Michael Pearce - Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

“Around four decades ago an old woman of our people, her body ridden with sun-cankers, went to die at the Roof of the World. There she encountered Braell, but like no Braell she had ever seen. They were tall and proud, un-branded and uncut, well dressed and bearing many fine goods. And she knew them for an abomination, for these must be the sons and daughters of the God-slayers, unrepentant and proud.”

Engvyr's eyes grew wide as he realized exactly who those dwarves had been, and he swore softly. The others eyes flickered to him briefly, uncomprehendingly.

“She knew then that she must not die. She returned to her people to tell them what she had seen and they knew that god would want these people destroyed. But they despaired, for these Braell dwelling in abomination were many and wielded great power.” Kruger locked eyes briefly with each of the dwarves before he continued. His expression filled with hate.

“Then The Dreamer came and said that they should not fear, for God had not placed this task before them with no means to accomplish it. There was an artifact buried somewhere near that could raise the Dead God from before time. It would smite their enemies, destroy them in flesh and spirit and the Baasgarta would reign supreme.” He paused.

“They searched long and hard for this artifact, which they called the Soul of The Elder, eventually finding it in the valley of the Abomination. An expedition was planned to recover it so that The Dreamer's plan might be accomplished.”

“This is what they dug up in the Makepeace Valley?” The Colonel asked.

Grimnael translated the question and the Baasgarta shrugged and continued.

“I had long suspected that The Dreamer was not really speaking to God as he slept. This to me confirmed it, for I was a scholar and had studied much of the ancient times. I did not, do not believe that the dead God will be bent to The Dreamer's will. He would try chain it with our own magics. But these would be nothing to the creature he would raise, any more than the chirping of crickets can compel a man to do their bidding.”

“You're saying he's going to rouse this thing? And that it will be loose in the world with no control?”

The goblin nodded and said, “It will destroy the Baasgarta, destroy the Dvaerg. It will murder the world in its grief and fury. The Dreamer must be stopped. He must not wake the Dead God!”

The Dwarven commander studied the Baasgarta's face, then nodded and said, “Thank you. Remain here.” He gestured for one of the staffers.

“Get a couple of gunners to watch this fellow, but be polite. Get him food, some coffee or something to drink if he wants it.”

Turning to Engvyr he said, “I need you to get me one of the Battlemages. I don't know if I believe in this 'Dead God' of theirs but he certainly believes in it.”

“Sir?” Engvyr said, “A word before I go?”

The commander looked at him inquisitively and motioned for him to speak.

“This may lend some credence to at least part of his story. The part about the old woman at the Roof of the World? That much at least is true. I was there. My family were the dwarves that she met.”

Colonel Oakes looked at him, raised an eyebrow and he explained quickly. When he was finished the Commander gave a sharp nod and sent him to collect a Battlemage.

“Ah, Ranger. Is it true that the southern goblins have come to help us?” asked one of the mages as he approached.

“So it seems. The Colonel wants to speak to one of you about some new information. Can you come?”

The other dwarf nodded and Engvyr led him back to the command area. The mage raised an eyebrow when he saw the goblins among the commanders, speaking with them and apparently perfectly at ease. Colonel Oakes saw them, made a comment to one of the other officers and came over. He quickly explained what they had been told and the mage shook his head, disturbed.

“We've been trying to suss out what the Baasgarta are up to, but we can't make heads or tails of what we're sensing. Certainly it jibes with some of that goblin's remarkable story and what little we know of the eldritch gods, but is it true? I can't say for certain, but I hope not!”

“Bring the rest of the mages up here, with us,” the commander said, “I want you folks reporting to me as things happen.”

The mage departed. With the spoiling of the flank-attack the fighting had slowed down for the night, with only occasional shots, shouts or screams being heard. Wherever possible the troops were being given a hot meal and some rest. The fighting would most likely resume at first light.

Engvyr stayed with the command group. He watched Grimnael gesture, ask questions and state opinions on the conduct of the battle as if he'd been working with the dwarves for years. Something about him, perhaps his assumption that he belonged, made it easy for the dwarves to accept him. Before long several goblin runners had made their appearance, conveying his orders back and forth to their own soldiers just as the dwarves were doing among themselves.

Near midnight the officers took a break, sitting down and relaxing. Refreshments were brought and Engvyr took the opportunity to speak with Grimnael.

“Do you believe the Baasgarta's story? That the Dreamer is really trying to raise one of the Dead Gods?”

The goblin shrugged and replied, “I do know that the tribal elders, who know much that I do not, believe enough to take him seriously. I think your own leaders do not believe, not completely, but they will take no chances. When your reinforcements arrive I believe that they will assault the city.”

“What of you and your people?” Engvyr asked.

“I have two battalions more of infantry,” Grimnael said, “They will join the assault. We may have other resources that will be of help as well.”

They talked of other things, Engvyr's marriage and assumption of an estate, the liberation of the Braell and Deandra's efforts there. Engvyr kept looking at the goblin's gun. It was different than any dwarven gun he had seen, with a long slender barrel and a somewhat bulbous shoulder stock covered in leather. A lever, hinged at the end of the butt stock ended at the trigger-guard. A block of what appeared to be dense, oily hardwood around four and a half inches long and an inch thick protruded from the mechanism at one side. Seeing his interest Grimnael removed the block of wood and extended the weapon to him.

“Is smoothbore lined with brass,” the goblin explained, gesturing, “There is a bellows inside butt-stock, and a cam on the lever that opens bellows against a spring. Trigger releases spring, bellows puffs air.”

He gestured with the block of wood. Engvyr noticed the end of the block was covered in waxed paper, and there were notches in the side of it.

“Not enough power to shoot bullets well. The block has five tubes, each tube has four-inch steel dart. Dart can kill small game, rabbits, hares, maybe coyote. For war is coated with poison- very fast poison! Hit head, throat, man die in seconds. Hit anywhere maybe a minute. Causes convulsions. Very painful. Range is short compared to rifles, but fires very quickly for five shots, then reload with new 'magazine.'

Engvyr noted that the weapon seemed as well-made as their own. Different solution to making a gun, he thought, but it sure seems to work.

As he handed the weapon back a commotion started. Runners came to let them know that the Eastern Force had arrived. The reinforcement commanders joined them and the runners were kept busy as they sorted things out, positioning troops for the attack. They appeared to have the forces to crush the Baasgarta now, and hopefully penetrate the city stopping whatever insane ritual the Dreamer was engaged in. Engvyr glanced at the battlemages, who looked increasingly worried as the night wore on. That, he thought, is not comforting.