Michael Pearce - Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

Engvyr pondered that. A force that large could easily have packed out the meat from that many folk. Why go to the trouble of marching them out unless…

“They want the captives for something else.”

Taarven favored him with a slight grin, “You're not as dumb as everyone says you are. But what the hell do they want them for?”

“That's what you boys are going to find out,” said a voice from behind them, “As soon as that leg is healed up a little more.”

They looked up to see Ynghilda approaching them. She was wearing her mail and sword again and as she greeted Engvyr she noticed his questioning look at her attire.

“The way things are going I figured I'd best get used to it,” she said.

“I'm fit to sit a horse already if'n I need to, Ma'am, and it seems to me there's need enough to go around just now.” Taarven said.

“Yes, yes, Taarven,” Ynghilda said in mock-irritation, “We all know that you are the manliest of dwarves and eat raw heroism for breakfast. Now let's all sit down before you fall over.”

Taarven gave her an outrageously exaggerated pout but as they all took a seat Engvyr noticed a flash of relief on his partners face.

“Seriously Taarven,“ he asked, “When will you be fit for duty?”

“I can ride out tomorrow,” his partner responded immediately.

“Taarven Redbeard, if you sit a horse before mid-week next I'll beat you even more senseless!” Ynghilda said with a scowl, “you are a guest under my roof and I will not see you harm yourself out of manly pride!”

Taarven scowled at her then subsided with a sigh. Casting an aggrieved look at Engvyr he said,

“You see what I have suffered in your absence?”

It occurred to Engvyr for the first time that Ynghilda and Taarven were more or less of an age and had been in a position to spend a lot of time together recently… He kept his smile at the thought to himself.

They talked for some time about local conditions and events, improvements to the Steading's defense, patrol schedules and other matters. As the afternoon wore on the aromas of dinner began to drift in from the kitchens. Saewynn and Deandra herded their children into the hall. Deandra caught his eye and smiled shyly before going about her business.

After dinner he spoke to the two women to see how they were settling in and what their plans were. They were staying temporarily in the great hall, sleeping on the wide benches that lined the sides.

“The children are bouncing back,” Deandra told him, “They're resilient that way. They're good for Saewynn, too. I think that taking care of them has helped her keep it together. I don't know that she could bear it without them.”

“Will you be going west with her?” he asked, not sure whether he wanted her to stay or go away to safety. He liked her and wanted to get to know her better. But that could be problematic, not the least because he would outlive her by centuries.

“I'd not be welcome there,” she said, looking away, “Saewynn's family did not approve of her brother marrying me. It's not something that can be helped now.”

“I cannot imagine you being unwelcome anywhere,” he said and left it at that. He was curious but it was her business and she would tell him or not in her own time. “So what will you do now, you and the children?”

She looked away again and Engvyr noted the tension in her posture.

“They will be going with Saewynn to live with her folks,” she said with an effort, “Their son's children are welcome, just not their mother.”

She turned back to him, her eyes bright with tears, “You are not the only one who sees what's coming. I have to do what's right for my children. I have to know that they are safe.”

“What of you?” he asked.

“Ynghilda has offered me a position. I will be helping in the great hall and around the Steading.”

Engvyr felt a bit guilty at his relief that she would be staying. They talked on into the evening, about trivial things mostly, laying the foundations of a bridge between man and woman, dvaerg and afmaeltinn . They parted with an unspoken understanding between them when it was time for the children to bed down.

Taarven and Ynghilda shared a concerned look as he joined them in the group sitting around the hearth smoking and talking quietly among themselves, but said nothing of it as the evening wore on.

Deandra Agustdottir rose with the sun and dressed quickly. Since it was early summer the fire in the great hearth was allowed to burn out at night so it was sometimes chilly in the morning. She laid a new fire and when it took satisfactorily she roused her children, Brael and Gerta. They were nine and seven years of age respectively. Saewynn roused her own children and after they were all dressed she herded them to the water closet to attend to their morning ablutions while Deandra went into the kitchens to begin her working day.

She had no fixed duties so she helped as she might with breakfast, stirring the fruit-and oat porridge, slicing side-meat, carrying stacks of clean bowls and spoons and setting them out at the ready. As she worked she thought warmly about her conversation with Engvyr the night before. She had to admit she had been taken by surprise by her attraction to the dvaerg, and his apparent interest in her. It was not so much a physical thing, not yet, though he was not un-handsome for one of his folk. Nor was it girlish worship of the man that rescued her from what was almost certainly what the old tales called a 'fate worse than death.' There was something in her that responded to him, a sense that they complemented each other.

Respect, she thought, it's that he respected me. She knew that dwarves viewed a 'woman's role' differently than her own folk but it was more than that. In the wake of the fight in the pass he never questioned that she was capable and would do her part. One of the men of her own folk would have expected her to be helpless, weak in the wake of her ordeal. But Engvyr had seen her strength and accepted it, assuming that she could pull her own weight.

Breakfast in the Steading was a catch-as-can affair with people coming and going, serving themselves as they had time. She filled a tray with bowls of porridge for her family along with two mugs of coffee. Coffee was something that she and her sister-in-law had little of before their rescue. Her folk tended to drink hard cider, beer or ale at all hours of the day but the dwarves seemed to live on the dark, bitter brew. They drank alcoholic beverages too, but tended to do so only in the evenings after the day's work was done. She had to admit she was developing a taste for the beverage herself.

They got the children settled around one of the tables that ran in a line down the center of the Great Hall and watched over them as they broke their fast. She felt a stab of grief as she watched the children eat, knowing that within days they would be parted for she knew not how long.

As they ate dwarves stopped by their table to greet them and inquire after the children's welfare. She had been startled by this at first but Engvyr had explained that a married couple among their folk might expect to have children only every twenty years or so, a function of their long lives she suspected. As a result they doted on them and each dwarven child in their community was viewed as the responsibility of all. Now that they were living among them the dwarves unthinkingly extended that attitude to the human children as well.