by Warhammer
Skraffi shook his head and stomped off into the crowds.
‘It’s busy, what with the council,’ said Vadlir as they shouldered their way through the throng, trying not to bump packs with other new arrivals.
They made their way across the concourse of the Central Hall to where three tall arches led north. One passage went down, another up, and the third stayed on the same level.
‘Going up,’ Skraffi said, heading to the leftmost archway. ‘Want to get a seat.’
‘No, we go down to the king’s hall, on the floor,’ said Gabbik. ‘I want to be there with the chancellors and the royal thanes and the other important folk, not shouting down like some common shift overseer.’
‘Nothing wrong with being a shift overseer,’ muttered one of the dwarfs behind Gabbik. He ignored the comment.
‘This is a chance for the name of the Angboks to be remembered. The king will want to see a greybeard like you amongst his closest counsellors.’
For a while it looked as though Skraffi was going to be stubborn. He glared at Gabbik from under a beetling brow, arms crossed. Eventually he sighed and headed towards the central arch, which led down to the main halls of Ekrund.
As the Angbok chambers were different from mine delving, so Ekrund proper was different from the halls of the Angboks. Not a passage was less than thrice the height of a dwarf and broad enough for five to walk abreast. Arches, stairs and ramps led to hallways, galleries and grand chambers. The stone was polished smooth, in some places etched with designs, in others left to allow the natural beauty of the rock to show. Embroidered banners hung on the walls, while golden ancestors’ faces and brightly painted ceramic helm-masks decorated columns and archways.
It took the better part of the remaining day to reach the halls of the king, having passed through the increasingly flamboyant realms of the thanes. Their surroundings became even more ornate and extravagant the further towards the royal chambers they progressed.
‘Show-offs,’ snorted Gabbik as they were stopped at an inner gate, four times their height, gilded and embossed to show the first settlers of Ekrund digging into the mountain. There was a smaller door inside the left-hand gate and beside it a door warden with a heavy hammer held in both hands, covered almost tip-to-toe in mail and plate armour so that only his oiled beard and dark eyes could be seen amongst the polished iron and gold. A red cloak trimmed with bear fur completed the uniform.
‘Name,’ said the door warden.
‘Gabbik Angbok.’
‘You need to be upstairs, on the western promenade gallery,’ the dwarf replied without hesitation. ‘Only royal thanes allowed on the floor today.’
‘That’s preposterous,’ said Gabbik. ‘I’m Vice-Treasurer of the Ekrund Miners’ Welfare and Social Society. That merits a presence on the floor. Angbok. You need to check.’
‘Treasurer of the Ekrund Miners’ Social Welfare Society?’ the guard asked, rummaging underneath his cloak until he produced a rolled-up piece of parchment.
‘Vice-Treasurer of the Ekrund Miners’ Welfare and Social Society.’
The guard hummed a slow refrain while he rolled through the scroll. He reached the end and cocked an eye to Gabbik.
‘Name’s not on the list.’
‘Must be some mistake.’
‘Possible. Happened before.’ The door warden rubbed his bearded chin with a heavily gauntleted hand. ‘Show me your summons.’
Gabbik heaved off his pack and opened one of the side pockets to pull out the waxed paper envelope containing the summons from the king. He handed it to the guard and stood up, chest puffed out. ‘I’ll think you find that clears up this misunderstanding.’
‘Certainly does,’ said the guard. He waved the opened letter in front of Gabbik, almost tickling his nose with the trail of blue ribbon that had been affixed with the king’s stamp. ‘Red is for the floor. Blue is for the galleries. Sorry.’
‘Like this one?’ Gabbik turned in horror as Skraffi strode up, brandishing his red-sealed letter like a battleaxe. ‘Red ribbon, right?’
The door warden looked at the summons and nodded. ‘That’ll do fine.’
‘What about my… retainers?’ Skraffi asked, looking back at Gabbik and his companions.
‘Retainers?’ Gabbik almost choked. There were other protests from his fellow thanes.
