Michael Pearce - Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

“Don't get cock-sure,” Taarven advised the group, “These boys had never experienced massed rifle-fire before, and the ground favored us. They'll find a different way to come at us next time, and you can damn sure bet they won't fight our fight again if'n they can help it. It's only going to get harder from here.”

Several heads bobbed in agreement, Engvyr's among them. There were few quicker ways to get killed than assuming that your enemy was stupid. The Baasgarta would be studying on ways to overcome the dwarven army's strengths, so they'd better stay on their toes.

“Alright heroes,” the Captain's said, “Rack out. Likely they'll be finding something to keep us busy tomorrow, and we'd best be ready.”

The next morning the pursuit began. Engvyr, Taarven and the other Rangers scouted ahead followed by groups of skirmishers in platoon-strength. Work had indeed gone on all night to clear a path through the bodies of the Baasgarta, and the regiments advanced along that line. Less than half a league from last night's lines the small valley spilled out into a broader river valley that wound its way north through the mountains.

The scouts moved ahead warily keeping an eye out for ambushes and traps. They were mounted and had it easy at first as they moved across the open terrain with its low bushes and heather. But as the day wound on the valley's altitude dropped below the tree line and they found themselves working their way through the scrub forest. The groups of skirmishers followed behind, ready to converge on any ambush or disturbance. The regiments had it relatively easy; if there had been no road here before, the tramping of tens of thousands of Baasgarta feet had made one now.

Tensions mounted as the day wore on, but there were no alarms, no ambushes. Just the tracks of the fleeing Baasgarta becoming more and more organized as the day went on, until finally the signs indicated that they had again formed up into a relatively disciplined force. They also found signs that a sizable force of Baasgarta cavalry had joined the column from one of the side-valleys.

On a good road in open country the regiments could march ten leagues a day for weeks on end if they needed to. In this terrain they managed half that, and set up a full camp, protected by spike-covered earthen berms. The valley had widened out to two miles at this point so they set up in four camps in a diamond formation that allowed each to support the others in the event of an attack.

Throughout his time in the army Engvyr had never stopped being amazed by the speed that this could be accomplished by a few thousand disciplined and motivated dwarves. Within two hours of stopping the camp was compete, row after neat row of tents interspersed with larger command and mess tents. Every man would have a hot meal and sleep in their own cot, but at any given time one third of them would be manning the parapets of their camps. No one expected trouble that night, but they were deep in enemy territory following a force that still outnumbered them by three-to-one or more.

The Mountain Guard was not in the watch rotation for the evening, so they sat up in their mess tent, drinking coffee and talking quietly among themselves until Captain Gauer made an appearance.

“Best get some sleep, boys and girls,” He told them, “We're heading out down the valley tonight. We're to scout ahead and try to establish contact with the Baasgarta's main force and report their location and progress. We'll leave at the change of second and third watch.”

They broke up the gathering with some good-natured grumbling and a few jokes and racked out.

They were roused from their slumber near the end of the second watch, and Engvyr sat up on his cot and shook his boots out, purely by habit. At this time of year and altitude they were unlikely to house unwanted guests. Pulling the boots on he dressed quickly in the chill of the small hours of the night. There was just time to stop by the mess tent for a quick cup of coffee before they moved out.

“Be careful out there tonight,” the captain warned them as they made ready, “The Baasgarta were moving in fairly good order by the end of the day. Might be they left a little welcome for us up the valley.”

He'd hardly needed to tell them that, of course. They were each keenly aware of the dangers they were facing.

Engvyr's pony was inclined to be ill-tempered at being roused before dawn, and nipped at him as he saddled the beast. He evaded the half-hearted protests with the ease of long practice as he slipped his long-rifle into its scabbard and mounted. The rangers silently walked their ponies through the sleeping camp. The infantrymen on watch moved the spiked barricade from the sally-port in the earthen berm as they approached, giving them a wave as they passed out.

Taarven and Engvyr forded the river and rode into the trees of the eastern slope of the valley, quietly picking their way through the forest, relaxed and alert. Their eyes tracked back and forth constantly; in the dark their peripheral vision would catch movement better than staring straight at it.

They also watched their pony’s ears and bearing; the beast’s keen senses would provide the best warning.

The moon set and it grew darker under the trees. They slowed further, letting their ponies pick their way forward at a walk. They rode side by side just a few feet apart, their mounts’ hooves nearly silent on the thick carpet of needles beneath the pines. Engvyr saw his pony’s ears prick up and the beast raised its head as it stared into the darkness to their left. Taarven's mount did likewise and both rangers eased their weight back in their saddles to tell the ponies to stop.

Engvyr listened to the night but all that he could hear was the sound of rushing water in one of the ubiquitous creeks that flowed down to join the river in the center of the valley. Then he saw a small, pale spot moving, then another and another, a stream of them moving slowly south. Scanning with his peripheral vision he realized that a column of riders was passing through the woods not fifty feet from them. Baasgarta cavalry, each with a small tag of light colored material on his back to allow the rider behind to follow in the inky blackness of the forest. They were in plain sight of the other riders but had so far gone unnoticed, and they might remain unseen if they did not move. Thank the Lord and Lady we’re downwind, Engvyr thought, if those ulvgaed caught a whiff of our ponies…

They waited while the column slowly drifted by, praying silently for their mounts to stand still. It was a sizable force and took some time to pass; no rider was going to move quickly in the darkness of the forest. Finally the riders were gone, vanished into the darkness.

Engvyr edged his mount closer to Taarven's and very quietly said, “How many do you reckon?”

“At least company-strength,” the other ranger replied.

“Matches my count,” Engvyr said, “What'ye reckon the odds are that those fellows are the only ones headed for our troops?”

“Pretty poor. Let's head up-slope and get back to let 'em know that company's on the way.”

They worked their way up the side of the valley alongside the stream, alert for any other columns of riders that might be slipping by, but they saw no one else. Reaching the tree-line they turned south. After the darkness in the forest it seemed almost well lit to Engvyr, and he realized that the sky had brightened with false-dawn. The contrast between the lightening sky and the dark ground would make it difficult for anyone below to see them, and they pushed the pace as much as they dared; they needed to get ahead of the Baasgarta and warn the camps. Even if they did not attack they could easily be in place to ambush them on the move the following morning.