by Nick Kyme
‘We are ready,’ he said huskily. It was no small thing to defy his father, but Snorri kept telling himself the dishonour of it was outweighed by the indignity of standing by and letting elves kill dwarfs without retribution.
Brynnoth gripped the young prince’s hand. There were tears in the dwarf king’s eye. Salt stained his beard and a briny odour emanated off his clothes.
‘Thank you, lad,’ he whispered. There was fire in Brynnoth’s gaze too, fuelling his desire for vengeance at Agrin’s death.
Nodding, Snorri slipped free of the sea king’s hand and signalled the call to march.
Drums and horns echoed around the gorge, followed by the raucous clanking of armoured dwarfs moving into position.
To the outsider dwarfs might appear stunted and slow, but when properly motivated they are quick and direct. Such a fact had often caused their enemies to underestimate them, and believe them cumbersome creatures when the opposite was true.
‘Luftvarr of Kraka Drak,’ Snorri called, seeing the Norse dwarf king who looked up at the prince from brawling with his warriors. ‘Do you stand with me?’
Brandishing his axe into the sky, Luftvarr roared and his huscarls roared with him, a belligerent chorus that shook the earth from the surrounding mountains.
‘Khazuk!’ they cried as one, before the king silenced them to speak. ‘Luftvarr think this will be a mighty runk… Ha, ha!’ His warriors laughed with him and kept going until they were ranked up in the order of march.
‘I hope you know what you’re doing trusting to those savages,’ muttered Brynnoth.
‘I can heel them easily enough,’ said Snorri, eyeing the berserkers with a wary look. ‘Luftvarr just wants to kill elgi, we can all empathise with that.’ He tromped off to join the Everpeak dwarfs at the head of the army. Who he saw there when he reached them was unexpected.
Standing by Morgrim’s side, dressed in a travelling cloak and wearing a light suit of mail, was Elmendrin Grimbok.
‘Come to wish us on our way, priestess?’ Snorri uttered coldly, and tried to deny the heavy beating of his heart at the sight of the dwarf maiden. ‘War is no place for rinns,’ he said, ‘despite the warriors you have brought with you.’ A small band of ironbreakers, clad in gromril with their faceplates down, stood back from the maiden, together with two more priestesses from the temple. Snorri glared at Morgrim before she could answer. ‘I assume you are responsible for this?’
Elmendrin stepped in front of him.
‘He merely told me where you would be mustering. I chose to come here of my own accord. The warriors are for the protection of my sisters who insisted on accompanying me.’
‘What would your brother say, I wonder?’ Though he tried, Snorri could not help it sounding petulant.
‘Since he is with your father, trying to find a way to maintain peace with the elgi, I would not know.’ She paused, searching for some mote of conscience in the prince’s eyes. ‘I would speak with you, Snorri Lunngrin.’
‘It’s Halfhand.’ He brandished the gauntlet. ‘And I am here,’ said the prince, ‘so speak. Though be quick, I have an army to lead.’
‘So I can see.’ She scowled disdainfully, then gestured to where one of the encampment tents had yet to be taken down. ‘I would prefer to talk alone.’
Snorri smirked. ‘Finally want to get me alone do y–’
‘Stop it!’ Elmendrin snapped, and there was venom in her eyes that told Snorri his remark had been an unworthy one. ‘You are acting like a wanaz.’
He capitulated at once. ‘Tromm, I’m sorry. We can talk, but I cannot linger.’
‘That’s all I ask,’ she said, and headed for the tent.
Snorri turned to his cousin. ‘Morg…’
‘I’ll keep them here until you return,’ he said, gripping Snorri’s shoulder before he left. ‘Listen to her. Please.’
Snorri nodded. He caught Drogor’s gaze as he went after Elmendrin – he was standing with the Everpeak dwarfs and had an intensity about him that disquieted the prince. Shrugging off a profound sense of urging to expel the priestess, he followed her into the tent.