‘No retainers, servants, menials, factotums, lorebearers, advocates, maids, nurses, agents, representatives, hangers-on or personal chefs,’ said the door warden.
Skraffi leaned close to the guard, looking askance at him. ‘Is your captain still Thundred Norbrocker? Thundred of the Four Dozen Blades?’
‘Aye, he is,’ said the guard. ‘How do you know Thundred?’
‘I was one of the Four Dozen Blades too,’ Skraffi said. He smoothed back his unruly mop of hair to show a scar that ran from just beside his right eye and past the ear – the top of which had been lopped off. ‘A bolt from an elven engine at the Second Battle of Griffa Ridge. You couldn’t let Thundred know an old pal is here, could you?’
The guard turned away and opened a small slot in the lesser door. There was an exchange of whispers and then the slot was slammed shut.
‘He’ll see what he can do,’ explained the guard. ‘The captain’s been run off his feet this last couple of days, what with the refugees and the council and all that.’
‘He’ll remember me,’ said Skraffi.
‘I’m sure he will,’ said Gabbik.
There were benches along the walls for waiting petitioners so the dwarfs took off their packs and sat down. One of the Skallarssons produced a portable oil-burning stove and very soon there was a pot of tea on the brew. Gabbik was torn; the longer they had to wait, the bigger the disappointment would be when they were eventually turned away, but a good cup of tea needed plenty of time to get strong enough – often half a day or more.
He noticed Vadlir reading a well-thumbed book. It was almost a pamphlet really, a few dozen pages. The cover was plain except for a coloured etching of a painted candle. He couldn’t make out the title from the angle he was sitting.
‘That from those new printworks?’ Gabbik asked.
‘What?’ Vadlir seemed to surface from his reading like a dwarf emerging from his bath waters. ‘Aye, that it is. Very neat type it is too.’
‘What is it?’ asked Gabbik, craning his head to see the front cover.
‘Some story or other my Nakka got from your Haldora. It’s about a dwarf from Karaz-a-Karak who goes to fight in the last siege of Tor Alessi, and there he meets a maiden from Karak Eight Peaks, but they lose each other in the battle.’
‘A saga? Printed?’ Gabbik found the whole notion very strange. ‘But what will the bards and soothsayers do if we start writing down sagas and histories?’
‘It’s not a real saga,’ Vadlir said with a chuckle. ‘It’s a story, a tale.’
‘Made up? What’s the point of wasting good ink and paper on a story what’s been made up?’
‘You should read it. Very moving.’
Gabbik plucked it from the grasp of the other dwarf, ignoring his protests, and read out the title. ‘On a Far Field. What by the King of Zhufbar does that mean? What name is that for a saga? What’s the name of this dwarf that goes to Tor Alessi?’
‘Dofbar Gunbardin. Why?’
‘Should be called The Saga of Dofbar Gunbardin and his Potential Romantic Encounters at Tor Alessi. That’s a proper name for a saga.’
‘Give it here,’ said Vadlir, snatching back the book. ‘It’s more about the lass, Ardent Lokstrik.’
‘Ardent Lokstrik?’ Gabbik’s voice rose with his incredulity. He puffed out a breath and deepened his tone. ‘What kind of name is Ardent? Sounds elfy to me.’
‘Oh forget it, you grumpy sod.’ Vadlir turned his back and carried on reading, book held protectively close to his chest.
Gabbik sat in silence until he heard the scrape of a bar being lifted behind the great gates. The smaller door opened to reveal an el
derly dwarf whose beard was so long it reached down to his waist and once about it, so that the two braids were tied like a belt beneath the bulge of his mail coat. He carried a hammer as tall as himself, inlaid with silver and gold and precious stones. Runes glittered on his helm and gauntlets.
‘Thundred!’ roared Skraffi, surging to his feet. The venerable captain of the door wardens turned at the cry, eyes opening in shock. Skraffi grabbed his old war-companion in a hug, slapping a hand repeatedly on his back. ‘Too long, my friend. Too long.’
