Masters of Stone and Steel - Gav Thorpe & Nick Kyme

by Warhammer

  ‘You’re right,’ said Haldora. ‘I should stop paying too much heed to what he says.’

  Nakka came over to her and put his hand on her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. ‘If you really want to do something, tell your father you’re coming out to the towers with us. And ask him to speak with the other clan heads, maybe send a letter to the king.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Haldora, smiling up at Nakka.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Believing in me.’

  ‘Believing in you?’ Nakka laughed again, his beard thumping against his chest. ‘That’s like believing in tables or gold or the sky. Ain’t no believing, it’s just fact. There’s you, and you’re strong and I know whatever you put your mind to will get done.’

  ‘All the same…’ Haldora picked up the wooden axe and stood up. She gave it a few test swings. Her shoulders ached but it was like the time she had learnt to use a pick. She’d keep going until the muscles were strong enough. ‘Like a dance, right?’

  They continued to practise until the sun was almost lost behind the mountains. Stealing a quick goodbye kiss, Haldora then parted ways with Nakka, heading back to her family’s halls while he returned to the chambers of the Troggklads, having gained his promise not to reveal their clandestine meetings. She hoped he would not be interrogated too closely.

  Nobody seemed too bothered about her when she got back and she sat down to supper with the rest of the family without fielding any awkward questions. She didn’t want to lie to her family, but if they knew what was going on they would certainly put a stop to it. Fortunately, Skraffi was there – his appearances had become rare since the king’s council – and he was keen to expand on his new favourite topic of conversation.

  ‘I’ve been speaking with more of the Varnfolk thanes,’ he told them, brandishing a roasted goat leg like a royal sceptre. ‘They reckon they could probably stir up a few thousand axes and hammers from the other holds, with cousins, nephews and what not.’ He glowered at Gabbik. ‘Family ties still mean something in the old mountains, I’m told.’

  ‘Family means something here too, father,’ Gabbik said. He was always formal in his address, never speaking out of place in Skraffi’s presence, but Haldora could tell when Gabbik was exercising his best self-control. She had seen it when meetings of the Ekrund Miners’ Welfare and Social Society got out of hand – someone forgetting to ask for a second during a motion, for example – and she could see it now every time Skraffi opened his mouth.

  ‘The orcs have probably moved on by now,’ Skraffi continued, ignoring his son. ‘We would just have a look, see what was what and the like. And then when the High King’s ready, we come from the south and the army from Karaz-a-Karak comes from the north, catching them green dung eaters between us.’

  ‘There will be no army from the north, father,’ Gabbik said patiently. ‘King Erstukar is not going to petition the High King for a joint attack on Karak Varn. Please, stop going on about it. If you really want to help the Varnfolk, don’t keep feeding them this madness and false hope.’

  Skraffi opened his mouth and then closed it again. He huffed and crossed his arms but said nothing more.

  ‘I’m still worried about the Varnfolk that haven’t made it to the Dragonbacks,’ Haldora said. ‘They have to be out there somewhere.’

  ‘What could we do about it?’ Gabbik said, his exasperation growing. ‘Grow wings and soar over the wildlands looking for them?’

  Haldora fell silent, stung by her father’s words. She fidgeted with the edge of the table, picking at a splinter with her thumbnail. He looked at her for some time and then pushed away his plate, expression softening.

  ‘All right,’ Gabbik said. ‘What would you really have me do?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ mumbled Haldora. ‘I’m sure there’s nothing we can do.’

  ‘What would you have me do?’ he asked again, slowly and quietly. ‘Really.’

  ‘I just want you to talk to the other clan heads,’ Haldora said. ‘I don’t know what we can do, but maybe they can think of something.’

  ‘We’ve already put up as many as we can,’ said Friedra. She moved around the table collecting platters and cups. ‘Any more and we’ll have Varnfolk in the pantry and coming out of the scullery. That won’t do at all.’

  ‘But there should be more. You heard it too. I just don’t know where all the other survivors have ended up.’

  ‘Maybe they went back to retake their hold?’ suggested Skraffi. ‘They should do. It’s a sorry state of affairs when an entire hold just ups and leaves without so much as a fight or two to get back what’s theirs.’

