, to inspire some enthusiasm for training, he had Jeremid and Melody give an exhibition of skilled spear fighting, first in slow motion, then at full speed, using training spears cut on the spot from saplings. It also prepared the men for taking instructions from Melody. When they were done, two of the dwarves gave an almost dizzying exhibition of swordsmanship, changing any perception of them as amusing halflings.

Macurdy had intended, when it was over, to send the squads out to cut practice spears for themselves. But before he could give the order, he saw three women watching from a little distance, and called them over. They were filthy, their clothes were torn, and their hair was matted with dirt and leaves.

“Who are you?” he asked.

It was the oldest who answered. The younger two were silent, eyes on the ground. “We’re captives.”

“Captives? Captured from who?”

“From our farms. From our families. A foraging party grabbed us when they came around to take food.”

He realized why, but asked anyway. “What did they take you for?”

“They brought us here to hump us.”

“Just the three of you? For all these men?”

The woman nodded grimly.

“And your family let them?” He knew the answer to that, too, but it loosened their tongues a little, or rather the older one’s.

Their circumstances had differed, one from the other. The oldest was perhaps twenty-five, and married. Her husband had been away. The foraging party raped her on the spot, then tied her and took her with them. The younger two were sisters, fourteen and fifteen. Home alone with their mother, they’d been carried off and raped on the way to camp.

The rebels, standing around waiting for further orders, had listened to the whole exchange. Macurdy turned to them now, face dark with anger. “Those who were on those foraging parties,” he ordered, “raise your hands.”

Five hands reluctantly went up. “Orthal told us to,” said one man.

Macurdy turned to the older woman again. “Is that all of them?”

“Yessir.”

“All on one foraging trip?”

“Yessir.”

“Which of the rest humped you?”

“Most all of them, I guess. Maybe a few didn’t. They humped the young ones the most, I think because they cried. There was someone at them morning, noon, and night.”

“Orthal said we could,” one of the younger men called.

Macurdy’s eyes found him. “What’s your name?” he asked. His voice was a dangerous purr; the man paled at it.

“Parl, Captain.”

“Parl, step out here.” The young man hesitated. “NOW!”

He stepped, and Macurdy, standing close in front of him, barked a question in his face. “If Orthal told you you could hump your grandmother, would you do it?”

Silence. The commander seemed to swell. “GOD DAMN YOU! I ASKED YOU A QUESTION! WOULD YOU DO IT?”

Parl could barely get the words out. “No sir,” he whispered.

“What would you demand of men who’d stolen and raped your daughter?”

“I—I’d want them punished.”

“Punished shit! You’d want them killed!”

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