Engvyr and Grimnael watched as goblins in blue and red rolled keg after keg of blasting powder into the ruins and surrounded the corpse of the Dead God with them. The explosive needed to be disposed of as quickly as possible and this would solve two problems at once; there would be no second resurrection for this god.
“I still can't believe that you brought cannon and blasting powder,” Engvyr said, shaking his head. Cannon, like other firearms had not been used in many centuries. It was just too easy for battlemages to detonate the powder at a distance. “Nobody does that.”
Grimnael favored him with a grin and said, “That's exactly why we did. Who would expect such a thing?”
“After word of this spreads everyone will. It was still crazy to take that chance!”
The goblin shrugged and said, “If it's crazy and it works…”
“…it's still crazy,” Engvyr finished for him, “Still and all I'm glad the tribal Elders picked you to lead. Maybe 'crazy' was the only rational response to this insanity.”
Grimnael changed the subject, saying, “Now might be a good time to give you those things that I brought.”
He gestured to one of his aides and spoke quietly to him. The aide nodded and trotted off, returning in a few moments with a bundle that he handed to Engvyr. At the goblin’s urging he unwrapped it to find the sax-knife that his father had given to him and The Hammer. He cradled the big handgun and looked at the goblin in shock.
“Where in the world…?”
“Many years ago some dwarves came into the territory of the Tribes,” he said, “These were bad dwarves, criminals fleeing from your law. They were apprehended, and they had these things with them. When I gave your name to the elders one of them remembered seeing it on the frame of this knife sheath, and I was able to verify that they were yours. I was told to return them to you, along with the gratitude of the Elders for your warnings.”
Engvyr felt a flood of conflicting emotions. He had long since given up the idea of revenging himself on the dwarves that had destroyed his family, but to finally know that they had been brought to justice… It was not the sort of closure he would have hoped for but it would do.
“Yes,” he said at last, “Those were the dwarves that killed my father, my aunt and cousin. Thank your Elders for me when you have the chance. What happened to them in the end, by the way?”
Grimnael shrugged.
“Oh, they were not all bad. I'm told that they were quite… sweet,” he said, then grinned wolfishly, “…and tender.”
Engvyr returned the grin as he rewrapped the weapons. Lacking any other orders Engvyr remained at the command post and observed as Grimnael and the other officers managed the aftermath of the battle.
BABABOOOM! The ripple of explosions merged into a single colossal wave of sound as the corpse of the dead god was shattered by the combined energy of over two tons of explosive. Pieces of the creature landed soggily within a hundred paces of the command post where Engvyr and the others watched. It's a good thing we cleared the field first, Engvyr thought, else there'd be some mighty unhappy soldiers about now…
“Well, I’m certainly glad that I didn't miss that at least!”
Engvyr looked at the speaker and did a double-take. Though he had seen the dwarf but once more than fifteen years before, there was no mistaking that imposing figure.
“Your Highness!” He exclaimed. Then remembering himself he bowed deeply. The officers turned at his exclamation and after a moment's shocked hesitation bowed also.
“Oh, for heaven's sake, stop that!” the Prince commanded, “This is a battlefield, not the privy chamber! For the moment I am here as an officer of the King's Army.”
Accompanying the Prince was a captain in the livery of The Prince's Own. His face held a look of long-suffering patience as the Prince continued.
“I came ahead of the regiment to let you know to expect them within the hour.” He gestured to the officer accompanying him and continued, “Captain Kollyr here will be our liaison. In the meantime perhaps someone can tell me what in the Lord and Lady's names has happened here?”
They quickly filled him in on the events of the previous night, and his face grew grave as he listened to the reports. A runner from the Mountain Guard arrived to collect Taarven and Engvyr but the Prince interrupted him.
“I understand that you may need Ranger Engvyr, but please convey to Captain Gauer that I require the presence of Lord Eastgrove,” he told the runner, then in a quiet aside to Engvyr said, “Terribly sorry my boy, but you've ducked your responsibilities for long enough. I'm afraid your Kingdom needs you more than the Mountain Guard does at this point. You may submit your resignation to them at your leisure.”
Engvyr gulped and said the only thing he could.
“As you say, your Highness.”
So he stayed with the commanders, watching mostly, occasionally making useful suggestions when it seemed appropriate. Much to his own surprise he had contributions to make, despite the fact that in dwarven terms he was still relatively young. He mentioned this to the Prince.
“You've a good head on your shoulders, Engvyr Gunnarson,” the Prince told him, “And common sense besides, which, young as you are, you must realize is not all that common. If we can convince you to stop going off on suicide missions I predict a bright future for you.”
“I'll be happy enough just to return safe to my wife at this point, your Highness,” Engvyr said earnestly. “We've a cottage to build and…”
“A cottage you say?” interrupted the Prince, “On no, no my boy. Architects, Stonewrights and builders were close on my heels when I left Ironhame; by the time you return home I dare say you'll have a proper estate well on its way to completion, with a great hall, guest quarters and a small armory and barracks.”
Engvyr gaped at him in shock, but before he could protest the Prince continued.
“We can't have you living like a pauper! What would people think if the Lord Warder of the North were living in a hovel? A cottage, he says!” the Prince said, shaking his head in scorn, then he frowned at Engvyr, “Lord and Lady, boy, close your mouth! I won't have one of my Royal Officials standing about gaping like a fish!”
Engvyr closed his mouth with a snap. The prince clapped his hands together gleefully and said, “Oh yes, my boy, a very bright future indeed!”
EPILOGUE I
Deandra and Ynghilda sat comfortably in their accustomed places by the hearth in the great hall. A good fire was burning tonight against the late-autumn chill and but for the absence of her husband she found herself content. The harvest, such as it was, was in. The Prince had assured them that a Royal Stipend of grain and other foodstuffs was on its way to tide them over through the winter. The great hall was emptier than it had been in many weeks.
There were a number of farmholds left vacant by the war. The Braell crews had, with some swapping around, organized themselves into 'families' and taken names for themselves. The first of these families had already moved out to the nearby farms, each with a volunteer from the hold or a farmhold to ease them into their new lives. They would spend the winter adjusting to their new lifestyle, learning to read, keep accounts and anything else that they needed to become self-sufficient.
They were disturbed by the sudden entry of one of the guards, who told them that a large mounted party had arrived.