01 - Malekith

by Gav Thorpe - (ebook by Undead)

  Tin tankards were thrust into the elves’ hands, and three dwarfs came forwards, two of them carrying a large barrel between them. The third directed them to place it carefully in front of the dwarf leader, and then with great ceremony drove a tap into the keg with a wooden hammer. He poured a small amount of the frothing contents into his hand, sniffed it and then dipped his tongue into the liquid. He thrust a hand towards Malekith with his thumb pointed up and smiled. Malekith smiled in return, but felt it best not to return the gesture lest it was some sign of disrespect.

  The chief dwarf than stood up and strutted over to the barrel and filled his golden tankard with the brew. Hesitantly, Yeasir followed suit, sniffing cautiously at his mug’s contents. Malekith looked enquiringly at his lieutenant, who replied with a bemused shrug. The other two elves then filled up their tankards and returned to their seats.

  Raising his tankard in a way that even the elves recognised as a toast, the dwarf brought his cup up to his lips and downed the contents with three gargantuan gulps. With a satisfied smacking of his lips, he slammed the tankard down onto the bench beside him. Bubbles of foam were stuck upon his beard, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand and winked at Malekith.

  Hesitantly, Malekith allowed a dribble of the liquid to pass his lips. It was quite thick, and almost stung his tongue with its bitterness. He could not suppress a quick, choking cough, which elicited more gentle laughter from the dwarfs.

  His pride wounded by their good-natured yet mocking humour, Malekith snarled and took a more serious draught of the potion. He fought against the urge to retch as he swallowed, and then gulped down more and more. He felt his eyes watering at its acrid taste, which was as different from the delicate wines of Ulthuan as winter is from summer.

  Gulping down the last mouthful, Malekith fought back the bile rising in his throat and playfully tossed the tankard over his shoulder and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. At this the dwarfs erupted into more laughter, but this time it was clearly directed at their leader, who gave a snort, and then a nod of appreciation.

  Malekith glanced across to Yeasir and Alandrian, who appeared to be both finishing their drinks. However, out of the corner of his eye, Malekith spied patches of dampness upon the earth close to his companions and suspected that they had used the distraction offered by his performance to pour away most of their drink.

  They spent the rest of the night communicating in crude fashion, naming objects in each of their tongues and suchlike. Malekith despatched Yeasir to take word to the others that all was well, keeping Alandrian close by. His lieutenant displayed an unseen gift for language and had already picked up a smattering of dwarfish.

  Over the next four days, Malekith and Alandrian spent much time with the dwarfs, and invited Kurgrik to the Naggarothi camp. Through Alandrian, it transpired that Kurgrik was a thane, one of the nobles of a mighty city in the mountains called Karaz-a-Karak. As alien as the elves had been in the dwarf encampment, so too were the dwarfs in the elves’.

  As host, Malekith offered the dwarfs golden goblets of the finest Cothique wine he had, which the dwarfs quaffed with enthusiasm as the elves sampled their cups with more refinement. The dwarfs were inquisitive, but not offensively so, always polite to inquire, through Alandrian, whether they could inspect the elves’ tents, weapons, water casks and all other manner of items. They ran their rough hands over elegantly etched armour with surprising delicacy, and gave approving grunts when they looked at the keen spearheads and arrows of the elves.

  As night fell on the fourth day, Alandrian returned from the dwarf camp as Malekith sat in his tent, watching one of his many servants polish his armour. Alandrian brought Yeasir with him and the two lieutenants bowed as they entered the pavilion. Catching the look in their eyes Malekith dismissed the retainer and waved a hand for them to sit upon the plush rugs that served as a floor.

  “You have news?” Malekith said, idly swirling wine around a silver goblet.

  “Indeed, highness,” said Alandrian. “Kurgrik intends to leave on the morrow.”

  Malekith digested this without comment and Alandrian continued.

  “Kurgrik has extended to you an invitation to accompany him back to the dwarf realms.”

  “Has he?” said Malekith. “How interesting. What do you make of his motives?”

  “I am no expert, highness, but he seems sincere enough to me,” said Alandrian. “He says that you may take an escort of fifty warriors.”

