The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff by Lane Heymont

I am no puppet, not a dog to be played with. There had to be some way to murder his former master, and destroy the vermin by himself.  
    Thunder clapped in the sky, lightning burst through the night. Rain tumbled from the heavens as if it shared Verdiss’s rage. He pulled his hood tight over his malformed face, then mounted his mare.
    â€œ Geist Führer , 'thou hadst been better have been born a dog than answer my waked wrath!'” Verdiss turned the mare about and galloped off toward Baton Rouge, new plans flaring in his thoughts.  

 
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    Chapter Eighteen
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    Galin’s trap failed. Major Lydell Jones and his men had marched out from the bayou and into the woods outside Port Allen as Galin expected. Though, he and his Goblins got the drop on the Northern soldiers, firing their arms from the protection of the treetops. Those with pitchforks, knives, or swords leapt from their hiding spots and managed to butcher a few soldiers. But it was a blood bath. Lydell and his force had been prepared for an ambush. Half of the Northern troops advanced into the gambit, while the remainder flanked Galin and his men.
    Guns blared in the nighttime battle, swords clashed with the music of steel on steel, and the mass of soldiers thundered in bloodshed. Those honorable troops offered surrender, but Lydell called it balderdash. Twenty minutes after the battle began, it was over. Surviving Klansmen were immediately put to death by firing squad.
    Galin remained hidden in the trees like a Sunday Soldier until Jones dragged him out. The two engaged in a blazing sword fight, ending with Galin stuck in the right shoulder. Though Jones wounded him, he took Galin alive.
    â€œHe could be useful.”
    â€œDon’t give that redneck nothing. Let ’em bleed to death.” Then Jones and his men continued on to Baton Rouge.
    In a procession of torches fizzling in the rainy night, the Federal Troops reached the dense woods where he’d hoped they would. The major rode atop an almond-colored stallion, pulling Galin behind him by a short line of rope. A smile cracked his lips, the major kept an actual short leash on the former sergeant. Whenever Galin didn’t answer a question Jones yanked on the leash like disciplining a mutt.  
    â€œI’ll never give up the Grand Dragon!” Galin shouted again and again over the rain and thunder. Another yank, the rope jerked him into stumbling in a pool of muck.
    â€œYou will, scumbag! I can listen to you sing out all night,” Jones returned from his horse. A chorus of laughter followed from his soldiers. “You’re going to give him to us and we agonna deliver that no-account son of a bitch to General Sheridan himself.” He yanked on Galin’s leash again. The sergeant howled in pain.
    Lightning flashed in the sky. Claps of thunder attempted to cover the noise of a soldier yelling to the major. “Sir, there’s a whipped man up here!” The procession halted. The soldiers spread as Jones cantered to the front, dragging the wounded Galin behind him.
    It’d taken most of his energy to circle around the procession just in time to throw himself at the base of a tree ahead of them. Though playing unconscious and under a blanket, he watched Jones make a motion. A young soldier nudged him with the butt of his rifle.
    â€œWake up! Wake up.”
    He stirred for a few moments, biding his time.  Then climbed to his feet. They studied him—he must look like an obvious foreigner: short hair with a toothbrush mustache.
    â€œ Mein Gott. Ich wurde angegriffen, sie stahlen alles . . . Apologies, I mean I was attacked, they stole everything.” Idiot! They don’t speak German . Jones made a quizzical face—he didn’t seem to buy his emotions. Moron, I’m a fabulous actor. It was a part of my training.  
    â€œGood thing you are safe,” said Jones with indifference. “I suppose I should ask you what