The Curse of the Phoenix Crown

by C. L. Werner

  ‘Will you lead them?’ Morgrim asked. He was alone with his uncle on the balcony. Elgidum had led campaigns many times since the burning of Athel Maraya. He was often away from Karaz-a-Karak waging war in the High King’s name. When word of the siege at Barak Varr reached him, however, Morgrim had hastened back.

  Gotrek knew his nephew had come to see if the High King needed him to lead an army to relieve the sea hold. When he’d found his liege arrayed for battle, it had surprised him. It had surprised many, but not Gotrek. He knew this day would come, the day when the High King must take to the field of battle.

  Failure was what made it possible. The failure of King Varnuf. The failure of King Hrallson. The failure of King Valarik. The failure of King Brynnoth. The inability of any of the holds, Barak Varr, Karak Hirn, Karak Eight Peaks or Karak Azul, to fight off the elves on their own. The eyes of the entire Karaz Ankor were set upon Barak Varr now, watching and waiting.

  What they would see was High King Gotrek leading an army not of Karaz-a-Karak but of dwarfs. They would see the united power of their people accomplish what was impossible to single kings and single realms.

  They would see. They would learn.

  ‘Yes,’ Gotrek told Morgrim. ‘I will lead them. To hell or victory, I will lead them.’

  Chapter Eight

  The Siege of Barak Varr

  344th year of the reign of Caledor II

  Standing outside the command tent of Lord Draikyll, Liandra could see the immense reptiles circle above the Black Gulf before flying away. The dragons were leaving. The great drakes Lord Teranion had brought to help Lord Draikyll conquer Barak Varr were abandoning the fight, winging their way back to Tor Alessi. Watching them go, Liandra couldn’t shake the sense of longing they evoked. She knew the glory and majesty that came from communing with a dragon, of soaring through the skies on the back of a creature already ancient when the first elf set foot in Ulthuan. There was nothing else that could compare to that experience. In its wake, what was left wasn’t so much life as merely existence.

  Just knowing that dragons were nearby had somehow made her feel less alone. Sometimes, if she exerted her powers to their utmost, she was able to brush against the consciousness of the dragons. It wasn’t like the dragonsong she’d shared with Vranesh, but it wasn’t nothing either. She could sense the overall moods of Teranion’s drakes, their general attitude to the battles they’d been asked to fight, the continual appeals to their indulgence. This war wasn’t their war, after all.

  That was never more clear to the elves than it was now. The dragons were leaving Barak Varr, returning to their temporary lairs among the towers of Tor Alessi. It hadn’t been the dwarfs who’d made the dragons leave. It had been the asur.

  For years now, Liandra had sensed the growing unease of the dragons. The reptiles were becoming distrustful of the asur. If not for the bond that persisted between rider and drake, they would have abandoned the siege long ago. That they had remained this long was a testament to Teranion’s persuasiveness, his ability to appeal to the reptilian sensibilities of dragons. It was too simple to think of a dragon’s mind in terms like pride and honour, but they were concepts that did evoke those parts of a drake’s essence that indulged the entreaties of a comparatively young, weak and fragile creature like an elf. It also held that if something kindred to pride and honour could exist in a dragon, then those qualities could be offended as well.

  She knew Teranion had warned Draikyll about using the merwyrm fangs. The magic invested into the fangs was something upsetting to the dragons. Each time Ilendril or one of his confederates had employed one of the fangs to draw a merwyrm into the battle, the dragons had become that much more uneasy.

  Draikyll had listened to the dragon riders for a time. It was lack of progress against the sea hold that finally changed the general’s mind. He had too many resources tied up in the Black Gulf to countenance defeat, yet with each passing year the risk that the dwarfs would make a concentrated attack against one of the elf cities grew. Tor Alessi could probably hold on its own, but he couldn’t be as certain of the others. If he were to lose Athel Toralien or Sith Rionnasc, Draikyll knew he’d be relieved by the Phoenix King. Caledor II would summon him back to Ulthuan in disgrace and all his hopes for advancement and prestige would crumble into dust.

