Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

Dinner that evening was stew and black bread supplemented with wedges of cheese and a keg of wine imported from the south. Ynghilda and the two rangers were engaged in serious conversation about the defense of the valley with the army officers. Even at a distance as Deandra worked she could tell that Ynghilda was not pleased by what she was hearing.

Though it was hard to be parted from Brael and Gerta she was more convinced than ever that she had been right to send them away.

Chapter Fifteen

“We dwarves do not know the nature of our creator. Whether The Maker was a man with the powers of a god, a god in truth or some other thing no living person can say. For all the long centuries of his dominion over our people we can say only one thing for sure: He was not bullet-proof.”

From the diaries of Engvyr Gunnarson

“Well, this is fun,” said Taarven as two crossbow bolts stuck in the log he was lying behind and a third ricocheted off.

Engvyr was lying flat on his back next to him looking up through the forest canopy with his long-rifle across his chest.

“I've had fun before,” he said mildly, “And I don't recall it feeling just exactly like this.”

Spotting movement from the corner of his eye he looked to his left and saw a goblin moving down the hill to flank them. He estimated the range and adjusted the big rifle's vernier sight. He took a deep breath, letting it half out as he rolled onto his side. He quickly drew a bead and stroked the trigger. Whack! A split second later he heard a dull metallic 'ponk' as the heavy slug hammered through the target's breastplate. The goblin threw up his hands with a cry and fell out of sight.

Engvyr rolled flat again as another crossbow bolt slammed into a tree next to the toe of his boot. He looked at it sourly.

“I'll allow as I have had better times my own self,” Taarven admitted, “But at least the company is good.”

“That's three, by the way,” Engvyr told him.

“Oh are we keeping score now?” Taarven rose up and snapped off a quick shot with his carbine. As he fired a bolt skipped off his breastplate and tore the sleeve of his shirt. He rolled aside and flattened behind the log again. Glancing at the tear he said, “Damn, I liked this shirt.”

Engvyr had reloaded the rifle- a singularly awkward process while lying on his back. He took another deep breath and rolled to one knee and fired. Taarven heard a scream from up the hill and swore as Engvyr dropped flat on his belly.

“Don't you ever miss with that damned thing?”

Engvyr looked at him and grinned. “That's four.”

“Oh shut up.”

– **-

Engvyr and Taarven had spotted smoke from the farmhame and ridden up to investigate. They'd gone in on the wooded side, hoping to approach unobserved. Leaving their ponies at the tree line they had continued on foot only to be ambushed among the trees. The rangers had killed six of their attackers in the hours that followed. The remaining ambushers had withdrawn, following the main party of raiders.

They had investigated the grounds and come together at the ruined hame. It had burned poorly, being built of stone, but the contents had been gutted and the roof had collapsed.

“They're getting better at this,” Engvyr said sourly, “Lord and Lady but I hate a smart enemy!”

“From the signs there were about thirty goblins. They took sixteen people, the livestock, killed two and left the bodies alone, burned the place and then set an ambush to delay us. Which worked, by the way. At this point there's no way we can catch up with them before full dark.”

Engvyr studied the land carefully.

“We're agreed that there's no real chance of a rescue?”

Taarven nodded bitterly.

“It's a gamble but we could maybe make this raid a bit more expensive for them and get some payback into the bargain. I'm guessing they had no thought that we'd kill so many of their skirmishers,” Engvyr said, “They lose a few more and they're going to have to re-think the way they do business. I've a notion from the way that those ridges lie I might be able to cut across on foot and get above them. If I can get into range I'll give them cause to regret it.”

“I don't like it,” Taarven said definitely, “This leg of mine still isn't up to that kind of country. You'll get caught by dark up there with a whole passel of pissed-off goblins. That's not a recipe for survival, Eng.”

“Likely I'll manage alright. They've already shown they'd rather get those prisoners than kill a couple rangers. They won't be wanting to leave them to come after me in numbers.”

“Eng, they probably expected these fellas to kill us! 'Sides, Deandra will skin me alive if'n I come back without you.”