The captain extricated himself from Skraffi’s grip while the other dwarfs gathered around. Gabbik noticed the door warden at the gate was taking a close interest, and a few helmeted heads bobbed at the open door as those inside darted looks at what was going on.
‘Skraffi Angbok.’ The way Thundred spoke the words it sounded like a curse. ‘I thought you were dead.’
‘Not as such,’ said Skraffi. ‘As you can see.’
‘And you’re here for the king’s council?’
‘Aye, red ribbon and all as befits an esteemed veteran.’
‘So what’s the problem?’ Thundred looked at the crowd of dwarfs behind Skraffi. ‘Who are this lot?’
Skraffi turned and waved Gabbik forward. ‘This is my son, Gabbik. He’s Vice-Treasurer of the Ekrund Miners’ Welfare and Social Society, you know.’
‘Sounds like a sensible lad.’
Gabbik hated being called ‘lad’ by his father and it sounded doubly worse coming from a stranger.
‘Yes, he is. I’ve no idea where he got that from. Wasn’t me or his mother.’
‘Ah, the lovely Awdhelga,’ said Thundred. ‘If ever there was a lass worth cutting your way through a cohort of elves for, she was one.’
‘Gone to the halls now,’ Skraffi said quietly, slipping off his helmet and bowing his head. ‘These past five years.’
‘Sad tidings,’ said Thundred, likewise showing his respects to the shade of the deceased. ‘You know, now and then one of the lads brings up a barrel of that blackbeer for the guard room. A splendid quaff, no mistaking.’
‘I brew mead now,’ Skraffi said, putting his helmet back on. Thundred also returned helm to head. ‘I can send you some of that, free of charge. Once you taste it…’
‘Mead?’ Thundred stepped back, lips curling in distaste. ‘Isn’t that bees’ toilet water?’
‘Nonono! It’s a fine drink, made with honey.’ Skraffi started to fumble at his pack. ‘Here, I’ve got some bottles.’
‘You’re all right, Skraffi.’ Thundred glared at the crowd of dwarfs. ‘Ten of you, no more. You pick. Any sign of trouble and you’ll be out on your beards. Is that clear?’
A chorus of affirmatives greeted this offer. While Skraffi continued his attempt to off-load some of his mead on the door captain, Gabbik and the others formed a huddle for a quick conference. It was decided that the head of each clan could go in, except for the Angboks who already had Skraffi and Gabbik. The younger dwarfs were sent away and told to meet their elders back in the Central Hall once the council was concluded.
When the delegation stepped up, Thundred nodded his approval and with his hammer he struck three times upon a brass plate, much dented, affixed to the left-hand door. With a ponderous groan the doors swung inwards, guided by wheels that fitted to rails in the floor and ceiling.
Feeling a thrill course through him, Gabbik led the group over the threshold and into the king’s halls.
CHAPTER SIX
‘It was about this time that the lord of the Rinkeldraz decided that in order for the plainsfolk to be taken seriously by the mountain dwarfs, they needed to treat on equal terms with them. The thane announced that he should be recognised as king, and, having some royal blood from Karak Eight Peaks by dint of being a second cousin of a prince, thrice removed, there was no greater claim to a crown amongst the plains clans. Even the Grimssons weren’t sure about this, but since everybody had already agreed to listen to the thane anyway, it was decided he might as well call himself king if he liked.
So King Ordorin was the first of our kings, though it made little difference. The royalty in the old mountains would call him the Wild King when he wasn’t around, and the elves didn’t care one bit because they thought us strange folk for having more than one king already – another made no difference to them one way or the other.
But it made the plains dwarfs feel better about what they were doing and who they were, because they were good folk at heart and knew that a king was the right thing to have. Having a king made the clans feel as if they were all part of the same people and they soon had a name: Urbarvornfolk. They started to build towers in the plains, and a road back to Karak Eight Peaks, to help with the trading and to bring materials from the old hold out to their homes more easily.
King Ordorin was not the smartest dwarf in the wildlands, but he was smart enough to know as much and so founded the council of the king to help him make the hard decisions.
