Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

“No, it's something that you should know. Here I am called Agustdottir, but Agust was actually my stepfather. I do not know my real father's name but as a child I was known as Deandra Half-Elfin. My father was of the Fey.”

Engvyr was not sure what he was expecting but it hadn't been that!

“How did, I mean…” he stammered.

“In her sixteenth year a Fey came to my mother at the Festival of Spring's Dawning in the guise of a boy that she fancied, and they went into the forest together,” she said, “Naturally there was quite a fuss when she returned to the feast to discover that the real boy had gone off with someone else! I was born the following winter.”

Engvyr knew that at Spring's Dawning couples often lay together in the woods or fields. Children born of those unions were considered blessed, with no stigma attached to them. They simply took their mother's name and that was that.

“As I was growing up people said that I was 'witchy' and fey and began to blame me for their misfortunes, which is ironic for if I have so much as a shred of magical talent about me I've seen no sign of it. Eventually my mother married a potter named Agust and they moved to Ternial, west of Dvargatil Baeg along the coast.”

“And when you became betrothed your in-laws somehow found out about your birth?” he asked.

“That and… Engvyr, how old do you think I am?”

He looked at her, surprised by the question, and thought of what he knew of Afmaeltinn.

“Well, I know that humans marry young. But for having met Brael I'd have thought you perhaps twenty, but I suppose that you must be at least twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age.”

“Sweet man!” she said with a smile, “In two years I will have seen fifty summers.”

He stared at her, mind awhirl again.

“How long do half-elfin live?” he asked.

She shrugged.

“I'm not sure that anyone knows… but in the end I might outlive you, love,” she said. Her face fell and she looked uncertain. “If you… I will understand…”

“Lord and Lady, love!” he exclaimed as he gathered her in his arms, “I wasn't put off when I thought that we might have only five or six decades. That we might live out out our days together makes me want to dance with joy!”

She beamed at him as he kissed her and they held each other for a long while. She was not offended when she realized that he had fallen asleep; he was not yet well after all. She lay him back on the bed and tip-toed out, easing the door shut behind her.

– **-

The week of Engvyr's recovery that followed was a busy one. Ynghilda called in the folk of the outlying farmhames and the great hall of the stead filled up. There were three rows of tables set up and they were full each at night, as were the sleeping benches that lined the room. The area around the hearth grew crowded in the evenings as people gathered to talk, tell stories and play or listen to music.

That being the case the 'Privy Council,' as Ynghilda had jokingly begun to refer to it, began to meet around the much smaller hearth in Ynghilda's sitting room. This consisted of the Master-Ranger, Major Eggil from the infantry, Taarven, Engvyr and Grael Makepeace, head of the militia and Ynghilda's cousin. Deandra was often in attendance as well as was Ageyra, who had taken service in the militia as their very own Battlemage.

They were not crowded as the sitting room had been designed with just such an eventuality in mind. Among other things they discussed the reports that now came in almost daily. The news was not comforting. There had been two lightning raids by Baasgarta cavalry in valleys to the east that had caught the farmers out in their fields and took dozens of captives.

Nearly every steading and clanhame on the northern border was hit with company sized attacks… except theirs. Most of these attacks were repulsed and the Baasgarta retreated with few casualties. They were part of a reconnaissance-in-force, probing for weaknesses and goading the dwarves into revealing their own forces.

One of the Baasgarta's attacks did not fare so well. They had attacked the Smilnedrad Clanhame, an old and well-fortified neighbor to the east. Once the Baasgarta were engaged the local commander had moved units of mounted infantry up behind them. The soldiers became a hammer to smash the goblins against anvil of the clanhame. By the time the enemy was able to break away they had taken fifty-percent casualties, and lost still more as they were harried from the clan's lands.

As soon as Engvyr could walk with a cane he and Deandra had better tidings for their friends than the news brought. They made their declaration of marriage, exchanging rings before the hearth in the dwarven tradition, and accepted the applause and congratulations of their friends.