The stones rattled in the bowl. ‘It sweeps towards us, and Karak Kadrin will bar its way, as we have done ever. But, this time, the stones whisper that we will join those who have fallen before. For was not mighty Karak Vlag lost to this storm?’
‘The Lost Hold,’ Gotrek murmured, his grip tightening on his axe. He stared into the bowl.
‘We will be as the Lost Ones, ripped from the bosom of the world and drowned in the river of nightmare,’ Axeson continued, his voice taking on the pitch and rhythm of a trained storyteller. ‘Unless a Son of Grimnir once more treads the Road of Skulls and puts right that which is wrong.’
‘A Slayer, you mean,’ Gotrek growled, deep in his throat.
‘Aye,’ Axeson said without looking at him, his eyes on the stones in the bowl. ‘That is what I saw. The truest Slayer must go north and do what has been undone, and find his doom in the process.’
‘I will go north,’ Gotrek said.
‘No, you will not,’ Ungrim said commandingly. Gotrek wheeled about, a protest on his lips. ‘Have you not heard enough? Do you not see?’
‘Aye, and so,’ Gotrek said pugnaciously.
‘I told you,’ Garagrim said. ‘I told you that he could not be reasoned with!’
‘Quiet!’ Axeson roared. The others fell silent as the echo of that cry faded. He looked at Gotrek; again, that peculiar sadness was in his eyes. ‘If you go, Gurnisson, you will find your doom, as I said. But so too we will be doomed with you.’
Gotrek turned away from the bowl. He gripped his axe tightly, almost hugging it to him. Felix made to put his hand on the Slayer’s shoulder, but he stopped short. Gotrek would not appreciate the gesture; indeed, it might even offend him. Making a fist and pounding his thigh, Felix turned. ‘Then who will go? It’s obvious someone must, but if not Gotrek–’
‘I will go,’ Garagrim said, causing Gotrek to whirl. The War-Mourner met Gotrek’s gaze triumphantly. ‘I will go,’ he said again, thumping a fist against his chest. ‘Who better than a prince among Slayers to do this thing?’ he continued, looking at Ungrim and Axeson.
‘A king,’ Ungrim said.
It was Garagrim’s turn to spin. He gaped at his father. ‘But–’ he began.
‘I will go,’ Ungrim said, not looking at his son. ‘It is my right and my duty as the king of Karak Kadrin to do this thing. I will prevent this doom, and accept mine at the same time. I have waited long enough.’ As he said the last, his eyes strayed to Gotrek. ‘I will not have this doom stolen from me, like so many others.’
Gotrek’s jaw clenched. He took a step forwards, one hand tightening around the haft of his axe, the other gripping the rim of the bowl. ‘I stole nothing from you, Ungrim Ironfist. Our debt has long been settled. And this doom should be mine!’ He glared at each of them in turn, as if daring them to naysay him.
‘I am king, Gurnisson, and I will decide when debts are settled,’ Ungrim snarled. His voice echoed throughout the temple like the crack of a whip. He pointed a thick finger at Gotrek. ‘You have heard the words of Grimnir, and mine as well. Would you go against the both of us? Are you truly that mad, Gurnisson?’
‘I–’ Gotrek started, and then he shook his head. His axe dropped, the blade gouging the floor. His eye closed. ‘No. No, Ungrim, I will not go north.’
‘Swear it,’ Ungrim said. ‘Give me your oath, Gurnisson.’
Gotrek’s eye popped open. ‘I have said that I will not. Is that not enough?’ he said hoarsely.
Ungrim said nothing, but his face made the truth of Gotrek’s words clear. Felix felt as if he were standing in the eye of a storm, and his skin prickled uncomfortably. Every stone in the temple seemed to be listening, waiting for Gotrek’s reaction.
When it came, it was loud. Gotrek’s axe crashed down, shattering the stone bowl and causing the others to stagger back. Felix flinched as chunks of stone rattled around him, and he felt one nick his chin. Gotrek kicked half of the bowl down the dais and followed after it, his entire frame trembling with barely repressed rage.
‘Come, manling,’ he growled. ‘I would leave this place.’
Felix spared a final glance for the other three dwarfs. Garagrim and his father both appeared enraged, their faces mottled with anger and their mouths open. But Axeson merely looked… What, satisfied?
