Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman Page 10

  The Captain finished his food, pushed back from the table as he loaded his pipe, and lit it. When it was drawing well he looked at Engvyr through a wreath of smoke.

  “Best rest up tonight, Ranger. You're heading out in the morning, back to the Makepeace Steading. You'll be advising them on reinforcing their defenses and doing some scouting of the country beyond the Eyrie.”

  “Sir, I had hoped that we'd be sending them some reinforcements as well,” Engvyr said.

  The Captain shook his head and gestured with his pipe.

  “You know the saying, 'you can't stiffen a bucket of spit with a handful of shot.' Don't get me wrong,” he said, “Her folk are game and in a fixed defense they'll do as well as anyone, but right now we simply can't spare enough Rangers to make a difference in the kind of 'hit and run' raiding that has been occurring. We're calling in the patrols and consolidating our strength but we need to concentrate our people, not dole them out in penny-packets that won't have any real effect.”

  Engvyr understood but he didn't like it. Something must have shown on his face because the Captain continued.

  “I know folk are dying and maybe worse, Engvyr, but a few Rangers won't make any more difference than you and Taarven can make on your own. In the event of an attack on the steading a few carbines will make no real difference at all.”

  Engvyr frowned. He could see the logic of the Captain's words but it still didn't sit well.

  “Speaking of that can we at least send some of our stock of extra carbines?”

  “Think about it. If a few Rangers won't help how could putting carbines in the hands of locals that aren't even trained with them do any good? At best we dilute our own resources and at worst we put guns in the hands of our enemies.”

  The Captain went on, “The Mountain Guard are primarily a law-enforcement and rescue agency. At need we are scouts and even skirmishers, but a defense of this type is a job for soldiers, and you can bet they'll be on their way soon if they aren't already.”

  Engvyr nodded reluctantly. Understanding the Captain's point still didn't make him like it.

  “You've done good work these last few days, Ranger, “said the Captain, clapping him on the shoulder as he rose from his seat, “Now get your butt back in your bunk. You've got an early day tomorrow.”

  At midnight that night a shuttered lantern flashed a message over and over from the station’s southern guard tower. After a time a distant light flashed the message back from a saddle between two peaks. Throughout the long night the message was repeated again and again, from saddle to peak to pass, half the length of Dvargatil Baeg and all the way to Ironhame.

  On the return trip he continued to place the mark on random trees as he went. It was actually a Goblin rune but to any random goblin that encountered it, it would mean nothing. There was a specific Goblin trapper that would know who it was for and what it asked. Engvyr remembered when they had set up that signal and smiled to himself as he rode.

  He'd been a Ranger for about four years at the time and he and Taarven had been assigned a route further south than their current one. They were on patrol and had camped for the night when a familiar voice called out of the darkness.

  “Son of Good Stew!”

  “What the hell?” said Taarven, grabbing his carbine and starting to rise.

  Engvyr held up a hand to restrain him with a chuckle and said, “It's alright- put your gun down and just sit.”

  Pitching his voice louder he called back, “Come ahead!”

  He was pouring a cup of coffee even as the goblin entered their camp. Taarven watched with wide eyes as their visitor settled himself comfortably by the fire and accepted the cup. Engvyr indicated Taarven with a nod.

  “This is my partner.”

  The goblin turned his huge pink eyes on the ranger and inspected him carefully then nodded to him. Taarven returned the nod with an air of bemusement and turned to Engvyr.

  “You know this Goblin?” he demanded quietly.

  Engvyr nodded and replied, “He was friends with my father, and helped our family to survive a disaster in the mountains.”

  “Well, if that don't beat all!” Taarven muttered and turned back to the goblin and looked him over in turn. The goblin sipped his coffee for several minutes then abruptly looked up and spoke in broken Common.

  “Five Dvaerg came to a Goblin-place. They took twenny goats, went into te' hills wit' them. Ye get te' goats, bring 'em back an' I'll take them back to Goblin-place. Ye do this.”

  “Your Common is getting better, friend. Yes, we can do that.”

  The goblin nodded in satisfaction and said, “I will come an' help. Three agin' five is better odds than two agin' five.”

  “Engvyr, what are you saying?” exclaimed Taarven, “Why should we help him?”

  Before Engvyr could say anything the goblin turned his eyes on the ranger and spoke slowly, as if to a not-very-bright child.

  “Ye are Rangers. Rangers are the Law in Dvaerg place, so I report these thieves to Rangers. Is what Law says to do, yes? There is one law for all people in Dvaerg place, yes?”

  Taarven blinked as he worked that out and Engvyr grinned at him.

  “He's just obeying the law like anyone else and reporting a theft.”

  “How do we know they're his? He could just be conning us for some free goats,” Taarven said with a stubborn look on his face.

  The goblin looked at him a moment as if disappointed in him. Then he quickly sketched a Goblin rune in the dirt.

  “Te' goats have this sign tattooed in te' left ear.”

  The next morning the goblin showed them the trail left by the herd and they tracked down the thieves. As he'd said the goats had the rune tattooed in their ears.

