Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

“When scouting enemy territory you have only two defenses- stealth and speed. Speed is used when stealth has failed. Lose the capacity for either one and you are in trouble. Lose both and you are dead meat… an uncomfortably apt expression in Goblin territory.”

From the diaries of Engvyr Gunnarson

They kept to the high country, their sure-footed mountain ponies carrying them along hillsides and ridges, wading down rushing streams. They had no goal initially but to go north and see what they found.

They were careful to leave as little sign of their passage as possible. They stuck to stony ground whenever it was practical to do so. When crossing rivers they swapped their boots for soft-soled shoes and scouted on foot to insure that no one was present to observe them. They made a cold camp the first night, eating dry sausages, cheese, bread and an apple pie that Deandra had sent with them. Several times they cut across trails left by groups of goblins but saw no other living souls.

Late in the morning of the second day they came across the trail of a raiding party with dwarven captives and turned to follow. Where they could they rode parallel to the trail. When they couldn't they wrapped their ponies hooves in leather, both to muffle the sound and soften their prints. The need for caution forced them to move slowly but they found the tracks were getting fresher.

“I think they've actually holed up for the day,” Engvyr said, “we'd best be careful lest we come on them suddenly.”

As they got closer they concealed their ponies and moved forward of foot. They soon had to drop to their bellies as they heard movement ahead of them. When they spotted the sentry they edged slowly backwards, watching carefully so that they moved only when the sentry was facing away. They circled around up the slope, skirting another sentry until they could look down on the camp.

They could actually see a third sentry from their vantage point. There was a goblin awake watching the captives and three more sleeping in their bedrolls. There were a dozen captives, mostly women and children, who had their hands bound behind them and their legs hobbled by another cord.

“This,” Engvyr said quietly in Taarven's ear, “presents a problem.”

“Those sentries aren't any too alert but I don't think that I could come up on any one of them without being spotted.” Taarven said.

“They aren't going to stay sleepy once the party starts either. None of which addresses the fact that rescuing these folk isn't part of our mission.”

Taarven nodded and said, “So let's get that part straightened out first. What do you think?”

“Sod the mission. I haven't got it in me to leave these folks to their fate when we could do otherwise.”

“Yeah, me too. If there was nothing we could do…” Taarven shrugged.

If there were thirty of the bastards this would be a lot easier. We'd have to leave them but Lord and Lady I'd hate living with having done so, Engvyr thought.

“You know how this has to go, right?” Taarven asked. “If we get the captives loose I'll have to shepherd them while you play at rear-guard. You up for that?”

They made their plans and were about to separate when Engvyr caught a quick motion from one of the prisoners. She shot a quick glance at their position and he could have sworn that she locked eyes with him before looking back down.

“Hold up,” he told Taarven, “Might be we have us an ally in camp.”

He told his partner what he had seen and Taarven shook his head.

“She'd have to have the eye of an eagle to have spotted us up here,” he said.

“Could be she does at that… look.”

The woman now had her eyes locked on the guard, freezing whenever he started to turn her way. She edged closer to the young man tied up next to her and nudged him. When he looked up she either whispered to him or just mouthed words. His own eyes skimmed across the slope as he nodded slightly, the movement barely visible from their distant vantage.

“Damned if I don't think that you're right, Taarven said, “Looks like we got us some help, though I don't know as they are good for much after what they've been through. Can't see as it hurts our plan regardless.”

Engvyr agreed and Taarven moved off quietly. After he'd counted off an hour Engvyr slowly moved the long-rifle into position and lay the loaded carbine next to it. Sighting carefully, he shot the prisoner's guard through the head. The report echoed off of the hillside and things began to happen very quickly.