Malekith shook his head. Such beasts were unknown to Ulthuan, at least by the names used by Snorri.
“Then we shall have a troll hunt!” declared Snorri with a wide grin splitting his beard.
Two days later Malekith found himself stood upon a windswept shoulder of rock looking over a deep mountain valley. He was several miles to the north of Karaz-a-Karak, accompanied by Alandrian, the High King and several dozen dwarf escorts. Though the year was well into spring, the mountain air was still chill and the hunting party were swathed in capes and furs. Only a few clouds scudded across the skies, and when the sun broke free the prince could feel his skin prickling with warmth.
Snorri pointed across the valley to a thick forest. The trees were immense in girth, though not tall, not unlike the dwarfs. Square clearings had been chopped into the edges of the woods by dwarfen woodcutters.
“Wutruth,” said the king. “The strongest trees of the mountains. This forest is older than Karaz-a-Karak, and we cut only five trees every year so that its descendants have time to grow. It is also a haunt of strange and dangerous beasts.”
“That is why we are here,” said Malekith with a smile.
“It is indeed,” said Snorri.
The High King was full of energy as he led the party down a winding track that meandered between rocky crags towards the valley floor. He bounded from stone to stone with an agility surprising for his stature, though Malekith had no difficulty keeping pace with his long, graceful strides. As they walked, Snorri gave a running commentary of everything in sight.
“The peak to the west, with the purple cliffs facing us, is Karag Kazor,” the king said. “It was upon the fires of her belly that Grungni forged the first of Grimnir’s axes.”
A huge flock of dark-feathered birds with bright red beaks swooped overhead and disappeared up the valley.
“Bloodcrows!” exclaimed Snorri. “That is a good omen! They are scavengers. To see them in such numbers means that there is plenty to eat. Something close by has been killing!”
And so it went on, with Snorri expounding on every type of rock and plant, bird and beast that they encountered. As the sun reached her zenith, bathing the valley in warmth, they reached the well-tended treeline. The forest was dark and clear of undergrowth, the wutruth seeming to claw nourishment from the bare rock.
“If you would like to take a small repast, I’ll be back shortly,” said Snorri.
With a handful of dwarf warriors, the High King headed into the woods and was quickly lost in the shadows. The dwarfs that remained sat down on rocks and stumps, and brought forth hard bread and pungent cheeses from their carry-sacks.
Malekith was not hungry and instead watched the dwarfs carefully. They seemed at ease, but every now and then they would glance at their charges. Though the prince considered that they might simply be mindful of their protective duties, he decided that they were present more to protect the High King from any perfidy by the elves.
Snorri returned shortly, a satisfied smile written upon his craggy features.
“Clawed tracks, big ones!” said the High King. “Not too old either, by my reckoning.”
The king gave the order for the party to get ready to move, which was greeted with quiet, good-natured grumbling. Most dwarfs preferred to stay underground whenever possible, and Snorri’s companions were no different. However, they were now used to their High King’s strange appetites for sky and fresh air, and indulged him with good humour.
They came across the trail a few hundred paces from the edge of the woods. Malekith bent to one knee to examine them. They were indistinct, the soil here being very thin, but the prince could make out a large footprint as long as his arm and exceptionally broad. It was not unlike orc or goblin tracks, though considerably bigger; four-toed with the marks of ragged claws.
“Troll,” said Snorri with smug confidence. “You are fortunate. Most trolls will have moved further north by this time of year. This one is either exceptionally stupid or brighter than your average troll.”
“How so?” asked Malekith.
“It could be too stupid to realise it will get too hot for it in the summer,” explained the king. “Or it could be clever enough to realise that the other trolls have left and there will be plenty for it to eat without competition.”
“Does it make any difference?” said Alandrian.
“Yes and no,” said Snorri with a shrug. “A stupid troll will be easier to catch, but more likely to attack when caught. A smarter troll might realise it is in danger and try to run away.”
