Captive of a Fairytale Barbarian Read online

  “Great.” Hamtramck straightened the coarse fabric of his dull colorless uniform, looking even more annoyed. “I should have known better than to listen to a foreigner on matters such as these.” He spat the word out as an insult, even though Tandy was a citizen of Galland and had lived in the kingdom her entire life. She’d been born there and had never even been outside its borders before. “You people are always so eager to act like you’re better than everyone. It’s an affront to order and decency. That’s why you people aren’t in power anymore.”

  No one like Tandy had ever been in power anywhere in the world. She was fairly certain of it.

  He straightened in his saddle. “If it were up to me, all you highbrow bitches and braggart elite would be sent off for Disinfection. Foreigners, intellectuals, invalids, deviants, the elderly, show-offs, book lovers… all of them. Everyone who is useless and contributes nothing to the state.” He nodded sharply. “That’s the only solution to the problem. You’re perverting the young and hoarding resources which can be put to better use by our people.”

  She opened her mouth to protest that, but thought better of it. The people who spoke out didn’t last long in Galland these days, even so far from the capital. It was best to try not to draw attention to yourself. “I understand, Minister.” She mumbled instead, because it stopped just short of agreeing with the sentiment.

  The more mundane and acquiescent you made yourself appear, the less likely it was someone would want what you had. Which, among a long list of other reasons, meant that the trip eastward from Galland had not been a particularly enjoyable one. Tandy was terrible at not speaking her mind. She could hold her tongue for brief conversations, but over the long term? No. No, Tandy would undoubtedly tell you what she was thinking. She also had no experience with marching, which was another major problem with this journey. She was a teacher and low-level diplomat. She did not travel long distances, particularly through such rough terrain and with such disagreeable company.

  Sitting on a high plateau, The Wasteland predominantly consisted of miles and miles of barren salt. A desert of wind and death. That was it. The mountains sat on a rough peninsula, surrounded on three sides by a wide and rather temperate coastal zone of rocks and trees. To the north of the huge plateau was a large grassy mountain steppe which bred excellent horses… and slightly less crazy people than the plateau.

  If you controlled The Wasteland Steppe, you had access to the rear of the Grizzwood further to the north, which was of particular interest to Galland’s new government. Not that they had any concrete plans to invade that terrible swamp themselves, but Baseland sure did. And if another kingdom wanted something or was on the verge of getting it, then Galland wanted it too. Wanted it first. Wanted to keep anyone else from having it. No matter how many men needed to be sacrificed in the process. And if they couldn’t have it, then no one could. They’d burn the world to ash first.

  Envy was not logical.

  So, an expeditionary force was hastily assembled and sent off to secure the region, for no other purpose than to keep someone else from doing it.

  The fact that The Wasteland was already populated did not figure into that calculation, nor did the fact that Galland had only sent a couple hundred men to seize an area more than twice the size of Galland itself.

  None of that mattered.

  Their preliminary invasion force had been traveling for days and were now inside the rather vague borders of The Wasteland. Ahead of them, the wooded coastal area was giving way to the rocks at the foot of the mountains, and where several roads and trails joined, there was a small village area. Consisting of a dozen dwellings constructed of loose stone, it wasn’t exactly a metropolis, but it was the only sign of real Wastelandi habitation which they had thus far encountered.

  Tandy would have very much liked to explore the small community. Do some measurements. Interview the residents. Really study their culture up close. Often, language was so much easier to understand if you knew about the people who used it. If you could hear it spoken in its native environment.

  But she didn’t think the soldiers would approve of that plan, sadly.

  People bent on world conquest so very rarely had any respect for the liberal arts.

  Hamtramck looked pleased at seeing the village though, as if he had just single-handedly completed the most difficult part of conquering this land. He dismounted his horse and started towards the buildings while his men assembled in the clearing.

  He motioned for her. “Interpreter.” He snapped his fingers. “Now is the time you can finally serve your purpose for our cause, foreigner.”

  “Yes, Minister.” She hurried after him, picking her way across the rocks as quickly as possible, before he lost his temper.

  Sitting at the entrance of one of the buildings, a Wastelander watched them in confused boredom. He didn’t care enough to ask them what they were doing or why, but his brow was furrowed slightly, like he was silently puzzling over what these strange creatures in front of him even were.

  Tandy stood next to Hamtramck and straightened her thick jumpsuit, which she knew would be needed once they reached the summit of the plateau, where the air was thin and a cold wind blew at all times. The endless salt was kicked up in the gusts, creating storms strong enough to split open exposed skin and tear flesh away from bone.

  Apparently, none of the other people on the expedition had bothered to wear proper clothing, because they knew nothing about the climate they were invading. Tandy would have told them, but informing them that they were idiots who would soon be burning in the harsh Wasteland sun while simultaneously being frozen in the constant freezing wind, would have been seen as her flaunting her knowledge.

  Which wouldn’t be good.

  To be frank, it was simply safer for her to let them suffer.

  So she told them nothing.

  She planned to quietly blend into the background as they died from exposure on the salt flats.