  Before they parted ways the Goblin told Engvyr, “Remember te' sign I showed you. If ye need te' see me or need help make that sign on trees and I will see it, or others will see and tell me. Then I will come te' find ye.”

  They turned the goats over to the goblin and marched the thieves back to the station. It made for one of their odder reports.

  “By the way,” Taarven asked as they were leaving the Captains office after making that report, “What was that he called to you when he first showed up?”

  “'Son of Good Stew,'” he said, and laughed at his partners puzzled expression, “It's a long story.”

  When Engvyr arrived at the Makepeace Steading the place was a beehive of activity. Dwarves armed with crossbows now patrolled on the parapet of the wall. Outside a crew was apparently digging a moat with an excavator drawn by a team of eight of the small mountain oxen.

  Inside the cooper and the blacksmith were hard at work. A long shed of some sort was being erected against the wall in another place. Supplies were stacked here and there against the palisade. As he entered the enclosure there was a wagon loaded with heavy bags of grain coming in the opposite gate. There were several piles of long, sharpened stakes that would presumably be placed in the moat when it was finished.

  He went straight to the stables and handed the leads for his spare mounts off to the groom. Unsaddling his pony he gave him a good rubdown and a scoop of grain before heading into the great hall.

  Taarven was the only one present when he entered. As Engvyr stowed his gear under the broad bench along the wall the other Ranger limped over and clasped forearms with him in greeting.

  “Can't say as I'm not glad to see you,” Taarven said, “But meaning no offense I'd have been happier to see a company of infantry come strolling through those gates.”

  Engvyr glanced at him as he laid out his bedroll.

  “That bad, is it?”

  Taarven shrugged and said, “One of the outlying hames got hit the night after you left. There are four dead and eleven missing. They slaughtered or drove off the livestock and burned the place down. Ynghilda sent some riders out and they reported sign of maybe thirty to forty goblins.”

  “That's bad.”

  “What's worse is that they didn't b
utcher the dead. Sure, they took the easy bits but that was all, then they marched the captives right out of there.”

  Engvyr pondered that. A force that large could easily have packed out the meat from that many folk. Why go to the trouble of marching them out unless…

  “They want the captives for something else.”

  Taarven favored him with a slight grin, “You're not as dumb as everyone says you are. But what the hell do they want them for?”

  “That's what you boys are going to find out,” said a voice from behind them, “As soon as that leg is healed up a little more.”

  They looked up to see Ynghilda approaching them. She was wearing her mail and sword again and as she greeted Engvyr she noticed his questioning look at her attire.

  “The way things are going I figured I'd best get used to it,” she said.

  “I'm fit to sit a horse already if'n I need to, Ma'am, and it seems to me there's need enough to go around just now.” Taarven said.

  “Yes, yes, Taarven,” Ynghilda said in mock-irritation, “We all know that you are the manliest of dwarves and eat raw heroism for breakfast. Now let's all sit down before you fall over.”

  Taarven gave her an outrageously exaggerated pout but as they all took a seat Engvyr noticed a flash of relief on his partners face.

  “Seriously Taarven,“ he asked, “When will you be fit for duty?”

  “I can ride out tomorrow,” his partner responded immediately.

  “Taarven Redbeard, if you sit a horse before mid-week next I'll beat you even more senseless!” Ynghilda said with a scowl, “you are a guest under my roof and I will not see you harm yourself out of manly pride!”

  Taarven scowled at her then subsided with a sigh. Casting an aggrieved look at Engvyr he said,

  “You see what I have suffered in your absence?”

  It occurred to Engvyr for the first time that Ynghilda and Taarven were more or less of an age and had been in a position to spend a lot of time together recently… He kept his smile at the thought to himself.

  They talked for some time about local conditions and events, improvements to the Steading's defense, patrol schedules and other matters. As the afternoon wore on the aromas of dinner began to drift in from the kitchens. Saewynn and Deandra herded their children into the hall. Deandra caught his eye and smiled shyly before going about her business.

  After dinner he spoke to the two women to see how they were settling in and what their plans were. They were staying temporarily in the great hall, sleeping on the wide benches that lined the sides.

  “The children are bouncing back,” Deandra told him, “They're resilient that way. They're good for Saewynn, too. I think that taking care of them has helped her keep it together. I don't know that she could bear it without them.”

  “Will you be going west with her?” he asked, not sure whether he wanted her to stay or go away to safety. He liked her and wanted to get to know her better. But that could be problematic, not the least because he would outlive her by centuries.

  “I'd not be welcome there,” she said, looking away, “Saewynn's family did not approve of her brother marrying me. It's not something that can be helped now.”

  “I cannot imagine you being unwelcome anywhere,” he said and left it at that. He was curious but it was her business and she would tell him or not in her own time. “So what will you do now, you and the children?”

  She looked away again and Engvyr noted the tension in her posture.

  “They will be going with Saewynn to live with her folks,” she said with an effort, “Their son's children are welcome, just not their mother.”

  She turned back to him, her eyes bright with tears, “You are not the only one who sees what's coming. I have to do what's right for my children. I have to know that they are safe.”

  “What of you?” he asked.

  “Ynghilda has offered me a position. I will be helping in the great hall and around the Steading.”

