Masters of Stone and Steel - Gav Thorpe & Nick Kyme

by Warhammer

  ‘And what about Karak Varn then? Since the hold was founded they’ve had a lake on their doorstep. And then, crack-bang-wallop! Suddenly the city’s flooded and the goblins are getting in.’

  ‘It’ll take more than that to open up Karak Eight Peaks,’ said Haldora. ‘Just as it’ll take more than some scrawny goblins to get the better of Ekrund. I tell you, we’ve never been safer since the end of the war.’

  ‘And you would know, would you?’ said Skraffi. He pulled out a pipe from his pack and lit it. After a few puffs he turned back to Haldora. ‘There’s no need to be frightened of anything, I know. I’m not saying we should be running about like our beards are on fire. But folks are getting complacent again. Soft. Like your father, so busy worrying about the treasury door he’s leaving the gates open.’

  ‘I don’t agree with him on everything, Grammi, but I know he’s looking after all our interests. Though I’m not ready yet I do want to have children one day and I’d like to know that there’ll be a few coins left in the vaults for them.’

  ‘It’s no good filling the vault for the goblins, is all I’m saying.’ Skraffi emptied out his pipe and stowed it away. He nodded down the path leading across the mountain ridge into the high meadows. ‘Let’s get honey to make some lovely mead, eh?’

  Haldora followed him a short distance behind, pondering Skraffi’s warning. In an ideal world there would be patrols and guards, but her father had made it clear since her earliest years that the world was far from ideal. She felt caught between two worlds. Maybe three.

  In her father’s world there was work and gold and duty. That was enough for him, and for her mother. Gabbik had told her countless times that when she had children of her own she would understand just how rewarding it could be to simply provide for their upkeep.

  Then there was Skraffi, indulging her flights of fancy, encouraging ambition and independence. Awdhelga had not only trodden her own path, she had battered through a few walls and scaled a couple of mountaintops to get where she wanted to go. Had she also been fighting her father all that time?

  And in the middle somewhere was the life that Haldora wanted. Could she be free and dutiful at the same time? Was it possible to raise a family and still be oneself?

  Most of all, Haldora wondered just how much of her future would be left up to her to define. Events could make a mockery of all plans and ambitions. It was tempting to ignore her grandfather’s misgivings about orcs and goblins on the rise, but she had too much respect for him to dismiss them entirely. Skraffi’s vague but dire predictions seemed out of character for a dwarf who was so optimistic about everything else. A pessimist would have given up on the meadery for a start.

  They reached the meadow a short way down the path, bordered on two sides by the wooded slopes, the south and west dropping away through a tumble of rocky ridges all the way into the next valley. Skraffi had thirty hives here, right in the middle of the pastureland and wild trees where there were flowers aplenty for his bees.

  There was also a little stone shed, with one window and a slanted roof of timber over which had been stretched tarred leather for a waterproof coating. Haldora accompanied Skraffi into the outhouse, dumping the pack on a table just inside the door.

  Everything inside was haphazard – shelves filled with all manner of bits of string, chain, small broken knives, ceramic pots, blobs of grey putty and numerous blankets, scarves and floppy-brimmed hats stuffed in various corners and wedged under things. But amongst the anarchy was a small square of organised space, in which Skraffi sat down on a small stool. There was a wooden crate under one of the teetering shelves, which he pulled out and started to rummage through.

  He said something, waggling a finger in the direction of the other end of the shed, but his voice was so muffled by box and beard that Haldora couldn’t understand him.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Fetch me that firebox, Haldi,’ said Skraffi, pulling himself out. ‘And there’s some dried leaves in a sack over by the window.’

  ‘It’s Haldora,’ she replied, seeking out the objects as directed. The firebox was small enough to fit into her palm, about as deep as her thumb, made of tin, heavily dented and scratched. She checked the flint and it sparked nicely. Fetching out the sack of leaves, she handed the firebox to Skraffi and stepped towards the window.

  ‘It’s a good spot,’ she said, looking out. The glass was thick and filled with air bubbles – discards from the bottle plant, she realised, but it was clean, and beyond she could see down one of the vales and had a good view of the majesty of the mountains to the north. Out of sight was the coast, and in her mind’s eye, recalling the maps Gramma Awdie had shown her as a youngster, she moved up the seashore to the gulf at the top of the Dragonback Peaks. Further still Blood River emptied into the gulf where the Barak Varr stood, its massive sea gates guarding the largest ships of the dwarf empire.