She had her back to him as he entered the narrow angular chamber. It was gloomy inside and the canvas reeked of sweat and stale beer. Snorri found it embarrassing that she should have to endure this, and felt suddenly crude and ungainly in his armour.
‘I would offer you something, but the victuallers have packed it all up. Not even a crumb of stonebread remains.’
‘We’ve recently eaten. It’s fine.’ She was wringing her hands, clearly nervous.
Snorri wanted to go to her, but knew it was not his place.
‘It has been a while since I last saw you,’ he ventured awkwardly.
‘You had lost some fingers to a rat, if I remember.’
Snorri looked to his gauntlet, tucking it behind his back as Elmendrin turned around to face him.
‘It was a big rat,’ he said, frowning.
She smiled, but all too briefly and all too sadly for it to warm the prince.
‘I thought… I mean, I saw you at the brodunk, did I not?’ he asked.
‘Yes, you did. I was in the healing tent, tending to the wounded. You seemed to be on better terms with your father then.’
Snorri’s face darkened and he half turned away. ‘My father doesn’t know me. He sees only a petulant son, who must be kept in his place.’
‘He sees what you show him,’ said Elmendrin.
The scathing glance Snorri was about to give her faded when he realised she wasn’t remonstrating with him.
‘He loves you, Snorri,’ she told him.
Snorri sagged, and his pauldrons clanked dully against his breastplate.
‘And I him.’
‘Then don’t be so pig-headed, you stubborn, obstinate fool. Look beyond your own selfishness and see what this will mean. If you make war on the elgi, you will invite devastation on us all and estrange your father into the bargain. Is that what you want? Is that why you are here?’
‘It’s my destiny.’
‘To kill wantonly to satisfy your need to be honoured by your father? Do you think he will clap you on the back and tell you how proud he is of you for defying his will? He will not respect you for this. He will despise you for it. So will I,’ she whispered.
Snorri had no answer. In his heart, he thought what he was doing was right. Some small part of him knew it was to serve selfish needs, but he assuaged that guilt with the certain conviction that he was acting on behalf of the greater good. Confronted by the hard truths from Elmendrin, he wasn’t so sure.
‘Hearth and hold, oath and honour,’ she asked. ‘Whatever happened to that?’
‘Wrath and ruin, that is what we must do in times of war.’
‘We aren’t at war. Not yet.’
‘Not yet, indeed.’ Snorri started pacing, exasperated but also conflicted. Elmendrin had a way of clearing his thoughts, easing away the fug of doubt and guilt that fostered his belligerence. ‘What would you have me do?’ he asked, pointing to the entrance of the tent. ‘Out there, fifteen thousand dawi await my command. At Black Fire Pass another five thousand will join us. It is too far gone to turn back now. I cannot.’
‘You are the prince of Karaz-a-Karak, what can you not do?’ She came over to him, touched her fingers to his arm, and drew the gauntleted hand out of hiding from behind Snorri’s back. ‘Losing a few fingers is one thing, but the consequences of a reckless decision here are far worse. Stay your armies. Show what kind of a king you will be, one who calls for calm when all others are losing their heads, one who is not afraid to take the hard path if it is the best of all roads, a king who puts his people before himself.’
Though Elmendrin was proud, by far the proudest dwarf woman he had ever known, Snorri saw the tears in her eyes and knew she was pleading with him. He willed her
not to get onto her knees. He didn’t want that.
In the end he sighed. ‘Brynnoth will not be pleased, nor Luftvarr.’
Morgrim was waiting at the entrance to the tent. Evidently, the army was waiting but could do so no more. He had overhead the last part.
‘I’ll tell them both,’ he said.
‘No, Morg, it should fall to me.’
Snorri was on his way out when he turned back to Elmendrin.
‘Though I sheathe my axe today, war is coming. My father knows it too, though he would deny it to all but his own heart. Peace cannot endure, but I won’t break it. Not yet.’
Then he left and so did Morgrim, who gave a nod to the priestess, left alone in the gloom.
‘Thank you, cousin,’ said Morgrim, walking by Snorri’s side as he went to address the throng. ‘For heeding her, I mean.’