‘Manling,’ Gotrek roared, without turning around or stopping. Felix hurried after him, one hand tight on his sword hilt, wondering where Gotrek was planning to go. As soon as they stepped out of the temple, Felix realized that he had an answer, though it wasn’t the one he would have preferred.
A semi-circle of crossbows were levelled, the tips of their quarrels gleaming in the soft light of the distant sun. More than even Gotrek could avoid. The Slayer’s snarl caused more than one quarreller to blanch. Felix swallowed, knowing that more than a dozen fingers had simultaneously tightened on triggers at that sound.
‘Gotrek,’ he said. ‘Maybe we should–’
‘Quiet, manling,’ Gotrek said. More than just crossbowmen surrounded them. Thungrimsson’s hammerers were there as well, their double-handed hammers held ready. The king was taking no chances it seemed. He turned as Ungrim and the others stepped out of the temple. The king didn’t look pleased. That he wasn’t enjoying this somehow made it worse, Felix thought.
‘I would have your oath, Gurnisson,’ Ungrim said.
‘An oath forced is no oath at all, Ironfist,’ Gotrek said, looking at him.
‘You know better than that,’ Ungrim said. ‘An oath forced binds most tightly of all.’
Gotrek swung around, facing the crossbows, as if gauging the distance. Would he chance it, Felix wondered? Gotrek had been unpredictable lately. Felix looked up. Dwarfs were watching the confrontation from the walls. The sounds of celebration in the immediate area had faded.
‘You are honourable, Gurnisson,’ Ungrim said. ‘You will make the oath, and then you may leave.’
‘I will not make that oath,’ Gotrek said. ‘I… cannot make that oath.’ He sounded lost in that moment and uncertain, as uncertain as Felix had ever heard.
‘Gotrek, be smart,’ he murmured. ‘The world is full of dooms. What does one more or less matter?’
‘Because this one is mine,’ Gotrek roared, causing Felix to stumble back. He shook his axe at the temple, as if his rage were directed not at the other dwarfs but at Grimnir himself, and his voice echoed from the stones. For a moment, the tableau held. The other dwarfs appeared shocked at Gotrek’s outburst. Felix knew how they felt.
Then, slowly, Gotrek’s arms fell to his sides. Chest heaving, he looked at Ungrim. ‘I will not make that oath, King of Karak Kadrin. But neither will I resist your authority. Do as you must.’
Ungrim stood like a stone, eyes unreadable. Then, curtly, he gestured. Thungrimsson’s men moved forwards, surrounding Gotrek like a phalanx. Felix hesitated and then moved through the group to stand at Gotrek’s side. Or, he tried to at least. The dwarfs wouldn’t let him until Ungrim made another gesture.
‘Would you join him then, Remembrancer?’ the king said.
‘Can I do otherwise?’ Felix said. He unbelted his sword and proffered it to one of the hammerers. ‘I made an oath, after all.’
‘Aye, you did,’ Ungrim said, nodding in approval. ‘I am glad to see that some men have not forgotten the weight of oaths.’ He barked an order, and the hammerers began to move, taking Gotrek and Felix with them. The quarrellers stayed behind. Despite not trusting Gotrek not to head north, Ungrim seemed to have little doubt that the Slayer would go quietly, having said as much. Gotrek had given him no reason to believe otherwise. Once more, he had allowed someone to separate him from his axe, though in this case it was Axeson who had stepped forwards to accept the massive weapon. The way he grasped it put Felix in mind of a man taking hold of a poisonous snake.
‘Where are they taking us?’ Felix muttered.
‘You should have stayed behind, manling,’ Gotrek said, not looking at him. ‘There is no reason for you to
share my imprisonment.’
‘Prison,’ Felix said, feeling a sinking sensation in his gut.
‘Where did you think we were going?’ Gotrek said.
‘I didn’t, truthfully.’
Gotrek chuckled bitterly. ‘That’s the problem with you humans.’
Felix felt affronted. ‘Thank you, Felix,’ he said. ‘No no, my pleasure, Gotrek, after all, after all of our adventures, how could I do less?’
Gotrek glanced at him. ‘Are you finished?’
‘No, but feel free to jump in.’ Felix shook his head. ‘No wonder you seem to have no friends.’
‘What was that?’
‘Nothing, Gotrek,’ Felix said, looking away. He could feel Gotrek’s eye on him and he wondered if he had gone too far. Then, the Slayer sighed.