  At last, Draikyll threw his support behind Ilendril’s magic. The merwyrms were summoned – not one or two this time, but half a dozen of the beasts. They were turned against those citadels that had so stubbornly held out against the asur siege. The sea serpents tore down two of the bastions, using their scaly coils and immense strength to crumble the foundations and spill the towers into the Black Gulf. A third citadel had proven a different problem. The dwarf defenders, fully aware of what had been done to the other garrisons, prepared a particularly hideous surprise for the merwyrms. Among their arsenal must have been a supply of the same incendiary the airships had used over Kazad Mingol.

  When one of the largest merwyrms began to coil around their citadel, the dwarfs within detonated their arsenal. The resultant explosion had thrown slabs of stone clear across the Black Gulf, some pieces even smashing into the great sea-gates of Barak Varr, denting their iron faces. The merwyrm had been thrown back into the water, its body wreathed in grisly green fire. Even under the waves, the green flames refused to be extinguished but instead continued to devour the serpent. For the better part of a day, the vast reptile had writhed among the shallows, lashing and flailing as its body was consumed.

  As the merwyrm died, Liandra could feel the scorn in the hearts of the dragons. It wasn’t empathy for the merwyrm, but a withering disappointment in those who had sent it into the fight.

  Liandra stepped inside Lord Draikyll’s tent, the brightly coloured pavilion he’d erected on the beach, and tried to explain to the general why the dragons were leaving. It was hard to couch her words in such a way that it didn’t sound like she was blaming him for failing to heed the warnings Teranion had given. Draikyll was too much like his king: he didn’t understand dragons. He thought they were nothing but beasts, living weapons to be pointed at the enemy and unleashed. It was hard for him to understand an intelligence older and wiser than that of the asur, an intelligence that didn’t fawn over ranks and titles with diligent devotion.

  Ilendril was there as well, waiting until Liandra was through before speaking his piece.

  ‘With all due apologies to the Lady Liandra, but she makes my case for me,’ Ilendril stated. He pointed to the map laid out across the table at the centre of Draikyll’s tent. ‘Until now, the dragons have kept the dwarfs from making any kind of inroads by means of the mountain passes. They were even able to push Gotrek’s first expedition back. With them to watch and guard the overland passes, we’ve been able to concentrate on keeping the main tunnel network closed to the dwarfs.’

  The general brought his golden rod of office cracking down against the table. ‘I am aware of the situation and what we’ve lost by losing the dragons.’ He reached over for one of the tiny flags that marked the positions the asur occupied, plucking it from one of the citadels the merwyrms had destroyed. ‘In trying to chase the rat from the pantry, we’ve left the gate wide open for the wolf to come in.’

  ‘Our hand is forced, my lord,’ Ilendril agreed, ‘but that may be for the best.’ He smiled at Liandra before returning his attention to Draikyll. ‘The restraint that has held us back is no longer feasible. We have to assault the stronghold and we have to do so in full force.’

  ‘Caerwal fought his way into another reservoir last week,’ Liandra reminded the general. ‘That makes seven he’s poisoned. The dams on the rivers have cut that supply as well.’

  ‘They can still draw water from the gulf itself,’ Draikyll stated. ‘I don’t know how the mud-diggers can drink the stuff, foul as it is with the runoff from their foundries and smelters, but they no doubt have their ways. Anything that might confound
us, they find some way to do it. They can play for time here because they know that we can’t stay.’

  Ilendril pointed his finger at the map, indicating the great sea-gates of Barak Varr. ‘The only choice is a full attack. I can have the remaining merwyrms set against the sea-gates. Their combined strength will tear them down and leave the very heart of the dwarf fortress open to us.’

  Liandra shook her head. ‘The dawi have defences trained on those gates. Your serpents would be torn to pieces.’

  ‘Not before they pull down one of them,’ Ilendril stated.

  In that moment, Liandra knew she should have gone back to Tor Alessi with Teranion and the dragons.

  From the pass above the Howling River some fifty miles from Barak Varr, High King Gotrek watched as the dragons flew away, following them with a spyglass until they vanished in the mists of the mountains far to the north. He lowered the glass slowly, tapping it against the side of the marker stone at the edge of the pass. It seemed too good to be true, yet something in his gut told him that it was no trick. The drakk were well and truly gone.