They followed the trail north and eastwards, deeper into the woods. Here and there they found the gnawed remains of an animal carcass or a pile of the foulest-smelling dung Malekith had ever encountered. By this spoor Snorri judged that the troll was close at hand, within a few miles.
“It is afternoon now, so it is likely hiding somewhere in a shady spot out of the sun’s gaze,” said the High King. “There are some caves not far from here that we should explore. It would be good to catch it before nightfall, otherwise it might move away and we’ll never find it.”
They continued to follow the tracks, which led towards the caves as Snorri had hoped. Quite some time had passed and the sun was now beginning to slide down behind the peaks to the west. Where Malekith spied the sky through a break in the canopy he saw that clouds were gathering again and the light was fading fast.
The short mountain day was nearing its end when Snorri brought them out of the trees onto a high bluff. A white cliff face opposite was dotted with dark caves, and the High King pointed towards numerous troll tracks on the ground.
“He’s here all right,” growled the High King.
Snorri gestured to one of his retainers, who brought forth the king’s crossbow. It was a remarkable piece of dwarfish craft, inlaid with gems and silver, its crosspiece and firing lever gilded. As the king loaded his weapon with measured precision, Malekith brought forth his bow from the quiver on his back and quickly strung it. He nocked a black-fletched arrow, casting his gaze towards the caverns only a few hundred paces distant.
“How does one hunt troll?” he asked.
“Some of my lads will go in and flush it out,” said Snorri. “Or it’ll chase them out… One way or another, best to lure it into the open first.”
“And where does one aim for the killing shot?” said the prince.
Snorri laughed.
“This is no bear or stag that can be brought down with a single shaft,” the dwarf said. “Their brains are exceptionally small, and I’ve seen a troll carry on fighting with three bolts through its thick head. Their heart is in the chest behind strong bone. Fire is a good bet, for burnt flesh does not regrow.”
In illustration, the king handed one of his bolts to Malekith and pointed to the tip. A small rune was inscribed into the sharpened iron, flickering with a distant flame.
“It might take some bladework to finish it off,” the king added, taking back the bolt.
Malekith pondered this as more than a dozen dwarfs headed across the open ground, flaming brands in their rough fists. He felt no fear, for there was no creature in the world that he could not best. His heart did beat a little faster in anticipation, and the prince could see that Snorri was equally eager to get a sight of their prey.
The High King felt Malekith’s gaze and turned to wink at the elf.
“Good fun, eh?” Snorri chuckled.
The torch-bearing dwarfs had now entered the caves and the light from their brands disappeared. Soon enough there came the echo of shouts and three dwarfs came running from a cave entrance to Malekith’s left. They glanced over their shoulders, not in panic but to ensure their quarry was following.
A dozen paces behind them emerged the troll.
It was tall and gangling, easily twice Malekith’s height, with wiry, muscled limbs and a bulbous stomach. Its head was large and ungainly, with a flattened nose and small, unintelligent eyes. Its hide was like a thick grey scale, hairless save for
clumps upon its head and shoulders. Large and frayed pointed ears framed its hideous face, and its mouth was wide and filled with cracked teeth. Its long arms ended in club-like hands, its bony fingers tipped with broken, filthy claws.
The troll gave a keening howl as it lolloped after the dwarfs, stooping to knuckle forwards every few paces, sniffing the air.
Snorri took the first shot, at a distance of some three hundred paces. His crossbow twanged loudly and as the bolt flew forwards its tip erupted with flame. The shot took the troll in the left shoulder and elicited a pained grunt.
The dwarfs scattered further as the troll broke into a run down the gentle slope towards Malekith and the High King. Calming himself, Malekith took aim, his breathing shallow, his senses tuned to the swirl of the wind. He muttered a simple incantation and his arrowhead flickered with blue flame. With a sigh, Malekith released the bowstring and the arrow sped across the open ground and struck the troll directly in the left eye.
The troll fell to the ground with flailing limbs, screeching and gurgling. The prince turned to Snorri, who was still winding back the string on his crossbow.