  ‘They stayed and defended their homes, as they should have done,’ said Gabbik. ‘That’s where you’d see me, standing at the door, hammer in hand and no stepping back.’

  Skraffi darted his son a dubious look. ‘When did you become such a hardened fighter?’

  ‘I saw my share of war,’ said Gabbik. ‘And I’ve killed my share of goblins too.’

  ‘Will you say something? To the other thanes?’ Haldora asked. ‘Please?’

  Gabbik considered it, slowly rubbing a knuckle across the side of his nose several times.

  ‘I’ll see what the others think of it,’ he said. ‘No promises they’ll listen to me.’ There was a snort from Skraffi, indicating what he thought were the chances of Gabbik being given full attention.

  ‘They’ll have to listen to you, pa,’ said Haldora. ‘Respectable, wise, considered. You’ve got a reputation. They’ll definitely listen to you.’

  They weren’t listening.

  Gabbik suppressed a sigh and raised his voice above the background clamour of the alehouse – taken over that night for the thanes’ council. He had told Haldora he would voice her concerns and that was what he was going to do, even if nobody else was interested. There were times he was sure he had let down his daughter but this would not be one of them.

  Skraffi was scrutinising everything he said from across the other side of the hall, ensconced at a table with two bottles of mead and a tin cup, surrounded by other greybeards who glared suspiciously as Gabbik rose to his feet and banged his tankard on the table.

  ‘Could I have your attention for a moment, please, gentledwarfs?’ Gabbik announced.

  The assemblage quietened down a little bit. They were from all over the surrounding area, co-members of the clan council, some with lineages hailing back to Karak Eight Peaks, others with less rarefied heritage. All of them seemed to be united in their desire to continue drinking without interruption.

  The bulk of business had been arranged by Stofrik Grimsson, who was acting council foreman until the annual conclave that was to be held next midwinter. Stofrik was one of the front runners in the contest and had been working hard for Gabbik’s support too. Not so hard that he had allowed Gabbik to make a last minute insertion to the agenda though, which had left the head of the Angboks clamouring for attention when the official business had been concluded. By the letter of the council rules Stofrik had not yet called a halt to debate and they were still in the Any Other Business period – a concession Gabbik had bought with three cups of blackbeer – but the rest of the attendees had certainly moved on in their minds and were reluctant to countenance further delay to the serious issue of beer tasting and pie eating, followed by the cheese-judging contest.

  ‘We need to discuss the refugee issue,’ Gabbik insisted, almost shouting. A sudden quiet descended and it seemed as though he was talking loudly for no good reason. He lowered his voice. ‘It has been brought to my attention that initial estimates of the number of survivors from Karak Varn have proven woefully inaccurate.’

  ‘Good,’ came a reply, from a dwarf near the counter surrounded by a fog of pipe smoke. He had a battered helmet on and an ancient mail surplice hung with gilded ancestor badges. Gabbik recognised him as Farbrok Grimsson, Stofrik’s uncle. ‘Less mouths to feed.’

  ‘And less beds to find,’ added someone else.

 
‘And more drink for us!’ declared a third dwarf, which was greeted by a cheer from those around him.

  ‘And the question of where they’ve all gone,’ said Gabbik. He glanced over at Skraffi and received a subtle nod of encouragement. That worried him, because if Skraffi thought it was a good idea, the chances were the opposite would prove to be true. He swallowed back his apprehension and continued, remembering that he was doing this for Haldora. ‘The patrols haven’t seen hide nor hair of orcs within days of the mountains. Don’t that strike you as unnatural?’

  ‘Maybe they all went up to Karak Varn to join the fun,’ suggested Stofrik. This garnered some vigorous nodding from the other Grimsson thanes and their comrades. ‘Ever thought of that?’

  Gabbik hadn’t and he wished he had.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said, suddenly uncertain. ‘But what about if they come back?’

  ‘And what if more orcs decide to follow the Varnfolk to Ekrund?’ asked Skraffi. Gabbik cringed. He might have been able to get the thanes to think properly about the subject, but now they would be distracted by his father’s outlandish ideas. ‘Wanting to finish the job?’

