Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

A pot of side-meat and beans bubbled on the hearth and the air was rich with the smell of fresh-baked bread. His mother bustled about, setting brown earthenware plates and mugs on the table while his father cleaned his gun, a 14-bore shoulder-gun. The act was meditative rather than a necessity, as it had not been fired a dozen times since Engvyr's birth when his father moved the family to Haebnetyl to work in the mine.

“Gwynth,” his father said, “We are going. We will leave this place and this cursed mine.”

His mother turned and stared at him uncertainly, ladle in one hand and a bowl in the other.

“We are going away to the Northlands, to our clanhame in Thorvyl's Hollow. I am through with the deep mines and so is our son; it's no kind of life for a boy. I have decided, and there's an end to it.”

Engvyr's mother filled the bowl with meat and beans and moved to set it on the table before replying.

“Is it, then? Have I no say in the matter?”

His father shook his head, “It's no good, Wife! Look at our boy. Pale as an earth-worm he is, and him only working the mine a year or less. Last year in this season he was an active lad, all smiles and mischief, his skin browned by the sun. I'll not see him spend his life hidden in the depths of the earth and never the clean, open sky above his head.” He lowered his voice, shooting a quick glance at the silent woman by the fire, “And what of the twins and their mother? The wergild for my dear brother will not keep them long, and we can scarce support them of our own selves.”

“But Gunnar, to travel so far, to make ourselves beholden to the Clan… and what trade have you but mining? How will we live? It is hard here, true enough, but we've a roof over our heads and steady work at least.”

“It's a miner I am, so we will make our way by that trade. But not under the ground. There in the high-country we'll be placer-mining as I did before I went off to the Regiment. I can still remember how to lay a trap-line and there's hunting besides.” He patted the big gun affectionately, “I've not forgotten the use a' this lovely lady.”

His mother snorted, but smiled and said, “Oh aye, your first love- and well I know it!” her brow creased in thought. “Well if that’s the way of it, we've a bit put by and we can sell the hame. Likely that will be enough for the trip. We should write ahead to the Clan, of course, so they can ready a place for us…”

Engvyr kept his silence through the meal and the rest of the long evening as his parents laid out their plans. Eventually even his aunt joined in the discussion, coming to life a bit for the first time since the disaster.

Dwarves are known throughout the world as the best miners and metal-crafters under the sun. Engvyr knew a lot of miners that loved the deep places of the world and would rather nothing but that they spend their lives in the bosom of the earth. But his father, Gunnar, was of a northern Clan and had grown up in the high country. Engvyr seemed to have inherited his love for the open sky and wild places. He looked forward to the prospect of a life above ground.

The very next morning Gunnar was off, with Engvyr in tow, to see the Foreman of the mine. They found him at his family's hame, the mine being shut down while the soldiers made sure that it was clear of Goblins. The engineers also had to roof over the hole and make the workings safe again.

When given the news of their departure the Foreman shook his head and said, “I can't say as I blame you, but are you sure you are doing right by your family? It's a long journey and likely to be hard on the young ones. And…” he hesitated briefly, “I'll not lie to you. We've lost a lot of good dwarves. We need you and I think we could see our way clear to give you a raise in wages, mayhap even a promotion to Line Chief.”

His father never so much as looked tempted.

“No Tom, my mind is made up. I've given this a fair shake these last sixteen years but it's just not for me or my boy either. You've been a fair boss and you're a good man, but I've had my fill. Truth be told it's been in my mind for some time to move on.”

The Foreman argued and pleaded with him but his Father would not be moved. Seeing this, the Foreman sighed.

“Well, if that's how it's to be then I suppose that I must wish you well… But it's cruel hard of you to be leaving just when I need you most! And don't you be expectin' to come back with your tail between your legs and have that promotion waiting for you! You'll be back to running a muck-stick then, and serve you right for abandoning the company!”

They left the Foreman's place and went down the hill. Homes and shops were built half into the hillside, and many of the 'streets' were in fact stairways carved into the mountain. At the bottom they went out the gate to the station along the High road and posted the letter to their clan. It made for a fair climb back up to their own hame but having worked in the deep mines it was nothing to the dwarf and his son.