by Warhammer
The clump of boots broke his reverie. A dwarf appeared at the doorway, breathless, his beard and hair an unruly tangle. It was Graznak Troggklad, one of Skraffi’s nephews, something-something removed; he could never quite remember the further branches of the Angboks and where they blended with the Troggklads. He was a few years Haldora’s senior, with broad shoulders, a lustrous browny-red beard and startling blue eyes that the lady dwarfs admired greatly. Known as ‘Nakka’ to nearly everybody, he had been friends with Haldora since an early age, and despite Gabbik’s obvious designs for Haldora to marry up the hierarchy, she had a soft spot for Nakka and he for her.
‘Thank the ancestors, I thought you’d be here!’ he gasped, wringing his cap in his hands.
‘What’s up, Nakka?’ asked Skraffi. ‘You look shakier than a spindly prop, lad.’
‘Goblins! Second deeps, fell on a work party, killed two of them and hurt another five before they scarpered. Nobody’s seen Thorek Burlithrom since. They must have taken him. Stofrik Grimsson says he’s found the hole they came from and he’s looking for a few axe-swingers to hunt the little beggars down. Where’s Gabbik and the others?’
Skraffi glanced at the complex water clock beside the fermenting vat.
‘Just off-shift on the new seam. Come with me.’
He headed back out through the family shrine and into the passage leading to the communal family chambers. Friedra and Haldora were at the big cooking pot at the fireplace, sitting on chairs with chopping boards on their laps and an assortment of tubers and mushrooms. At the long table down the length of the room Gabbik and his cousins were sharing round a jug of small beer and picking at the remains of a cheese platter.
‘Hello, Nakka!’ Haldora called out, waving a broad knife in welcome.
‘What’s up?’ Gabbik asked, noticing his father’s grim expression. Skraffi recapped what Nakka had said.
‘We’ll be there, right enough,’ said Gabbik, receiving a nod of agreement from the others. He glanced down at his work clothes. ‘Give us a moment to shuck on something more agreeable to axeplay.’
‘I’ll get my hauberk,’ said Haldora, setting aside her chopping board.
‘No,’ replied Gabbik. He started towards the passageway.
‘What’s the point of you teaching me if you don’t think I’m good for it?’ Haldora demanded, following just behind. She grabbed his arm and Gabbik stopped, tugging himself free from her grip.
‘To keep you safe, not to go chasing trouble. You want to go to the mines, I’m good with that. You need to know one end of the axe from another, just like them poor beggars that got attacked. But you’re the first daughter born to the Angboks in five generations and I’ll not be sending you into no goblin lair. Final words.’
He turned and strode past Nakka, who had watched the exchange with the tight-lipped expression of one who has stumbled into a private family matter with no way of extricating themselves.
‘What are you looking at?’ Haldora demanded.
‘Hey now, leave poor Nakka alone there,’ said Skraffi. ‘Don’t kill the pony just because his pack is empty.’
Haldora glared at her cousin, tapping her fingers meaningfully on her thigh.
‘Sorry,’ said Nakka, stepping back. ‘It’s not my place to argue with your father. Perhaps, when we get back, I can buy you an ale to make up for it?’
Nakka grinned, showing off a row of white teeth and a single gold replacement. It gave him a slightly dangerous air that appealed to Haldora, and despite her best attempts it was hard to maintain a bad temper in the face of such charm.
‘Maybe an ale,’ she conceded. She strutted up to Nakka and prodded a finger into his chest. ‘And you have to tell me everything about the goblin hunt. And next time you better take me along with you.’
Nakka held up his hands in surrender.
‘Whatever you say,’ he said, glancing at Skraffi. ‘Angbok women, born or married, are they all this stroppy?’
‘You better believe it,’ said Haldora. She placed her hand on his arm for a moment. ‘And stay safe.’ She glanced back at Skraffi. ‘Make sure dad comes back, right?’
‘Your Gramma’s shade will come back and haunt me forever if I let anything happen to her only baby boy,’ Skraffi replied. He kissed the knuckle of his right forefinger, a gesture of dedication to Valaya, and then headed after Gabbik.
He stopped just outside, looking back when Nakka didn’t join him. The younger dwarf waited, until the silence became a little awkward.
