Ynghilda said, “I think it's time to pull in the folk along the northern border. We can send parties out with guards to work the fields in rotation. Might save some lives.”
“I don't know, Yng. The numbers that they have been hitting us with it might take more guards than we can spare to dissuade them,” Taarven observed.
“Well, we have to do something,” she replied tartly, “looks as if we might need a good stock of food with what's coming.”
Taarven nodded agreement but he was keenly aware that moat or not, the palisade would never stand up to a serious siege, and in truth it had never been meant to. Against a real military force it was more likely to be a death-trap than a refuge.
“Then we need to get what crops we can brought in here for safe-keeping,” Taarven said, “We can set up a tent camp south of the palisade for when the great hall fills up. If they hit us in too large of numbers we will need to evacuate, not try to make a stand here.”
Ynghilda nodded reluctantly and said, “We'll need to coordinate with the army. I'll get together with the Major and we can work out plans for different contingencies.”
Over the next few days Taarven and Engvyr continued to patrol, alerting people to the threat. Several times they came across signs of trolls moving south. Despite his natural optimism there was no way for him to see that as a good thing.
--**--
“Gotta say, these Army boys do know how to camp out,” Taarven said as they trotted past on their ponies, occasionally returning waves from the soldiers. They weren't patrolling this time, and Engvyr and Taarven hadn't brought any remounts or a pack-beast. They were going to head into Baasgarta territory and needed to keep a low profile.
The heavy infantry were nothing if not efficient. By the end of the first day that the soldiers had arrived after the Midsummer Feast, they had set up a camp for each of the five companies in the battalion. The encampments were placed in a shallow arc to the north of Makepeace Stead, spaced to provide supporting fire for each other. The earthen berms that the soldiers had thrown up around each area were more of an obstacle than a barrier, but when covered with sharpened stakes and backed by soldiers with slug-guns and pikes, they were more formidable than the fifteen-foot palisade. Neat rows of tents filled the center of each earthwork, with latrines and other utilities arranged along their southern sides. The center camp was enlarged to accommodate the command staff.
Taarven smiled to himself as he remembered telling Ynghilda what they intended this morning. She'd looked at him worriedly then poked him gently in the nose.
“You watch out for yourself, Taarven Redbeard. Truth be told I've kinda' gotten used to having you around.”
“Fact of the matter is I kinda' like being around. After all this is sorted out I was thinkin' I might take some leave and hang around a bit more.”
She smiled at him and said, “I'd like that.”
He'd taken her hand briefly; eye's locked on hers for a moment before joining Engvyr in the stables to saddle-up.
They rode west until they reached the tree line and then began to work their way north. It was possible that the goblins had some of their people watching the valley so they stayed off the trails and under cover as much as they could. Finally the rangers moved into the mountains north of the valley.
“Into the belly of the beast,” Engvyr commented quietly.
“Sorta' hoping not to get swallowed, my own self,” Taarven replied. “Let's do this.”
They urged their ponies deeper into the mountains and the unknown.
Chapter Seventeen
“When scouting enemy territory you have only two defenses- stealth and speed. Speed is used when stealth has failed. Lose the capacity for either one and you are in trouble. Lose both and you are dead meat... an uncomfortably apt expression in Goblin territory.”
From the diaries of
Engvyr Gunnarson
They kept to the high country, their sure-footed mountain ponies carrying them along hillsides and ridges, wading down rushing streams. They had no goal initially but to go north and see what they found.
They were careful to leave as little sign of their passage as possible. They stuck to stony ground whenever it was practical to do so. When crossing rivers they swapped their boots for soft-soled shoes and scouted on foot to insure that no one was present to observe them. They made a cold camp the first night, eating dry sausages, cheese, bread and an apple pie that Deandra had sent with them. Several times they cut across trails left by groups of goblins but saw no other living souls.
