Michael Pearce - Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

He scanned the area as he thumbed another heavy slug from his ammunition-pouch into the breech. The dwarf was breathing hard and shaking with reaction from the fight but after two decades in the 3rd Rifles his hands performed the task with machine-like precision.

He went back and recovered his carbine, charged it and slung it over his back before turning to the erstwhile captives. They were huddled in a group, the women holding the children gathered between them. They stared at the dwarf wide-eyed as if he were some new nightmare rather than their liberator. Engvyr shook his head at them and gestured down the road and addressed them in Common-speech.

“We're not here to hurt you,” he said, “And Lord and Lady willing we'll have you safely away before nightfall. For now you had better head down there a piece to where my partner is. He took some hurt on your behalf and like as not could use some tending.”

Still wide-eyed the women began to move, herding the children before them. One of them met his eyes and managed a nod of thanks as they scuttled past.

We've a powerful need to get them well away from here before sundown, Engvyr thought as he approached the Goblin he'd shot in the back. Goblins run by night and they were too near the border for comfort, given that at least one of them had gotten away clean. Lord and Lady knew whether he might come back and bring some friends with him.

He approached carefully, keeping his crippled foe covered. The goblin squinted up at him, clutching his lower belly and panting. The Ranger looked down at him and shook his head.

“You're gut-shot, friend. Ugly way to die I guess, but no more than you deserve,” he said.

“Mercy!” the goblin croaked at him in common speech.

Engvyr thought a moment before relaxing and pointing the rifle away.

“Nope. Sorry, but I got none to spare for you at the moment. Lucky that you still have your belt-knife. If you cut your forearm long-ways between the tendons you'll bleed out fast enough.” With that the dwarf turned and walked away. He could still hear the wounded Goblin screaming curses after him as he made his way back to his partner. Taarven was having his thigh bound by one of the women.

“That feller sure has a lot of energy for a dead man,” Taarven commented as he approached.

“He'd do a sight better using that energy to end himself before the scavengers arrive or wound-fever takes him,” Engvyr replied. The children were huddled with the other woman and looked to him to be in shock. Looking back to his partner he asked, “We're going to need to move out smartly. Are you going to be able to ride?”

“I'll sure as hell ride out of here!” Taarven assured him, “But this lot don't look fit for travel.”

Engvyr looked their new charges over again. They were plainly exhausted. “We're not clear of this yet. If we dump the packs we can mount the kids two-by-two on the spare ponies and the pack animal. The women-folk can take turns riding on my pony.”

“You could also stop talking about us like we aren't here!” snapped the woman binding Taarven's leg in the Dwarven tongue. Engvyr and Taarven stared at her in surprise. The woman finished tying off the bandage and sat back on her heels as she regarded them sourly.

“My family has been neighbors with your folk for twelve years. Just because you can't be bothered learning the speech of other folk doesn't mean we can't learn yours!”

The rangers blinked at each other, then Engvyr gave her a smile and said, “My apologies, ma'am. That will make things easier. Do you think your folk can stand another trek? We really do need to put some distance between us and that pass before dark.”

She frowned as she looked at the other woman and the children thoughtfully.

“I think they can stand it if we can get some food and water into them first. It will be awful but rather that than winding up in some Goblin's larder.”

Engvyr really looked at the woman for the first time, noting that under the grime and dried blood she was actually quite pretty, even if she was dreadfully thin by dwarven standards. She was a foot taller than he was, obviously fit but not displaying the stout musculature of a dwarf.

Another matter occurred to him, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out a delicate way to broach the subject. Steeling himself he forged ahead.

“Uh Ma'am… speaking of which we might want to be doing something about the Goblin's packs?”

The woman looked at him blankly for a moment then blanched as she took his meaning. Her face started to crumple but then she took hold of herself and hardened her features. Drawing a deep, steadying breath she said, “I'm not sure what we can do for… them, but… yes. I know we're pressed for time, but anything we can manage would be welcome.”

Engvyr looked at Taarven, who shrugged. Turning back to the woman he said. “Alright then- we'll see what we can do. First thing is to get the ponies.”

Taarven got to his feet, gingerly testing to see how well it held his weight and grimaced. “Looks like that'll be your job, I can hobble a bit but hiking is out.”

Engvyr glanced up, noting the position of the sun.

“It's mid-morning now. If'n we don't lolly-gag we can be inside of walls by nightfall. You all should see about getting a fire going while I fetch the ponies. You Afmaeltinn aren't dressed for the weather. It would be a pure shame to rescue you from the Goblins only to have you take a chill and die on us.”

Turning back to the woman he said, “I'm Engvyr, Eng to my friends. This yobbo is Taarven Redbeard.”

The woman nodded to them. “And I am Deandra Agustdottir,” she said, then gave him a faint grin as she continued, “Under the circumstances I'd have to allow as I'm pleased to meet you both.”

Engvyr found himself liking the woman. She had some iron in her and a good head on her shoulders. He grinned back at her.

“Very well, Deandra Agustdottir. You and Taarven take care of things on this end. I'll fetch the ponies and we'll get some food into your lot. Seeing as we need to dump our supplies there's no point in not having our fill of them first,” he said, then turned to Taarven, “Keep a weather-eye out, partner. One a' them is still running free and might be inclined to mischief.”

Taarven acknowledged this and checked the load in his carbine. “Got it covered, Eng.” He cast a long look at the lands around them, his brow creased in worry. “Don't you doddle about though- I've a notion we're not clear of this yet.”

Engvyr grunted in response, took up his carbine and went to fetch the ponies.

Engvyr kept an eye on the countryside around him as he tightened the girths on the ponies then formed them into a train. He was wary of the goblin that had escaped but there were other hazards in the wilds as well. Though he was a young man as his folk reckoned such things, his life had prepared him well for such circumstances.

After the murder of his father and aunt it was little Berget that had saved him. Engvyr had been shot and left for dead when one of their assailants had returned, the one that had taken his father's gun. He had come back looking for ammunition. Taking him by surprise Engvyr had beaten him to death with a piece of firewood before collapsing.

Berget had hidden when the attack occurred. She came back, started a fire and tended Engvyr's wound. Somehow she kept them alive for several days until a tinker and his family came along. They'd cut out the ball, treated his fever and buried the dead. Then they took Engvyr and Berget in their wagon to the nearest settlement and called in the rangers. Unfortunately a heavy rain had fallen by then and erased all sign of the thieves.