‘Better go and put on your war-shirt,’ Haldora told him.
He looked as though he was going to say something else, but instead just nodded and caught up with Skraffi.
‘Careful there. She’ll be a handful, mark my words,’ Skraffi told Nakka.
‘Too right, and that’s the fun. But Gabbik, he’s got a beady eye on me more than half the time. Thinks the Troggklads aren’t good enough for an Angbok girl.’
‘Are you?’ Skraffi asked as they made their way along the passage to the next set of chambers.
‘Am I what?’
‘Good enough?’
Nakka considered the question. ‘I reckon I’ll show you a thing or two.’
Skraffi patted the other dwarf on the shoulder and then swept aside the curtain that served as the door to his bedchambers. After passing through a vestibule crammed with gears and odds and ends accrued over centuries, he walked into the dressing chamber. His mail shirt was on a stand, and he threw it on over his day clothes, quickly looping the broad belt under his gut twice before tying the leather. His shield was propped up against a chest and he put it to one side and opened the box. Within were three throwing axes, short but broad-bladed, and a belt that went across the shoulder to hold them. He quickly shrugged on the baldric and lifted the axes into place across his chest.
He brought out a bundle wrapped in deep red velvet, revealing a single-headed axe almost as tall as Skraffi. The head gleamed, and a golden rune shone from the blade.
‘Elfslicer. Hello, old friend.’ He lifted the rune axe and closed the chest with his foot before taking up his shield.
It had been a while – ten years perhaps – since he had last worn armour. He didn’t remember it being this heavy, or so tight around the midriff. Elfslicer felt as good as always, the rune of cutting keeping the blade as sharp as the day Ketlin Dourforge had made it. The leather thongs around the handle were supple, moulded to Skraffi’s fingers by much use.
‘Goblins today,’ he told the blade. For a moment Skraffi thought he saw the rune dim in disappointment, but it might have just been a flicker of the candle in the lamp hanging from the ceiling.
He stepped back out as the others were assembling. Gabbik had hammer and shield, as did several others. There were also plenty of axes: bearded, double-handed, single-handed, long-handled and others. Fleinn, always a show-off, wielded two short swords. They were actually elven knives, taken by Fleinn’s father, Skraffi’s brother, as trophies during the fifth siege of Tor Alessi. Unfortunately Fleinn the Elder had died at the seventh siege of Tor Alessi when the younger had been just three years old.
‘No time to waste,’ announced Nakka, lifting up his axe to wave the group to follow. ‘Let’s go find Thorek and teach these grobi what we do with uninvited guests.’
There were fifteen dwarfs guarding the crack found by Stofrik Grimsson, and twice as many had squeezed through to keep watch from the goblin side of the hole. The Troggklads and Angboks added another twenty warriors to the party, which Gabbik considered more than enough for a goblin hunt.
‘Where’s Stofrik at?’ he asked, stepping up beside Nakka.
One of the Grimssons nodded towards the crack. ‘Having a look-see at those goblin tunnels, isn’t he.’
Gabbik detected a note of antipathy from the other dwarf and was not surprised; the Grimssons had been rival brewers to Awdhelga and there was always friction where business was concerned. That was by-the-by though. A missing dwarf was more important
than past disagreements.
The triangular gap through which the goblins had entered was just about wide enough for a dwarf to pass through and about twice as high. There were rough tool marks on the outer edges – a rock slip that the grobi had widened themselves.
‘Weren’t nobody keeping guard?’ asked Fleinn. ‘Didn’t you hear owt?’
‘Reckon the cunning beggars waited ‘til we was working to start their chipping and digging,’ said the Grimsson dwarf.
Hammer held in front of him, shield sideways, Gabbik could just about get through the opening, his beard brushing against the scraped wall. The gap was only about three paces deep and opened into the remains of an old lava chamber, almost spherical, with more crudely hewn steps leading up to a tunnel on the far side.
The chamber showed signs of brief occupation by the goblins while they had conducted their excavations – piles of dung, discarded animal bones, a broken stone hammer. There was also a pile of mud and small stones scattered close to the opening – a poor attempt to block or mask the goblins’ escape route. Looking around, Gabbik spied Stofrik at the top of the steps, a lantern in hand as he peered into the goblin delvings. His beard was long and blond, tucked into a broad belt and hung with ancestor badges. He was wearing bronzed mail and carried a short-hafted axe that shone a dull green in the lamplight. The Grimsson thane turned as Gabbik softly called his name.
