Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

They gathered tubers and wild onions from the land about, and the blackberries were coming into season. They picked these with caution, mindful that they were a favorite of the bears that lived thereabouts.

His aunt took the fruits of their gleaning and made a strong, spicy stew to put into Travel Pyes. These had a thick, salty crust that after baking was hard enough for a dwarf to break his teeth on. She'd filled these with the stew and sealed them with a top-crust and baked them again. The pyes would keep for weeks and make for an easy meal on the trail. The crust was not really edible so they could just set them in a pan to heat and eat the contents.

Finally they were ready. The ox had been living high these last weeks and wasn't keen to wear the packs again but resigned himself to it quickly enough. Unlike the first time they took to the road there was no issue of what to take and what to leave; they had little enough that the beast was far from fully loaded when all was said and done.

Before they left they erected a simple marker with the names of his mother and cousin, the year and the simple notation, “Taken by the Mountains” scratched deeply into the stone. Each of them said a few words over it, excepting Berget who simply placed a bouquet of wildflowers and her lost sister's doll before the stone. Even then she shed no tears, just looked on gravely as they each said their piece.

They closed the door to the hame firmly and double-checked that it was latched. They had no thought that they would return but others in need might come upon the place. It was hard to leave that snug little hame- it had been a home to them, however briefly. It had given them time to rest, recover and grieve. Even though Berget said nothing Engvyr caught her looking back several times as they walked away.

They stopped in Loevpas overnight. The settlement consisted of a dozen hames, a smithy, tannery, general store, stables and not a lot more. His father was able to purchase some supplies, mainly bulk foodstuffs. His Aunt was able to secure some willow-bark tea and local remedies to help with altitude-sickness for when they traversed the High Passes. Even after loading their purchases onto the oxen its packs looked lighter than any of them liked.

With his father mounted on the pony and Berget riding atop the packs when she tired they made fair time. The trail was broad and well-travelled and they took to stopping early. While his aunt and father set up camp Engvyr would take the Big 14 to go gather wood from fallen branches and deadfalls. They cut these to manageable size to carry with them as there would be no fuel to be had in the High Passes. The trails there were far above the tree-line.

They made it through the first two of these passes without incident. The willow-bark tea and simples that his aunt had procured helped quite a bit but it was never other than a miserable experience. This prompted Engvyr to thinking and examining the terrain carefully as they travelled. Finally one afternoon as they crossed a valley towards the third of the High Passes he talked to his father about it.

“I've been looking at the lay of the land,” he said, “And it seems to me there are places folk could tunnel through the mountains to avoid these awful passes. Why hasn't anyone ever done so?”

“There's been some argument over the years on that score, believe you me,” his father told him, “And the answer lies in the history of our folk.”

“How so?”

“Well, you know that in the beginning we were slaves. They say that once we were of the Afmaeltinn, or at least related to 'em, and that The Maker remade us to work his mines.”

Engvyr nodded, every dwarf knew that.

“Well, one of the things that he did was to make us long-lived, which tends to make us think in terms of the long view. When we won free of him and moved into these lands we looked 'em over carefully and settled them with a plan.”

“Seems like that plan might've included makin' things a bit easier on folk,” Engvyr grumbled, not looking forward to the next climb.

His father smiled as his eyes scanned the country about them for trouble even while they talked.

“It has to do with the lay of the mountains. There's only one really good way to move an army into the deep mountains, and they set Ironhame right in the middle of it, like a cork in a bottle. In the southern lowlands it's pretty easy to move about, and we built the best roads there to move trade and to move our own armies. In time of war folks can use those roads to fall back on Ironhame.”

“And when they do, you can then move them through The Underpass to the lands beyond!” Engvyr exclaimed.

It was like the problem with lifting the slab. You just had to look at it in a different way.

His father nodded approvingly. “Now you're thinking.”

Engvyr was, and continued to do so. After a few moments of consideration he admitted he was still baffled.