by Warhammer
The goblins did not fall back far, but clustered together amongst the tumbled boulders and scree of the valley’s northern side while the dwarfs continued to run the gauntlet of stones and rocks from above.
Not all passed through the gorge unharmed – several of the young dwarfs were crying from injuries, cradling fractured hands and fingers, sporting cuts and bruises on heads and faces, while older members of the group bore the pain of similar wounds with stoic silence and gritted teeth.
They did not tarry long and Stofrik set a strong pace once more, aware of the wyvern that could now be clearly seen closing quickly across the darkening sky. The delay in negotiating the pass made it touch and go whether they would reach the sanctuary of the lower groves in time.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘These were hard times for the king and his people. Although they had the south road, they were overshadowed by the trade of the Drakkanfolk and they were forced to rely more and more on what they had to hand. They tended their herds, grew their cereal and made their beer, and they searched for the lode that would secure their future.
They were safe – the goblins feared the axes and bows of the Drakkanfolk – but they were poor. ‘Krekrik’ they called Grimbalki, the king of the goats, and his people became known as the Zakiskrat. It was a bad time and many of them lost faith with the king, but were too angry with the Drakkanfolk to join them, so they returned back to Karak Eight Peaks.
This was called the Great Eastening and nearly a third of the clans of the mountains abandoned the Dragonbacks, and those that were left behind began to sorely wonder if they could survive.’
It was a punishing climb away from the road, forging through thickets of spiny bushes, and in places Skraffi and the others were forced to use their hands as much as their feet, pulling themselves up blunt escarpments and squeezing through gaps where aeons of geological movement had split shoulders of rock and thrown shelves of stone. No stranger to physical activity, even Skraffi could feel the strain of their hasty passage, his back aching between his shoulders, calves threatening cramp every few paces. For some of the others it was too much and he spent just as much time hauling and cajoling the beardlings as he did moving himself.
Those that had thought themselves capable of the journey when they had been back at Undak Grimgazan were now suffering badly. Some were hobbling, almost carried by their peers or leaning heavily on staves or quickly-fashioned crutches. A few could not manage even that and were hoisted onto the shoulders of their comrades or dragged between them over the smoother ground.
Skraffi took heart as he saw his grand-daughter helping one of the older womenfolk. Haldora slung her shield on her back and took a child out of its mother’s arms so that she could use both hands to clamber over the rocks and push aside the branches of snaring shrubs. He caught her glance at one point and gave her a nod of approval. She ignored him, evidently still annoyed by his earlier remonstration with her.
That was fine. He could bear her youthful resentment as long as she stayed alive.
A cry from ahead had him hurrying forward, but as he turned around a bend in the goat track they had been trying to follow he saw that the shouts were of joy not fear. The first trees of the lower groves could be seen a few hundred paces ahead. Looking back he saw the wyvern was still some distance behind, perhaps slowed by a shift in the wind as the valley turned further westwards. They would make the safety of the trees after all.
With sanctuary in sight, of a kind, the dwarfs found fresh strength yet again and there were even a few spare breaths for some light-hearted banter. Skraffi did not feel like joking though, knowing that any respite was only temporary. The lower groves covered swathes of the mountainside around these parts but there was still a large stretch of open ground between the trees and the nearest of Ekrund’s gates where they had over-nighted on their way down the road.
He raised this as he caught up with Gabbik, Stofrik and a few others at the edge of the thickening woods.
‘Settle down there, Skraffi,’ said Farbrok. ‘Let’s worry about one thing at a time.’
‘What else is there to worry about?’ said Skraffi, jerking a thumb towards the skyward blot that was the wyvern. ‘If that beast catches us we’re done for.’
‘Not if we hide in the woods until the sun sets,’ said Gabbik. ‘We’ll get as far as we can under the cover of the trees and then wait until night. Wyverns are not renowned for their night vision.’
‘What about goblins and wolves?’ said Skraffi. The riders were still shadowing the group, glimpsed now and then following a parallel course just beyond a ridge on the left and through the scrub on their right. ‘They’ll pick us off one by one in the woods if we let them.’
