The Great Betrayal

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Let it not be War

Gotrek regarded the broken shaft of the arrow.

Elven.

Definitely elven.

Even a beardling could tell from the white pine, the swan feathers and exquisite fletching. No other race used arrows this good, and the dwarf High King wasn’t afraid to admit that.

‘And you found this on the road not far from the karak?’

The ranger nodded.

In the shadows behind the High King, the only other dwarf in the room kept his arms folded. Thurbad had listened, and listened grimly, to Furgil’s report.

‘In the body of a dead dawi…’ the ranger added. ‘Several dead dawi, my lord.’

Few dwarfs could range alone in the mountains and the wild lands beyond and return to their hold unscathed. Furgil had achieved that feat but was bowed by the news he brought like a heavy burden on his back as he met Gotrek Starbreaker in his private chambers.

‘How many?’ The High King still hadn’t taken his eyes off the arrow and ran his fingers over the broken shaft in his hands as if some secret would be revealed to him in the process of examining it.

It wasn’t.

‘Six, my lord.’ Grimly, the ranger recounted what he had seen in the woods, the merchant and his guards, the precise nature of the attacks, how there had been no retaliation from the murdered dwarfs. ‘It was an ambush in our own territory,’ he said, without really needing to.

‘Those are our secret trade routes you describe, Furgil. Few who are not dawi know of them.’

‘Some of the elgi do, my lord.’

Gotrek’s face was set like chiselled stone but the play of emotions visible in his eyes was as turbulent and unsettled as an ocean storm. Returning the arrow, the High King sat down at a broad-legged writing desk. It fitted well with the room’s rustic aesthetic, which was mainly comprised of simple wood and stone. This was a chamber for thinking, not entertaining. Solitude was its main function.

Since the rinkkaz, he had dispensed with his regal finery too and wore a simple tunic and leggings. A mail shirt clad his back and chest but he was otherwise unarmoured. He said nothing as he pored over the reports of the reckoners sitting in front of him on his desk. Like his chief scout’s, the High King’s face was grim.

‘According to these-’ he picked up a handful of the parchments to help illustrate his point, ‘-there have been several further acts of disorder in addition to the murder and treachery you describe, Furgil.’

Though he tried, the ranger could not conceal his shock.

‘This has happened elsewhere?’

Gotrek nodded, reading off one of the reports.

‘A trading outpost sacked and razed not four days ago.’ He leafed to another. ‘Here, reckoners make claim on behalf of Hugnar Barrelgirth of nefarious dealings that left the merchant out of pocket. Another makes reference to sorcery used to befuddle and extort an honest dawi trader. As of yet,’ said the High King, his eyes rising from the parchments to regard Furgil, ‘there have been no further deaths.’

Furgil sighed, ‘Dreng tromm,’ wringing his cap in his dirt-stained hands.

Gotrek returned to the messages from his reckoners. Almost forgetting Furgil was still present, he hurriedly dismissed the ranger.

‘Thank you for bringing this to me, Furgil. You have my authority to double all of the ranger patrols on the trade routes. Keep a sharp eye for me, lad.’

Furgil nodded and was gone, leaving the High King alone with Thurbad.

‘Thoughts?’ he asked the captain of the hearthguard.

‘Someone is trying to break down the peace we have with the elgi.’

‘Not unexpected, especially when our accord with them is on such fragile ground.’

‘Their settlements expand as trade between us grows,’ said Thurbad. ‘It was only a matter of time before the other thanes objected.’

‘Eight Peaks and Ungor pledge their allegiance to “difficult times ahead”.’ Gotrek held up a pair of missives he had retrieved from the pile amongst the scratchings of the reckoners.

‘Very politic of them both,’ Thurbad observed. ‘They must be seen to support you if they then want to go on and usurp you.’

‘Indeed.’ Gotrek had taken out his pipe. Upon touching his lips the cup flared into life, casting the rune of zharr engraved on it into sharp relief.

‘But the attack on the trade routes is troubling. How many know of those roads?’

‘Not many, or so I thought. It dates back to the old pact, the one during Snorri Whitebeard’s days.’

‘The elgi prince, their ambassador?’

‘Malekith, aye.’

‘Where is the elgi now?’

‘Dead, disappeared? I have no idea, Thurbad. The records pertaining to him ended when he left the Karaz Ankor two thousand years ago. They are practically myth.’

‘Someone knows.’

Gotrek got up out of his chair and walked over to where a huge map of the dwarf realms was hung up on the wall like a grand tapestry. The map was old, torn in places, burned at the edges and curling slightly. The dark ink etched upon it in certain areas was not so old. In fact, it was very recent.

‘I cannot justify sanctions against the elgi for a few acts of disorder.’

Thurbad joined him at the wall.

‘Are you asking me or telling me, my king?’

Gotrek left a pause to consider. ‘Telling. But I need you to ensure the hearthguard are all armed and ready to act immediately should they be required.’

Thurbad bowed. ‘Always, my king.’

Returning his attention to the map where not only the dwarf holds and settlements were depicted, but the elf ones too, he said, ‘I hope this is just a spate of disorder, that these are just the rash acts of a few dissenters.’

Gotrek was a wise king. Unlike some, he realised the stark differences between elves and dwarfs would always result in a difficult peace, but unlike others he wasn’t willing to go to war with them over it. Fighting the elves for the Old World would harm both races. It was foolish. Despite all of that, he was deeply troubled by everything he had seen and heard.

He pointed to the map with his pipe.

‘How many elgi do you think are in my realm, Thurbad?’

‘Too many to count easily, my king.’

From the sheer number of settlements, outposts, even cities, Gotrek knew it must rival the dwarf clans. Though he would not speak it to Thurbad, for the briefest moment he wondered if he had made a grievous error in being so genial to the elves. He wondered if he had allowed an enemy to creep into his hold halls invited and now that enemy was unsheathing his dagger to plunge it into the king’s back.

Releasing a long plume of smoke that obscured the crude depictions of holds and cities on the map with an all-consuming fog, he said, ‘Have the guildmasters instruct our forges to begin stockpiling weapons and armour.’

‘Are we headed for war, my king?’

It was a reasonable question, but one Gotrek chose to answer with flippancy so as not to alarm his captain of the hearthguard unduly.

‘Don’t be an ufdi, Thurbad. There will be no war between elgi and dawi. There must be no war, but I will have our armouries full anyway.’

Slamming his clenched fist against his breastplate, Thurbad left to make his preparations.

The High King was alone.

Gotrek traced a gnarled finger along the sketched trade routes on the map and then the roads and byways to and from the elven settlements.

‘Too many to count,’ he murmured, echoing Thurbad’s words. He prayed to Grungni. ‘Let it not be war, noble ancestor. Let it not.’