The Great Betrayal

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The Coming of War

Except for the High King’s guards, Nadri Goldtongue stood alone in the entrance hall of Karaz-a-Karak.

The merchant guildmaster from Barak Varr paid no heed to the mute ranks of quarrellers and hearthguard that surrounded him. Silence persisted like that of a tomb. It only served to echo his darker thoughts. He closed his eyes… Snatched glimpses of what he had seen in the gorge returned.

The dead everywhere… their blood soaking the earth…

Krondi… Poor old Krondi… His friend, who hadn’t stood a chance…

And a husk that was once a dwarf…

Sending the rest of the wagons on their way, Nadri had travelled to Everpeak by himself with a single mule and cart.

The great gate opened, arresting Nadri from his black reverie, admitting a pair of kings and their retainers. One of the liege-lords advanced ahead of the other and embraced the guildmaster warmly.

‘Nadri,’ said King Brynnoth, stepping back to clap the dwarf on the shoulders. ‘I am relieved to see you alive and in one piece.’

Nodding, Nadri said, ‘Tromm. I have bleak tidings, my king.’

‘Tell us, lad,’ said Gotrek, moving into a patch of brazier light.

Nadri bowed deeply to the High King, but then recoiled sharply when he saw the other members of the party who had entered the hall behind them.

‘Elgi!’ he hissed.

Eyeing first the guildmaster and then the elves shrewdly, Brynnoth raised his hand for calm.

‘Easy, Nadri.’

‘All is well here,’ added Gotrek, nodding silent thanks to Thurbad who had been waiting in the shadows. ‘Prince Imladrik is an ally of the Karaz Ankor.’

‘What harm befell you, guildmaster?’ asked the elven prince.

Nadri’s face contorted into a mask of fury. ‘It was not me who was harmed. Agrin Fireheart lies dead, so too my kith and kin. A noble friend, Krondi Stoutback was amongst them.’ He wept without shame. Some of the dwarf retainers tugged or gnawed at their beards.

Brynnoth wore a snarl as he stepped away from the elves to his guildmaster’s side.

‘Thagi!’ he spat. ‘Agrin Fireheart was runelord to my hold, a near ancestor of the dawi. His death is perfidy beyond reckoning.’ He glared at the elves. ‘Something must be done.’

‘I agree,’ said another voice from farther back in the hall. Varnuf had entered through the great gate. Gotrek scowled when he saw the King of Eight Peaks.

Snorri was with him.

‘Did you bring him here?’ he asked belligerently of his son.

‘I came of my own accord,’ Varnuf interceded, ‘to find out what dire matter would demand such hasty attention. I see now I was right to do so.’

Gotrek noticed one of the elves, a female, reach to her sword but a fierce glance from Imladrik stayed her hand. The High King could see why they were suddenly paranoid. The dwarfs had them surrounded.

‘Be calm, all of you,’ he said. ‘This is still my hold and I am still High King of the Karaz Ankor.’

Varnuf’s eyes narrowed slightly at that remark. Gotrek expected nothing less.

‘Then expel the elgi from our halls and lands, father,’ Snorri urged.

‘I will not!’ roared the High King.

All the dwarfs present, even the other kings, lowered their eyes in acknowledgement of his superiority. All except Snorri.

‘They kill dawi by the score, take our gold, cheat our merchants and burn our settlements to the ground and you still wish to treat with them?’

The elf female could contain her ire no longer and spoke out. ‘Our people have been slain too. Fort Arlandril was burned and innocent asur murdered. It is not just-’

‘Quiet, Liandra!’ Imladrik glowered at her, but retained some of his composure to address the High King. ‘Liege-lord,’ he said, ‘this heinous act will not go unpunished. Allow me to send riders to find these bandits and bring them to justice.’

Gotrek was shaking his head. His shoulders sagged, as if defeated.

‘It has gone beyond that, my prince. Deaths of merchants are one thing but the slaying of an ancient is something else entirely. I must think on this. Decide upon a course of action.’

Snorri was incensed. ‘What is there to think about? Banish the elgi and draw arms against them.’

The stony expressions of Brynnoth and Varnuf suggested they agreed.

Liandra went for her sword again. Several of the elf retainers did likewise and this time Imladrik did not forbid them. Unsheathed elven steel shone brightly in the lamplight.

Only Prince Imladrik stayed his hand.

