Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

“A dwarf never knows himself until he faces ruin. Whether that ruin be death at the hands of his enemies, natural disaster or the whims of the Gods, it is then that his true mettle is shown, to himself and all the world.”

From the diaries of Engvyr Gunnarson

Engvyr did not know how long he stood with the big handgun pointed up the trail after them. When his arms began to shake he lowered the weapon. He could not later recall thinking anything at all, his mind shying away from the catastrophic events of the last few moments.

A groan of pain from his father broke his stasis and brought him back to himself. He set the gun's safety and unslung it but kept it near to hand as he moved to see to him. He only half-noticed as his aunt gathered up her daughter, who clung to her frantically. She carried the child over to join Engvyr at his father's side.

Sparing her a quick glance he asked, “How is she?”

“She's alright, just had the wind knocked out of her,” his aunt responded.

His father lay among the tumbled rocks, battered and bruised, one leg twisted in a bad way. He had slipped from consciousness again and Engvyr moved to make him more comfortable but was stopped by his aunt's hand on his arm.

“We dare not move him yet, his back may be broken. Start a fire and I'll look to your father and see what's what.”

He nodded and started to move off up the trail when they heard a distant shout.

“Hallooo!”

Past the damaged section of trail there was a dwarf hailing them. It was Eggil Burenson from the pack-train.

“Are you all right?” he yelled to them.

“My brother is hurt,” his aunt yelled back, “And our supplies are stolen.”

“Who stole your supplies?” Eggil yelled back.

“It was those miners and their friends!” Engvyr replied, feeling a fresh burst of rage at the memory.

Eggil put his hands on his hips, nodded and peered at the damaged trail. Engvyr looked as well. The trail had been carried away in sections, dropping into the gorge and the raging river more than three hundred feet below. Of his mother and their Guide, there was no sign; the raging torrent had already borne them away. It was clear there was no chance that they had lived, no chance at all.

The thought of his mother brought fresh tears to his eyes. That she was truly gone, that he would never see her, hold and be held by her again… he forced those thoughts away with an effort of will. It was their own survival he must think of now. There would be time aplenty to mourn their loss later. For now the living must see to the living.

Turning his regard back to the collapsed trail he studied it carefully. It was truly impassible. The hundred paces that separated them from the train might just as well have been a hundred leagues. He held up his hands helplessly to the other dwarf.

“It's no good!” he shouted, “We can't cross!”

The other dwarf gave them an exaggerated nod and yelled that he would be back. As he turned back to his father his aunt reminded him to get the fire going. He left The Hammer with his aunt, taking the Big 14 with him as he moved cautiously up the trail to find wood. It took time to gather as he had to go some distance to reach the trees and brush; all the while he kept a wary eye out.

When he got back to the others his aunt had the rocks moved from under his father's body. Her great-cote was balled-up under his head for a pillow. She had already splinted his leg and was cleaning the gash on his forehead with water from the leather bottle that she carried slung about her body.

“How is he?” he asked as he laid out the kindling and struck a light.

His Aunt shook her head, her lips tightened to a thin line before responding.

“Well, none of his wounds are fatal. He's got a busted knee and some cuts and bruises. His back isn't broken, near as I can tell, but it's probably badly sprained. I don't know that he can travel, but we sure as anything can't stay here for long.”

Engvyr nodded as he got the fire going. Hunting around a bit he found a flat slab of rock and propped it up to reflect the heat of the fire before making another trip for wood. Then he arranged some more rocks to help block the wind.

Eggil reappeared on the lower section of the trail and shouted up to them, asking if they had line. They hadn't and he left again, coming back a moment later with a weighted rope. If he could get the rope to them they might be able to cross the gap or at least pass some supplies across. He swung the rope around and around in a great circle before letting fly. It fell short and he reeled it in and tried again, again falling short. He made several more attempts but the distance was just too great. He shouted his apologies.

Engvyr shouted back, “At least you tried. Get on with you; see to your own folk! We will manage.”