  ‘Ain’t been no sign of that,’ said Farbrok. The assembled dwarfs erupted into conversation, as though the matter was settled already.

  ‘Fair stroke to Gabbik, my boys,’ said Stofrik, holding up his hands for quiet. The crowd settled down again and Stofrik nodded for Gabbik to continue. ‘Let’s hear him out. Make your point, Gabbik.’

  He felt their eyes on him and tried to remember what the point was. As far as he could remember the point was that he had told Haldora he would say something, but beyond that he hadn’t paid too much attention to what was worrying her specifically.

  ‘We never sent anyone south,’ he said, dredging up something from the bottom of his memory. He vaguely recalled Haldora coming back from the patrol, complaining that nobody was interested in searching the swamps, either for Varnfolk or greenskins.

  ‘There ain’t nothin’ south, Gabbik,’ he was told by one of the Fundunstulls, who still were considering an official grudge for the business over the gold seam. ‘Unless you’re worried about marsh ducks and roundbills!’

  ‘Or maybe it’s an army of otters!’ cried another, followed by more good-humoured pokes.

  ‘I know, I know,’ Gabbik conceded, grinning through the shame. It was too much. At the moment they thought of him as being a bit foolish. If he carried on he would get thrown into the same barrel as Skraffi – a troublemaker. Worse than that, he would look afraid. Scared of nothing, they would say. A worry-for-nothing, he would be called. Or worse: elf-beard. ‘I was just being thorough. Ducks! Good one there, Sammison. Otters! Ha! You’re right, of course. Nothing to worry about. I wanted the record to show that. You know me.’

  He sat down, smiling like an idiot, while inside a fire of embarrassment consumed his guts. He stared into his ale, not daring to look across to where he knew Skraffi would be scowling at him. He felt a tap on his elbow and turned his head to look at Vadlir.

  ‘What was that about?’ asked the other thane. ‘Are you done?’

  ‘Something Haldora wanted,’ Gabbik confessed. He took a long swig of beer. ‘It’s done now.’

  ‘Aye, that daughter of yours,’ Vadlir said with a knowing nod. ‘Not nearly as much trouble as your father, but you best keep an eye on that one. You don’t want word getting out that she’ll be a handful. You’d be lucky for her to marry a goatherd’s son if she gets the wrong sort of reputation.’

  Gabbik said nothing. He knew Haldora meant well, and certainly she was nobody’s fool. But it was as though she was a beardling. Naive. She didn’t understand that it didn’t matter that doing the right thing was a matter of consensus not absolute truth. What others thought was important.

  And what Haldora thought, Gabbik knew deep down, was that he had betrayed her, if not in actual deed then in heart. She would not understand how important it was that a dwarf of good standing represented the Angboks. But it would be to her benefit one day. When a thane from one of the other, richer clans was looking for a wife, he would hear the name of Haldora Angbok and take interest, because the clan would have a reputation of solidity and being dependable. That was currency as much as gold and coal.

  There was nothing to be done about it now. Skraffi was already halfway to ruining the Angbok name, and Gabbik had to do everything he could to save whatever repute remained. Haldora would have to learn that, preferably sooner rather than later. The more she acted out and made a noise, and the more Skraffi kept embarrassing them all, the harder Gabbik would have to fight to retain some sense of dignity.

  Still ragged from the potential humiliation he had just endured, Gabbik resolved that he would not allow himself to get backed into the same situation again. He would not take any more nonsense, from Haldora or from Skraffi. If they wanted to be part of the Angbok clan they would have to protect the Angbok name, and that was the end of it.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘The orcs came seven years after Ankor-Drakk was founded. It was the late winter and, driven by starvation I suppose, the orcs forged a way across the frozen marshes and fell on the outlying settlements, which by this time numbered four villages and several dozen farms.

  The smoke alerted the king to the danger and he summoned the throng, but the Drakkanfolk, as they were now called, were spread all over the place. Before the army finally was able to destroy the orcs in battle the greenskins had killed hundreds and sent as many again into slavery in the south.

