[Sundering 01] - Malekith

by Gav Thorpe - (ebook by Undead)

  These venerable dwarfs had long beards that reached to their ankles; to protect this precious hair they wore segmented armour tied to the braids of their beards so that no enemy cut would deprive them of their fine facial hair. Malekith had learnt much about dwarfs and their beards in his time at Karaz-a-Karak and it was something of remark, indeed suspicion, that the elves grew no facial hair at all. “Beardling” was a phrase oft-used to describe young dwarfs, and “beardless” was tantamount to dishonourable, a grave insult amongst dwarfkind.

  “They are somewhat of a rabble,” remarked Malekith, watching the dwarfs walk out without particular time or rhythm, each sauntering along at his own rate. They ambled out smoking pipes, eating, chatting and behaving in other un-warlike fashions that gave Malekith the impression that while visually impressive, the dwarfen host lacked the gravitas of his own legions. There was little of the precision and finesse he associated with the steady ranks of his spear companies.

  It also told him a good deal about the dwarf attitude to war, for they appeared to be no more concerned that they were marching to battle than if they were out for a pleasant afternoon stroll. Having seen the savage beastmen and wild orcs, Malekith suspected that the dwarfs had faced little opposition to their might, and safe in their holds had not truly been tested in the many years since they first wrested control of the mountains.

  It was while considering this that another thought occurred to Malekith. The lack of concern showed by the dwarfs might betray an underlying motive for this expedition. If the confidence of the dwarfs were due to some prior knowledge concerning the nature of their foe, then might not it be the case that all of this display was for the benefit of the elves?

  “What have you heard concerning this horde of beasts?” Malekith asked.

  “Only that it is sizeable,” replied Aernuis.

  “It is awfully convenient that the High King feels it necessary to march out at this time,” said Malekith. “Perhaps they hope to intimidate me with this display of strength?”

  “That could be,” said Aernuis, though there was doubt in his voice.

  Malekith laughed inwardly at the thought that the dwarfs believed they could overawe him with such manoeuvres. He had to admire their spirit though, and regretted not having seen the opportunity himself. Perhaps if he had allowed a few dwarfs to travel west with his messengers, to return with tales of how quickly the elven realm was expanding and the size of her armies, then some of the dwarfen truculence might have been dislodged.

  “When they see the Naggarothi in battle, they will understand that such tacit threats are fruitless,” said Malekith.

  “I am sure that they will, Malekith,” said Aernuis, his tone and expression betraying nothing of his own opinion on the matter.

  Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of all the army, and the one that caused Malekith the greatest pause for thought, was its engines of war. While the elves had machines that could hurl spear-sized bolts from the decks of their ships or the walls of a castle, the dwarfs had all manner of ingenious contraptions for the field of battle. Some were small and carried upon the backs of the dwarfs themselves: spring-weighted slings that hurled pots of fire and windlass-loaded bows that fired half a dozen darts with a single shot. Others were grander and were pulled along by teams of ponies upon specially built wagons with broad wheels and sprung-loaded axles.

  “These machines, what is their purpose?” asked the prince of Nagarythe.

  “Each is built individually by the carpenters and smiths of the hold,” said Aernuis. “They view the craft of engineering with the same passion as we would a jewelsmith or poet. Each pours his own labour and inspiration into his construction.”

  “So each engine is unique?” said Malekith, watching the long line of wagons and limbers winding their way out of the huge gate.

  “Yes,” Aernuis replied. “Like everything else the dwarfs design or make, each engine is named and recorded in their histories, its exploits as vaunted as those of a flesh-and-blood hero.”

  “That seems indulgent,” said Malekith. “I would say the dwarfs dwell too much on the past and do not look to the future keenly enough. That will be their loss, for forward-thinking elves such as I will be able to seize better the opportunities that lie ahead.”

  “They plan meticulously, if not with vision,” said Aernuis. “Though perhaps they lack your flair, they see their rise in strength as inevitable.”

