Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

The crowd went quiet, shocked by his sudden action. The drover touched his cheek disbelievingly and looked at the blood on his fingertips. With a bellow of rage he lunged to his feet, his sax-knife appearing in his fist. Engvyr stepped back, his own sax sliding into his hand as a sudden cold wariness overcame him.

Suddenly his father stepped from the crowd and casually batted the knife from the drover's hand with the barrel of the Big 14. Twisting his left fist into the dwarfs dirty beard he turned and slammed him into a nearby post with bruising force. Sticking the muzzle under the man's chin he growled, “Go for my boy again and you'll get worse than he's given already.”

Turning to the crowd he said, “You lot ought to be ashamed! Get out of here. Now.”

The dwarves slunk away muttering and the rest of the crowd began to disperse as well. Engvyr's father slung the drover to the ground by his beard and fetched him a boot in the backside as he scrambled away, clutching at his wrist.

“Go on, you cur! I shoulda' let the boy kill you!” he shouted after the fleeing drover.

He picked up the hat and scarf as he and Engvyr helped the battered goblin, still covered by the great-cote, into the shade next to a nearby building. The goblin gratefully donned the hat and scarf again, peered at each of them intently for a moment.

“I t'ank you bot',” he said simply.

The dwarves nodded acceptance and then Engvyr's father told the goblin, “You're welcome, but best you get yourself far from here before that group finds their courage again.” The goblin scurried off. His father gave Engvyr an approving nod and a warm smile, “Best we not mention this to your mother, eh?”

Engvyr agreed and they went into the wainwright's shop together.

Chapter Four

“I've traveled far in my days and have seen many wonders and often enough I have wondered at what I have seen. One thing is plain to me, men are men. I've met each of the Five Races of Man and they are each of them very different and very much the same. They all have in common that they are none of them all one thing; each man of any race may be good or bad, and it's his own choosing which path he will follow at the end of the day.”

From the diaries of Engvyr Gunnarson

Engvyr found that the land outside of the Upland Gate was heavily settled, much like the south. At this altitude the growing season was just starting so rather than fields green with the sprouts of the first crops of the year; they were still barren and muddy. As the days and weeks wore on, they spent more and more time in the wild lands of the passes between the valleys. They began to keep watch when they camped at night, for outlawry was not unknown amongst the Dwarves and there was also an increasing threat of encountering goblins, trolls or other dangerous creatures.

Goblins were not at war with the dwarves, but small parties of renegades did occasionally launch raids into the dwarven kingdom. A Goblin will eat pretty much anything, and the renegades among them had no compunctions against a nice bit of roast dwarf now and again.

Trolls were another matter. Shy and solitary, these hairy giants were likely to see you coming before you saw them and make themselves scarce. But they had been known, on rare occasions, to assault travelers or to attack their camps. The first time they set a watch was the night after they had seen the huge, distinctive tracks of a troll in the mud along the side of the road.

They were well into their third week out of Ironhame and were all beginning to weary of their journey as they pushed up the last slope to Taefleg Behmer, named for the castle and garrison that towered over the area. This was the last real town before entering the northern highlands and the last leg of their journey. From this point on the going would be rough indeed, for they would depart from the High Road when they left the town.

As they walked up the last bit of road before the town Engvyr's father fell in beside him and asked, “You have the handgun?” He had taken to carrying it under his great-cote while they hunted and had kept the habit on the road once they were in wilder country. He nodded an affirmative.

“Mind that folk don't see it- but keep it with you always. There are rough sorts about that might not scruple to help themselves if they think that they can get away with it.”