The first hard decision he made was for everyone to stop mucking about with windmills and boats and farms, and to get on with moving to the mountains where some good honest mining could start.’
The last time Gabbik had been inside the lower chambers of the king’s halls had been as part of a delegation from the Ekrund Miners’ Welfare and Social Society. He had been a lowly deputy subscriptions collector, fortunate enough to win the annual lottery to take part in the excursion. When he became treasurer he would be a permanent member of the representative group and gaining admission with Skraffi was a timely opportunity to get his bearings and make a few contacts to take back to the Society.
Directly within the outer gates the king’s halls were not so different from the rest of central Ekrund. The corridors were broad and high, decorated with hangings between broad-timbered doorways and arches. Door wardens stood at most of these exits to stop visitors straying into parts of the king’s domain in which they would not be welcome and to provide directions to dwarfs visiting for the first time.
Skraffi seemed to know where he was going, leading the group along tunnels and round turnings as though they were in their own halls.
‘You know, we could look around a bit,’ suggested Gabbik. ‘No hurry to get to the audience hall.’
‘You were the one keen to get a good seat,’ replied Skraffi. ‘Don’t want you to start moaning that we’re stuck at the back, do I?’
Gabbik could hardly argue with such reasoning and so followed in his father’s wake along with the others. He was aware of more groups in front and behind them, some of them clustered around icons or banners on poles declaring their clan or organisation. He saw runes for the Royal Engineers’ Guild, the Council Fathers of the Runeworkings, the Western Tower Observation League, the Masonry and Timber Stores Functionary, even the Matchmakers’ Apprenticed Commission, and many others from across the hold. As well as a few variations on the Rinkeldraz emblem – the king’s own clan – Gabbik also took note of ancestor masks and woven pennants belonging to the Skalfsars, the Akunburks, a golden icon of the almost mythically wealthy Forbesons and the dragon pelt banner of the Harkenthraks.
‘Perhaps we should have brought the Angbok colours,’ he suggested, feeling somewhat insecure amongst the pageantry on display.
‘Not to worry, lad,’ said Skraffi. ‘If we get into bother I’ve got a hankie with the clan arms sewn on that your mother made for me years ago.’
‘You don’t seem to be taking this council too seriously, father,’ said Gabbik. He flinched as Skraffi directed a stern look at him.
‘Oh, I’m taking this council seriously,’ the older dwarf growled. ‘I’m just not convinced everybody else is. Look at them all, waving their colours and ancestors about like this was a queen’s day parade. Preening like fools rather than worrying about why the king’s brought us here.’
‘Standards have to be maintained,’ said Gabbik.
Skraffi grumbled something and took a sharp left, almost walking into Gabbik. Coming around the ju
nction they were confronted by an antechamber filled with milling dwarfs. Door wardens were relieving the banner bearers of their burdens – some with more difficulty than others – while beardlings in the livery of the king, purple and black, moved through the crowd with chisel-ended pens and pieces of parchment taking name-runes. These were passed to the captain of the gates, who was standing in front of another huge portal, almost twice the size of the outer gates.
On each door was embossed a triumvirate of ancestor faces. At the top was Grungni, below him Valaya and below that Grimnir. The names of the kings of Ekrund were carved in runic form in a list beneath the great ancestors, the last being the current king Erstukar Rinkeldraz. Deep knotwork was etched around the borders and thick bands of gilded metal riveted with diamond-headed studs gave the doors an even more solid feel.
The doors were slightly ajar, wide enough for one dwarf to pass through at a time, and as each did so his name was bellowed to the waiting crowd by a door warden in the cavernous hall beyond. Gabbik could hear the echoing names of those before him still reverberating as they finally came to the front of the queue.
Giving his beard a few strokes to ensure it fell nice and straight and taking a deep breath, Gabbik stepped in to the audience hall as his name was shouted out. He stopped for a moment to take in the experience of entering the main floor of the greatest hall in Ekrund – an experience somewhat disrupted by Snorri Lorkstal pushing into his back from behind and a muttered word to step away from a polite but firm door warden.
