Michael Pearce - Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

“Engvyr and Taarven, at yours.” he replied, already moving to help cut the remaining captives loose as Taarven swept the woods and hillside with his carbine.

She was already going through the goblins packs. Not one to waste any time, and a veteran. Better and better, Engvyr thought. She gestured to the young man.

“My nephew Ben, who apparently pays more attention to his old aunt's stories than I thought.”

Ben flashed a distracted grin as he freed the last of the captives. They instinctively bunched up as they blinked away sleep and shock. Just then a distant horn answered the nearer. Engvyr and Taarven exchanged a glance, as Engvyr shrugged out of his pack and began pulling out boxes of slugs and tucking them in his cote-pockets.

“OK people- save the introductions for later, we are flat out of time. Grab a crossbow if you can use one, as well as any weapon or food, blankets and tarps that you can find. You,” Taarven said, pointing at Ben, “You're carrying Engvyr's pack. We're moving out in two minutes”

Taarven came over and said, “I'm leaving both ponies. If'n you can get back to them they'll be more use to you than me, what with me being tied to these folks.”

Engvyr clasped forearms with him and looked him in the eye for a long moment.

“See you back at the stead, I reckon,” he said.

“Don't you be too long, partner… you wouldn't want us to drink all the beer before you get back.”

Engvyr snorted, “Lord and Lady, Taarven- you been with me long enough to know I favor cider!”

Taarven grinned, shook his head and turned away, shouting instructions.

Engvyr walked over to Ageyra, handed her his carbine and said, “Reckon you remember the use a' one of these well enough.”

“I reckon that I do, but I expect you'll need it worse than I do,” she replied.

“If I need it too,” he said, gesturing with the long-rifle, “I think it's likely it'll be too late for it to be of help.”

She inclined her head in thanks and he handed her a bag of shot for the gun. She stowed it in a pocket of her great-cote, then she clasped forearms with him and joined the others. As they hit the trail she was transferring the goblin crossbow to her nephew and he watched until they had moved out of sight.

Goodbye, Taarven, he thought, you were a man to ride the river with. Deandra… dammit, I'd hoped to make a life with you. Lord and Lady bless and keep you through what is to come. He felt peace settle over him as, bit by bit, he let go of his life until there was nothing left but his purpose. As he emptied himself of everything but the mission the world around him came into sharp focus. Every sound took on a bell-like clarity, every leaf and shadow stood out in high relief. When he was ready he drew his bayonet, slipped it over the muzzle and twisted to lock it in place, then loped off up the slope, eyes scanning for enemies, his rifle at the ready.

– **-

The Baasgarta entered the camp slowly and cautiously, examining the ground for sign and checking the corpses. One of them had a bandaged shoulder and was pointing things out to the others. As he was gesturing at the slope that Engvyr had used to fire down on the camp a heavy slug slammed into his ribs just below his outstretched arm. At five hundred paces it didn't have the energy to pass clear through him but it had enough to do the trick.

Hate to leave a job half-done , Engvyr thought as he reloaded. It was the longest shot he'd ever taken and he settled the big gun back into its rest in the crook of a sapling, ready to try again. By the time he had done so there were no goblins in sight so he waited. Five minutes, ten…

A subtle movement caught his eye and he watched as a goblin rose slowly to his hands and knees, scanning the hillside below the ranger. WHACK. Dust spurted by the target's hand and the goblin dropped and rolled under cover again. Dammit. Missed, Engvyr thought as he reloaded. Or maybe not, he amended as a distant shriek of pain reached his ear. Guess he won't be playing the fiddle any time soon.

Scanning the area he saw no further movement. Like as not they won't any of them move for a good fifteen minutes, he decided, Time to move along. He backed off, eying the woods around him warily, then slid into the hollow where the ponies were tied up.

“Damn near fell asleep waitin' for you to finish playin.'”

Ageyra blocked his instinctive slash with the bayonet with the carbine’s fore-stock. She grinned at him and said, “Jumpy feller, aren't ya?”

Engvyr took a deep breath and said, “Dammit woman, you're supposed to be long gone by now! What the hell are you playing at?”

She swung easily into the saddle, laid the carbine across the saddle-bow and looked at him coldly. “I ain't 'playing at' anything, boy. It occurred to me that you could use a hand, and could maybe do worse than having a veteran Battlemage at your side.”

Engvyr noted fresh blood on the iron-shod butt of the carbine and looked at it pointedly before raising an eyebrow at the old woman. She shrugged.

“I got bored waiting around. What's a girl to do?”

Engvyr grinned at her suddenly and said, “Alright then. Let’s see what kind of mischief we can get up to, you and I.”

They could get up to quite a lot of mischief as it turned out. They rode straight down the trail in the tracks of Taarven and his party, that being the mostly likely avenue for the pursuers to follow. The ponies were some advantage for the two of them but less than one might think. Goblins don't ride but they are past-masters at covering distance on foot. A man with a string of ponies could outdistance them with little trouble. But with only one pony each, the Goblins would catch them eventually… unless they slowed them down a bit.

The trail passed through a narrow gorge and Ageyra suddenly said, “Stop.”

Engvyr pulled up and watched as she laid palm on the rock face, closed her eyes and did… nothing. She just sat there on her pony touching the rock. He was on the verge of impatience when she opened her eyes.

“OK,” she said, then rode forward about fifty paces and turned her pony. “Come over here.”

He did as she asked, curious as to what she intended. She pointed at a spot on the cliff.

“See that shadow by the moss just there?”

He nodded.

“Shoot the point of the shadow. There, at the bottom.”

He looked at her curiously but turned his pony broadside to the spot and raised the rifle. WHACK. The bullet struck chips off of the rock at precisely the point that she had indicated.

“Perfect. Thank you,” she said with a satisfied smile. Then she sat and waited. So did Engvyr. He opened his mouth to speak and she held up a hand.

“Wait for it…”

Suddenly there was a bass creaking from the rock, several sharp reports and a cloud of dust rose from the mountainside. Then with a rumble and a groan, more felt than heard, a massive slab of granite slid slowly down the face of the mountain and slammed into the trail. It moved a total of about ten feet but when it hit the ground it felt like the impact bounced his ponies hooves clear off the ground.