Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

Engvyr looked at the bridge and then at Taarven.

“I am so not going to enjoy this,” he said.

“Don't see as to there bein' any choice,” Taarven said with a shrug.

Engvyr gasped as he lowered himself into the icy water. They held tight to the edge of the arch to keep from being swept downstream by the current as they eased themselves under the bridge. The rock was slippery with algae but they clung for dear life to it in the cold wet dark. They quickly grew numb as the light approached but they could see little from their position. Hooves sounded on the stone overhead and they could hear goblins talking as the light moved on.

Just as Engvyr was ready to heave a sigh of relief the light stopped moving and he heard the curious grunting of an excited ulvgaed. Hooves clattered and a goblin cursed his restive mount. How good is an ulvgaed's sense of smell? Engvyr wondered. Finally they moved on and Taarven pulled himself from their hiding place. Engvyr attempted to do the same but his foot slipped and the current took his legs out from under him. He tried to hold on but his numb fingers were not up to the task and he was tumbled out from under the bridge and down the narrow channel.

He bit back his instinctive cry of alarm- if the goblins heard they were both dead. The stream was only a few feet wide but it ran strong and fast. It was two to three feet deep in most places and Engvyr desperately tried to stop himself. He clutched at the rocks the current smashed him into or scrabbled at the edge of the channel when he could reach it.

Finally after an eternity of impacts and tumbling through the icy darkness he was able to claw his way onto the bank. He was shivering violently and his teeth chattered so hard he thought they would break. His body was numb and he was distantly aware that he was hurt. He pulled himself from the water but could manage no more and simply lay there with shivers wracking his body.

He hadn't been there long when rough hands grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. He had only made it partway upright when his back spasmed and he had to stand, bent over with his hands on his knees. It was a few moments before he could straighten up enough to stumble forward.

“C'mon Engvyr,” Taarven muttered, “Move or die time!”

The journey back to their ponies was a pain-wracked nightmare for Engvyr. Fever was setting in so he was alternately sweating and shivering so hard his back would spasm again. His head felt like it had been split with an axe and his body ached to the limits that he could bear but somehow they made it. Unfortunately they weren't finished. Taarven boosted him into the saddle and he nearly went straight over the other side. Taarven swore and bound his wrists to the pommel of his saddle and his thighs to the stirrup leathers and led them west, away from the road. Over the next few hours Engvyr learned a new definition of misery. He was in and out of delirium and every time he nearly fell over his back would spasm again. Finally they stopped and Taarven cut him loose. He more than half-fell from his pony into Taarven's arms. Mercifully he passed out at that point.

He woke when Taarven lifted his head to pour hot willow-bark tea into his mouth. His first reflex was to spit the bitter brew out but Taarven was persistent. This was repeated several times before he woke, lucid and soaked in sweat. He was lying so close to their tiny fire that it was a wonder that he hadn't rolled into it in the grip of the fever.

“Easy now,” Taarven said when he tried to sit up. His partner helped him, leaning him back against the boulder that had been reflecting the heat of the fire. His back stabbed a couple of times in the process but didn't spasm. Be grateful for small favors, he told himself. Taarven gave him some coffee and let him sip it enough to clear his throat.

“How are you feeling?”

Engvyr considered it a moment before replying, “Like my pony dragged me across a few leagues of rough country.”

“Well, at least your fever seems to have broken,” Taarven said.

“How long?” Engvyr asked, checking the position of the sun, which was about to drop behind the peaks.

“All day yesterday and today,” Taarven told him, “Let's get some food and coffee into you.”

“Since we seem to have gone as far as we can we should check in with the army,” Engvyr said, “Maybe someone else has had better luck.”

“Engvyr, you need your rest! That fever could come back as quick as it went.”

“Well,” Engvyr said, “In case you hadn't noticed there's a war on. I'll bundle up good, and if need be I'll sleep in the saddle. But we need to report in.”

“We'll argue about it while you eat,” Taarven said as he began heating up a pan of beef and beans. They did argue too, but Engvyr was inflexible and after eating they saddled up and got moving. Engvyr was weak but he could sit in a saddle well enough. After all, he thought, the pony is doing the hard part…