‘Aye,’ he said. That was it. Felix snorted. That was as close to an apology as the taciturn Slayer was ever going to come.
‘You have something to say, priest?’ Ungrim said, watching the hammerers escort Gurnisson and Jaeger away. Axeson shook his head.
‘Nothing you’d like to hear, my king.’
‘You were the one who said that Gurnisson could not be allowed to go north,’ Ungrim said, turning to face the priest. ‘That was what Grimnir said, was it not?’
‘I did not say that he should be arrested,’ Axeson said. His eyes flashed.
‘And he hasn’t been. He is no criminal, no matter how much I might wish that he were.’ Ungrim stroked his beard and looked at the walls. ‘No, he has honour, though it’s a rougher sort than I like.’
‘You call that honour?’ Garagrim said, emerging from the temple behind them. He glared hotly at his father. ‘He desecrated the temple and spat at your feet. He is an outlaw and you should treat him as such!’
‘Do you even know what it was that he did, boy?’ Ungrim said, looking at his son. Before Garagrim could answer, Ungrim stabbed at him with a stubby finger. ‘No, you don’t. You know that he wronged me, so you condemn him. You take my burdens on yourself without heed, making them yours with neither the right nor the warrant to do so. Gurnisson and I have our grudge, and it is ours. Not yours, not anyone’s. Even as the Slayer oath our forefathers took is mine and no one else’s.’
This last struck Garagrim like a blow. Ungrim felt no pity for his son. He could not afford to. Instead, he marched on, relentless. ‘You are brave, boy, but stupid in the way of all beardlings. You think to defy the proper order and for what, to win glory?’ Ungrim spat a wad of phlegm onto the street. ‘Glory is for warriors, not kings. If you would be king, you must learn that only necessity matters.’
Garagrim had no reply. Ungrim grunted, satisfied that he had been understood. ‘I go to meet with the clan-thanes. The throng-of-throngs will be assembled beneath the Ironfist banner and we will march north and harry the Chaos horde until they lead us to their kennel.’ He made a fist. ‘And then I will free our clan from our shame and save Karak Kadrin.’
He left his son and the priest where they stood and stumped away, followed by Thungrimsson. The hearth-warden said nothing, but Ungrim could sense his disapproval. Then, Thungrimsson was always disapproving. That was his duty. ‘What?’ Ungrim said, already knowing the answer.
‘You have hurt him.’
‘He has been hurt before,’ Ungrim said. ‘He will make a good king.’
‘Maybe,’ Thungrimsson said. ‘But why rush it?’
‘You heard the priest even as I did,’ Ungrim said. ‘Or do you doubt the words of Grimnir?’
‘I doubt everything, Axeson especially. He’s too smart by half, that one.’
‘Are you accusing a priest of Grimnir of playing false?’ Ungrim said. Thungrimsson frowned.
‘No,’ he said shortly. ‘But I am saying that he might be interpreting things in a creative fashion.’
‘And why would he do that?’ Ungrim asked shrewdly. He knew the answer to that as well. That was the secret to being king, or one of them at any rate… Always know the answers before you ask the questions.
Thungrimsson hesitated. He looked uncomfortable. Ungrim had pity on his friend. ‘You and I both know he’s made of sterner stuff than that. And we both know that if he said Grimnir said something, then it’s the plain, bald truth of it. Our gods do not speak in riddles, Snorri. They are not the gods of the elves, calling tunes to some decadent cosmic dance. Our gods speak plain, because to do otherwise is to waste time. No, Axeson’s word can be trusted.’
‘He has no clan, no ties to hearth or honour,’ Thungrimsson said carefully.
‘And we do not trust clanless dwarfs, yes,’ Ungrim said. ‘But every priest of Grimnir is a foundling. It has always been thus. Their only loyalty is to the god and to the hold where their temple sits. So it is with Axeson. And that is enough for me.’ He clapped his old friend on the shoulder. ‘Now, come. It is time to bargain with my esteemed council of thanes and wrest a mighty throng from their greedy fingers.’
They would howl and tug their beards, as they always did. The cost, the cost, he could hear them say. But in the end, they would do as he asked, because he was not alone in wanting to punish the Northmen for their temerity. Some dwarfs liked to savour grudges, nursing them and feeding them until they had a life of their own, but Ungrim was not one of them. Grudges were burdens, weighing him down, crushing him.
