Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

“We dwarves set great store by our army, for we have long memories. We spend great sums of money to train and equip them. We pay them well, feed them well and treat them with respect, for we know that they stand between us and those that would harm or enslave us given the chance. But we never lose sight of the fact that in the end it is the people, each and every one of us that is responsible for the freedom and safety of us all.”

From the diaries of Engvyr Gunnarson

Deandra shifted the Big 14 to her left hand and adjusted her pack. Engvyr had taught her to shoot while he was laid up, and heavy as it was she was glad to have it now. The gun would be of little use if the main body of the Baasgarta caught them short of the pass but it was a comfort nonetheless.

At the best of times it was nearly a half-days march to Cougar Creek Pass on the main road south from the Makepeace Valley. The refugees, over thirty-five hundred men, women and children, were strung out in clumps over nearly a half-league. She looked back and could see the glitter of pikes at the end of the column over a mile away. The main body of the 2nd battalion was bringing up the rear, as mixed platoons of pikemen and gunners patrolled up and down the line. Engvyr and the other rangers were scouting ahead.

The patrols seemed too little to protect the column, as the infantry platoons couldn't be everywhere at once. Engvyr had explained that the soldiers needed to fight as a unit to be effective, but she still would have felt better with an armed trooper walking beside her.

She was tired, having risen in the middle of the night. The kitchen staff had already been stirring when she was sent to rouse them. She had helped them make great pots of porridge and coffee. Gathering and packing their things, the dwarves sleeping in the great hall had been able to grab a hot breakfast before departing. Militia came in and took food and coffee to the others camping in the palisade. There was a tent kitchen in the camps south of the hold doing the same things for folks there. Everyone would have a chance for a last hot meal before they evacuated.

Engvyr had stopped in to drop off traveling clothes, a rucksack of extras and the Big 14. When she had a moment she dressed quickly, keeping the pack and gun near to hand.

Finally word had come that it was their time to move out. The dwarves in the kitchen simply left things as they were, though it took an effort of will to leave dishes and pots dirty. Deandra added an ammunition pouch to her belt, then slung on her ruck, grabbed the gun and joined the column of refugees.

She had looked about the great hall as she passed through, possibly for the last time. The massive beams covered in carving, the overstuffed chairs by the hearth, the benches and tables, it was all dear to her. It had been her home for months, and more than that it was the place that she and Engvyr's love had grown. As she passed over the threshold she had kissed her fingertips and brushed them against the doorframe in farewell.

They had passed out of the palisade and down through the tent camp. Wagons of supplies and drovers herding their livestock had left almost as soon as Ynghilda had decided to evacuate the valley. Hopefully they would make it through the pass long before the refugees arrived.

The column had assembled in the predawn light. Farmers carried axes or bill-hooks and many of the others had walking staffs. Some carried light hunting bows or crossbows, and many had wood-knives or other long blades at their hips. Of course they all had their sax-knives as well.

Deandra had grinned to herself. These Dwarves! She had thought, Common folk fleeing for their lives, and they were better armed than the peasant levies of some human armies.