Late in the morning of the second day they came across the trail of a raiding party with dwarven captives and turned to follow. Where they could they rode parallel to the trail. When they couldn't they wrapped their ponies hooves in leather, both to muffle the sound and soften their prints. The need for caution forced them to move slowly but they found the tracks were getting fresher.
“I think they've actually holed up for the day,” Engvyr said, “we'd best be careful lest we come on them suddenly.”
As they got closer they concealed their ponies and moved forward of foot. They soon had to drop to their bellies as they heard movement ahead of them. When they spotted the sentry they edged slowly backwards, watching carefully so that they moved only when the sentry was facing away. They circled around up the slope, skirting another sentry until they could look down on the camp.
They could actually see a third sentry from their vantage point. There was a goblin awake watching the captives and three more sleeping in their bedrolls. There were a dozen captives, mostly women and children, who had their hands bound behind them and their legs hobbled by another cord.
“This,” Engvyr said quietly in Taarven's ear, “presents a problem.”
“Those sentries aren't any too alert but I don't think that I could come up on any one of them without being spotted.” Taarven said.
“They aren't going to stay sleepy once the party starts either. None of which addresses the fact that rescuing these folk isn't part of our mission.”
Taarven nodded and said, “So let's get that part straightened out first. What do you think?”
“Sod the mission. I haven't got it in me to leave these folks to their fate when we could do otherwise.”
“Yeah, me too. If there was nothing we could do...” Taarven shrugged.
If there were thirty of the bastards this would be a lot easier. We'd have to leave them but Lord and Lady I'd hate living with having done so, Engvyr thought.
“You know how this has to go, right?” Taarven asked. “If we get the captives loose I'll have to shepherd them while you play at rear-guard. You up for that?”
They made their plans and were about to separate when Engvyr caught a quick motion from one of the prisoners. She shot a quick glance at their position and he could have sworn that she locked eyes with him before looking back down.
“Hold up,” he told Taarven, “Might be we have us an ally in camp.”
He told his partner what he had seen and Taarven shook his head.
“She'd have to have the eye of an eagle to have spotted us up here,” he said.
“Could be she does at that... look.”
The woman now had her eyes locked on the guard, freezing whenever he started to turn her way. She edged closer to the young man tied up next to her and nudged him. When he looked up she either whispered to him or just mouthed words. His own eyes skimmed across the slope as he nodded slightly, the movement barely visible from their distant vantage.
“Damned if I don't think that you're right, Taarven said, “Looks like we got us some help, though I don't know as they are good for much after what they've been through. Can't see as it hurts our plan regardless.”
Engvyr agreed and Taarven moved off quietly. After he'd counted off an hour Engvyr slowly moved the long-rifle into position and lay the loaded carbine next to it. Sighting carefully, he shot the prisoner's guard through the head. The report echoed off of the hillside and things
began to happen very quickly.
As he took up the carbine the sleeping goblins woke. The captive young man leapt onto the nearest goblin, his hands suddenly free and took him from behind in a chokehold. The woman threw her body into another, who staggered from the impact. The last of the sleeping goblins was raising his falchion to cut her down when the ball from Engvyr's carbine smashed his shoulder and he fell with a cry.
The sentry that had been furthest from his position was raising a horn to his lips when he suddenly dropped it and staggered forward to fall on his face as Taarven shot him from behind.
The goblin that was staggering dove for the brush before Engvyr could recharge the carbine. But he was unarmed except for his belt-knife so Engvyr disregarded him for the moment, looking for the other two sentries. They had vanished.
A scraping sound on the rock above warned him and he rolled over as one of the missing sentries dove on him. He tucked his knees up and planted his feet in the goblin's stomach as his attacker grabbed the carbine. Engvyr yanked savagely on the weapon, straightened his legs and sent the goblin flying headlong down the slope. Rising to his knees he waited until the goblin tumbled to a stop at the bottom before shooting him through the body.