  Dwarfs were not much for travelling on water, using the rivers only as needed and the sea even more rarely. It was hard to believe that huge galleys and triremes from Barak Varr had patrolled the coast, clashing with elven hawkships and merwyrms. That was about the closest Ekrund had come to actual battle – most of its warriors marched to the defence of Barak Varr but had seen no fighting in the Dragonbacks themselves.

  ‘If the elves never reached Ekrund, what makes you worry the orcs will?’ she asked, turning to Skraffi. ‘I mean, the elves had ships and dragons. What’ve orcs got?’

  ‘Wyverns,’ grunted Skraffi. He was stuffing leaves into a funnel-shaped contraption, about the size of a helmet. When Haldora looked more closely she saw it actually was a helmet, with a length of pipe inserted into the top and a leather bag riveted on the bottom.

  Skraffi stood up and placed the helmet-device to one side. He threw a long scarf to Haldora and started to wrap another around his face. He pulled it down for a moment to speak.

  ‘And the elves came from all across the world. Orcs are just a few days march away, even if the rangers don’t see them.’

  ‘Hiding, are they?’ said Haldora.

  ‘They can be clever, you know. And if there’s anything more dangerous than an orc, it’s an orc that can think a little.’

  Haldora snorted at the thought and wrapped her face with the scarf, leaving only her eyes uncovered. She rammed on the wide-brimmed hat that Skraffi threw to her next and pulled on a set of heavy gauntlets she found drooped over the edge of a shelf. At a gesture from Skraffi she picked up a pile of blankets and pushed her way towards the door, her face already starting to prickle with sweat.

  Outside she let the blankets drop to the ground and rolled them out with her foot while Skraffi busied himself with his helmet-machine and firebox. Soon a thin dribble of smoke was leaking from the pipe in the helmet.

  They picked up a blanket between them and walked over to the closest hives. The two of them lifted the blanket overhead like a roof, and then Skraffi started to let smoke pour from the helmet, dousing the bee colonies with grey fumes.

  Haldora fought the urge to close her eyes as bees by the score swarmed from the hives, convinced that their colonies were on fire. Skraffi motioned with his head and they set aside the blanket. Haldora hurried back to the shed to fetch the specially lined crates Skraffi stored there for taking the honeycomb. By the time she had returned he had opened up the first hive and was removing the delicate produce of the bees’ labour.

  Careful not to break a corner or spill a drop of honey, Skraffi moved the honeycomb into one of the crates while Haldora went to fetch more. She had just stepped out of the shed with another crate in her hands when she saw Skraffi hurrying towards her, waving her back.

  ‘What is it?’ she called out, but the scarf muffled everything she said.

  Skraffi knocked the crates out of her hands and grabbed her sleeve to drag her into the shed. He carefully closed the door behind them and stood with his back to it. He dragged down his scarf and took a long breath.

  ‘Troll,’ he whisper
ed.

  Haldora’s heart leapt at the word, and she quickly freed her face from the wrapping of smoke-smelling wool.

  ‘Where?’ She moved to the window and peered out, but could see nothing.

  ‘In the woods. I don’t know if it saw me.’ It was getting murky inside the shed and Skraffi realised he had the smoke-can in hand. He shut it off and placed it on a shelf beside a collection of broken firebox flints.

  ‘We’ll have to wait it out.’ Haldora leaned as far forward as she could, until she could just see the end of the row of hives to the right, and beyond that the smear of green and brown that was the trees distorted in the glass. There was nothing else there. ‘How can we tell when it’s gone?’

  ‘The beardlings…’ Skraffi’s eyes widened with alarm. ‘Down the path on the goat pastures and fields. We have to raise the alarm.’

  ‘How?’ Haldora looked around the shed. The only weapons were a short-handled shovel and the all-purpose knife that hung at her belt, and a small hand axe at Skraffi’s hip. ‘Neither of us is strong enough to fight a troll.’