‘Best not let them,’ growled Stofrik. He patted his axe. ‘We don’t have to move so quick under the trees, so we can watch each other, right?’
Skraffi looked at the thanes and saw that they appeared to be of like mind. Now was not the time to raise objections.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s get the lasses and beardlings together and stick close.’
In the shadows of the thick canopy of leaves the dwarfs gathered about their leaders and took stock. Three of them had fallen in the gorge, stoned to death by goblins, and two more had disappeared since – nobody had seen them go and both had already been wounded on the patrol so it was assumed they had fallen behind and succumbed to the prowling wolf riders.
‘We lose nobody else,’ said Gabbik, expression fierce. ‘Nobody.’
Skraffi was not convinced but he gave his son a reassuring pat on the shoulder and hefted Elfslicer. ‘Not if we can do anything about it.’
The desperation that had gripped them in the latter part of their flight now waned in the shelter of the trees. No longer under the bludgeoning glare of the sun, with the ground clear of much undergrowth and carpeted with soft mulch, the going was much easier. There was still little enough energy for idle chatter, but it was a relief to be away from the relentless exposure of the rocky mountainside and the clinging thorns of bramble and gorse.
It was much dimmer beneath the trees and Skraffi quickly lost a sense of time. Now and then he glimpsed a reddening sky through breaks in the canopy above and he trudged on without conscious thought, putting one foot in front of the other almost out of habit. Most of his concentration was directed at keeping watch, Elfslicer at the ready. With some of the others he walked in a cordon just a dozen or so paces from the rest of the company, keeping an eye out for the goblins.
Now and then something darker slipped through the shadows in the distance. It was impossible to hear anything moving over the noise of the dwarfs themselves, and this time there were no hunting horns or giveaway growls.
The wolf riders were stalking them quietly. Patiently.
Even so he knew where they were from the odd patch of sunlight coming through the trees glinting on a bared blade, while grey-furred bodies showed up against the boles of ancient trees.
The ground slowly levelled and Stofrik turned the party to the right, heading in what he thought was a straight line towards the Lower Gate. Skraffi took the other dwarf’s word for this, having no sense of where they were himself. It was only with some effort that he could see bluer sky to the east and so could tell they were now heading north-east. Stofrik was no ranger, but it was better to follow the lead of one than try to run everything by council at the moment. If they kept moving in this direction they would eventually come back to the road, it was just a question of whether they would be below or above the gate and how far.
The sun finally set, plunging the woods into a gloom almost as thick as the depths of a mine. Roots and fallen logs and low branches became a recurring hazard and the feeling of nervousness returned. Some of the dwarfs brought out small lanterns as the twilight deepened, spreading pale yellow light. This improved their footing but attracted all manner of bugs and moths, and lent the woods an eerie atmosphere of long, flickering shadows, serving to emphasise the encr
oaching darkness beyond the short reach of the pale light.
In the distance wolf eyes glittered, coming closer.
The moons were not yet up and the sky was clear as the trees started to thin, bringing them to the edge of the first grove. A few of the dwarfs more familiar with the overground announced that they had actually come too far north and that they needed to turn slightly southwards if they were going to come upon the Lower Gate.
This discussion was cut short by something darker than the night blotting out the stars, sweeping from the east to the south.
‘The wyvern,’ growled Gabbik. ‘It’s here. Watching the road.’
Before anyone could answer, a deafening roar split the quiet. Suddenly the woods erupted as roosting birds and bats billowed out from the branches, shrieking and squeaking and screaming together. Skraffi saw the profile of the soaring monster change as it tipped a wing and turned towards them.
‘So much for the poor night vision of wyverns,’ he muttered.
Consternation grew amongst the group, though not yet panic and terror. The trees were still too close together to allow the creature to land, and unlike their cousins the dragons, wyverns could not breathe fire or fumes or freezing vapours. Just to be sure, Gabbik told everybody to retreat further into the woods. Once more under the full cover of the trees, they found themselves surrounded by the silvered discs of wolf eyes reflecting lantern lights.