“No killing shot?” said Malekith with a smile.
“Don’t count your gold until the orc’s been smelted,” grunted Snorri, not looking up from his task.
Malekith turned back to the troll and stared open-mouthed as it pushed itself back to its feet. The prince’s shaft was intact, piercing the eye socket, its flaming tip protruding from the top of the troll’s head. It turned its good eye on the hunters and gave an angry roar before breaking into a bounding run that covered the ground with surprising speed.
“Oh…” said Malekith.
Regaining his composure, Malekith loosed three more shots at the fast-approaching monster, each arrow bursting into blue fire as it slammed into the creature’s chest. Now even more angry, the troll lowered its head into a reckless charge, its clawed feet churning clods of thin earth from the ground.
Snorri fired another bolt, which punched into the creature’s right leg, just above the knee. It stumbled and fell. It stayed on all fours for a moment, shaking its head groggily, before rising once more and resuming its attack.
The other dwarfs began to shout to each other and a flurry of bolts converged on the troll, some missing, others biting into flesh but with little effect. The troll turned on the closest of its attackers, a dwarf by the name of Godri who was one of the king’s closest companions. Claws raked across the thane’s armour, sending iron rings scattering across the floor with droplets of blood, the dwarf hurled onto his back.
The troll then veered back towards Malekith and Snorri, crimson splashed across its face and arms.
Snorri was still winding back the string of his crossbow and the troll was only a score of paces away. Malekith drew Avanuir and leapt to the attack, the shining blue blade carving a furrow in the creature’s ribs as the elven prince darted past. The troll ignored him and bore down on Snorri.
The High King threw his unloaded crossbow into the creature’s face and swept out a hand axe from his belt. His first chopping blow lodged into the creature’s gut and the troll’s momentum barrelled them both over. The two rolled down the slope, the troll biting and slashing, Snorri hacking with his axe.
Malekith dashed after the High King even as the other dwarfs closed in with axes ready. The troll was now on top of Snorri and reared its head back, jaws open wide to bite off the face of the High King.
Seizing his opportunity, Malekith threw Avanuir, guiding the blade with the power of magic. Spinning horizontally, the magical sword scythed through the air. It struck the troll at the base of its skull and sheared off the top of its head, leaving nothing but neck and lower jaw. Avanuir continued swirling past, over Snorri, before looping back again and lancing into the troll’s chest.
With a shudder, the troll pitched forwards, pinning Snorri beneath its lifeless bulk.
Malekith was at the High King’s side in a moment, and was relieved to see Snorri was still breathing. The dwarfs eyes flickered open, and between the two of them they hauled the troll to one side, allowing the High King to regain his feet.
Foul blood and mucus had spilled onto the dwarf king, matting his beard and staining his mail armour. Drips of gore hung from the brow of his helm, seeping into his braided hair. Snorri used a gauntleted hand to distastefully scrape what he could from his person, and then turned to Malekith and adopted a regal pose, shoulders set, chin held high.
“Congratulations,” said the High King. “You’ve killed your first troll!”
The growing friendship between prince and High King was cemented during the latter part of the summer, some twenty days before the negotiations were due to begin in earnest. Word had come to the capital that an army of beastmen was gathering south of the massive mountain lake known as Black Water, and was of such a size that the kings of Karak Varn and Zhufbar feared an attack against one hold or the other.
Upon hearing this news, and having spent much of the season idle in the halls of Karaz-a-Karak, Malekith’s spirit was roused. Learning that King Snorri planned an expedition against these Chaos creatures, Malekith went before the High King in his throne room and offered to lead his company alongside the dwarfs. Snorri looked doubtful at first.
“The throng of Karaz-a-Karak stands ready at my command,” said Snorri. “What need do I have for fifty more warriors?”
“In prosperity allies may learn much about each other, but in hardship they learn what is most important,” said Malekith.