  “What is that?” Malekith said, choosing to ignore Aernuis’ warning. He pointed at a gigantic bolt thrower that fired projectiles so long that three dwarfs were required to load it.

  “Wolfspear,” answered Aernuis after a moment’s thought. “If I recall correctly, Wolfspear was the first machine to guard the gates at Karaz-a-Karak. The legend has it that it slew four giants when first the hordes of Chaos poured south to besiege the hold.”

  “And what about that catapult thing?” said Malekith, indicating an enormous trebuchet followed by a wagon loaded with cunningly carved rocks as large as horses.

  “Ah, that is Gatebreaker,” said Aernuis. “A mysterious engine. I once heard an engineer say that it had smashed the dark citadel of Thagg-a-Durz. When I inquired as to who else but the dwarfs had the means to create such castles that required attack, the dwarfs fell silent. Their surly expressions discouraged me from any further inquiry.”

  “So, there are enemies of the dwarfs that we do not yet know about?”

  “I have heard no other mention of such a race or nation in my time with the dwarfs,” said Aernuis. “But even when appearing open, there is much that they do not say to us.”

  “Well, we shall soon see the mettle of our potential allies,” said Malekith. Without further acknowledgement of the Eataine prince, he turned away and swept down the steps from the rampart, his cloak swirling behind him.

  The dwarfish and elven host marched north along a winding road of brick, which soared over wide valleys on extraordinary bridges that arced over the gorges in breathtaking spans hundreds of feet above the jagged rocks and swirling rivers below. In places, the road seemed to barely cling to the steep sides of the mountain peaks, supported on piles and columns dozens of feet high driven into the mountainside with immense bolts and supported by silver-plated scaffolding.

  The air was crisp and sharp, even with the full heat of the sun upon their faces, but the dwarfs walked on relentlessly, seeming never to tire nor complain. They ate on the march, which Malekith thought efficient but uncouth, and as he had seen before, when they made camp every dwarf knew his role and duties and carried out his tasks with little supervision or communication from his leaders.

  It was this quiet independence that gave the dwarfs their real strength, Malekith admitted to himself as he watched them break camp the following morning. Each could rely utterly upon his fellows, and the sense of community and brotherhood bound the dwarfs together as a kindred.

  The people of Nagarythe he praised for their discipline, their attention to duty and their unending dedication, but he knew his folk would never be lauded for their friendship and hospitality, or for a love of others.

  Onwards and northwards marched the army, crossing vale and peak with monotonous but speedy advance for two more days. Scouts were despatched by the king to locate the bestial foe, and they returned shortly before nightfall to report that they had seen fires some miles to the north-east.

  The king was content to allow the army to rest for the night, though he took pains to point out to Malekith that this was not because the dwarfs could not march straight to battle, but was rather so that he could spend the darkest hours in deliberation with his lieutenants, so that all might know the plan of battle for the coming day.

  Before dawn the scouts were again sent out to locate the foe, and they returned just as the army was ready to march, the breakfast fires having been extinguished and the wagons packed with their gear. The beastmen, a savage horde numbering several thousand creatures of greater or lesser size, had spent the night
carousing and celebrating, for it seemed that they had recently overrun an isolated brewery further north.

  News of this attack was greeted by many curses and much wagging of beards by the dwarfs, who until then had seemed more like the head of a family dealing with an unruly cousin than an army marching to death and bloodshed. Now in the belief that these creatures had attacked their lands, the dwarfs became very serious and Malekith found the change not only swift but extraordinary. The thought that beastmen had assailed their realm filled the dwarfs with a simmering anger.

  In a few moments the beastmen had been transformed from potential annoyance to hated enemy, and the dwarf throng made their remaining preparations in what seemed to be considerable haste, eager to attack lest their enemies somehow elude them. Speculation about the attack spread through the army, and as the dwarfs marched out there was a grim mood utterly unlike the atmosphere that had pervaded the host when it had left Karaz-a-Karak.