‘A grim pickle,’ said Stofrik. ‘Wolves or wyverns, which would you prefer?’
‘Wolves,’ said Nurftun. He swung his hammer a couple of times. ‘I can handle wolves and goblins.’
‘There seems to be quite a lot of them,’ said Gabbik. Indeed there did. Skraffi could not count them, but everywhere he looked he saw dark shadows slinking through the night.
‘It makes no difference,’ said Fleinn, who came up to them out of the gloom like a wraith emerging from its barrow, his pale beard and face almost white in the glare of a lantern. ‘Sooner or later we have to get onto the road. I’d rather do that now than after a night full of fighting.’
‘Is there anywhere else we can hole up?’ asked Skraffi. ‘There must be a copper mine or something nearby, surely.’
‘Not in these parts,’ said Stofrik. ‘We’re standing right over the southern deeps, but there’s no entrance closer than the Lower Gate.’
‘Kruk.’ Skraffi felt trapped, in a way that he had never felt underground. They could go north, south, east or west and it didn’t matter. They had every which way to march and yet no options left. ‘I say we head for the road sharpish and then take our chances. There’s bound to be patrols on the road, what with the beacon fire lit and all.’
‘Them wolf riders will attack as soon as the wyvern does,’ said Stofrik. ‘Ain’t no way we can handle both of them. We need an army, not a patrol.’
‘Then we need to get the wolfies away somehow,’ said Fleinn. ‘Attack them first?’
‘They’re too quick,’ said Skraffi. ‘They’d just circle round and come at the others while we’re dashing about after them.’
‘A decoy,’ said Gabbik. ’A few of us take the lanterns, head further north. The rest go south in the dark.’
‘And then?’ said Skraffi. ‘When they realise it’s just you and not everybody, they’ll attack.’
‘And we kill as many of them as we can,’ said Gabbik. It was clear what he meant but nobody wanted to say it.
Skraffi glanced over his shoulder at Friedra and Haldora. ‘I should go.’ Gabbik looked as though he was going to argue, but Skraffi fixed him with his sternest stare.
‘Son, I know you mean well but I will go. I passed my time good enough. There’s others that need you more than me.’
‘I’ll go too,’ said Nurftun. The sentiment was echoed by Farbrok and a few of the other greybeards.
‘That’s settled then,’ said Stofrik, giving them each in turn a nod of respect. ‘We’ll get everybody else to hunker down and stay as quiet as possible. You head north and make as much racket as you can.’
‘Aye, that we can do,’ said Farbrok.
And as they had agreed, so it was.
The oldest dwarfs took possession of the lanterns, hanging them on branches stuck into their packs so that their hands were free for weapons and shields. They spread out as though surrounding a larger group and set off between the trees, kicking over stones, grumbling to themselves and snapping whatever twigs they could find underfoot. Pipes glowed in the gloom, leaving an obvious trail of scented smoke, obscuring the odour of the dwarfs left behind.
Gabbik and the remaining thanes hushed everyone, getting them to lay down in the dirt, up against the trunks and behind toppled trees, faces and hands smeared with mud, leaves sticking in their beards and hair. Gabbik spared one passing glance at his father as he disappeared into the distance. His gut tightened into a knot and his throat felt as though it would burst, but he hunkered down beneath an arching root, right next to Haldora and Friedra.
The wolves came soon after, moving quickly, whining and panting, the goblins on their backs chittering to each other in their shrill voices. Most of them moved past the hiding dwarfs without hesitation, intent upon the bobbing lights moving further and further away.
A wolf nearly twice as big as Gabbik leapt over a log to his left and skidded to a halt in the leaves and dirt, its breath coming heavy, saliva dripping from its tongue. On its back hunched a goblin with leathery skin, a floppy hat propped between ragged, pointed ears. Its gaze was fixed ahead, clawed fingers curled around tufts of the wolf’s scruffy fur.