  Skraffi said nothing, deep in thought. A spluttering cough, deep and close, sounded outside, followed by the crack of splintering wood.

  ‘It’s breaking into the hives,’ said Skraffi. There was desperation in his eyes. ‘We can’t… We need that honey. The meadery… Your father will make me sell up if I can’t at least keep up the brewing.’

  ‘Is it worth getting killed over? I’ll talk to pa, make sure he doesn’t close the meadery.’

  ‘He’s just looking for an excuse, mark my words.’

  ‘You’re still the oldest in this family, he can’t push you around.’ Haldora dropped her voice as she heard snuffling and snorting growing louder. The sound of grotesque chewing could also be heard, slavering jaws mashing raw honeycomb and wood at the same time.

  ‘Truth is, Awdhelga was always the one in charge. I’m not much for standing up to folks, never have been. I think that’s why she liked me. “Meek, not weak,” she used to say.’

  ‘Then I’ll stand up for you too,’ said Haldora.

  ‘It’s no good,’ said Skraffi, turning around, his hand moving to the door latch.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ snapped Haldora. ‘Shout at it? It’s a troll. We can’t hurt it. We can’t outrun it. We have to hide until it goes away and then try to raise the alarm.’

  Something heavy brushed against the door. Haldora froze, heart hammering, as the pad of heavy feet moved around the shed. Skraffi motioned towards the door with an inquiring glance but Haldora shook her head. If the troll came on them in the open they wouldn’t stand a chance and the trees were too far away.

  Both of them flinched as something thudded against the stonework. A long rasping filled the shed as claws were dragged down the roof, in places splitting the wood. Haldora moved to the other side of Skraffi and started looking over the shelves and under the tables, desperate to find something, anything that could help.

  ‘Oh dear.’

  She looked up at Skraffi’s subdued exclamation to see a flat grey face and gigantic eye peering in at the window.

  ‘Stay still,’ she told him. It was not that bright inside the outhouse and from what she could remember trolls had poor eyesight. The glass was buckled and bubbled enough that perhaps it wouldn’t see them.

  The troll turned its head to switch eyes. It was massive, bending almost double to look inside the dwarf shed. She saw shoulders flexing and a hand crashed onto the roof. The troll pushed its head closer, smearing the windows with saliva, snot and honey. The wooden frame creaked and Haldora darted a look of alarm at Skraffi.

  ‘Fixed the jamb meself,’ he said with a confident nod. ‘It’ll take more than…’

  His voice drifted away and Haldora looked back at the window. The frame was buckling, the individual pieces of glass rattling as the monster let out heavy breaths.

  ‘You go,’ said Skraffi. He stepped away from the door. ‘I’ll keep it occupied here. You make a run to warn the youngsters and get to the tower at Funnock’s Elbow.’

  ‘No!’ Haldora thrust a hand out to push Skraffi back from the window but it was too late.

  The troll gave an intrigued grunt and slapped a hand to the glass. Wood fractured and part of the frame gave way on the right. Thick fingers with broken claws pushed through the gap, scraping at the stone sill.

  Haldora couldn’t stand it anymore. She dragged out her knife and lunged forward, burying it to the hilt in the back of the troll’s hand. It greeted the attack with a bemused grunt and pulled its hand free. Haldora clung onto the knife, dragging it out of the troll as the hand withdrew. Brownish blood dripped onto the shelf below the window and seeped down the pages of a tattered book on bee-keeping.

  With a roar that almost threw Haldora from her feet in shock and fear, the troll slammed two fists against the window. The frame gave way, showering glass and wood fragments over the two dwarfs within. A hand reached for Haldora – the back of it sporting a freshly healed scar, she noticed as it swept the room, seeking anything to grab.

  She ducked under the swiping paw and rolled to the base of the shelf. Skraffi backed as far into the corner as he could, his small axe in hand, teeth bared in a snarl. More glass crashed to the floor as the troll forced in the rest of its arm to the shoulder, broad head wedged in the gap beside it. Haldora couldn’t stop a shriek as a clawed hand waved just in front of her face, yellowed talons scraping at the wood of the shelf, dislodging knick-knacks and cracking pottery dishes and bowls.