  The people would not have this and the king vowed to reclaim the Drakkanfolk that had been taken. There were some that were left behind, to guard Ankor-Drakk and the new mine. Most of the slaves were rescued over the following spring and summer, but when the king returned, he found the gates of Ankor-Drakk barred against him. His younger brother, Garudak, had seized control and refused to acknowledge the king as the ruler.

  This was a great embarrassment and the king wanted to avoid any confrontation after losing so many Drakkanfolk to the orcs. He was a clever soul and let Garudak keep Ankor-Drakk, and told him that he would start a new mine elsewhere to show Garudak who was the best.

  So the king went further up the mountains and there he started a new settlement.’

  The clan watches had not been mustered since the end of the war against the elves, but after the patrols had failed to find any evidence of the orcs the king had decreed that each clan would take its time-honoured place in the role of guards. To show there would be no favouritism, the king’s own clan had taken the first watch on the northern towers and his closest allies in the other outer defences. Now the time had come for the Angboks and their kin to travel to the eastern reaches to stand their shift at the towers and ramparts overlooking the wildlands.

  Haldora was excited by the idea as she packed up clothes and food for the journey – she was already wearing her mail shirt and a pair of vambraces secretly gifted to her by Nakka. Her father sensed her mood as she carried her pack from her chamber into the family hall, and looked to dampen her enthusiasm.

  ‘There’ll be no orcs, nor goblins,’ said Gabbik. ‘Waste of time, if you ask me.’

  Nobody had asked, Haldora thought, but she decided not to mention this to her father. He had been in a sour mood for the last few days and it was obvious that uprooting the clan to the eastern outer towers for thirty days was playing on his mind. She could imagine the calculations – lost revenue from the seam would outweigh the small stipend the king was offering to cover the clans’ expenses. In Gabbik’s mind this could not have come at a worse time. There was a little uncertainty following the fall of Karak Varn and the value of gold was rising. Dwarfs liked to put their stock in gold when things became uncertain, in the same way that they would comb their beards to comfort themselves.

  Haldora didn’t much care about the lost revenue. This was a chance to do something different, to get away from the clan halls and the high pastures and see more of the mountains and wildlands. Eve
n if there were no orcs, and that seemed a very distinct possibility, it was nice to get a change of scenery.

  The clan assembled by the East Gate – Angboks, Troggklads and others, about three hundred dwarfs in all. Each of them carried a sturdy pack of gear, clothes and food, and the children were with them from beardlings just short of coming of age to babes in arms. More supplies were piled neatly on handbarrows pushed by pairs of dwarfs.

  The atmosphere was mixed, with the younger dwarfs excited by the prospect of the expedition and the older dwarfs grumbling at being uprooted on a ‘pointless jaunt into the country’. A few of the youngest Troggklads had formed an impromptu marching band and were banging drums and tooting horns in celebration. One had a bellows organ and another a grind lyre, and they seemed to be trying to outdo each other in volume if not skill. Unable to stomach this racket Norbrindor Troggklad, master of the Ekrund Miners’ Welfare and Social Society Instrument Band and Choir, led them on a rousing play of Brave Dwarfs Stand Shoulder to Shoulder.

  With this unsubtle but enthusiastic rendition of the Society’s anthem to mark time, the clan set off down the road, the babble of voices and tramp of feet echoing from the valley with the sound of the band.

  Haldora spied Nakka amongst the Troggklads ahead and increased her pace to catch up. She was red-faced and puffing by the time she reached him. He was wearing a newly made wolfskin cloak, the blondish pelt trimmed with iron rings and a deep red lining.

  ‘How do, Haldora,’ said Vadlir. He gave her a grin and a wink and glanced at Nakka. ‘Nice of you to join us. Haven’t seen you for a while.’

  ‘Pa’s had me down the mines and in the kitchens non-stop since he got back from the king’s council, it seems,’ she said. Nakka gave her a nod, silently acknowledging her reason why she had not seen him the last few days. ‘I must have scrubbed every stone and tile in the halls at least twice over. Ma’s worse still, cleaning out the grates and chimneys. Anyone would think the king was expecting to move into the Angbok halls while we was away.’