  Engvyr felt a bit guilty at his relief that she would be staying. They talked on into the evening, about trivial things mostly, laying the foundations of a bridge between man and woman, dvaerg and afmaeltinn. They parted with an unspoken understanding between them when it was time for the children to bed down.

  Taarven and Ynghilda shared a concerned look as he joined them in the group sitting around the hearth smoking and talking quietly among themselves, but said nothing of it as the evening wore on.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Dwarves are long-lived and take the long view. When one expects to be married for centuries it's best to know full well what you are getting into. As a result courtship tends to be a process that stretches to years, even decades before the parties involved commit themselves.”

  From the diaries of Engvyr Gunnarson

  Deandra Agustdottir rose with the sun and dressed quickly. Since it was early summer the fire in the great hearth was allowed to burn out at night so it was sometimes chilly in the morning. She laid a new fire and when it took satisfactorily she roused her children, Brael and Gerta. They were nine and seven years of age respectively. Saewynn roused her own children and after they were all dressed she herded them to the water closet to attend to their morning ablutions while Deandra went into the kitchens to begin her working day.

  She had no fixed duties so she helped as she might with breakfast, stirring the fruit-and oat porridge, slicing side-meat, carrying stacks of clean bowls and spoons and setting them out at the ready. As she worked she thought warmly about her conversation with Engvyr the night before. She had to admit she had been taken by surprise by her attraction to the dvaerg, and his apparent interest in her. It was not so much a physical thing, not yet, though he was not un-handsome for one of his folk. Nor was it girlish worship of the man that rescued her from what was almost certainly what the old tales called a 'fate worse than death.' There was something in her that responded to him, a sense that they complemented each other.

  Respect, she thought, it's that he respected me. She knew that dwarves viewed a 'woman's role' differently than her own folk but it was more than that. In the wake of the fight in the pass he never questioned that she was capable and would do her part. One of the men of her own folk would have expected her to be helpless, weak in the wake of her ordeal. But Engvyr had seen her strength and accepted it, assuming that she could pull her own weight.

  Breakfast in the Steading was a catch-as-can affair with people coming and going, serving themselves as they had time. She filled a tray with bowls of porridge for her family along with two mugs of coffee. Coffee was something that she and her sister-in-law had little of before their rescue. Her folk tended to drink hard cider, beer or ale at all hours of the day but the dwarves seemed to live on the dark, bitter brew. They drank alcoholic beverages too, but tended to do so only in the evenings after the day's work was done. She had to admit she was developing a taste for the beverage herself.

  They got the children settled around one of the tables that ran in a line down the center of the Great Hall and watched over them as they broke their fast. She felt a stab of grief as she watched the children eat, knowing that within days they would be parted for she knew not how long.

  As they ate dwarves stopped by their table to greet them and inquire after the children's welfare. She had been startled by this at first but Engvyr had explained that a married couple among their folk might expect to have children only every twenty years or so, a function of their long lives she suspected. As a result they doted on them and each dwarven child in their community was viewed as the responsibility of all. Now that they were living among them the dwarves unthinkingly extended that attitude to the human children as well.

  Engvyr and Taarven entered the hall together, deep in conversation. They too were staying in the Great Hall but they had already been up and about their business before she woke. Engvyr was in uniform and from his condition she suspected that he had been riding, perhaps a quick patrol around the area. Taarven simply wore a shi
rt and tunic over his uniform trousers and boots, not yet fit for duty.

  Strangely, she knew Taarven better than his partner at this point. She had sat with the dwarves when they gathered at the hearth in the evening while Engvyr was away. Taarven wasn't garrulous, but he possessed a ready wit and wasn't reticent about speaking when he had something to say. She thought that maybe he and Ynghilda were sweet on each other.

  She studied Engvyr from across the room as she rode herd on the children and ate her own breakfast. He was like most dwarves in height, a foot shorter than she, and she was by no means tall for one of her folk. But dwarves were broad-shouldered and thick-chested, and their height made their short arms and legs look thick. Their heads, hands and feet were human-sized or nearly so. The overall effect was as if a human had been compressed.

  When she was binding Taarven's leg after the fight at the Eyrie she had been impressed by the muscular solidity of him. She had helped him to his feet and had been surprised to discover that he weighed as much as a human man half-again his height. From the restrained power of his grip she knew that he was immensely strong as well.

  Engvyr was slighter of build than his partner but still compactly powerful. He had a large nose almost like a beak, craggy brows and prominent cheekbones. His jaw was broad and angular and a neatly trimmed line of blonde beard ran along his jawline to join with his full mustache. His features looked almost as if they had been hewn from stone. There was a stern strength about his countenance, tempered by the glint of humor in his blue eyes. Though he was not handsome in the way of her own folk she found that she liked his face very much.

  Over the following days she worked and helped Saewynn care for the children. It was odd working for Ynghilda. She had no set duties but simply did as she was asked, or just pitched in when she saw a need and that seemed to be all that was expected of her. In the evenings she sat near the fire, or sometimes to one side in quiet conversation with Engvyr. She was occasionally asked to serve drinks and sometimes did so of her own accord but she was never treated as being less than anyone else present.