Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

By the time the rangers were mounted and moving the battle had been joined. Baasgarta were pushing forward behind metal pavises and engaging the dwarves with their heavy crossbows as they advanced. The dwarves actually had a tactic to deal with this; there was a practical upper limit to the weight of a shield that could be maneuvered effectively in these circumstances. Each company would focus its volleys on a single shield. With each volley three pounds of lead would slam into each shield every two seconds. Often the shock of this would tear the shield out of the carrier's hands and the next volley would slam into the gap before the shield could be righted. Either that or the expert fire focused on the center of the shield would simply hammer its way through the metal after enough volleys struck. Then the company would shift fire to another shield. It was effective but relatively slow, and in the meantime the crossbows were producing casualties on the dwarves’ side despite their own wooden pavises.

The Baasgarta were pressing outward on a wide front, with a large reserve waiting near the gates to move out to exploit any weaknesses in the dwarven lines. As the sun rose the two armies were fully engaged, hammering at each other with the Baasgarta slowly creeping towards the dwarven lines.

The rangers skirted the outer edge of the conflict and headed north, riding through the abandoned plantations. Not far beyond the battle they came to a bridge over the river and half the riders peeled off and headed for the eastern side of the valley. Taarven and Engvyr's group rode through the plantations to the wooded slope and moved along the edge of the forest.

Within a league the first valley branched off to the west and a pair of rangers peeled off to check it out while the rest forded the stream that flowed down to join the river. They had only gone a few hundred yards when a horn sounded behind them. They pulled up and glanced at each other as the horn sounded again. They looked back and within moments the two rangers shot out of the mouth of the branch valley and rode hell for leather to the south, blowing frantically on their horns. Seconds later Baasgarta cavalry boiled out of the opening and charged after them.

Engvyr swore softly as the mounted goblins poured out into the valley, thousands of them bearing down on the rear of the dwarven army only a few thousand paces away.

“Well, that's one sleeve accounted for,” Taarven commented.

“So, do we head back?” Engvyr asked uncertainly.

“There’s still another sleeve to look up, I think,” Taarven said.

“Looks like we won't have to wait for that one either,” one of the other rangers said pointing north.

They turned in their saddles to see infantry spilling out of the next branch valley a half-league ahead and turn towards them. The rangers watched and rank after rank of Baasgarta emerged. So far the cavalry, several thousand strong, were ignoring them and heading south, but with the goblins bearing down on them from the other direction they couldn't stay where they were for long. By the time a third regiment marched into sight it was time to go.

“Follow me!” Taarven told them, and bolted for the river. They rode after him, heading not for the bridge but for a calm section where their ponies could ford the river. As they plunged into the icy water the lead for the pack pony came loose. One of the other rangers downstream made a grab for it but Engvyr yelled for him to leave it. Likely the beast could fend for itself well enough. Lunging up the west bank they turned south and spurred their ponies to a gallop. Engvyr was able to see some of the action around the city as they approached. The dwarves on the northern flank of the siege were turning to engage the cavalry and hammered them with volley after volley. Hundreds of the mounted goblins and their ulvgaed went down with each crash of the slug guns, but thousands more came on.

It would have been a massacre if the dwarves did not, out of habit, build their siege-works to account for enemies at their rear. Instead of slamming into the spike covered berms the cavalry force wheeled aside, racing along the fortifications. The gunners took a horrible toll on them, but each cavalryman had a light repeating crossbow and as they passed along the dwarven lines they emptied them as fast as they could fire before wheeling away to reload. The light, un-aimed quarrels individually weren't much to worry about, but the dwarven gunners were showered with them and inevitably, by blind luck and sheer weight of numbers, they were having an effect.

If the cavalry can take the beating long enough, Engvyr thought, then they can peel away just as their infantry arrives to hit the earthworks. That's going to get ugly in a hurry…