  “Careful, highness,” said Yeasir. “Though fifty Naggarothi would be guard enough against Kurgrik’s small force, only the gods know what lies ahead. Even if we take the dwarfs at their word, which I don’t, you would be relying upon them to provide you with adequate protection against any number of unknown perils. There are orcs and beasts aplenty still, I would say. If they should attack, who is to say that the dwarfs will stand their ground and not abandon you?”

  “I do not think that the dwarfs would have ventured this far from their mountain homes if they were cowardly,” said Alandrian. “There was no fear in them that I could see when they came to our camp, though they were at our mercy.”

  “Bravery and duty are not the same thing,” said Yeasir, standing up and starting to pace. “It is one thing for them to fight for themselves, but would they do so for our prince?”

  He strode to the tent door and threw open the flap.

  “Every elf of Nagarythe out there would lay down his life for our lord,” Yeasir said. “Yet not one of them would risk his blood for Kurgrik unless the prince commanded it. I would expect no more from the dwarfs, and quite a lot less if I am to be honest. What if Kurgrik falls? Would his warriors fight on for Malekith?”

  “We can demand oaths that they will,” answered Alandrian. “They value honour highly and I would say that their word is almost as good as any elf’s promise.”

  “No matter!” snapped Malekith. “If I am to go, I shall look to myself as ever and not rely upon the dwarfs for my safety. A more fundamental question is whether it is worth my time to go at all?”

  “It would be most informative, I am sure, highness,” said Alandrian. “We can learn much not only of the dwarfs but of the world further to the east.”

  “We can judge the size of their armies and the quality of their fighters,” added Yeasir. “It would be best that we know our foes.”

  “If foes they are,” said Alandrian. “As a gesture of faith and friendship, such embassy could bring us valuable allies.”

  “Allies?” said Malekith. “Nagarythe prospers upon her own strength and needs not the charity of others.”

  “I have not made my point clearly, your highness,” said Alandrian with an apologetic bow. “Ever will the other princes of Ulthuan be jealous of our power, and in Elthin Arvan there is none that can equal the power of Prince Malekith. Though all are of one heart and spirit for the moment, the loyalties of the other realms may well change. Bel Shanaar cares not for the colonies at the present, for they are distant from Tor Anroc. Yet, should his gaze turn upon these shores, how many of your fellow princes would stand by your side if the Phoenix Throne desired control over these lands?”

  “And how would the dwarfs guard against that?” said Malekith, setting down his goblet and turning an intent stare upon his captain.

  “They are entirely free of influence from Ulthuan,” Alandrian explained. “With the dwarfs as your friends, you will be the powerbroker in Elthin Arvan and it is Bel Shanaar who will have to tread carefully in his dealings with you.”

  “My mind is not made for politics,” said Yeasir, striding back from the door to stand before his master. “I leave that to you. However, what I have seen of the dwarfs’ wargear, it is durable and well made. At the moment we still rely much upon imports from Nagarythe to keep your warriors armed and armoured. If you could secure a more local source for such things, it improves our security.”

  “Ever the practical one, Yeasir,” said Alandrian. “Prince, envisage a treaty between Ulthuan
and the dwarfs, for the betterment of both. Who is more fitting to herald such an age than Malekith of Nagarythe?”

  “Your flattery is crude and obvious, Alandrian, but Yeasir’s practicalities convince me,” announced Malekith, standing up. “Alandrian, you shall convey my wishes to the dwarf thane that I shall accompany him back to his lands. Press upon him the honour he is being granted and extract whatever assurances your worries require and prudence expects.”

  “Of course, highness,” replied Alandrian with a bow.

  “Yeasir, I have another task for you,” said Malekith.

  “I am ready to serve, highness,” said Yeasir.

  “I shall write two letters this night, and entrust them to you before I depart,” said the prince. “One is destined for Tor Anroc and the hand of Bel Shanaar. I would not have the Phoenix King accuse me of keeping this news from him.”

  “And the other, highness?” said Yeasir.