‘It will do no good,’ said the prince. ‘None of this will. I meant what I said, war will come. Dawi and elgi are too different, it’s only a matter of time before we start killing each other for real.’
‘Then why disband the army if that’s what you believe?’
‘Because she asked me to, and I’m not disbanding us.’
‘What then?’
‘There is a fortress at Black Fire Pass, large enough to hold a force this size. I plan to garrison it and set up pickets along the mountains.’
Morgrim stopped him. ‘You’re waiting, aren’t you?’
‘Isn’t that what we dawi do best?’
‘Do you really think there can be no peace between our races?’
Snorri favoured his cousin with a stern glance. ‘None.’
‘And what of the kings? They have holds and will not wait for war to begin.’
‘None will march without me. Even Luftvarr is not so bold as to go against my father without the presence of his son. Thagdor will return to Zhufbar, and Brynnoth to Barak Varr. But both will leave warriors in my charge. The Norse will probably go back to Kraka Drak, but I’d prefer to be without the savages anyway. The rest will remain here for as long as it takes, a bulwark against further elgi aggression.’
‘So this is a shield wall now, is it? One to keep the elgi out.’
‘We’ll lock our shields for now, but we will become a hammer when needed and mark me, cousin, it will be needed. The only difference now is that when I do eventually march it will be at the head of a much larger throng. Word will be sent to the lesser mountains and when my father sees how many have come to my banner, he will have no choice but to throw in with me.’
They had reached the army, fifteen thousand dwarfs waiting silently for their prince to lead them. Even the Norse were quiet but the scowl on King Luftvarr’s face suggested he suspected all was not as it had been before the prince had entered the tent.
An oath stone was embedded in the earth in front of the throng, set there by Snorri’s hearthguard. These warriors were as dour as any of Thurbad’s praetorians but they believed that war was the only answer to the elves and had thrown in with the young prince. Snorri nodded grimly to them as they parted their armoured ranks for him. Just before he climbed the oath stone, he saw Elmendrin’s silent departure back towards Everpeak. He watched her for a few moments but she didn’t look back, not once. In her absence he felt his anger returning, and found he was drawn to Drogor who waited in the front rank of the Everpeak dwarfs.
‘While our axes remain clean, there is still hope for peace,’ said Morgrim, wrestling Snorri from the other dwarf’s gaze.
Snorri looked down on him before he addressed the army, clutching in his gauntleted fist a large speaking horn handed to him by one of the hearthguard.
‘Peace died in that gorge, cousin. It died when Agrin Fireheart was murdered. A wall of shields has risen up in answer. With you by my side or not, Morg, I shall kill the elgi and drive them from the Old World. Whether now or in ten years, war is coming. And I will be ready for when it does.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Gold and Grudges
There was a glint in the eye of the hill dwarf king that only came upon him when he was in his counting house surrounded by his most precious possessions. Of late, they had diminished and it was for this that he scolded his goldmasters.
‘Every year for the last eight my hoard has lessened.’ Grum cast around, gesturing to the piles of treasure, the ingots, doubloons, crowns, pieces, gemstones, bracelets, torcs, mitres and chains that festooned his counting house. Sets of scales were abundant, all carefully balanced and their amounts meticulously logged in stacks of leather-bound volumes that lined the bookcases on the walls. They were hard to see, not just because vast mounds of accumulated treasure obscured them but because of the sheen that was emanating from all the gold. It hurt the eyes to look upon it, though Grum’s were bird-like and narrow as if the mammonistic king was well used to the sight and had evolved to compensate for it.
Uncharacteristically, his eyes were wide at that moment as he thrashed in a fit of conniption.
‘It should accrue, not diminish!’ He thumped the arm of his throne with a gnarled, bony fist. ‘Explain yourselves! Why aren’t you bringing more treasure to my coffers? Why aren’t I getting any richer? Eh?’
There was a fever in the king’s expression and the chief of his goldmasters balked before it as he made his excuses.
