Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

The Ranger shook his head at himself and said, “Where are my manners? I'm Rolph Fehrenson and this is my partner, Roel Cooper.”

The other Ranger nodded and touched the brim of his hat in greeting. Engvyr brought them into the shelter and introduced them all around. His Aunt served them up coffee, biscuits and beans with beef. None of them made any mention of their previous visitor. The Rangers seemed a bit puzzled and soon voiced the cause.

“We'd been given to understand you had nothing; that some ne'er do wells had made off with your oxen and all of your goods? Was this not the case?”

“It was,” his father confirmed, “but Engvyr managed to recover the one ox.”

“And the pony?” asked Rolph, who seemed to do the talking for both of the Rangers.

“Fella' that was riding him had no further need of him,” Engvyr said, keeping his eyes on his food.

“Would that be the fellow with a hole in his chest that you could pass a tent-pole through?” the Ranger asked dryly.

“Likely so.”

“By the Lord's teeth, boy! We're the Law out here. It's no more than our duty to look into people dead of mischief, and I think that a gunshot wound qualifies as 'mischief' if anything does! Best that you tell us what happened.”

In the end nothing would do but that he tell the whole story. He kept to the bare facts and when he was done his father and aunt were staring at him, astonished at the tale. He felt uneasy with their regard and ducked his head, flushing.

“Engvyr” his father said, “I had no idea…”

He shrugged, his appetite gone, and set aside his bowl and spoon.

Rolph said, “Well, your account agrees with that of the folk of the train and such evidence as we could discern. We'll report it as you say. You've done a man's portion, boy.”

He shrugged again. “I just did what needed doing.”

His father leaned across and put a hand on his shoulder and said, “That's what a man does, son. What he must. Now finish your supper; a man needs his strength in this country.”

They got to know the pair of Rangers well over the course of the next week. At first Engvyr was a little put out that they didn't take out after the thieves but Rolph explained it.

“It might be we could catch up with them despite them having such a good head-start. That won't bring your kin back, and I doubt your Ma would thank us for neglecting you all when you need our help. We'll make our report and the word will get out so don't fret. Folk will be looking for them soon enough.”

Engvyr had to admit there was some sense to that. While they had done well with their makeshift shelter it was small, cramped and fragile. The first good storm would likely shred it and leave them exposed. Fortunately there was better to be had fairly close at hand.

“There was a family tried to settle up here about seventy years back,” Rolph told them, “ran some trap lines, did some placer mining and did alright for themselves for a time. Then the father got taken by winter-fever and his widow took their kid back to her clan. Their hame is about a good day of travel north and has been vacant for some years.”

“You reckon it's still standing?” his Aunt asked.

This seemed to amuse the Ranger for some reason.

“I reckon so.”

In the event it took them most of two days to reach the Hame, owing to his father's condition. When they arrived Engvyr stared at the building in surprise. Still standing indeed, he thought, and likely to be standing as long as the mountains!

The roof of the hame was an enormous slab of granite, its base set into a ledge on the side of the mountain. Its sides were set onto four roughly finished stone blocks, each half-again as tall as a dwarf and an arm's length thick. The spaces between were filled with dry stone walls, the rocks shaped and fitted until you couldn't have slipped a knife-edge between them. There were two small windows flanking the opening for the door and a chimney poked up near the back of the slab.

“How in the Lord and lady's name did they build this place? I just can't figure it.”

His father looked at the hame for a moment and shrugged.

“Danged if I know,” he said, “But folk are mighty clever and people can do amazing things when they put their minds to it.”

Engvyr shook his head, looking at the slab with a miner's eye.

“But that rock must weigh fifteen tons if it's a pound! I just can't make out how they managed it,” he said.

“That's a Stonewright's work for sure,” Roel said and gestured to the structure, “They can do some surprising things. A good one with a small team can erect a hame like this in a couple of weeks. I once watched a Stonewright and his apprentice lift a slab like this, must have weighed ten tons, in a day with nothing but a bunch of sticks, a couple of beams and some rope.”

He must have looked skeptical because the Ranger went on to explain.