He thought of Gurnisson and then, of his wife, Garagrim’s mother. He frowned.
Yes. Some grudges were too heavy to carry alone.
12
The Worlds Edge Mountains,
north-east of Karak Kadrin
Canto rode slumped in his saddle, leading what remained of the army sent to besiege Karak Kadrin towards the Peak Pass. It was only a kernel of the remnant, for most of the surviving Chaos marauder tribes that had left the valley with him had peeled off. Defeat did not breed much in the way of loyalty. What was left was barely an army, more a mob. Men on foot had been left behind; only marauder horsemen moved with Canto and his Chaos knights, and Khorreg, of course.
He glanced down at the wheezing, chuffing form of the Chaos dwarf, who kept pace with his horsemen with barely any effort. Khorreg did not look disappointed, despite the fact they were fleeing in ignominy. Indeed, he looked positively cheerful.
‘Life is the greatest victory, manling,’ the Hell-Worker said, noting his gaze. ‘While we live, we triumph.’ A hiss of foul-smelling steam escaped from his armour’s joints.
‘It’s the living bit that I’m worried about,’ Canto muttered. They would be pursued. Canto had put it together bit by bit, during the helter-skelter of the retreat. They had never been meant to break the hold, not really. They had been meant to anger the dwarfs. He and Hrolf and Kung and Yan had been bait on Garmr’s hook, lowered into the badger’s den, and now the beast would be hurrying in pursuit, teeth snapping. He didn’t resent that fact – indeed, he admired it. He just wished that he hadn’t been part of the bait.
He had abandoned those who couldn’t keep up, shedding men like droplets of water. If he were lucky, the dwarfs would take the time to ferret out the laggards. If he weren’t, well…
If he weren’t, he’d be dead soon enough. He jabbed his horse in the ribs with his heels, trying to urge it to go faster. If he’d had a few of Khorreg’s explosives left, he might have been able to cover his trail. But he didn’t, so his only option was to move quickly if he had any hope of saving any part of what remained of the army.
Not that Garmr would thank him. The skin on his neck itched as he contemplated the fate that likely awaited him. No, he was as much a sacrificial lamb as Hrolf. Garmr was going to kill him, to show his displeasure. Canto ground his teeth. He didn’t deserve to be sacrificed on the altar of Garmr’s ambition; Hrolf maybe, or the others, certainly, but not him. He pounded a fist on his horse’s neck, causing it to squeal in complaint. ‘Quiet,’ he snarled.
There had to be some way out. Some wriggle room somewhere. Nothing presented itself, however. He was going to die, and his only choic
e in the matter was the timing, and whose hands held the axe.
Unless… He looked back at Khorreg. ‘What are your plans? Your war machines, save the hellcannon with Garmr, are gone.’
Khorreg chuckled. ‘Weapons can be rebuilt, manling. New assistants trained and new slaves gathered. I will return to Zharr Naggrund and rebuild. Perhaps I will come south again and pay the Weak Ones back for their temerity, eh? Would you like that, Unsworn?’
‘What I would like is to survive the next week,’ Canto said bluntly.
‘So survive,’ Khorreg said with a shrug.
‘You owe me one more debt, Hell-Worker and I would collect on it,’ Canto said.
Khorreg looked at him, eyes narrowed. ‘I helped you escape,’ he said cautiously.
‘And I helped you. No, you still owe me a debt and I will collect it,’ Canto said harshly.
‘You try my patience, manling,’ Khorreg said disgustedly. ‘You play hard with our friendship.’
‘Friendship is for the weak, Khorreg, isn’t that what your folk say?’
Khorreg grinned in a ghastly fashion. ‘Aye that we do. Well, what do you want?’ His expression became cunning. ‘Protection from the Gorewolf perhaps… Would you like me to kill him for you?’
‘I want you to leave,’ Canto said.
Khorreg blinked. Then, slowly, he smiled. ‘Oh, I was right, Unsworn. You are a cunning one…’
Karak Kadrin,
the Slayer Keep
Gotrek and Felix walked in silence for some time, surrounded by their armoured escort. The hammerers took them deep into the hold. The sheer scale of the mountain pressed down on Felix with a physical weight the farther into it they went. Stone bastions passed over him, linking the different levels of the hold, and he noted that they were going up, rather than down, as he had expected.
Gotrek and Felix - Road of Skulls Page 22