Michael Pearce - Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

Engvyr nodded. The extra weight of a rider would make for deeper tracks and the elongated body would cause the tracks to be spaced differently. Nothing you would really notice if you weren't looking carefully, but from now on they would be.

“I've been thinking about them, these ulvgaeds,” Ageyra said, “I got a pretty good look at the two that we encountered and I don't think that they could be any sort of natural creature.”

“You suppose that they are change-beasts?” asked Engvyr.

“That would go along with the idea that the Baasgarta have been isolated since the time of The Maker,” Berryc said thoughtfully, “Engvyr, if you see that goblin friend of yours again you might ask if they know anything about these beasts.”

“I surely will,” said Engvyr, “But now Ageyra, I'm mighty curious about what happened after our fight with the ulvgaed, and how I came to be back here.”

“I've read the report of course but I wouldn't mind a bit to hear it first-hand,” Berryc agreed.

“Well alright then,” said Ageyra and launched into the tale. The first thing that she had done was to patch up their wounds. Thankfully Engvyr's pony hadn't gone far. She was able to get ahold of it and had gotten Engvyr slung over the saddle and tied in place. Then she'd found a sapling that she could cut for a walking stick and headed south.

“Mind you I was in pretty rocky shape at that point, having been as you might recall shot my own self. Also creating those spikes had taken a lot out of me and given me a terrible headache. Anyway between hanging on to the saddle and a walking stick I was able to hobble along. I got us down to the trail and that was easier going, but I knew those goblins were coming up behind and there was no hope of outpacing them.”

Wounded, exhausted, her magic spent she had done what she could. She put one foot in front of the other and trudged onward, hoping rather than believing that a miracle might save them. When the Baasgarta came into sight behind her she had slapped the pony on the rump and sent it trotting off down the trail. She had taken a position behind a boulder and prepared to sell her life as dearly as possible.

“It was actually a pretty good spot for an ambush,” she said, “And fortunately I wasn't the only one that thought so. When the Baasgarta got to a hundred and fifty paces I lined up the carbine and fired.

“As if that were a signal all of a sudden a whole platoon of gunners stood up out of hiding and let them have it in one massed volley. I'd walked right through the middle of their ambush and never saw a thing, what with the shape that I was in by then. Well, those goblins were so shocked most of them just stopped right where they were and stared. A few kept running at me so I shot another one and then the boys and girls hit 'em with another volley, and then it was 'fire at will.' Of the thirty-five or forty goblins that were on our trail I don't think but three or four of them got away.”

It turned out that Taarven's group had got to the edge of the valley and ran into a heavy infantry platoon on patrol. They'd explained their plight and the sergeant in charge moved his troops into the mountains and set up an ambush. Their intent was to relieve or avenge the rear-guard if they made it that far. Of course they also didn't want a platoon of Baasgarta infantry running around in the Makepeace Valley either.

After that it was just a matter of bringing them back to the stead.

Engvyr looked at Ageyra and said, “You are a hell of a woman, Ageyra Flint.”

“An' don't you forget it!” she said with a grin, “And you're no slouch yourself, Engvyr Gunnarson. A couple of those shots you made… hell, I saw it myself and I still don't believe it!”

Berryc looked at him and asked, “Did you really shoot a man through the chest at five-hundred paces and shoot another one's hand off?”

“Well, the hand was an accident, truth be told,” Engvyr admitted, “I was aiming for his body. But he was powerful-far away.”

The sergeant shook his head in wonder.

“I don't know why I'm surprised,” he said, “but you really shouldn't make a habit of this sort of thing, Engvyr.”

“Twice is not a habit, Berryc” Engvyr protested.

Ageyra looked at him and said, “You've done this sort of thing… Lord and Lady, you're that Engvyr Gunnarson? The one that held off a whole regiment of dragoons during the Kaeralenn Retreat?”

“It was only a battalion, and besides,” he said, “It wasn't like I didn't have help! There were three of us.”

Ageyra shook her head in wonder, then looked at him as something else occurred to her.

“Wait- you were given a Royal Award of Arms and a Land Grant of five-hundred acres for that action, and from the Prince's own hand no less,” she said, “What is a Lord of the Realm doing chasing goblins and fighting rear-guard actions at the end of nowhere?”

Engvyr looked around quickly to make sure that no one had overheard her and leaned forward, looking her straight in the eye.

“Ageyra Flint, I'll thank you to keep all that 'lord' business to yourself!” he said intensely, “I haven't taken up my title or lands and until I do I'm just Eng Gunnarson, a miner's son and a Ranger of the Mountain Guard. Folks knowing anything else will just muddy things up and get in the way.”

“As you like.” she said, “It's all the same to me… M'Lord .”

“Ageyra…” he growled warningly.

She held up her hands in surrender and Engvyr could see that Berryc was choking back laughter. The Master-Ranger changed the subject at that point and Engvyr mostly tuned out their discussion. I'd probably better mention that whole Lord business to Deandra, and sooner rather than later… he thought.

In fact he told her that night when she helped him to bed. She had blinked in surprise but had otherwise simply accepted it. Her expression took on a whimsical cast and she smiled, then looked at him.

“I suppose that while we are sharing secrets I should tell you why my husband's family disliked me so and objected to the marriage.”

He started to protest that she need not if she did not care to but she placed a finger on his lips to stop him.

“No, it's something that you should know. Here I am called Agustdottir, but Agust was actually my stepfather. I do not know my real father's name but as a child I was known as Deandra Half-Elfin. My father was of the Fey.”

Engvyr was not sure what he was expecting but it hadn't been that!

“How did, I mean…” he stammered.

“In her sixteenth year a Fey came to my mother at the Festival of Spring's Dawning in the guise of a boy that she fancied, and they went into the forest together,” she said, “Naturally there was quite a fuss when she returned to the feast to discover that the real boy had gone off with someone else! I was born the following winter.”

Engvyr knew that at Spring's Dawning couples often lay together in the woods or fields. Children born of those unions were considered blessed, with no stigma attached to them. They simply took their mother's name and that was that.

“As I was growing up people said that I was 'witchy' and fey and began to blame me for their misfortunes, which is ironic for if I have so much as a shred of magical talent about me I've seen no sign of it. Eventually my mother married a potter named Agust and they moved to Ternial, west of Dvargatil Baeg along the coast.”

“And when you became betrothed your in-laws somehow found out about your birth?” he asked.

“That and… Engvyr, how old do you think I am?”

He looked at her, surprised by the question, and thought of what he knew of Afmaeltinn .

“Well, I know that humans marry young. But for having met Brael I'd have thought you perhaps twenty, but I suppose that you must be at least twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age.”