  There was little conversation and a solid purpose had now taken hold. Instead of pipe-smoking the dwarfs ran whetstones over their axe blades and tested the strings on their crossbows. Gear was checked and re-checked, and the thanes moved about the throng issuing gruff commands and reminding the warriors of their oaths.

  Steadily the host strode northwards, following the lead of the scouts. Their route took them into a deep valley, with thick stands of pines to either side amongst the rocky outcrops. For several miles the gorge cut through the mountains, its walls becoming ever more heavily wooded.

  The column was called to battle order as it neared its quarry, the king and his veterans taking their position in the middle of the host while crossbow-armed dwarfs and more lightly armoured troops made their way forwards. The fire-throwers were sent out to guard the flanks, while the engineers began preparing their machines to be unlimbered.

  Before midday the gorge opened up into a vast craggy bowl circled by rocks and tall firs. Here the beastmen remained, lazing amongst the smoking remnants of their fires, the smashed and clawed ruins of their spoils littering the ground. Broken barrels and splintered staves lay all about the rocky ground, and upon the pyres could be seen the charring corpses of dwarfs, their flesh ripped and hacked from the bodies.

  At the sight of this a deep growling emanated from the throng, and there was much cursing.

  A few of the more conscious beastmen saw the army issuing from the gorge and ran about the debris-strewn camp howling and shouting. One picked up a horn from the ground and brought it to up its lips.

  Before a note could be sounded, the horned thing collapsed to the ground with a black-shafted arrow in its neck. The dwarfs turned in amazement to see Malekith plucking another arrow from his quiver.

  Though the hornblower had been silenced, the beast-men were quickly rousing and rising to their feet, snatching up crude clubs, jagged blades and roughly hewn wooden shields. Their appearance and variety defied description, for each was subtly different from the next.

  Many had goat-like heads and legs, with long spiralling horns of an antelope, or curling tusks jutting from their mouths. Others were reminiscent of rams, or scorpions, or serpents. Shapeless things with many limbs and eyes lumbered towards the dwarfs, their mewling cries and senseless roars echoing around the rocky basin.

  As the alarm was taken up there came a great cacophony of grunts and shrieks, baying and barking. As well as this clamour, the wind also brought the stench of the camp to Malekith. He almost retched as his senses were overwhelmed with the stink of carrion, rotted blood and dung. His fellow elves coughed and spluttered, and even the dwarfs wrinkled their noses and covered their faces with gauntleted hands.

  In size as well as in shape, no two beastmen were alike, for some were in height like the dwarfs, though less broad, with thin, twisted faces and stubby horns. Most seemed of a similar size to the elves, though wider of shoulder and larger of limb. Several were much taller, perhaps twice Malekith’s height, with bull heads, bloodstained fangs and huge chests thick with muscle.

  Some were almost hairless, others albino or with brightly patterned skins; more still were covered in patches of thick fur of reds, browns and black, or were striped like tigers or spotted as leopards. Long beards trailed from bulging chins, and eyes of black, red and green regarded the approaching dwarfs with a mixture of hatred and fear.

  Hooting and wailing drowned out the tramp of dwarfish iron-shod boots as the beastmen gathered into groups about their leaders and came forwards to meet the assault.

  As they marched on, the dwarf column spread into a line as space permitted, the missile regiments to the flanks, the more solid clansdwarfs holding the centre. The war machines were dismounted from their carts upon hillocks and rises so that they could oversee the whole battlefield, and as Malekith suspected would happen, all of this was done with few shouted commands, only the occasional beating of a drum or short horn blast. Now that battle was almost upon them, the dwarfs were much more cohesive in their movements, though they still lacked the precise drill and organisation of the Naggarothi.

  Malekith positioned himself and his warriors close to the High King’s bodyguard, in the hope that Snorri would have a full view of their excellence in battle even once the fighting had commenced. Lacking the numbers for a properly organised line, Malekith arranged his warriors in a single block of bows and spears, the better-armoured warriors to the fore, the archers ready to fire past them at approaching enemies. He stood at the centre of the front rank, Alandrian beside him.