  Until Tandy actually reached the plateau though, the clothing was hot and uncomfortable. To make matters worse, it was also from her work with the Academy, which meant that it was embroidered with small smiling frogs. The children had positively delighted in the happy animals.

  Hamtramck did not.

  Around her neck, she was also wearing the ceremonial accouterments of government. She wasn’t entirely certain what the rules on that were now, but since she was technically here in an official capacity, she had donned the old sash and medallion given to her whenever she worked for the state. Of course, the people who had given them to her were now all dead or wishing they were, but it still seemed like she needed something to designate herself as a diplomat.

  Hamtramck also didn’t like that fact.

  But Tandy didn’t care. Official interpreters of Galland had been wearing the symbols of office for hundreds of years, and since no one had told her not to continue wearing them when on duty, she chose to stick with routine.

  She was very proud of her work and her professionalism.

  In retrospect though, it was probably one of those times when no one told her not to wear them because they thought the answer was obvious.

  But what was obvious to others wasn’t always obvious to Tandy. And vice versa.

  Again, Tandy was really a creature of routine. She liked rules. She liked knowing exactly what was expected of her and how she could go about bettering her performance. It was a consequence of growing up in a family of teachers and diplomats. And, yes, obviously, being a resident of a kingdom newly turned into a totalitarian regime hell-bent on creating unyielding conformity.

  Her father had actually been the one chosen to go on this particular mission, but he had grown sick suddenly and passed the duty off to Tandy. The man had survived the Restructuring by being fervently in favor of it. Fanatically so, in fact. He’d come back from Disinfection without her mother, but with a newfound faith in the glorious purpose for which the woman had been sacrificed.

  Tandy had a sneaki
ng suspicion that the mysterious and sudden “illness” which had prevented him from taking part in this doomed expedition was more about self-preservation than due to an actual malady.

  He’d rather have Tandy trudge to her death than himself.

  She didn’t really blame him for that, it was just how the world was now.

  In either case though, she’d long since stopped considering the man her father. In her mind, that man had died with her mother and had been replaced by… something else.

  Besides, the man’s translations were simply ghastly.

  His valency-changing operations still gave her nightmares.

  It was one more reason why she was ashamed of him. And while she didn’t agree with this mission at all, she still believed that a certain level of professionalism was needed when acting as an interpreter, even if it was on a death march to the middle of nowhere so that you could enslave an innocent culture.

  Diplomacy and etiquette were what kept the world civilized.

  If everyone was on their best behavior, there was much less of a chance that things would turn into a violent bloodbath. Of course, since the entire world was already at war, most people didn’t exactly pay much attention to protocol anymore.

  If people just sat down and rationally discussed their issues over tea, so much more could be accomplished to better the world.

  But instead, they just seemed to yell and stab each other a lot.

  Tandy didn’t understand people.

  “” She said to the Wastelander in his own language, bowing in ceremonial acknowledgment, as she had been trained to do by the old Galland court. It showed both respect and friendliness. While not a cultural universal, most people in the world understood a polite bow even through any potential language barrier. “”

  She pursed her lips, second-guessing her word choices. The sentence sounded stilted and too formal. It was not at all how a native speaker of the language would have articulated the thought.

  She was on the verge of failing. She could feel it. Her struggles with the phrasing were making a mockery of this man’s language and culture, and for someone dedicated to proper protocol, that was completely unacceptable. It was insulting and wrong. She knew it… She was failing…

  She firmed her jaw in determination. She could do this. She just needed to focus.

  Hamtramck didn’t notice her misstep though, didn’t bother to show the man the basic courtesy of a bow, and instead wanted to get right down to business. “Tell him that now that we have freed him from his barbaric savagery, we will be rounding up his people and leveling a tax.” He snapped. “It’s his duty to support our empire and further our glorious cause of freedom and equality.” He motioned to the other side of the road. “Have them line up to carry our bags.”

  She nodded and promptly did her best to communicate that to the gentleman.

  The Wastelander frowned in confusion at hearing his language being spoken by a foreigner, and then looked almost amused by the idea that someone would make demands of him. He scoffed in dismissal and gave his curt reply in Wastelandi.

  She nodded at him in understanding, then supplied his words to Hamtramck in Gallandish. “He says that this land does not belong to you. That it belongs to Chox,” she paused to clarify, “Umm… ‘Chox, the Culler of Men’ is the deity most associated with his culture, Minister,” she cleared her throat to return to the other man’s words, “and that Chox only gives to the...” She snapped her fingers, trying to put the difficult cultural concept into words Hamtramck would understand. “…he only gives things to the man strong enough to take it.” She shook her head. “He says that you are not such a man.”