  “The other shall be for my mother,” said Malekith with a wry smile. “Make sure that you deliver it first. If Morathi were to learn second-hand of what happens here, none of our lives would be worth living.”

  The following day, Malekith, Alandrian and fifty Naggarothi warriors accompanied Kurgrik as the dwarf thane headed back to the mountains. For the most part, the elves marched in silence alongside their new-found allies, who were equally taciturn. Malekith strolled alongside Kurgrik with Alandrian to translate, and though ever he appeared at ease the prince’s eyes and ears were always alert.

  Though the dwarfs had been confident enough in their camp, as they set out eastwards, their party became more wary. There were roughly two hundred dwarfs in the group, along with many wagons pulled by sturdy ponies, laden with felled trees. A vanguard of some fifty dwarfs preceded the march half a mile ahead of the main group, who walked slowly but surely alongside the wagons.

  All of the dwarfs were armed and their hands were never far from the hafts of their axes and swords as they marched along the road. Ever the dwarfs were watchful, sending out scouts into the woods to warn of ambush.

  The pace was not quick; Malekith and the other elves could have moved far more swiftly had they chosen to do so. However, the dwarfs marched relentlessly, and such was the efficiency with which they set and broke camp that they covered many miles each day, never wavering or tiring.

  At night, the dwarfs would quickly dig defensive ditches lined with sharpened logs from the carts, and watchful guards patrolled ceaselessly. Kurgrik continued to entertain his guest with beer and such stories as Alandrian could translate.

  Four days into the trek, the forests finally relinquished their weakening grip on the lands and were replaced by rising meadows and windswept hills. The mountains towered ahead, their snowy peaks lost amongst permanent clouds. Even the highest peaks of the Annulii on Ulthuan were diminutive by the standards of these ancient mounts, which stretched across the horizon north and south, seemingly going on forever.

  The hills were covered with long grass and bracken, and littered with tumbled boulders swept down from the mountains in ages past. Paths and animal trails led off from the road, but it continued straight on through briar and across moor heading eastwards. As the group came nearer to the mountains, the first of several dwarf-built keeps came into sight.

  It was a low, broad structure, only two storeys high, utterly unlike the majestic towers and spires of Ulthuan and quite ugly to Malekith’s eye. The fort was crowned with battlements and protected by square towers at each corner. It stood on a hill overlooking the road, with large catapults and bolt-hurling engines upon its walls.

  Dwarfs armed with axes and hammers marched out to meet Kurgrik and his curious guests, and as a storm swept down from the mountains, lashing the hills with driving rains and wind, the travellers were quickly ushered inside by the fort’s commander.

  Within the thick walls, the keep was sparsely furnished, and Malekith found the bare stone depressing. He wondered why the dwarfs did not hide the grey rock with tapestries and paintings. His mood was somewhat mollified as they were brought into a long low hall with a roaring fire pit at the centre. No matter how dreary the dwarfs’ aesthetic crudeness, it was preferable to the tempest that was now raging outside.

  Kurgrik introduced their host as Grobrimdor, a venerable dwarf of more than four hundred winters whose white beard was half as long again as he was tall. He wore his thick mail coat at all times, and an axe was hung at his belt even as he introduced the more prominent members of the garrison. It was clear to Malekith that despite the storm the dwarfs were still wary of attack.

  Grobrimdor and Kurgrik furnished the elves with rough blankets and bowls of thick soup, and then asked politely if Malekith would talk more with them concerning the elves and Ulthuan. With Alandrian to roughly translate, Malekith seated himself upon a low stool by the fire.

  “Far to the west, beyond the vast forests, lies the Great Ocean,” the prince began. “Travel across the high waves for many days and one comes upon the shores of Ulthuan. Our isle is fertile and green, an emerald set upon a sea of sapphire. White towers rise above the tall trees and verdant pastures, against the backdrop of the glittering peaks of the Annulii Mountains.”

  “And you live in these mountains, yes?” said Kurgrik.

  “Only to hunt,” replied Malekith. “Except in Chrace and Caledor, where all is mountains and hills and there are no meadows or grass-filled plains on which to live.”

