Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

The first one to reach him took the bayonet in his guts as the Ranger exploded from cover. The impaled goblin grabbed at the rifle-barrel but Engvyr shoved him aside, clearing the weapon. He swept aside the next attacker's blade with the rifle barrel. Reversing the weapon Engvyr butt-stroked him in the face and felt bone crunch under the impact of the iron-shod hardwood.

The last goblin had a short spear and they dueled briefly, spear against bayonetted rifle, before Engvyr hooked the spear with the rifle-butt and slashed the goblin through the eyes. He finished him off with a thrust to the throat and then did the same for the one that he'd struck with the rifle butt.

He quickly looked around to check on the first goblin Taarven had shot, the one that had tried to take cover. That one's crossbow still lay in the road where he'd dropped it and the goblin was some distance away, lying in a pool of blood and not moving. He reloaded and shot him through the chest just to be sure.

Across the road his partner was leaning on the haft of the long-ax and clenched his bloodied thigh with the other hand.

“Go!” he shouted, “I'll be alright.”

Engvyr reloaded again and ran after the remaining goblins, holding the rifle at the balance with the carbine grasped pistol-fashion in his right hand.

If the Goblins had left their captives they would have gotten away clean. As it was the prisoners slowed them down, the women dragging their feet and struggling. They looked back and saw him coming and one of them took up his axe, screaming a battle-cry as he rushed the dwarf. The other two abandoned their captives and bolted for the trees.

Raising the carbine one-handed, he put a ball through the face of the charging goblin and dodged to the side as his attacker's momentum carried him stumbling, already dead, through the spot Engvyr had just been standing on. Dropping the carbine Engvyr shouldered the long-rifle and shot one of the running goblins. The slug took the goblin through the lower spine and passed completely through him in a spray of blood visible even at this distance. The other goblin disappeared into the trees.

He scanned the area as he thumbed another heavy slug from his ammunition-pouch into the breech. The dwarf was breathing hard and shaking with reaction from the fight but after two decades in the 3rd Rifles his hands performed the task with machine-like precision.

He went back and recovered his carbine, charged it and slung it over his back before turning to the erstwhile captives. They were huddled in a group, the women holding the children gathered between them. They stared at the dwarf wide-eyed as if he were some new nightmare rather than their liberator. Engvyr shook his head at them and gestured down the road and addressed them in Common-speech.

“We're not here to hurt you,” he said, “And Lord and Lady willing we'll have you safely away before nightfall. For now you had better head down there a piece to where my partner is. He took some hurt on your behalf and like as not could use some tending.”

Still wide-eyed the women began to move, herding the children before them. One of them met his eyes and managed a nod of thanks as they scuttled past.

We've a powerful need to get them well away from here before sundown, Engvyr thought as he approached the Goblin he'd shot in the back. Goblins run by night and they were too near the border for comfort, given that at least one of them had gotten away clean. Lord and Lady knew whether he might come back and bring some friends with him.

He approached carefully, keeping his crippled foe covered. The goblin squinted up at him, clutching his lower belly and panting. The Ranger looked down at him and shook his head.

“You're gut-shot, friend. Ugly way to die I guess, but no more than you deserve,” he said.

“Mercy!” the goblin croaked at him in common speech.

Engvyr thought a moment before relaxing and pointing the rifle away.

“Nope. Sorry, but I got none to spare for you at the moment. Lucky that you still have your belt-knife. If you cut your forearm long-ways between the tendons you'll bleed out fast enough.” With that the dwarf turned and walked away. He could still hear the wounded Goblin screaming curses after him as he made his way back to his partner. Taarven was having his thigh bound by one of the women.

“That feller sure has a lot of energy for a dead man,” Taarven commented as he approached.

“He'd do a sight better using that energy to end himself before the scavengers arrive or wound-fever takes him,” Engvyr replied. The children were huddled with the other woman and looked to him to be in shock. Looking back to his partner he asked, “We're going to need to move out smartly. Are you going to be able to ride?”

“I'll sure as hell ride out of here!” Taarven assured him, “But this lot don't look fit for travel.”