  Hamtramck’s face darkened, not liking the idea that he’d ever be refused anything he wanted. To the Gallanders, the mere fact they desired something someone else had, was justification enough to take it. It wasn’t greed, they just simply couldn’t stand someone else being happy. “I don’t care to hear of their pagan god; The One Who Wears Shadows is the only god there is. Their silly religion is just superstition. They will soon learn this from The Primacy.” He pointed at the Wastelander. “Tell him that we are here to place these lands back under the watchful eye of the kingdom of Galland. We will serve as its protectorate until such time as a more permanent civic order can be imposed. In the meantime, I will arrest and relocate all of his people, for their own security. The ‘strongest’ will be used as our porters.”

  “Umm…” She shook her head. “He’s… he’s not going to understand that, Minister.”

  “I realize that these people are savages, but…”

  “No, I mean they don’t…” She paused to think about how to phrase it. “What you’re telling him is going to make him very angry. They value freedom, strength, and independence. They are close-knit family groups living in a semi-nomadic warrior clan structure. Your statement consists of fighting words to his people, guaranteed to result in confrontation. They do not listen to anyone but the toughest…”

  “I don’t care who they formally listened to,” he snapped in fury, “tell him that I am in charge now and that he will listen to me. I am the toughest!”

  “That’s the worst thing you could possibly say, sir.” She held up her hands, trying to calm Hamtramck down. “Diplomatically, I’m not sure that’s the course of action we should take if we want to…”

  Hamtramck straightened to his full height, towering over her small frame. “Are you questioning me!?! Our cause!?!”

  “No, sir.” She quickly stammered. “Of-of-of course not. I just think that perhaps we should consider explaining…”

  “Tell him to bring the others out!” Hamtramck demanded, like his patience had finally ended after he’d tried many fruitless hours of reasonable debate on the issue. He gestured with his hand to the other buildings. “Come out, savages!”

  The soldiers began breaking down the doors of the houses and dragging out the inhabitants. Several people started screaming.

  Tandy rapidly shook her head, still trying to make him understand. “Again, theirs is a warrior culture, Minister, which…”

  The Wastelander got to his feet, looking angry now.

  She put up her hands in helplessness, to show the gentleman that she personally meant him no harm and to please not start murdering if he could at all help it. “” She explained in broken Wastelandi, hoping the general idea of the words was understood even if it was improper usage. “”

  <”The Lord of Salt will settle this.>” The man promised ominously. “”

  Hamtramck grabbed the man and hauled him away before the Wastelander could finish. “Come on, you useless Grizzle.”

  “Umm… technically, sir,” Tandy hurried after them, “that ethnic slur is associated with people of the Grizzwood?” Tandy informed him, making it sound like a question. She was trying to be helpful but probably just annoyed him more. That happened to her a lot. “This gentleman is from the plateau region of The Wasteland, which although part of the same general culture family, is to the south of the Grizzwood and is technically a distinct kingdom, which…”

  Hamtramck didn’t even appear to hear her, talking right over her. “You will be an example for these people about the consequences of standing in the way of righteousness. Flaunting your unearned and immoral benefits in the face of a more deserving people and truer gods.” He threatened The Wasteland gentleman, which Tandy didn’t bother to translate into Wastelandi. Everyone would be a lot happier if the Wastelander didn’t understand that threat. Tandy still had hope that she could make the minister see reason and if the Wastelander knew he was being openly challenged, there would instantly be a fight. Technically, not translating every word as spoken went against the official rules of the Galland League of Diplomacy and Interpretation, but she was fairly certain this classified as an emergency. Or soon would, anyway. “Dis
loyalty to the cause must not be countenanced by any citizen. The Restructuring must spread until the entire world is Disinfected. That is the only way!”

  “Minister,” Tandy tried again slowly, “I don’t think he’s being disloyal, he simply wishes to…”

  Hamtramck pushed the man into the dirt roughly.

  Tandy shook her head again, feeling the stirrings of fear. “I… I don’t think I would have done that.”

  The army just didn’t understand who they were dealing with. At all.

  One of the soldiers emerged from a house dragging a screaming woman by the arm. Her clothes were in disarray and it looked like there had been a scuffle inside. She used her other arm to cover her exposed breast, and the soldier backhanded her to silence her struggles.

  Tandy’s mouth fell open in shock, feeling dazed. “Oooooh, that’s a really bad idea…”

  “This entire village is filled with insurrectionists and those Infected with the disease of superiority!” Hamtramck cried, drawing his sword. “It needs to be cleansed!”

  Tandy could see that this situation was about to erupt into violence. Her first clue was all the violence erupting around her.

  She’d never been a party to genocide before.

  It was not something she really wanted to add to her résumé… even if it did represent a fascinating research opportunity.

  “No, don’t!” She screamed as Hamtramck raised his sword to kill the Wastelander. “He hasn’t done anything! He was just sitting there! There’s no reason to…”

  Before he could kill the fallen man, however, a strange noise echoed on the wind and everyone stopped to listen. It sounded like a low horn or…

  As one, the captured Wastelanders broke free and took off down one of the trails which led from the village into a series of narrow canyons.

  Hamtramck swore savagely, not liking the idea of his first victims escaping his grasp. “Go after them!” He shouted to the soldiers on horseback. “Make sure they don’t get far! We don’t want them warning any of the other rebel camps.”