  Kurgrik took this answer with a disappointed grunt, but then his eyes lit up with a new vigour.

  “These mountains contain gems and gold?” asked the thane.

  “Gold and silver, diamonds and crystals of all kinds,” said Malekith.

  “And perhaps your king would trade these with our people?” said Kurgrik, getting quite animated.

  “It is not for the Phoenix King alone to decide such matters,” Malekith said. “We have many princes, and each of the realms of Ulthuan is ruled over by such an elf. It is for each to decide the fate and future of his lands and people. I rule Nagarythe, greatest of the kingdoms of Ulthuan, and reign over the colonies to the west of here.”

  “That is good,” said Grobrimdor, gesturing for his retainers to bring mugs of ale. “It is so with us. Our kings rule our cities, and the High King commands from Karaz-a-Karak. Your king must be a great leader to rule over so many princes.”

  Malekith stifled his reply before it was spoken and suppressed the urge to glance towards Alandrian. Instead he took a sip of ale, buying time to compose his response.

  “Bel Shanaar, the Phoenix King, is a clever statesman and diplomatic with his words,” said Malekith. “My father, the first Phoenix King, was a great leader. He was our greatest warrior and our salvation from darkness.”

  “If your father was king, then why does his son not succeed him?” asked Kurgrik, his knotty brows furrowed with suspicion.

  Malekith was again forced to think his response through carefully, lest he betray some weakness or flaw that would offend the dwarfs.

  “I will rule Ulthuan when she is ready for me,” said the prince. “She needed time to heal from a great war fought against the daemons of the north, and so the princes chose not to follow the line of my father but to elevate one of their own to the Phoenix Throne. In the interests of harmony and peace, I do not challenge their decision.”

  Both Grobrimdor and Kurgrik nodded and grunted approvingly, and Malekith relaxed a little. His thoughts were still turbulent though. The dwarfs’ questions stirred old ambitions, feelings that Malekith had travelled to Elthin Arvan to leave behind. Alandrian, sensing his prince’s unease, filled the silence.

  “You spoke of trade,” said the captain. “Our cities grow ever more swiftly with each year. What can your people offer us in exchange for our riches?”

  The conversation turned once again to a subject dear to the dwarfs’ hearts, and all talk of rulership and succession was forgotten. Malekith spoke little for the rest of the evening and allowed his mind to drift, kn
owing that Alandrian could later convey any news of import.

  Long before midnight the dwarfs showed the elves to their rough quarters. Malekith slept in a large dormitory with his warriors, all of them upon the floor for the dwarfs’ cots were far too short for the tall elves.

  Having slept poorly, Malekith woke early in the morning. Many of the dwarfs were already up and about, or had perhaps passed the night without sleeping. The prince swiftly donned a simple robe and cloak and left the dormitory. The dwarfs said gruff welcomes as he passed into the main hall, but did not attempt to stop him. Guided only by whim, Malekith climbed a short staircase and exited out of a squat tower onto the battlements.

  The sun was but a dull glow behind the mountains, which reared up into the dark blue skies in an unending line of jagged peaks. A thick mist coiled about the keep, and the breath of the dwarf sentries formed clouds in the air. Droplets of water shone on their beards and iron armour. All was peaceful save for the sound of metallic boots on stone and the jingle of the dwarfs’ mail armour.

  Malekith stood looking east towards the mountains for some time, until elven voices from below warned him that his companions were stirring. He was about to descend back to the hall when Alandrian hurried from the tower. The lieutenant visibly relaxed upon seeing his prince and his expression turned to sheepish guilt when Malekith raised an inquiring brow.

  “I awoke to find you missing,” said Alandrian, striding quickly along the stone wall. “I thought that perhaps some ill had befallen you.”

  “You thought that perhaps I had been taken hostage?” said Malekith. “That through some sorcery they had spirited me away without a fight?”

  “I don’t know what I thought, really, highness,” said Alandrian. “I was suddenly fearful and reminded of Yeasir’s warnings.”

  Malekith turned back to the majestic view. The fog had all but gone and the mountains were revealed in all of their majesty. The prince took a deep breath and then let it out with feeling.