A ripple went through the hearthguard as they tightened their fists around axe hafts. Above in the higher vaults of the chamber, bow strings were tautened. Thurbad held the warriors in place.

Gotrek met the prince’s gaze, and there were storm clouds boiling in the High King’s eyes.

‘Tell your kin to put up their swords,’ he said levelly. ‘Tell them to do it now, my prince.’

Imladrik did so, immediately. None argued, for they could see the hopelessness of their situation.

‘Please, High King,’ Imladrik implored, ‘let me-’

‘You will do nothing! Nothing!’ Gotrek raged. ‘This is a dawi matter, now. It shall be dealt with by my hand. Leave.’

Imladrik’s face clouded over. ‘High King?’

‘I said leave. Take your elgi and leave this place. I will guarantee safe passage back to your settlements, but you cannot stay here. Not now.’

Realising there was nothing more to be said, the elf prince bowed and did as the High King had ordered.

Liandra and the other elves followed. The great gate was still open and no one barred their exit. All of the dwarfs watched them go, not taking their eyes off them until the gate was sealed again and sanctity had returned to the entrance hall.

‘Why does it feel as if you just gave quarter to an enemy?’ said Brynnoth.

Varnuf remained pensive.

‘We should have killed them,’ muttered Snorri. ‘Send a message to-’

Gotrek struck him across the jaw, hard enough to put the prince on his knee.

‘Shut your mouth,’ snarled the High King, ‘and do not dishonour me further with your idiotic talk.’

Snorri was hurt, but mainly his pride. ‘Father, I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t-’

‘Save your contrition.’ Gotrek was shaking his head. ‘To think I have raised such a son.’ That barb stung worse than any blow ever could. Gotrek turned to Thurbad. ‘Gather the rest of the kings, round them all up and bring them here. I will have counsel immediately.’

None opposed him. None dared. With a final glance at his son, who rubbed his jaw painfully, Gotrek stormed from the entrance hall and down into the Ekrund.

A grim and sombre mood pervaded in the Great Hall.

Agrin Fireheart was dead. Worse than that, he had been slain by elves.

Elves.

It went beyond merely killing. Agrin was a runelord, an ancient, one of the few. His like would not grace the earth again. In one fell and heinous act of callous murder, Barak Varr had lost its closest link to its ancestors.

Gone were the retainers, the guards and lesser thanes; only kings remained. The Grand Hall echoed with their lonely presence, and shadows crowded the small group of dwarfs encircling the High King.

‘His body shall be recovered. Furgil and his rangers shall see to it,’ he told the only member of the assembly who was not of regal birth.

Nadri Gildtongue bowed. Tears were yet to dry on his dusty cheeks and ran in streaks down his face. In lieu of speech, he chewed his beard. Clothes torn, lathered in mud, stinking of sweat, the merchant cut a sorry and dejected figure.

King Brynnoth nodded to his fellow king.

‘Tell them as you told me,’ he said to Nadri, indicating the other kings who had only just arrived back at the hold, ‘of how you found him and the rest of your kin.’

Nadri nodded, but the words did not come. Grief had thickened his tongue, and the long moments spent waiting for the other lords of the Karaz Ankor to arrive had forced him back to bleak thoughts.

Brynnoth gripped the merchant’s shoulder paternally.

‘Come on, lad,’ he urged. ‘All here present need to hear this.’

Swallowing hard, Nadri met his king’s steady gaze and found his courage.

‘I was three days, maybe less, behind Krondi,’ he said. ‘We were driving wagons to Zhufbar, but Krondi carried a passenger that was bound for Karaz-a-Karak, so we agreed to meet there and continue on together.’

‘Agrin Fireheart was whom your friend was ferrying, yes?’ asked Varnuf. For once the King of Eight Peaks seemed without agenda and shared a worried glance with Gotrek.

‘Aye, lord,’ said Nadri, ‘but he did not know. I thought it better if the ancient travelled in secret. It seems my plans were for naught, though.’ Face clouding over, he was about to lapse into another deep melancholy when Brynnoth brought him back.

‘Keep going, lad.’

Licking his lips, Nadri went on.

