Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

“Matches my count,” Engvyr said, “What'ye reckon the odds are that those fellows are the only ones headed for our troops?”

“Pretty poor. Let's head up-slope and get back to let 'em know that company's on the way.”

They worked their way up the side of the valley alongside the stream, alert for any other columns of riders that might be slipping by, but they saw no one else. Reaching the tree-line they turned south. After the darkness in the forest it seemed almost well lit to Engvyr, and he realized that the sky had brightened with false-dawn. The contrast between the lightening sky and the dark ground would make it difficult for anyone below to see them, and they pushed the pace as much as they dared; they needed to get ahead of the Baasgarta and warn the camps. Even if they did not attack they could easily be in place to ambush them on the move the following morning.

The camp was already stirring, with dawn breaking just as the rangers arrived. They quickly reported their findings to the Captain, who was able to confirm that others had also seen riders moving south. It seemed likely that at least a battalion of cavalry was going to hit them. The alert was passed along.

Feeding the two rangers was the last thing the cooks did before tearing down the mess tent. Taarven and Engvyr wolfed down their breakfast before saddling fresh mounts for the day's movement. The soldiers had the camp torn down even faster than they had put it up. The column formed quickly and began to move along the path left by the fleeing Baasgarta. Somewhere ahead the cavalry waited, but they were ready…

Chapter Thirty-Two

“There are two kinds of powerful people. Those that see wealth and power as a means of helping others, and those that see it only as a way to help themselves.”

From the diaries of Engvyr Gunnarson

“Riders coming in!” shouted the sentry from the gatehouse. Ynghilda and Deandra were crossing the court, deep in conversation and paused. Whomever it was that was coming, the guard stood and waved them straight through. From that Deandra deduced that they were known to the guard, and thus most likely to her as well, so she was quite surprised when the riders entered the courtyard at a trot. She was more startled still when Ynghilda gave a gasp of shock and knelt, but not so startled that she failed to emulate her.

The first, and most commanding figure among them, rode a large bay pony, thick of neck with a long, flowing mane and heavily feathered lower legs. Its tack, harness and saddle were richly made with accents of silver. The rider's clothes were of utilitarian cut, but excellently made and richly trimmed. He was not elaborately coiffed as one might expect from his clothing; rather his beard was in the short, neat trim that Engvyr and Taarven wore, and his auburn hair was cut in a soldier's bob. Deandra had spent enough time with Engvyr to examine the man's weapons as well. There was a long-rifle scabbarded at his saddle, a stout cut-and-thrust sword at his side and a handgun, the first she had ever seen, slung about his body.

Behind him rode a younger dwarf, only slightly less richly appointed, bearing a standard. They were accompanied by a dozen or so unhappy-looking mounted infantrymen. They bore badges on the shoulders of their great-cotes, the same as the emblem on the banner, a green oak with a circlet around its trunk. Which would make the rider…

“Prince Istvaar,” Ynghilda said, bowing her head in greeting, “We did not expect you so soon!”

The prince vaulted from the saddle and waved them to their feet saying, “Now, now, none of that! Save that nonsense for court, where there's already so much silliness that it doesn't look out of place.”

The two women rose and he regarded them with pleasure. He said, “Ynghilda Makepeace I presume? It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“And you as well, your Highness,” she replied.

Turning to Deandra he continued, “And you would be Lady Eastgrove?”

It took her a moment to realize that he was speaking to her. 'Eastgrove' was the name that she and Engvyr had chosen for their estate, though at present that 'estate' consisted of some pasture-land, patches of woods and the grove of chestnut trees for which it was named. Blushing she responded, “I am. It is a great honor to meet you.”

“Only because you don't know me,” he responded, grinning like a wicked little boy.

He pulled off his riding gauntlets and gestured with them to the leader of the soldiers.

“May I present Captain Kollyr Skullison of the Prince’s Own, and currently in charge of my bodyguard. Don't scowl so, Kollyr!” He commanded, then turned back to the ladies and said, with an air of confidentiality, “He's a bit put out that he couldn't arrive in proper state.”