‘Since the High King of Karaz-a-Karak suspended all trade with the elgi–’ He didn’t even get chance to finish his sentence before Grum interrupted with another bout of apoplexy.
‘I am High King of this city, of the skarrens. I care not for the whims of Gotrek bloody Lunngrin. He is not my lord and master. Let him be concerned with the mountain. If he has taken umbrage with the elgi then that is his business. Our gates remain open to their gold and business.’
In his anger, Grum knocked over a pile of coins with his kicking leg and scattered them across the floor. His gaze followed them for several moments, drawn to the tinkling, glittering pieces inexorably. A little patch of white froth bubbled at the corner of his lip.
‘Well then?’ he raged, as if coming out of a trance and remembering where he was and the matter at hand.
‘Our gates have remained open, High King,’ said another of the goldmasters, an enthusiastic understudy wanting to curry favour, ‘and we continue to extend invitation to elgi traders to treat with us but they do not wish to trespass onto dawi lands for fear of persecution. The Hi–, er… King of Karaz-a-Karak has petitioned greater and greater numbers of rangers and reckoners to patrol dawi borders. Travel is almost impossible.’
‘Enough!’ snapped Grum, staggering to his feet to dismiss the ineffectual goldmasters. ‘Get out, all of you! Especially you,’ he added, jabbing his finger at the one who had seemingly lost his tongue. ‘Bloody mute! Out!’
Bowing profusely, the three goldmasters backed away and out of the counting house.
‘Idiots,’ hissed Grum before they were gone, stacking coins as the old familiar veneer slid across his face. Eyes beginning to glaze over, a dumb smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, he almost didn’t hear Rundin speaking.
‘…are right, my king,’ he was saying.
‘Uh? What?’ Grum asked, slightly dazed. When his gaze fell on his champion and protector, he became more lucid. ‘Who are right?’
Rundin was standing by his master’s side, arms folded, his expression neutral at all times.
‘Your goldmasters, my king. All of the major roads are closed to trade, especially to elgi. What little gold is coming in to Kazad Kro is from the Vaults and the Grey Mountains, but that is not enough to sustain previous yields.’
Grum slapped a page of his ledger, leaving a greasy palm print on the parchment. Scrawled Klinkerhun daubed every leaf in a feverish script.
‘I can see that, Rundin. The numbers never lie.’ He carried on counting, mumbling, ‘Gotrek is a selfish wazzoc
k.’
‘My king…’ Rundin ventured after a minute of listening to his liege-lord lay one coin atop another.
‘There is more?’ asked Grum, agitated, licking his bottom lip as he slowly created a gleaming tower of stacked coins.
Rundin nodded. ‘Cessation of trade with the elgi these past eight years is because of a much larger problem.’
‘I fail to see any larger problem than that which my goldmasters have already presented.’ Once again, he returned to his counting.
‘War, my king. There is talk of war with the elves.’
Grum’s face screwed up like an oily rag. ‘Over what, some petty trade disputes? Bah! Gotrek must have been supping from the dragon.’
‘No, my king.’ Throughout the exchange Rundin’s tone had never wavered from stolid and serious, but now he showed his incredulity at just how little his liege-lord seemed to be aware of the greater world. ‘Murder and death, sabotage and destruction. The burning of Zakbar Varf was just the beginning. Kazad Mingol bore witness to a skirmish between a band of its rangers and elgi warriors. No fewer than sixteen shipments from Kagaz Thar have gone missing in the last three months alone. Grudges longer than the gilded road running through our city litter our dammaz kron and continue to accumulate. And that is not to mention the grievances of our mountain kin.’
‘No,’ Grum uttered flatly.
‘No?’
‘I will not have war. It is bad for business.’ He gestured to the massive hoard of treasure in his counting house. ‘See how it already hurts my coffers? I won’t countenance it. War is expensive. It means shields and armour, and axes, provisions. If the elgi are as belligerent as you say then we will shut our gates to all and wait out Gotrek’s little feud.’