  “I see little challenge here,” said the prince. “A disorderly mob against so many engines and bows will perish without a fight.”

  “A shame indeed, highness,” said Alandrian. Like the rest of the company, the captain bore a spear and tall shield. His helm covered most of his face, so that only his mouth was visible and Malekith could not see his lieutenant’s expression. Alandrian’s tone had been less than enthusiastic.

  “I think perhaps you have spent too much time talking and not enough with a blade in your hand,” the prince said sharply.

  Alandrian turned, his mouth pursed with anger.

  “I am Naggarothi, highness,” the captain declared. “Warrior-born and fearless. Do not mistake my desire for peace for cowardice.”

  Malekith smiled to himself at the venom in Alandrian’s retort and was content that his captain would be as fierce a fighter as he had been in the many long years of their acquaintance.

  There was still some considerable distance between the beasts and the dwarfs when the first of the war machines loosed its deadly load. A cluster of rocks each as large as a dwarfs head sailed through the air, and then fell amongst the mustering beastmen, crushing skulls and snapping bones.

  A great jeer rose up from the dwarfs at the striking of this first blow, which was to be followed by many more as boulders and bolts began to rain down upon the filthy encampment.

  Spurred into decisive action, the Chaotic horde ran forwards, the fastest outpacing the slowest so that there was no line or formation but simply separate groups hurtling towards the dwarfs. Malekith sighed, knowing that even against the dwarfs such a lack of tactics would see the beastmen slain or hurled back before a sword was swung or spear was thrust.

  As rocks and bolts continued to take their toll, joined now by crossbow quarrels, and arrows from the elves, Malekith saw that his prediction would be correct. In face of such devastating volleys the beastmen could not maintain any momentum and their charge petered out as they turned away, and in small groups fled from the death unleashed upon them.

  A few of the least intelligent creatures continued their attack and the dwarfs concentrated their missiles upon them. Shambling, slithering monstrosities impervious to fear or pain lumbered forwards driven by the instinct to slay, but were eventually cut down as dozens of rocks and arrows pounded and pierced their scaled and leathery bodies.

  Malekith returned his bow to its quiver with another sigh and glanced over at Snorri, wondering if the king would sally forth to h
unt down the survivors of the barrage. Malekith was sorely tempted to lead his warriors on into the enemy to display their brilliance at arms, but sudden concern stayed his command.

  The High King’s attention was focused upon the unfolding scene ahead, but now and then he glanced to his left or right, and at one point turned fully around to stare back towards the valley walls behind the host. Some of the other dwarfs were doing likewise, and Malekith felt a tingle of apprehension.

  In the Annulii Mountains of his homeland, the prince knew every sound and scent, but here his senses were unaccustomed to the particular hissing of the wind in the trees, the rattle of rocks and the smell of the air. For the dwarfs, though, this was their home and Malekith knew that their instincts here would be as keen as his were in Nagarythe. Their sudden interest in the surroundings gave Malekith a sensation he had not felt since the daemons had been defeated: worry.

  It came to him all at once just how little he knew about this place, and how ignorant he was of its dangers and denizens. He was just mastering his concern when there came a sound that turned his worry to an emotion he had not felt in over three hundred years: apprehension.

  It was a horn blast, flat and short. It was not the sound itself that caused Malekith such anxiety, but the direction from which it came. It resonated down the valley, but the prince’s sharp hearing told him that it had originated in the trees that covered the eastern wall of the valley, behind the host.

  A moment later it sounded again and this time there were answers; other atonal blasts and harsh cries were carried on the wind. Hearing this, the beastmen in the rocky hollow slowed in their flight, then turned and started to come back towards the dwarfs.

  Now Malekith saw fully the discipline and cohesiveness of the dwarf army. Snorri barked out orders and received acknowledging shouts from his thanes. The engines and crossbow regiments began to pour their shot into the beastmen again, while the king’s bodyguard and nearly two-thirds of the throng turned about and began to array themselves for battle at the valley mouth.