‘Following Krondi’s trail, I became concerned when I reached the ruins of Zakbar Varf. The trading post had been burned, many dawi were dead but, by Valaya’s mercy, Krondi was not amongst them.’ He wiped an errant tear at the memory. Some of the dwarf kings began to tug their beards in anger. Luftvarr had almost stuffed his entirely into his mouth in order to fetter his Norscan wrath. ‘But I moved with haste, eager to make sure of my friend’s safety and that of his charge and his warriors.’ Nadri’s face darkened further and from looking down at his boots forlornly, he met the gaze of the High King who listened quietly. ‘Upon reaching the gorge, not twenty miles from the hold gates, I was disabused of that hope.’

All eyes were on the merchant now as a strange air of stillness settled over the kings like a funerary veil.

‘At first I saw a guard,’ said Nadri. ‘He’d lost a boot. It was a few feet from his body. Arrows studded his back, splitting his mail and greaves like paper. They were white-shafted, long and with fanged tips.’

Gotrek weighed in at that point. ‘My chief scout found similar arrow shafts at the site of another ambush several days ago.’

‘D’ya think these were tha same wee dreks that killed this one’s kin?’ asked Grundin. The King of Karak Kadrin went unhelmeted and his bald pate shone like a coin in the lambent light.

Despite their dispute, Aflegard stood beside him, smoking his pipe in quiet contemplation. Dwarfs were a passionate race that were quick to anger, but slow to forget, and never forgave. No one could hold a grudge like the sons of Grungni. In their language, there were more words for vengeance and retribution than any other. But in this, when kith and kin were attacked by outsiders, they were united. Feuds could wait when others warranted the axe first.

Gotrek nodded. ‘It is very likely. Furgil has increased the rangers’ patrols and all roads around the karak are watched day and night, but no one has seen these bandits. No one.’

Nadri spoke up. He was shaking his head. ‘They were not bandits, High King. What I saw in that gorge was no skirmish. Agrin Fireheart was a master of the rhun. He could wield the elements through his craft.’ The merchant clenched a fist as if reliving the final moments of the runelord. ‘He brought lightning and thunder to the gorge. Though there were no bodies of elgi, I saw the black marks they had left where Agrin had scorched their skin. No mere bandit could match such a power. Only one thing I know could do that.’

‘Sorcery,’ uttered Aflegard, the word bitter in his mouth. He chewed the end of his pipe, leaving an indentation in the clay from his clenched teeth.

‘Aye, magic of the darkest kind was unleashed against Agrin,’ said Nadri, weeping again, ‘and he was undone by it.’

And there the merchant’s story ended.

Brynnoth patted him on the back, saying, ‘Well done, lad. Well done,’ in a soothing tone.

Silence fell upon the hall, leavened only by the dulcet crackle of braziers.

Each of the kings looked at one another, their eyes revealing more of their inner thoughts than their tongues ever would.

Luftvarr’s were red-rimmed. The King of Kraka Drak was almost apoplectic. Others maintained a more guarded countenance, though it was fairly obvious that Varnuf was waiting for Gotrek to do or say something. His expectant gaze bordered on disparaging before the High King had even spoken.

‘Thurbad…’ Gotrek intoned to break the quietude.

Like a stone sentinel, the captain of the hearthguard emerged from penumbral shadow.

Gotrek addressed Nadri. ‘You’ll be escorted safely from the karak back to the Sea Hold. Thurbad will see to it.’

Brynnoth nodded again to his High King, knowing that he would need to remain behind for further talks. To make a decision in haste now would be foolish, but something would have to be done.

Gently taking Nadri by the arm, Thurbad led the merchant out of the hall and left the kings to ruminate.

‘Snorri,’ said the High King as Thurbad was leaving. Gotrek did not deign to look at his son. ‘You may go too.’

About to protest, Snorri clamped shut his mouth and marched from the Great Hall in barely veiled disgust.

‘He’s a fiery wee bastard, yer son,’ Grundin remarked when the prince was still in earshot.

Gotrek lowered his voice, only looking at Snorri with his back turned and walking away.

‘He is a headstrong fool with much to learn.’

‘And even more to prove, it would appear,’ added Varnuf.

‘Not so different from his father during his early reign,’ said Brynnoth, to which Aflegard nodded.

‘I care not!’ Luftvarr had spat out his beard. It spewed out with a spray of sputum. Gobbets still clung to it like dirty little pearls but the Norse king seemed not to notice. ‘My warriors stand ready to fight. Elgi have slain dawi in cold blood, and this time a lord of the rhun. No answer to that could ever end in peace, so tell me this, king of the high mountain — when do we make war?’