He scanned the scene below as he reloaded both weapons. The woman had struggled to a sitting position and said something to the young man, who sheepishly released the limp goblin from what Engvyr recognized as a surprisingly professional choke-hold. Taking the goblin's knife he cut the woman's bonds as Taarven entered the camp, scanning along the barrel of his weapon as he moved.
A horn sounded in the near distance and Engvyr swore as he moved down the slope to the camp, half sliding, half bounding down the hill.
The man he had shot in the shoulder was gone, as was the one the woman had tackled. She had appropriated one of the goblins' crossbows, and was slinging on a belt with pouches full of bolts as he approached.
“Ageyra Flint, Stonewright,” she said, as she took a long knife and thrust the sheath through her belt, “formerly a Battlemage of the 3rd Mounted Infantry, and very much at your service!”
“Engvyr and Taarven, at yours.” he replied, already moving to help cut the remaining captives loose as Taarven swept the woods and hillside with his carbine.
She was already going through the goblins packs. Not one to waste any time, and a veteran. Better and better, Engvyr thought. She gestured to the young man.
“My nephew Ben, who apparently pays more attention to his old aunt's stories than I thought.”
Ben flashed a distracted grin as he freed the last of the captives. They instinctively bunched up as they blinked away sleep and shock. Just then a distant horn answered the nearer. Engvyr and Taarven exchanged a glance, as Engvyr shrugged out of his pack and began pulling out boxes of slugs and tucking them in his cote-pockets.
“OK people- save the introductions for later, we are flat out of time. Grab a crossbow if you can use one, as well as any weapon or food, blankets and tarps that you can find. You,” Taarven said, pointing at Ben, “You're carrying Engvyr's pack. We're moving out in two minutes”
Taarven came over and said, “I'm leaving both ponies. If'n you can get back to them they'll be more use to you than me, what with me being tied to these folks.”
Engvyr clasped forearms with him and looked him in the eye for a long moment.
“See you back at the stead, I reckon,” he said.
“Don't you be too long, partner... you wouldn't want us to drink all the beer before you get back.”
Engvyr snorted, “Lord and Lady, Taarven- you been with me long enough to know I favor cider!”
Taarven grinned, shook his head and turned away, shouting instructions.
Engvyr walked over to Ageyra, handed her his carbine and said, “Reckon you remember the use a' one of these well enough.”
“I reckon that I do, but I expect you'll need it worse than I do,” she replied.
“If I need it too,” he said, gesturing with the long-rifle, “I think it's likely it'll be too late for it to be of help.”
She inclined her head in thanks and he handed her a bag of shot for the gun. She stowed it in a pocket of her great-cote, then she clasped forearms with him and joined the others. As they hit the trail she was transferring the goblin crossbow to her nephew and he watched until they had moved out of sight.
Goodbye, Taarven, he thought, you were a man to ride the river with. Deandra... dammit, I'd hoped to make a life with you. Lord and Lady bless and keep you through what is to come. He felt peace settle over him as, bit by bit, he let go of his life until there was nothing left but his purpose. As he emptied himself of everything but the mission the world around him came into sharp focus. Every sound took on a bell-like clarity, every leaf and shadow stood out in high relief. When he was ready he drew his bayonet, slipped it over the muzzle and twisted to lock it in place, then loped off up the slope, eyes scanning for enemies, his rifle at the ready.
--**--
The Baasgarta entered the camp slowly and cautiously, examining the ground for sign and checking the corpses. One of them had a bandaged shoulder and was pointing things out to the others. As he was gesturing at the slope that Engvyr had used to fire down on the camp a heavy slug slammed into his ribs just below his outstretched arm. At five hundred paces it didn't have the energy to pass clear through him but it had enough to do the trick.
Hate to leave a job half-done, Engvyr thought as he reloaded. It was the longest shot he'd ever taken and he settled the big gun back into its rest in the crook of a sapling, ready to try again. By the time he had done so there were no goblins in sight so he waited. Five minutes, ten...