  One of his hearthguard came up to him, offering to relieve Gotrek of the glass if he was done with the instrument. Gotrek waved the warrior back. He knew his bodyguards were eager to get their king back into the safety of the tunnels, back down where the rest of the army was waiting. They didn’t like him exposing himself this way, up on the surface where elgi assassins and mages might find him.

  Gotrek appreciated their concern better than they knew. At the same time, he was responsible for the vast army he’d assembled – the united command it had taken him so long to forge from the flames of war. It was in answer to his call that his subject kings had set aside their own ambitions and brought armies to join the assault against the elgi invaders. If they failed now, if this campaign ended in disaster, then the damage to the war effort as a whole would be incalculable.

  That was why, when some rangers trickled down into the Ungdrin Ankor to report that the drakk appeared to be leaving, the High King himself determined to check the validity of their observations. Now, he felt the thrill of possibility rushing through him. For months the dwarfs had been waiting in the passes, hollowing out old mineshafts and linking them to the Ungdrin Ankor so that they might have a thousand boltholes to fall back to should the dragons descend upon them. To the south he knew the armies of Karak Azul, Karak Drazh and Karak Eight Peaks were likewise lying in wait. Further to the west would be the regiments dispatched from Ekrund and the settlements in the Dragonback Mountains. Northwards, warriors from Karak Hirn and Karak Izor were waiting, secreted among the hills. In all, it was a multitude such as the dawi hadn’t mustered in a century. Not under a single command.

  Chirps, amazingly like those of a fox calling to its pups, rose from the trees at the mouth of the pass. Gotrek dropped down from his perch on the boulder, brushing off the hearthguard who moved to help him. He might not be as spry as he had been when driving the urk and grobi from the Karaz Ankor, but he was still robust enough to do for himself. Any of his subjects who thought otherwise were quite welcome to mention it to him and see how they enjoyed a cracked skull.

  The signal from the dwarf pickets sounded once more, this time from within the pass itself. The hearthguard flipped down the visors of their helms, hefted their axes and formed a wall of steel and muscle around the king. Gotrek peered past their armoured shoulders to watch the pass. He soon saw a lone dwarf rushing up the slope. Unlike the hearthguard, this dwarf wore lighter armour of boiled leather and finely wrought steel chain. His helm was a simple steel bowl with a hammer-shaped spur projecting down over the dwarf’s nose. For an instant, Gotrek was reminded of Furgil, his captain of rangers, dead now over a century.

  The ranger stopped a few yards from the wall of armed hearthguard. Dropping to his knees, he clapped one fist against his breast and bowed his head. ‘Tromm, my liege,’ he greeted the High King.

  At a gesture from Gotrek, the hearthguard standing in front of him stepped away so that he might have an unobstructed view of the ranger. As they took up new positions, the warriors set down their axes and unslung the shields they carried on their backs. They kept their eyes on the ranger, ready to block any treacherous attack against the king. Tales of elgi illusions were too numerous to be discounted as exaggeration. If the elves could hide an entire fleet with their sorcery, making one of their assassins look like a dwarf should be comparatively easy.

  ‘You bring further news of the drakk?’ Gotrek asked.

  The ranger raised his face and shook his head. ‘No, sire, we have seen no trace of the drakk down in the plains. The last we saw of them they were flying towards the Black Mountains.’

  ‘They kept flying,’ Gotrek said, slapping the spyglass against his armoured knee. ‘Ancestors alone know why, but they seem to have gone.’

  The ranger’s face brightened and a smile took shape beneath his grimy black beard. ‘They may have been scared off by the fire, my liege,’ he said. ‘We have been watching the elgi call great serpents from the depths of the Black Gulf to destroy the bastions along the shores. Rather than give the beasts the satisfaction of killing them, one of the garrisons detonated their stores of blasting powder.’ The dwarf folded his hand into a fist, then splayed his fingers outwards to illustrate his report. ‘Green fire, my liege, just the same as they say consumed Kazad Mingol and killed the wyrms there.’

  Gotrek was silent, stroking his beard as he digested this bit of information. ‘The elgi, can you see what they are doing? Has there been any change in their deployment?’