Gabbik knew that if the goblin turned just a fraction more, he would see Friedra. He could feel his wife trembling next to him and reached out with glacial slowness to pat her reassuringly on the back of the leg while the fingers of his other hand tightened on the haft of his hammer.
With a cruel laugh the goblin kicked its heels into the ribs of the wolf and the beast sprang away.
Gabbik did not dare move for some time after. He only roused himself and the other two with him when he heard Stofrik issuing whispered commands.
‘Where’s Grammi gone?’ Haldora asked.
Gabbik did not want to lie, but he knew the truth would be upsetting for his daughter; it was all he could do to focus on the task at hand himself.
‘We need to get moving,’ he replied, turning away and pulling Friedra to her feet. His wife darted him a look of understanding and moved past and laid a hand on Haldora’s arm.
‘Let’s go and help with the little ones, dear,’ said Friedra. ‘Skraffi can look after himself. Those poor wee babes can’t.’
Picking twigs and leaves out of his beard, Gabbik gave his wife a grateful look. She smiled in return before disappearing into the darkness with their daughter. Gabbik called quietly for Stofrik and headed towards the hissed reply, to find a knot of the most senior dwarfs left gathered around the Grimsson thane.
‘We head that way,’ said Stofrik, indicating with a chopping gesture. ‘Straight as we can, fast as we can.’
‘When we reach the Lower Gate we’ll get them to come out with as many axes and hammers as they can muster?’ asked one of the other elders.
‘Be sure of it,’ said Stofrik. ‘My dad is out here too.’
Stumbling occasionally, sometimes almost walking into trees, the dwarfs set off towards the road. As the woods thinned and more starlight drifted down their progress speeded up, until they left the trees entirely and found themselves walking across the grass of goat-cropped pasture.
‘Can’t be too far,’ said Gabbik.
‘Far enough,’ replied Fleinn. ‘Let’s keep the pace up, eh?’
Contrary to Fleinn’s prediction they came upon the road just as the white moon was rising. To Gabbik the moonlit flags were like a silvery path leading them to safety. Climbing over the wall, after helping those that didn’t have the strength or were too small to climb themselves, Gabbik breathed a sigh of relief as his boots thudded onto dwarf-hewn stone.
N
ow in familiar surroundings, he saw that they were maybe a thousand paces too far north. He looked up the slope of Mount Bloodhorn and saw nothing that betrayed the presence of any goblins, or any other dwarfs for that matter. Turning his gaze southwards he could just about make out a spark in the distance that might have been the beacon pyre, while another blaze was much clearer about halfway between Undak Grimgazan and their current position.
‘Why’s nobody on the walls?’ he asked, looking around at the empty ramparts further up the mountain. ‘They must have seen the beacons.’
‘Nobody here can answer that question,’ said Haldora. She looked almost dead on her feet, eyes sunken, a bruise blacking her right cheek. ‘We need to get to Lower Gate.’
She was right, the most important thing was to warn everybody of the horde moving up from the wildlands. The Lower Gate had to be prepared for an assault in the next day or two – precious little time already.
They headed south, moving as swiftly as fatigue allowed, the well-crafted stones of the road easing their passage after so much scrambling and hardship in the wilds. Gabbik felt a second wind – or more accurately probably a fifth or sixth wind – and strode to the head of the group to walk alongside Stofrik.
‘I’m glad you were here,’ he told the other thane. ‘You’re a solid ally in a tight spot, Stofrik.’
‘You’re a calm customer yourself,’ said the Grimsson’s leader. He glanced back. ‘And that lass of yours is something else, for sure.’
‘Aye,’ Gabbik replied with a thin smile.
‘No, really, think about it. If she hadn’t gone after your patrol like that, and we’d been waiting for you at the fortress, that whole horde of greenskins would have been on us. She got us the head start we needed.’
‘Don’t tell me, tell her,’ said Gabbik. ‘It’d mean a lot, coming from you.’
‘Don’t want her getting big-headed, do we?’ said Stofrik. He caught Gabbik’s critical look and shrugged. ‘Maybe when everyone’s back and safe as tunnels, right?’