  She turned onto all fours and scampered rat-like along the floor, heading for a wider gap under the shelves where she had pulled out the honeycomb crates earlier. The troll tried to push even more of itself through the hole left by the broken window. Stone scraped on stone and the lintel above the window shifted.

  ‘The whole blummin’ lot will come down,’ growled Skraffi. Haldora recognised the wild look in his eye and knew she had to act now before her grandfather did something she would regret for what little remained of her life.

  She knew from the tales of Grimnir that trolls didn’t like fire because they couldn’t regenerate wounds inflicted by flame. Spying the smoke-maker on the floor between her and Skraffi she dived for the old helmet. She stood up and for a moment came face to face with the troll. Its eyes were yellow and bloodshot, each as big as her fist. Its nose was almost squashed into its face, the mouth a gash with finger-long fangs and broken stubs. There were dozens of cuts from the glass and streaks of honey across its lips. Bits of tarred leather and wood from the roof were stuck to its shoulder and upper arm.

  She smashed the smoke-maker into the troll’s chin with a dull clang and opened the valve to full, letting a plume of thick smoke billow into the troll’s face.

  With a hooting bellow, the troll reared back, dragging itself out of the shed, taking the remnants of the window frame with it. Haldora saw it thrashing at the smoke, coughing and retching as it backed away from the cloud emanating from the outhouse.

  ‘Now run for it, lass!’ said Skraffi. ‘I’ll keep its attention while you head for the path.’

  ‘No.’ Haldora didn’t shout, or snap, or snarl the word. She simply said it with such conviction that it made Skraffi blink in surprise. ‘Nobody is dying today. Not me, and certainly not you.’

  She threw the smoke-maker out onto the pasture, still puffing out fitful clouds. Knowing that although trolls were notoriously stupid it would not be long before the creature realised there was no actual fire, she delved under the junk-laden tables and dragged out a bucket of tar she had seen as she had rolled on the floor earlier.

  Fixing her eyes on the troll she searched with her spare hand until her fingers fell upon the firebox. The monster was approaching again, a darker shadow in the smoke, pulled up to its full height. Placing the firebox on the sill in front of her, still working by touch alone, Haldora shovelled handfuls of dried leaves into the tar.

  ‘Get its attention, Grammi,’ she said
, gripping the pail with both hands.

  ‘Aye, Haldi,’ he replied, moving up beside her. He cupped hands to his mouth and shouted. ‘You hairless excuse for a monster! I’ve seen elves with bigger muscles! You are so ugly you–‘

  With a slobbering yowl, the troll lurched into the shed, a fist battering through the roof, head and shoulders ramming through the window, lifting the lintel.

  Haldora threw the pitch and leaves and the bucket into the troll’s face as a clawed hand closed on Skraffi’s shoulder. Snatching up the firebox, she struck the flint and thrust the tiny flame into the creature’s left eye.

  The tar lit up like a feast-day lantern. Haldora snatched her hand away, as did the troll. Skraffi stumbled back while the troll tried to straighten, unleashing a deafening howl. As it pulled itself upright the troll smashed its head into the remains of the roof, its nobbled back and shoulders finally bringing down the lintel. A few stones fell inside but the bulk of the wall collapsed onto the troll as it retreated. Head burning like a Karag Dron candle, the monster stumbled left and right, slapping at its face and pawing dirt from the ground in an attempt to quench the flame.

  ‘Haldora. It’s Haldora.’

  ‘Right you are, my lass,’ said Skraffi. Tiny wisps of smoke lifted from his singed beard. ‘I think we should run now.’

  She looked at the troll, which was still wandering in circles, yelping and moaning, and knew that though hurt it would not die so easily. A party would have to be sent out to hunt it down and they still needed to make sure the youngsters in the fields and pastures were safe.

  ‘Yes, now we run.’

  They set off towards the path at a brisk trot, glancing over their shoulders. The troll rammed its head repeatedly into the remains of the shed, as if this would somehow alleviate the burning. Haldora was grateful to feel the crunch of gravel under her boots as they reached the track, though there was still a long way to go until she would consider them safe.

  ‘A troll… in the high pastures… in summer,’ said Skraffi between puffing breaths. ‘Goblin ambushes and… now this. That’s not a good… omen at all. Not one bit.’