Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

Engvyr looked their new charges over again. They were plainly exhausted. “We're not clear of this yet. If we dump the packs we can mount the kids two-by-two on the spare ponies and the pack animal. The women-folk can take turns riding on my pony.”

“You could also stop talking about us like we aren't here!” snapped the woman binding Taarven's leg in the Dwarven tongue. Engvyr and Taarven stared at her in surprise. The woman finished tying off the bandage and sat back on her heels as she regarded them sourly.

“My family has been neighbors with your folk for twelve years. Just because you can't be bothered learning the speech of other folk doesn't mean we can't learn yours!”

The rangers blinked at each other, then Engvyr gave her a smile and said, “My apologies, ma'am. That will make things easier. Do you think your folk can stand another trek? We really do need to put some distance between us and that pass before dark.”

She frowned as she looked at the other woman and the children thoughtfully.

“I think they can stand it if we can get some food and water into them first. It will be awful but rather that than winding up in some Goblin's larder.”

Engvyr really looked at the woman for the first time, noting that under the grime and dried blood she was actually quite pretty, even if she was dreadfully thin by dwarven standards. She was a foot taller than he was, obviously fit but not displaying the stout musculature of a dwarf.

Another matter occurred to him, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out a delicate way to broach the subject. Steeling himself he forged ahead.

“Uh Ma'am… speaking of which we might want to be doing something about the Goblin's packs?”

The woman looked at him blankly for a moment then blanched as she took his meaning. Her face started to crumple but then she took hold of herself and hardened her features. Drawing a deep, steadying breath she said, “I'm not sure what we can do for… them, but… yes. I know we're pressed for time, but anything we can manage would be welcome.”

Engvyr looked at Taarven, who shrugged. Turning back to the woman he said. “Alright then- we'll see what we can do. First thing is to get the ponies.”

Taarven got to his feet, gingerly testing to see how well it held his weight and grimaced. “Looks like that'll be your job, I can hobble a bit but hiking is out.”

Engvyr glanced up, noting the position of the sun.

“It's mid-morning now. If'n we don't lolly-gag we can be inside of walls by nightfall. You all should see about getting a fire going while I fetch the ponies. You Afmaeltinn aren't dressed for the weather. It would be a pure shame to rescue you from the Goblins only to have you take a chill and die on us.”

Turning back to the woman he said, “I'm Engvyr, Eng to my friends. This yobbo is Taarven Redbeard.”

The woman nodded to them. “And I am Deandra Agustdottir,” she said, then gave him a faint grin as she continued, “Under the circumstances I'd have to allow as I'm pleased to meet you both.”

Engvyr found himself liking the woman. She had some iron in her and a good head on her shoulders. He grinned back at her.

“Very well, Deandra Agustdottir. You and Taarven take care of things on this end. I'll fetch the ponies and we'll get some food into your lot. Seeing as we need to dump our supplies there's no point in not having our fill of them first,” he said, then turned to Taarven, “Keep a weather-eye out, partner. One a' them is still running free and might be inclined to mischief.”

Taarven acknowledged this and checked the load in his carbine. “Got it covered, Eng.” He cast a long look at the lands around them, his brow creased in worry. “Don't you doddle about though- I've a notion we're not clear of this yet.”

Engvyr grunted in response, took up his carbine and went to fetch the ponies.

Chapter Twelve

“A man is shaped by the events of his life. But a man can be more than the sum of his parts and it's not what his life has made of him, but what he makes of his life that matters.”

From the diaries of Engvyr Gunnarson

Engvyr kept an eye on the countryside around him as he tightened the girths on the ponies then formed them into a train. He was wary of the goblin that had escaped but there were other hazards in the wilds as well. Though he was a young man as his folk reckoned such things, his life had prepared him well for such circumstances.

After the murder of his father and aunt it was little Berget that had saved him. Engvyr had been shot and left for dead when one of their assailants had returned, the one that had taken his father's gun. He had come back looking for ammunition. Taking him by surprise Engvyr had beaten him to death with a piece of firewood before collapsing.