A subtle movement caught his eye and he watched as a goblin rose slowly to his hands and knees, scanning the hillside below the ranger. WHACK. Dust spurted by the target's hand and the goblin dropped and rolled under cover again. Dammit. Missed, Engvyr thought as he reloaded. Or maybe not, he amended as a distant shriek of pain reached his ear. Guess he won't be playing the fiddle any time soon.
Scanning the area he saw no further movement. Like as not they won't any of them move for a good fifteen minutes, he decided, Time to move along. He backed off, eying the woods around him warily, then slid into the hollow where the ponies were tied up.
“Damn near fell asleep waitin' for you to finish playin.'”
Ageyra blocked his instinctive slash with the bayonet with the carbine’s fore-stock. She grinned at him and said, “Jumpy feller, aren't ya?”
Engvyr took a deep breath and said, “Dammit woman, you're supposed to be long gone by now! What the hell are you playing at?”
She swung easily into the saddle, laid the carbine across the saddle-bow and looked at him coldly. “I ain't 'playing at' anything, boy. It occurred to me that you could use a hand, and could maybe do worse than having a veteran Battlemage at your side.”
Engvyr noted fresh blood on the iron-shod butt of the carbine and looked at it pointedly before raising an eyebrow at the old woman. She shrugged.
“I got bored waiting around. What's a girl to do?”
Engvyr grinned at her suddenly and said, “Alright then. Let’s see what kind of mischief we can get up to, you and I.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Rear-guard actions are tricky. If you haven't got the force to stop your enemy cold it becomes a balancing act. You have to go fast enough to stay ahead of them but not so fast that you catch up with whatever you are trying to guard. Go too slow and they overwhelm you. Make things too difficult and they'll go around you. It's like a duel with swords. Engage and disengage, sting and move. Keep them interested or better yet make them mad as hell- angry people make stupid mistakes. Whatever you do you should never underestimate your enemy's intelligence and resourcefulness.”
From the diaries of
Engvyr Gunnarson
They could get up to quite a lot of mischief as it turned out. They rode straight down the trail in the tracks of Taarven and his party, that bei
ng the mostly likely avenue for the pursuers to follow. The ponies were some advantage for the two of them but less than one might think. Goblins don't ride but they are past-masters at covering distance on foot. A man with a string of ponies could outdistance them with little trouble. But with only one pony each, the Goblins would catch them eventually... unless they slowed them down a bit.
The trail passed through a narrow gorge and Ageyra suddenly said, “Stop.”
Engvyr pulled up and watched as she laid palm on the rock face, closed her eyes and did... nothing. She just sat there on her pony touching the rock. He was on the verge of impatience when she opened her eyes.
“OK,” she said, then rode forward about fifty paces and turned her pony. “Come over here.”
He did as she asked, curious as to what she intended. She pointed at a spot on the cliff.
“See that shadow by the moss just there?”
He nodded.
“Shoot the point of the shadow. There, at the bottom.”
He looked at her curiously but turned his pony broadside to the spot and raised the rifle. WHACK. The bullet struck chips off of the rock at precisely the point that she had indicated.
“Perfect. Thank you,” she said with a satisfied smile. Then she sat and waited. So did Engvyr. He opened his mouth to speak and she held up a hand.
“Wait for it...”
Suddenly there was a bass creaking from the rock, several sharp reports and a cloud of dust rose from the mountainside. Then with a rumble and a groan, more felt than heard, a massive slab of granite slid slowly down the face of the mountain and slammed into the trail. It moved a total of about ten feet but when it hit the ground it felt like the impact bounced his ponies hooves clear off the ground.
After they got their frightened mounts back under control Engvyr looked back up the trail, peering through the dust. A house-cat might have gotten past the slab but surely nothing bigger could. The rock, a hundred tons or more of solid granite, completely blocked the trail.
Dwarven Rifleman Series: Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman Page 13
