Engvyr had his eyes on the ground in front his feet when a rumble started high above.
“Avalanche!” his father bellowed, ducking tight against the slope. He did the same, looking past his father, head tucked down between his shoulders against a sudden hail of small rocks. The Guide lunged forward, gathering Engvyr's mother in his arms to pin them against the slope just as a huge boulder bounded onto the trail, wiping it away. In an instant the Guide, his mother and two oxen vanished as if they had never been.
He lunged upward with a scream of shock and protest and a bounding rock struck him on the side of the head. There was a burst of light and then darkness.
A voice woke him some time later, and an inarticulate protest from his father. He blinked his eyes open as he made sense of the words.
“You're done for, hob. You'll not be needing this here shoulder-gun again.”
His father lay half-conscious, his face bloodied and his body slack. The rough looking dwarf from earlier had the Big 14 gripped in one hand. He gave it a savage jerk, trying to free the sling and his father gave a short shriek of pain. Engvyr's head reeled and his vision kept going in and out of focus. A feminine cry of distress caused him to roll over and look towards his aunt.
One of the twins lay unmoving. A dwarf held his struggling aunt's arms while another tore at the fastenings of her Great Cote. The second twin launched herself onto him, pummeling him with her fists and began screaming at him to leave her mother alone. He backhanded the child to get her off him and to Engvyr's horror the force of the blow caused her to stagger across the trail. She teetered on the precipice for a moment before she vanished over the edge with a terrified shriek. Everyone froze for a moment in shock.
With a bellow of rage Engvyr rolled up onto one knee and without thinking leveled The Hammer and shot the dwarf that had struck her through the skull. There was a shocked exclamation from behind him.
Unlike his father's gun The Hammer was a repeater. The piston was cocked by the stroke of a long lever, and as the lever was returned to rest a mechanism loaded another 36-bore ball from the tubular magazine that lay alongside the barrel. With muscles developed mucking out ore in the deep mine and fueled by rage he braced the butt against his hip and savagely stroked the charging lever as he rose to his feet and turned.
The dwarf trying to wrest the Big 14 from his father released his grip on the gun and spread his hands. Engvyr gestured with The Hammer for the man to move past him and up the trail. He crowded back against the slope as the dwarf, hands extended placatingly, edged past him.
“Easy there, boy- you don't want to shoot me…”
Engvyr looked him dead in the eye over the sights and replied, “I beg to differ. Try anything at all and I will end you.”
The miner looked into the boy's eyes and did what he was told, joining the dwarf that had just released his Aunt. She crawled away as their friends came back along the trail to join them.
“Don't be stupid, boy!” one of them said, “there's five a'us and you got one shot before we'll be on you.”
Engvyr shrugged.
“At this range I'll kill one of you for sure,” he said, shifting his aim slightly, “You volunteering?”
“I'll do for another,” a voice said weakly from behind him. He saw their eyes shift and knew that his father had managed to level the Big 14 at them as well.
“Best you all cut your losses and get yourselves gone,” Engvyr told them.
They looked at each other and stood uncertainly. They were not really a group, and it was as individuals that they acted now. Not one among them wanted to be the first to back down but they didn't like their personal odds.
“Bugger this!” one of them finally said, “Let the mountains kill them.”
With venomous glances at the boy and his father they moved up the trail and out of sight. He could hear them as they gathered the remaining oxen and moved off into the distance leaving them alone. Alone… without food, shelter or supplies.
Chapter Five
“A dwarf never knows himself until he faces ruin. Whether that ruin be death at the hands of his enemies, natural disaster or the whims of the Gods, it is then that his true mettle is shown, to himself and all the world.”
Engvyr did not know how long he stood with the big handgun pointed up the trail after them. When his arms began to shake he lowered the weapon. He could not later recall thinking anything at all, his mind shying away from the catastrophic events of the last few moments.
A groan of pain from his father broke his stasis and brought him back to himself. He set the gun's safety and unslung it but kept it near to hand as he moved to see to him. He only half-noticed as his aunt gathered up her daughter, who clung to her frantically. She carried the child over to join Engvyr at his father's side.
Sparing her a quick glance he asked, “How is she?”
“She's alright, just had the wind knocked out of her,” his aunt responded.
His father lay among the tumbled rocks, battered and bruised, one leg twisted in a bad way. He had slipped from consciousness again and Engvyr moved to make him more comfortable but was stopped by his aunt's hand on his arm.
“We dare not move him yet, his back may be broken. Start a fire and I'll look to your father and see what's what.”
He nodded and started to move off up the trail when they heard a distant shout.
“Hallooo!”
Past the damaged section of trail there was a dwarf hailing them. It was Eggil Burenson from the pack-train.
“Are you all right?” he yelled to them.
“My brother is hurt,” his aunt yelled back, “And our supplies are stolen.”
“Who stole your supplies?” Eggil yelled back.
“It was those miners and their friends!” Engvyr replied, feeling a fresh burst of rage at the memory.
Eggil put his hands on his hips, nodded and peered at the damaged trail. Engvyr looked as well. The trail had been carried away in sections, dropping into the gorge and the raging river more than three hundred feet below. Of his mother and their Guide, there was no sign; the raging torrent had already borne them away. It was clear there was no chance that they had lived, no chance at all.
The thought of his mother brought fresh tears to his eyes. That she was truly gone, that he would never see her, hold and be held by her again… he forced those thoughts away with an effort of will. It was their own survival he must think of now. There would be time aplenty to mourn their loss later. For now the living must see to the living.
Turning his regard back to the collapsed trail he studied it carefully. It was truly impassible. The hundred paces that separated them from the train might just as well have been a hundred leagues. He held up his hands helplessly to the other dwarf.
“It's no good!” he shouted, “We can't cross!”
The other dwarf gave them an exaggerated nod and yelled that he would be back. As he turned back to his father his aunt reminded him to get the fire going. He left The Hammer with his aunt, taking the Big 14 with him as he moved cautiously up the trail to find wood. It took time to gather as he had to go some distance to reach the trees and brush; all the while he kept a wary eye out.
When he got back to the others his aunt had the rocks moved from under his father's body. Her great-cote was balled-up under his head for a pillow. She had already splinted his leg and was cleaning the gash on his forehead with water from the leather bottle that she carried slung about her body.