Michael Pearce - Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

“Sevved my life,” said the goblin, nodding.

Engvyr examined the Goblin as his dad told the story. He was about the size of a dwarf but spindly of build with a look of wiry strength about him. His skin was beyond pale- it was paper-white. His face was dominated by a huge, hooked nose. His forehead sloped sharply back from his eyebrows, accentuating his large round eyes. He had a broad mouth full of uncomfortably pointed teeth and a receding chin. The overall effect was ferret-like but after the first impression he was not so much ugly as just different.

At first glance the Goblin’s clothing appeared ragged and filthy. He wore rough trousers bloused into high, soft boots and a quilted tunic under a long great-cote. In addition to his crossbow he wore a long knife and a hand-ax in his belt. Looking closer Engvyr realized that neither the pants nor the great-coat were truly ragged. The seams of the trousers and cote were frayed-out deliberately. The splotches of subdued color weren't stains but were deliberately placed. The combination of the splotches and frayed seams would help to blur the goblin's outline in the brush and make him harder to spot at a distance.

This isn't to say he wasn't dirty; they all were. But it was no more than the normal dirt any traveler was bound to accumulate. He never did learn the goblin's name; it seemed it was bad luck for them to give that out to any but their most trusted associates.

Engvyr couldn't exactly say that he got to know that goblin over the next few days but he did get to do a lot of thinking about people. Goblins had sabotaged the mine and killed his uncle. But his own kind had taken advantage of their misfortune, robbed them and would have done worse given a chance. Then a goblin, the next best thing to an enemy of his folk, saved his father's life.

And save his life he did. The goblin's herbs eased his father's fever and he pointed out edible and medicinal plants to Engvyr and his aunt. He also showed Engvyr how to improvise simple traps, like a deadfall with a figure-4 trigger, some snares and the like. He taught him more of tracking though he had a strange way of teaching. He'd point something out and wait for Engvyr to suss out the meaning, giving hints only if the boy was completely stumped.

The goblin stayed with them most of a week. By that time his father's fever was long passed and he was able to move about at least a little. His back was much improved but the broken knee would take weeks or months to heal. In fact he might never walk again without the aid of a cane or walking-stick.

In the end the goblin took no leave of them, but slipped away in broad daylight without a word. His father advised them not to be hurt by this, saying that it was just his way.

The reason for his abrupt departure became apparent within the hour. Engvyr was gathering firewood when he heard a shout. Looking up he saw a pair of Rangers of the Mountain Guard. One of them was waving and he returned their wave as he moved forward to meet them. Taking in his appearance and the weapon that he bore the Ranger greeted him with a question.

“Would you be Engvyr Gunnarson then?”

“Aye, that I would.”

The Ranger nodded and explained, “We met up with your pack-train. They told us of your misfortune and we came to see what could be done. It took us some time to work around the mountain and come down from the north. Are you and your folk well?”

“As much as can be expected. My father is busted up some from the rock-fall. You can come and see for yourselves if you like, but for the moment you have the advantage of me…?”

The Ranger shook his head at himself and said, “Where are my manners? I'm Rolph Fehrenson and this is my partner, Roel Cooper.”

The other Ranger nodded and touched the brim of his hat in greeting. Engvyr brought them into the shelter and introduced them all around. His Aunt served them up coffee, biscuits and beans with beef. None of them made any mention of their previous visitor. The Rangers seemed a bit puzzled and soon voiced the cause.

“We'd been given to understand you had nothing; that some ne'er do wells had made off with your oxen and all of your goods? Was this not the case?”

“It was,” his father confirmed, “but Engvyr managed to recover the one ox.”

“And the pony?” asked Rolph, who seemed to do the talking for both of the Rangers.

“Fella' that was riding him had no further need of him,” Engvyr said, keeping his eyes on his food.

“Would that be the fellow with a hole in his chest that you could pass a tent-pole through?” the Ranger asked dryly.

“Likely so.”

“By the Lord's teeth, boy! We're the Law out here. It's no more than our duty to look into people dead of mischief, and I think that a gunshot wound qualifies as 'mischief' if anything does! Best that you tell us what happened.”

In the end nothing would do but that he tell the whole story. He kept to the bare facts and when he was done his father and aunt were staring at him, astonished at the tale. He felt uneasy with their regard and ducked his head, flushing.

“Engvyr” his father said, “I had no idea…”

He shrugged, his appetite gone, and set aside his bowl and spoon.

Rolph said, “Well, your account agrees with that of the folk of the train and such evidence as we could discern. We'll report it as you say. You've done a man's portion, boy.”

He shrugged again. “I just did what needed doing.”

His father leaned across and put a hand on his shoulder and said, “That's what a man does, son. What he must. Now finish your supper; a man needs his strength in this country.”

They got to know the pair of Rangers well over the course of the next week. At first Engvyr was a little put out that they didn't take out after the thieves but Rolph explained it.

“It might be we could catch up with them despite them having such a good head-start. That won't bring your kin back, and I doubt your Ma would thank us for neglecting you all when you need our help. We'll make our report and the word will get out so don't fret. Folk will be looking for them soon enough.”

Engvyr had to admit there was some sense to that. While they had done well with their makeshift shelter it was small, cramped and fragile. The first good storm would likely shred it and leave them exposed. Fortunately there was better to be had fairly close at hand.

“There was a family tried to settle up here about seventy years back,” Rolph told them, “ran some trap lines, did some placer mining and did alright for themselves for a time. Then the father got taken by winter-fever and his widow took their kid back to her clan. Their hame is about a good day of travel north and has been vacant for some years.”

“You reckon it's still standing?” his Aunt asked.

This seemed to amuse the Ranger for some reason.

“I reckon so.”

In the event it took them most of two days to reach the Hame, owing to his father's condition. When they arrived Engvyr stared at the building in surprise. Still standing indeed , he thought, and likely to be standing as long as the mountains!

The roof of the hame was an enormous slab of granite, its base set into a ledge on the side of the mountain. Its sides were set onto four roughly finished stone blocks, each half-again as tall as a dwarf and an arm's length thick. The spaces between were filled with dry stone walls, the rocks shaped and fitted until you couldn't have slipped a knife-edge between them. There were two small windows flanking the opening for the door and a chimney poked up near the back of the slab.

“How in the Lord and lady's name did they build this place? I just can't figure it.”

His father looked at the hame for a moment and shrugged.