“This is true,” Snorri said with a nod. “However, we stand upon the brink of important times, and I would not have my descendants remember me as the dwarf who risked the lives of his new-found friends.”
“Do not fear for our safety, for we are each warrior-born, none more so than I,” replied Malekith. “The army of Nagarythe is the most splendid in all of Ulthuan and, saving perhaps the throng of your hold, the most powerful force in the world. Though I have but a relative handful of my warriors present, I would like to demonstrate this to you. We may well become partners in trade, but in these dangerous times it is as important that we become comrades upon the battlefield.”
“There is much truth in what you say,” said Snorri with a smile. “Let it not be said that I was unwilling to show the elves the true worth of a dwarf with an axe! In battle we see the proper qualities of courage and discipline, and perhaps it is time that we had this measure of the elves.”
“And we of the dwarfs,” countered Malekith with a smile.
“Yes, that too,” said Snorri with a meaningful look. Both understood that to see the other in battle would give each a better appraisal of their prospective allies, their strengths and, if things went ill, their weaknesses.
So it was that two days after the audience, the Naggarothi readied themselves for battle once more and marched out with the army of Karaz-a-Karak. Snorri led the dwarfs, and an impressive host it was. Positioned at a rampart just above the gate, the elven prince had a magnificent view of the wide road leading down the mountainside, and the rank after rank of warriors issuing forth.
Every warrior was different, for each provided his own wargear. Some carried axes, others hammers, while many carried bows or the mechanical crossbows that the dwarfs now favoured. Upon their shields were a wild variety of blazons and runes, though common themes of the different clans became evident as Malekith stood at the gate of the hold and watched the throng pass out.
Malekith stood with Aernuis, watching the host as it marched forth. The rival prince and his companion would not be accompanying the army; Malekith considered it better that the military spectacle and prowess of his Naggarothi not be undermined by the presence of the two Eataine-born elves. Though Malekith had been careful never to claim that all elves were as brave and strong as the folk of Nagarythe, it was his intent that King Snorri be left with the impression that this was the case.
The dwarfs were gathered into regiments of warriors from the same clan, an
d marched forth beneath the banners of their families and ancestors. Drummers boomed out martial beats and hornblowers sounded low, mournful dirges. Some carried newly forged weapons, others wielded heirlooms passed down from their forefathers, whose names and histories were as renowned as those that had once wielded them.
Snorri was the most striking individual in the army. He marched at its head flanked on each side by standard bearers, carrying banners woven from metallic threads and icons inscribed with magical runes.
“The one that goes before him bears the icon of the High King,” explained Aernuis. “The dwarf to his right holds the clan standard of Snorri. On his left is carried the banner of the hold, and the fourth belongs to Snorri himself.”
The king was protected by an all-encompassing suit of armour, under which could be seen a layer of heavy mail.
Magical sigils were carved into the polished iron, and these glimmered with energy. His axe was no less spectacular, for three runes of angular design were cut into its blade to bring death to the High King’s foes. The two-bladed axe glowed with mystical power and the king held it above his head as if it were no more than a feather, and with it waved the throng forwards on the march. Snorri’s war helm was also golden and likewise inscribed with magical symbols bestowing courage and kingship.
“The king’s helm was made by Valaya, or so the dwarfs believe,” said Aernuis. “The runes upon it cast a spell so that any who look upon the High King are inspired and awed; to enemies, the High King appears as a terrifying nightmare that fills their hearts with dread.”
“I feel nothing, nor do I see any nightmarish vision,” said Malekith.
“Then perhaps you are neither friend nor foe,” said Aernuis.
The prince of Nagarythe looked sternly at Aernuis but could see no hint of mockery or insult.
“Perhaps I am simply too far away,” said Malekith.
About Snorri and his standards were gathered many of the hold’s thanes, and with them the bodyguard of the king made up of the finest warriors the clans contained. They were armed with great axes and hammers burning with fell runes, and wore mail and plates thick enough to ward away all but the most telling of blows.
[Sundering 01] - Malekith Page 9