‘How-do, Gabbik?,’ said Stofrik. As Gabbik ascended, the other dwarf met him halfway, his place at the top taken by another of the Grimsson family. ‘Good of you to come. How many did you bring?’
‘Twenty of us. I reckon that’s as many as we’ll need without kicking up too much of a fuss.’
Stofrik looked past as more dwarfs squeezed through the hole, one after the other, until the lava chamber was almost filled with bristling beards, mail and round shields.
‘Reckon as you’d be right, Gabbik. Can’t have been too many of them – forty or fifty, them that was attacked told me. Left about a dozen of dead behind too.’
‘Lead on,’ said Gabbik.
The top of the narrow steps broke out into another lava chamber, about three times as big as the first, and there were several holes in the walls where the goblins had tunnelled in and out. The dwarfs were not renowned for their stealth, but they were patient, and with slow, quiet treads Stofrik and Gabbik led the dwarfs into the next cave, axe and hammer at the ready. Another lamp was brought in, shielded with smoked glass to stop too much light escaping, and the expedition spread out across the chamber, ten or so dwarfs to each hole.
Stofrik moved from hole to hole, listening and sniffing, bending down to inspect the floor at each opening. He went back three or four times each to two of the holes before making his decision.
‘Grobi spoor is strongest on this one.’ He crouched and pointed at scrape marks on the rock. ‘And these were made by a dwarf toecap if ever I’ve seen such a mark.’
‘They’re dragging him,’ said Gabbik. ‘Not carrying. Suggests he’s still alive.’
‘You know gobbos,’ said one of the Burlithroms, from whose ranks Thorek had been taken. Most were still in their mining gear, armed with picks, spades and heavy spikes rather than battleaxes and warhammers. The one who had spoken had a gold badge on his helm, marking him out as the shift overseer. His expression was grim, even for a dwarf. ‘They likes to torture their captives for a bit, like. Poor, poor Thorek.’
‘That’ll be bad for them then,’ said Stofrik. He jabbed a thumb to his chest. ‘They didn’t reckon on one of Ekrund’s best goblin hunters being on hand, did they? Thorek might get his toes burned and maybe lose a finger or two, but least he’ll live. Let’s get a shifty on, no point hanging around.’
The goblin hole, like the crack in the wall, was barely wide enough for the dwarfs to pass, so that they had to unburden themselves of their shields and weapons and pass them through before they could fit. Fortunately the goblins had been in something of a hurry, it seemed, and had not bothered posting guards.
The cavern beyond was almost as big as a dwarf hall, filled with stalactites; the stalagmites had mostly been broken and lay in pieces across the shallow bowl of the floor.
‘Look here,’ said Stofrik, crouching next to the stump of a rocky upthrust. In the light of the goblin hunter’s lamp Gabbik saw something splashed on the stone. ‘Blood. Goblin blood. I think our Thorek gave someone a bit of a kicking.’
‘Good on ‘im,’ muttered someone behind Gabbik.
Following Stofrik, the dwarfs advanced between the broken stalagmites, heading left along the length of the cavern. The goblin hunter shielded his lantern, revealing dim light coming from half a dozen tunnels at the far end of the cave. By far the brightest was also the largest, off to the right a little. As the dwarfs stopped to look and quiet descended, Gabbik heard the echo of distant noise: shouting, cackling and singing.
‘’Avin’ themselves a right ol’ party, the spiteful beggars,’ snarled one of the Burlithroms. There were growls and snorts of agreement and Gabbik felt a general movement around him as the family of the missing dwarf surged towards the openings by unspoken consent.
‘Here now, don’t be getting too anxious for a fight, lads,’ warned Gabbik. He could tell that their blood was up, but a hothead in battle was often the first to fall. He wanted to know he could depend on the dwarf whose shield was at his back. ‘We done this before, don’t all go rushing in willy-nilly.’
