Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

As he took up the carbine the sleeping goblins woke. The captive young man leapt onto the nearest goblin, his hands suddenly free and took him from behind in a chokehold. The woman threw her body into another, who staggered from the impact. The last of the sleeping goblins was raising his falchion to cut her down when the ball from Engvyr's carbine smashed his shoulder and he fell with a cry.

The sentry that had been furthest from his position was raising a horn to his lips when he suddenly dropped it and staggered forward to fall on his face as Taarven shot him from behind.

The goblin that was staggering dove for the brush before Engvyr could recharge the carbine. But he was unarmed except for his belt-knife so Engvyr disregarded him for the moment, looking for the other two sentries. They had vanished.

A scraping sound on the rock above warned him and he rolled over as one of the missing sentries dove on him. He tucked his knees up and planted his feet in the goblin's stomach as his attacker grabbed the carbine. Engvyr yanked savagely on the weapon, straightened his legs and sent the goblin flying headlong down the slope. Rising to his knees he waited until the goblin tumbled to a stop at the bottom before shooting him through the body.

He scanned the scene below as he reloaded both weapons. The woman had struggled to a sitting position and said something to the young man, who sheepishly released the limp goblin from what Engvyr recognized as a surprisingly professional choke-hold. Taking the goblin's knife he cut the woman's bonds as Taarven entered the camp, scanning along the barrel of his weapon as he moved.

A horn sounded in the near distance and Engvyr swore as he moved down the slope to the camp, half sliding, half bounding down the hill.

The man he had shot in the shoulder was gone, as was the one the woman had tackled. She had appropriated one of the goblins' crossbows, and was slinging on a belt with pouches full of bolts as he approached.

“Ageyra Flint, Stonewright,” she said, as she took a long knife and thrust the sheath through her belt, “formerly a Battlemage of the 3rd Mounted Infantry, and very much at your service!”

“Engvyr and Taarven, at yours.” he replied, already moving to help cut the remaining captives loose as Taarven swept the woods and hillside with his carbine.

She was already going through the goblins packs. Not one to waste any time, and a veteran. Better and better, Engvyr thought. She gestured to the young man.

“My nephew Ben, who apparently pays more attention to his old aunt's stories than I thought.”

Ben flashed a distracted grin as he freed the last of the captives. They instinctively bunched up as they blinked away sleep and shock. Just then a distant horn answered the nearer. Engvyr and Taarven exchanged a glance, as Engvyr shrugged out of his pack and began pulling out boxes of slugs and tucking them in his cote-pockets.

“OK people- save the introductions for later, we are flat out of time. Grab a crossbow if you can use one, as well as any weapon or food, blankets and tarps that you can find. You,” Taarven said, pointing at Ben, “You're carrying Engvyr's pack. We're moving out in two minutes”

Taarven came over and said, “I'm leaving both ponies. If'n you can get back to them they'll be more use to you than me, what with me being tied to these folks.”

Engvyr clasped forearms with him and looked him in the eye for a long moment.

“See you back at the stead, I reckon,” he said.

“Don't you be too long, partner… you wouldn't want us to drink all the beer before you get back.”

Engvyr snorted, “Lord and Lady, Taarven- you been with me long enough to know I favor cider!”

Taarven grinned, shook his head and turned away, shouting instructions.

Engvyr walked over to Ageyra, handed her his carbine and said, “Reckon you remember the use a' one of these well enough.”

“I reckon that I do, but I expect you'll need it worse than I do,” she replied.

“If I need it too,” he said, gesturing with the long-rifle, “I think it's likely it'll be too late for it to be of help.”

She inclined her head in thanks and he handed her a bag of shot for the gun. She stowed it in a pocket of her great-cote, then she clasped forearms with him and joined the others. As they hit the trail she was transferring the goblin crossbow to her nephew and he watched until they had moved out of sight.