Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

He guessed that under the circumstances there might be some hot food available in the Great Hall and he wasn't wrong. He sat down with a bowl of stew and a thick chunk of black bread and set to it. He wasn't half finished before someone plunked their own bowl down across the table from him and sat heavily on the bench opposite. He looked up to see Captain Gauer shoveling stew into his mouth. He nodded to him and kept eating. Finishing his meal, he sat sipping his mug of cider while his superior ate.

The Captain finished his food, pushed back from the table as he loaded his pipe, and lit it. When it was drawing well he looked at Engvyr through a wreath of smoke.

“Best rest up tonight, Ranger. You're heading out in the morning, back to the Makepeace Steading. You'll be advising them on reinforcing their defenses and doing some scouting of the country beyond the Eyrie.”

“Sir, I had hoped that we'd be sending them some reinforcements as well,” Engvyr said.

The Captain shook his head and gestured with his pipe.

“You know the saying, 'you can't stiffen a bucket of spit with a handful of shot.' Don't get me wrong,” he said, “Her folk are game and in a fixed defense they'll do as well as anyone, but right now we simply can't spare enough Rangers to make a difference in the kind of 'hit and run' raiding that has been occurring. We're calling in the patrols and consolidating our strength but we need to concentrate our people, not dole them out in penny-packets that won't have any real effect.”

Engvyr understood but he didn't like it. Something must have shown on his face because the Captain continued.

“I know folk are dying and maybe worse, Engvyr, but a few Rangers won't make any more difference than you and Taarven can make on your own. In the event of an attack on the steading a few carbines will make no real difference at all.”

Engvyr frowned. He could see the logic of the Captain's words but it still didn't sit well.

“Speaking of that can we at least send some of our stock of extra carbines?”

“Think about it. If a few Rangers won't help how could putting carbines in the hands of locals that aren't even trained with them do any good? At best we dilute our own resources and at worst we put guns in the hands of our enemies.”

The Captain went on, “The Mountain Guard are primarily a law-enforcement and rescue agency. At need we are scouts and even skirmishers, but a defense of this type is a job for soldiers, and you can bet they'll be on their way soon if they aren't already.”

Engvyr nodded reluctantly. Understanding the Captain's point still didn't make him like it.

“You've done good work these last few days, Ranger, “said the Captain, clapping him on the shoulder as he rose from his seat, “Now get your butt back in your bunk. You've got an early day tomorrow.”

At midnight that night a shuttered lantern flashed a message over and over from the station’s southern guard tower. After a time a distant light flashed the message back from a saddle between two peaks. Throughout the long night the message was repeated again and again, from saddle to peak to pass, half the length of Dvargatil Baeg and all the way to Ironhame.

On the return trip he continued to place the mark on random trees as he went. It was actually a Goblin rune but to any random goblin that encountered it, it would mean nothing. There was a specific Goblin trapper that would know who it was for and what it asked. Engvyr remembered when they had set up that signal and smiled to himself as he rode.

He'd been a Ranger for about four years at the time and he and Taarven had been assigned a route further south than their current one. They were on patrol and had camped for the night when a familiar voice called out of the darkness.

“Son of Good Stew!”

“What the hell?” said Taarven, grabbing his carbine and starting to rise.

Engvyr held up a hand to restrain him with a chuckle and said, “It's alright- put your gun down and just sit.”

Pitching his voice louder he called back, “Come ahead!”

He was pouring a cup of coffee even as the goblin entered their camp. Taarven watched with wide eyes as their visitor settled himself comfortably by the fire and accepted the cup. Engvyr indicated Taarven with a nod.

“This is my partner.”

The goblin turned his huge pink eyes on the ranger and inspected him carefully then nodded to him. Taarven returned the nod with an air of bemusement and turned to Engvyr.

“You know this Goblin?” he demanded quietly.

Engvyr nodded and replied, “He was friends with my father, and helped our family to survive a disaster in the mountains.”

“Well, if that don't beat all!” Taarven muttered and turned back to the goblin and looked him over in turn. The goblin sipped his coffee for several minutes then abruptly looked up and spoke in broken Common.

“Five Dvaerg came to a Goblin-place. They took twenny goats, went into te' hills wit' them. Ye get te' goats, bring 'em back an' I'll take them back to Goblin-place. Ye do this.”