  ‘Yes, sire,’ the ranger answered. ‘The elgi seem greatly agitated. They’ve drawn many of the warriors they had deployed along the shores back towards Barak Varr.’

  A grim chuckle rose from the High King. Everything the ranger reported bore out his gut instinct. He doubted if the elgi would be so perturbed by the destruction of one of their serpents, but the desertion of their drakk? That was another matter entirely. Without the dragons to hold the passes for them, the elgi knew there was nothing they could do to keep the dawi from marching out and joining them in battle.

  Clearly the elf general’s dreams of conquest died hard. Rather than quit the field, the elgi was throwing everything into one final, brutal effort to take Barak Varr.

  It was still a gamble. It might yet be some elaborate elgi deception, a trick to draw out the dawi host. But to play it safe and stand back meant watching Barak Varr be ravaged. The sea hold had already endured so much for so long; Gotrek couldn’t accept the shame of letting its people suffer still more.

  ‘Tell my thanes and captains to ready their troops,’ Gotrek declared. ‘Send messengers to the other kings. We march with the morning sun.’ He paused as he waited for the reckoners who’d accompanied his hearthguard out from the mines to copy his words to parchment.

  ‘The elgi have trespassed here long enough. Now, by Grungni, they will leave Barak Varr or remain forever in their graves!’

  The great sea-gates of Barak Varr shuddered and groaned. Hundreds of feet high, wrought of iron and bronze, the gates had withstood the worst storms the Black Gulf could hurl against them. Now those titanic portals were confronted by a far different threat, a violence even the most malignant seas couldn’t match. The elgi had loosed their merwyrms against the gates, attacking the harbour entrance with all the elemental savagery the colossal reptiles could bring to bear.

  King Brynnoth stood on the waterfront, his hearthguard arrayed around him, the seawyrm stylings of their armour tragically ironic given the nature of the enemy that now threatened them. High Thane Onkmarr, his armour black with soot from his inspection of the gate defences, stood once more beside his king.

  Brynnoth pushed his finger into the hollow of his missing eye, trying to scratch the nagging itch. His remaining eye was fixed upon the battlements above the sea-gates. He could see the defenders clinging to the shuddering gantrie
s behind the gates, their crossbows aimed through the vents to shoot down into the beasts battering at their defences. On the stone battlements themselves, gangs of shouting dwarfs pushed handcarts along a narrow railway. As each handcart reached the end of its run, it was pitched onto its side, casting a shower of molten lead down the face of the gate. From outside, it would look as though the enormous visages of the ancestor gods sculpted onto the gates were crying tears of fire.

  ‘Nothing could survive such violence,’ High Thane Onkmarr assured his king. A thrashing rumble against the gates proved him wrong only a moment later.

  ‘Whatever we do just seems to make them even madder,’ Brynnoth cursed. ‘By Grimnir, I’d almost welcome their damn drakk into my halls rather than fight these serpents!’

  ‘If the serpents break the gates, that will be the end of them,’ Onkmarr declared. ‘Half the hold’s warriors are here waiting to send those beasts to Gazul’s larder.’

  Brynnoth turned his attention from the heights to the vast harbourage behind the gates. Regiments of crossbows stood poised along the waterfront, weapons trained upon the trembling gates. Catapults and ballistae had been brought from throughout the hold to form strongpoints within the harbour. Dozens of bolt throwers were ranged at the mouth of each street and passageway. Catapults had been assembled on the piers and docks, anywhere they might have the freedom of movement to hurl their burdens at the attackers. A great grudge thrower, immense blocks of carved stone engraved with runes of woe and havoc resting beside it, had been erected in the hastily demolished fish market, ready to cast a ton of stone at the first serpent that dared poke its head within the walls of Barak Varr.

  ‘We’ll stop them before it comes to that,’ Brynnoth declared. ‘I’ve already seen to it.’ He gestured at the small flotilla of ships poised at the end of the docks. Though no vessel had sailed from Barak Varr since the start of the siege, all had been maintained to a peak of perfection. Early on it had been with the promise that they’d be needed to hunt down the fleeing elgi when the siege was broken. Later, it had simply been a matter of pride and duty that the ships not be allowed to suffer from neglect.