‘Gabbik’s right,’ said Stofrik. Gabbik knew he was right, and felt a bit offended that Stofrik thought fit to defend his judgement. He let it pass – the Grimssons were closer to the Burlithroms after all.
‘If they got wind of us, they may kill Thorek,’ the other thane continued. ‘And even if they don’t, they’d scatter like elves in a strong wind if they got the chance. No, we do this proper and then everybody’s safer.’
Cooler heads were prevailing and Gabbik took the chorus of grumbles and whispers as acquiescence. He caught the eye of Fleinn and took the other dwarf to Stofrik.
‘Fleinn here has got a good eye and ear for the tunnels,’ said Gabbik. ‘What say him and a few lads head up one of them side passages and see if they can cut off the goblins’ exit?’
‘Solid plan,’ said Stofrik. He looked Fleinn up and down. ‘You up to it, lad?’
‘I’m up for it.’ Fleinn flourished his elven blades and grinned.
‘You look it,’ said Stofrik.
He said the names of a handful of Burlithroms and Grimssons, and a party assembled around Fleinn. After a few more words not to do anything rash they were sent on their way, advancing quietly down two of the smaller tunnels.
‘We’ll give them a little bit of time to get in position,’ said Stofrik.
‘What say you to a quick look at what’s ahead?’ said Gabbik. ‘Just a brief scout, maybe?’
‘Aye, but keep it quiet.’
The thought that he might be anything but quiet irritated Gabbik but again he thought it better not to raise the issue. Stofrik had obviously appointed himself expedition leader and there was nothing to be gained by starting an argument just a pebble’s throw from a goblin lair. Instead Gabbik chose his two quietest lads – Horgir and Vifi – and took them up to the widest of the openings.
The tunnel looked like an old underground riverbed, perhaps dammed upstream by one of the Ekrund weirs or other waterworks. It dropped down steeply, following a course of limestone – the same that formed the impressive floor and ceiling spires of the cavern behind.
The light was exceptionally faint and inconstant, distant flames Gabbik thought, but it was enough for the trio of dwarfs to navigate the irregular twists and turns of the natural passage. The ancient river had worn everything smooth, though in a few of the steeper stretches steps had been carved or foot- and hand-holds fashioned from thick wooden nails. The dwarfs were sure enough on their feet to negotiate these parts without too much effort and it was not long before the light had brightened considerably and the sm
ell of smoke from a bonfire of dried dung started clogging Gabbik’s nostrils.
The noise from the goblins was louder and had become a more unified high-pitched chanting, interspersed with whoops and shrill laughter. Now and then Gabbik caught a dwarf voice, swiftly drowned by hideous shrieks and hooting cries.
A flicker of shadow at a bend ahead caused the dwarfs to stop. It was indistinct but Gabbik could see the outline of a fur-lined helmet and a jagged sword. He couldn’t see the goblin itself and the tunnel curved in such a way that there would be no way of looking until they were right on top of the sentry.
They waited a while longer, during which the vague shadow appeared to lift a long-necked bottle to its lips and they heard the glug of emptying liquid. Gabbik signalled to Vifi, who brought out a bronze catapult from inside his hauberk. He fetched forth a sphere of lead shot from a pouch at his belt, about the size of a thumbnail, and placed it in the leather cup of the slingshot. Giving a thumbs up to Gabbik, Vifi took a few steps further up the tunnel before crouching down against the wall. He pulled back the shot and then looked back to nod.
Gabbik scraped his heel across the floor of the tunnel. The sound reverberated for a moment and was answered by a murmur of confusion from ahead. He heard the noise of the bottle being dropped, followed by the flap of bare feet on stone. A moment later a thin green face with sharp, prominent teeth and a pointed nose poked around the sharp bend. Its helmet was askew, tufts of mangy fur falling from the brim.
Vifi let fly his shot. The lead ball smacked into the goblin’s left eye, snapping back the creature’s head in a spray of blood. The goblin toppled, slumping against the side of the tunnel. Gabbik winced as the helmet fell off with a clatter, rolling in circles on the floor for several heartbeats before coming to rest against the dead goblin’s foot.
Horgir was already dashing ahead, axe in hand. He reached the bend and slowed, sliding his shield in front. Gabbik moved alongside Vifi as Horgir disappeared.
