Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

“Your Common is getting better, friend. Yes, we can do that.”

The goblin nodded in satisfaction and said, “I will come an' help. Three agin' five is better odds than two agin' five.”

“Engvyr, what are you saying?” exclaimed Taarven, “Why should we help him?”

Before Engvyr could say anything the goblin turned his eyes on the ranger and spoke slowly, as if to a not-very-bright child.

“Ye are Rangers. Rangers are the Law in Dvaerg place, so I report these thieves to Rangers. Is what Law says to do, yes? There is one law for all people in Dvaerg place, yes?”

Taarven blinked as he worked that out and Engvyr grinned at him.

“He's just obeying the law like anyone else and reporting a theft.”

“How do we know they're his? He could just be conning us for some free goats,” Taarven said with a stubborn look on his face.

The goblin looked at him a moment as if disappointed in him. Then he quickly sketched a Goblin rune in the dirt.

“Te' goats have this sign tattooed in te' left ear.”

The next morning the goblin showed them the trail left by the herd and they tracked down the thieves. As he'd said the goats had the rune tattooed in their ears.

Before they parted ways the Goblin told Engvyr, “Remember te' sign I showed you. If ye need te' see me or need help make that sign on trees and I will see it, or others will see and tell me. Then I will come te' find ye.”

They turned the goats over to the goblin and marched the thieves back to the station. It made for one of their odder reports.

“By the way,” Taarven asked as they were leaving the Captains office after making that report, “What was that he called to you when he first showed up?”

“'Son of Good Stew,'” he said, and laughed at his partners puzzled expression, “It's a long story.”

When Engvyr arrived at the Makepeace Steading the place was a beehive of activity. Dwarves armed with crossbows now patrolled on the parapet of the wall. Outside a crew was apparently digging a moat with an excavator drawn by a team of eight of the small mountain oxen.

Inside the cooper and the blacksmith were hard at work. A long shed of some sort was being erected against the wall in another place. Supplies were stacked here and there against the palisade. As he entered the enclosure there was a wagon loaded with heavy bags of grain coming in the opposite gate. There were several piles of long, sharpened stakes that would presumably be placed in the moat when it was finished.

He went straight to the stables and handed the leads for his spare mounts off to the groom. Unsaddling his pony he gave him a good rubdown and a scoop of grain before heading into the great hall.

Taarven was the only one present when he entered. As Engvyr stowed his gear under the broad bench along the wall the other Ranger limped over and clasped forearms with him in greeting.

“Can't say as I'm not glad to see you,” Taarven said, “But meaning no offense I'd have been happier to see a company of infantry come strolling through those gates.”

Engvyr glanced at him as he laid out his bedroll.

“That bad, is it?”

Taarven shrugged and said, “One of the outlying hames got hit the night after you left. There are four dead and eleven missing. They slaughtered or drove off the livestock and burned the place down. Ynghilda sent some riders out and they reported sign of maybe thirty to forty goblins.”

“That's bad.”

“What's worse is that they didn't butcher the dead. Sure, they took the easy bits but that was all, then they marched the captives right out of there.”

Engvyr pondered that. A force that large could easily have packed out the meat from that many folk. Why go to the trouble of marching them out unless…

“They want the captives for something else.”

Taarven favored him with a slight grin, “You're not as dumb as everyone says you are. But what the hell do they want them for?”

“That's what you boys are going to find out,” said a voice from behind them, “As soon as that leg is healed up a little more.”

They looked up to see Ynghilda approaching them. She was wearing her mail and sword again and as she greeted Engvyr she noticed his questioning look at her attire.

“The way things are going I figured I'd best get used to it,” she said.

“I'm fit to sit a horse already if'n I need to, Ma'am, and it seems to me there's need enough to go around just now.” Taarven said.

“Yes, yes, Taarven,” Ynghilda said in mock-irritation, “We all know that you are the manliest of dwarves and eat raw heroism for breakfast. Now let's all sit down before you fall over.”

Taarven gave her an outrageously exaggerated pout but as they all took a seat Engvyr noticed a flash of relief on his partners face.

“Seriously Taarven,“ he asked, “When will you be fit for duty?”

“I can ride out tomorrow,” his partner responded immediately.

“Taarven Redbeard, if you sit a horse before mid-week next I'll beat you even more senseless!” Ynghilda said with a scowl, “you are a guest under my roof and I will not see you harm yourself out of manly pride!”