Michael Pearce - Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

Taarven smiled to himself as he remembered telling Ynghilda what they intended this morning. She'd looked at him worriedly then poked him gently in the nose.

“You watch out for yourself, Taarven Redbeard. Truth be told I've kinda' gotten used to having you around.”

“Fact of the matter is I kinda' like being around. After all this is sorted out I was thinkin' I might take some leave and hang around a bit more.”

She smiled at him and said, “I'd like that.”

He'd taken her hand briefly; eye's locked on hers for a moment before joining Engvyr in the stables to saddle-up.

They rode west until they reached the tree line and then began to work their way north. It was possible that the goblins had some of their people watching the valley so they stayed off the trails and under cover as much as they could. Finally the rangers moved into the mountains north of the valley.

“Into the belly of the beast,” Engvyr commented quietly.

“Sorta' hoping not to get swallowed, my own self,” Taarven replied. “Let's do this.”

They urged their ponies deeper into the mountains and the unknown.

They kept to the high country, their sure-footed mountain ponies carrying them along hillsides and ridges, wading down rushing streams. They had no goal initially but to go north and see what they found.

They were careful to leave as little sign of their passage as possible. They stuck to stony ground whenever it was practical to do so. When crossing rivers they swapped their boots for soft-soled shoes and scouted on foot to insure that no one was present to observe them. They made a cold camp the first night, eating dry sausages, cheese, bread and an apple pie that Deandra had sent with them. Several times they cut across trails left by groups of goblins but saw no other living souls.

Late in the morning of the second day they came across the trail of a raiding party with dwarven captives and turned to follow. Where they could they rode parallel to the trail. When they couldn't they wrapped their ponies hooves in leather, both to muffle the sound and soften their prints. The need for caution forced them to move slowly but they found the tracks were getting fresher.

“I think they've actually holed up for the day,” Engvyr said, “we'd best be careful lest we come on them suddenly.”

As they got closer they concealed their ponies and moved forward of foot. They soon had to drop to their bellies as they heard movement ahead of them. When they spotted the sentry they edged slowly backwards, watching carefully so that they moved only when the sentry was facing away. They circled around up the slope, skirting another sentry until they could look down on the camp.

They could actually see a third sentry from their vantage point. There was a goblin awake watching the captives and three more sleeping in their bedrolls. There were a dozen captives, mostly women and children, who had their hands bound behind them and their legs hobbled by another cord.

“This,” Engvyr said quietly in Taarven's ear, “presents a problem.”

“Those sentries aren't any too alert but I don't think that I could come up on any one of them without being spotted.” Taarven said.

“They aren't going to stay sleepy once the party starts either. None of which addresses the fact that rescuing these folk isn't part of our mission.”

Taarven nodded and said, “So let's get that part straightened out first. What do you think?”

“Sod the mission. I haven't got it in me to leave these folks to their fate when we could do otherwise.”

“Yeah, me too. If there was nothing we could do…” Taarven shrugged.

If there were thirty of the bastards this would be a lot easier. We'd have to leave them but Lord and Lady I'd hate living with having done so, Engvyr thought.

“You know how this has to go, right?” Taarven asked. “If we get the captives loose I'll have to shepherd them while you play at rear-guard. You up for that?”

They made their plans and were about to separate when Engvyr caught a quick motion from one of the prisoners. She shot a quick glance at their position and he could have sworn that she locked eyes with him before looking back down.

“Hold up,” he told Taarven, “Might be we have us an ally in camp.”

He told his partner what he had seen and Taarven shook his head.

“She'd have to have the eye of an eagle to have spotted us up here,” he said.

“Could be she does at that… look.”

The woman now had her eyes locked on the guard, freezing whenever he started to turn her way. She edged closer to the young man tied up next to her and nudged him. When he looked up she either whispered to him or just mouthed words. His own eyes skimmed across the slope as he nodded slightly, the movement barely visible from their distant vantage.

“Damned if I don't think that you're right, Taarven said, “Looks like we got us some help, though I don't know as they are good for much after what they've been through. Can't see as it hurts our plan regardless.”

Engvyr agreed and Taarven moved off quietly. After he'd counted off an hour Engvyr slowly moved the long-rifle into position and lay the loaded carbine next to it. Sighting carefully, he shot the prisoner's guard through the head. The report echoed off of the hillside and things began to happen very quickly.

As he took up the carbine the sleeping goblins woke. The captive young man leapt onto the nearest goblin, his hands suddenly free and took him from behind in a chokehold. The woman threw her body into another, who staggered from the impact. The last of the sleeping goblins was raising his falchion to cut her down when the ball from Engvyr's carbine smashed his shoulder and he fell with a cry.

The sentry that had been furthest from his position was raising a horn to his lips when he suddenly dropped it and staggered forward to fall on his face as Taarven shot him from behind.

The goblin that was staggering dove for the brush before Engvyr could recharge the carbine. But he was unarmed except for his belt-knife so Engvyr disregarded him for the moment, looking for the other two sentries. They had vanished.

A scraping sound on the rock above warned him and he rolled over as one of the missing sentries dove on him. He tucked his knees up and planted his feet in the goblin's stomach as his attacker grabbed the carbine. Engvyr yanked savagely on the weapon, straightened his legs and sent the goblin flying headlong down the slope. Rising to his knees he waited until the goblin tumbled to a stop at the bottom before shooting him through the body.

He scanned the scene below as he reloaded both weapons. The woman had struggled to a sitting position and said something to the young man, who sheepishly released the limp goblin from what Engvyr recognized as a surprisingly professional choke-hold. Taking the goblin's knife he cut the woman's bonds as Taarven entered the camp, scanning along the barrel of his weapon as he moved.

A horn sounded in the near distance and Engvyr swore as he moved down the slope to the camp, half sliding, half bounding down the hill.

The man he had shot in the shoulder was gone, as was the one the woman had tackled. She had appropriated one of the goblins' crossbows, and was slinging on a belt with pouches full of bolts as he approached.

“Ageyra Flint, Stonewright,” she said, as she took a long knife and thrust the sheath through her belt, “formerly a Battlemage of the 3rd Mounted Infantry, and very much at your service!”