Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

So he stayed with the commanders, watching mostly, occasionally making useful suggestions when it seemed appropriate. Much to his own surprise he had contributions to make, despite the fact that in dwarven terms he was still relatively young. He mentioned this to the Prince.

“You've a good head on your shoulders, Engvyr Gunnarson,” the Prince told him, “And common sense besides, which, young as you are, you must realize is not all that common. If we can convince you to stop going off on suicide missions I predict a bright future for you.”

“I'll be happy enough just to return safe to my wife at this point, your Highness,” Engvyr said earnestly. “We've a cottage to build and…”

“A cottage you say?” interrupted the Prince, “On no, no my boy. Architects, Stonewrights and builders were close on my heels when I left Ironhame; by the time you return home I dare say you'll have a proper estate well on its way to completion, with a great hall, guest quarters and a small armory and barracks.”

Engvyr gaped at him in shock, but before he could protest the Prince continued.

“We can't have you living like a pauper! What would people think if the Lord Warder of the North were living in a hovel? A cottage, he says!” the Prince said, shaking his head in scorn, then he frowned at Engvyr, “Lord and Lady, boy, close your mouth! I won't have one of my Royal Officials standing about gaping like a fish!”

Engvyr closed his mouth with a snap. The prince clapped his hands together gleefully and said, “Oh yes, my boy, a very bright future indeed!”

EPILOGUE I

Deandra and Ynghilda sat comfortably in their accustomed places by the hearth in the great hall. A good fire was burning tonight against the late-autumn chill and but for the absence of her husband she found herself content. The harvest, such as it was, was in. The Prince had assured them that a Royal Stipend of grain and other foodstuffs was on its way to tide them over through the winter. The great hall was emptier than it had been in many weeks.

There were a number of farmholds left vacant by the war. The Braell crews had, with some swapping around, organized themselves into 'families' and taken names for themselves. The first of these families had already moved out to the nearby farms, each with a volunteer from the hold or a farmhold to ease them into their new lives. They would spend the winter adjusting to their new lifestyle, learning to read, keep accounts and anything else that they needed to become self-sufficient.

They were disturbed by the sudden entry of one of the guards, who told them that a large mounted party had arrived.

“Odd,” said Ynghilda, “I wasn't expecting anyone.”

“My apologies, Ma'am, but they say that they are here to see Lady Eastgrove,” the guard said nervously.

“Well, for the Lord and Lady's sake, man, don't leave them standing out in the cold! Send them in!” she commanded.

The two women stood as the party was ushered into the hall. There were several men and women, all dressed in the fashion of prosperous tradesmen and women. At the head of their party strode a slight, elderly dwarf. Reaching Deandra he bowed deeply to her.

“Lady Eastgrove, I am Biphur, son of Ouwen, at your service.”

Deandra glanced at Ynghilda, whose shrug signaled that she was as much in the dark as the younger woman.

Deandra returned his bow and said, “I am most pleased to meet you, Biphur son of Ouwen.”

Straightening, the elder dwarf said, “If it is not too great an imposition on M'lady's time, perhaps you would care to look over some of our plans? The rest of the party has gone on to the work-site. Given the season we had thought it best to get started as quickly as possible.”

“Rest of the party?” she said, baffled, “Plans? Work site? I am quite at a loss for what you are talking about.”

The Biphur looked at her with surprise.

“Why, for your estate, M'lady! Surely…” he cut himself off, a look of dawning comprehension crossing his face. Then he surprised them by swearing softly and exclaiming, “Oh that brat! He didn't tell you, did he?”

“Um… who didn't tell me what?” Deandra asked.

“That we were coming? No?”

Deandra shook her head.

Biphur heaved a long-suffering sigh and said, “M'lady, we're here on the Prince’s orders all the way from Ironhame to see to the construction of your estate!”

“Excuse me? My what?”

He looked at her, realizing that she still didn't understand and continued, “Your husband has been appointed The Lord Warder of the North, m'lady. The Crown has sent us to see to the building of a proper estate for you both. You are to be this region’s new Crown Authority!”

Deandra blinked and said, “Oh. Um… I'm not sure quite what to say…”

“I know what to say.” Ynghilda said with a wicked grin, “Congratulations, M'lady! That and… You’re fired.”

EPILOGUE II