by Warhammer
‘Thanks for coming to look for us,’ said Skraffi.
‘Don’t thank us just yet,’ said Gabbik. ‘These woods are still swarming with wolf riders, and Grimnir knows where that wyvern has got to. When we’re back at the Lower Gate, I’ll rest easier.’
‘Sure enough,’ said Skraffi. He hacked up a great gobbet of phlegm and spat. ‘Let’s go and taste that sweet beer already. Lead on!’
Although he had uttered words of caution to his father, Gabbik was confident of their safe return to the Lower Gate. Over three hundred armed and prepared dwarfs were a more fearsome prospect than a few score, tired and hounded up the mountain.
The wolf riders seemed to think the same and those that survived the attack on the hill slunk into the darkness, not even remaining close at hand to watch the dwarfs turn south. The woods were filled with lantern light and once they were away from the fires set by the goblins Gabbik started to relax.
He glanced at his father, who was walking in silence a little way ahead, keeping company with the other longbeards who had been rescued. He was pleased Skraffi had survived, but deep down could not fight a sense of shame. The cause of this consternation was the simple fact that it had been reputation more than duty that had spurred him to help with the rescue mission. Had nobody known Skraffi was out in the wilds, had Stofrik not announced his intent to go back out for the longbeards, Gabbik wondered if he might not have just stayed in safety at the Lower Gate.
The fear that others would witness such dishonourable behaviour had been the poker that stoked the fire within Gabbik. It would have been unseemly to not attend the expedition, and it was this fact more than love or sense of responsibility that had propelled him out of the gates and back onto the road.
Now that they were returning, guilt gnawed at Gabbik. He was unworthy of the thanks his father had given him, and that was the real reason he had been unable to accept Skraffi’s gratitude. There had been genuine relief, of course, but Gabbik felt a twinge of remorse when he remembered that his first thought on seeing his father alive had been pleasure that the effort and risk had not been wasted. He would be credited amongst the brave dwarfs that had ventured forth to bring their living ancestors home.
‘What’s up, Gabbik?’ It was Fleinn, as cheerful as ever. ‘You look like you’ve lost a gold piece and found… Well, just lost a gold piece. Aren’t you happy to see the old fella?’
‘It’s good,’ said Gabbik. ‘I’m just tired. Tired to the bones.’
‘I hear you, right enough.’
They walked on in silence, following the lead set by the rangers ahead. Even in darkness the lower groves seemed less hostile now than they had the day before. Gabbik was bemused that it had only been yesterday they had been fleeing for their lives between these same trees; it felt as though it had been days and days ago.
‘It’s all changed, hasn’t it?’ he asked Fleinn. ‘This is going to be our great battle, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know what you’re on about. Great battle?’
‘The orcs. Even if we beat them, we’re not done, are we? Karak Ungor, Karak Varn… Now us. None of us is safe any more.’
‘Stop being such a miserable beggar,’ said Fleinn. He playfully punched Gabbik on the arm. ‘The orcs are going to die throwing themselves at our gates and that’s that. Nothing’s changing. It’s like them what went around saying the world was going to end when the elves tried to besiege Karaz-a-Karak. Where did that end, eh? With them scarpering back where they came from, leaving their shiny crown behind.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Gabbik, but in his heart he knew Fleinn’s optimism was misplaced. Maybe not in a year or a hundred years, but at some time the orcs would be back, and again, and again. Even in his years, short compared to some, he had seen the Ekrundfolk dwindling, in numbers and in craft.
‘There’s a sight to cheer you up, anyhow,’ said Fleinn, snapping Gabbik from his contemplation.
The woods gave way to pasture and the ribbon of the road wound down the valley ahead. Though he could not see the Lower Gate yet, looking north Gabbik could just about make out the lamps and torches on the walls of Kundazad-a-Zorn, the great watch fortress overlooking the upper valley halfway to the main gates of Ekrund.
Dawn was still some time away when they reached the road, and there was a brief debate between Menghir Garudak and Stofrik Grimsson. Stofrik wanted to head to Kundazad-a-Zorn, as it was closer, but Menghir’s intent was to return to the Lower Gate and from there to go forth to reinforce his father if he had not returned from Gundak Karazin.
Gabbik spoke in favour of Menghir’s plan. He did so not only because sometimes Stofrik needed reminding that he was not always in charge, though this was the main reason, but also, Gabbik told himself, because he would be sooner reunited with this family and they would sooner know that he and Skraffi were safe.
In the end the two could not agree and against the wishes of many, who thought dividing their numbers was a foolish notion, Stofrik headed north with those that wished to follow him while Menghir and the rest of the thanes and their clans went south, Gabbik and the Angboks amongst them.
Though their numbers had been diminished, the dwarfs put faith in speed more than stealth and set a brisk pace along the flags that had paved the valley for so many centuries. Gabbik found himself near the front of the column with Skraffi, Menghir and a few of the other thanes, and they spoke at length regarding the orc horde and what could be done about it.
So at ease had they become, and so engrossing was their conversation, that to a dwarf none of them was quite prepared when there was a shout of alarm from behind. As they stopped to see what the problem was, the answer came from overhead. A great roar echoed along the valley and a massive shape dived down from the scattered clouds.
The dwarfs scattered at the wyvern’s descent, seeking shelter behind the wall that lined the road and in the rocky outcrops and defiles beyond. Gabbik found himself being dragged to one side by Skraffi with Menghir, Vadlir and a few of the Lower Gate thanes near at hand.
Claws scraping across stone, the wyvern landed on the road just a few dozen paces away, lashing its tail, wyrm-neck undulating as it swung a bucket-jawed head towards Gabbik. Jade green scales glistened in the light of the setting moons. It had two legs only, no forelimbs, but its wings were tipped with claws and it used these to balance itself as it lunged over the wall, snatching up a handful of dwarfs in its maw.
As the closest wing dipped, Gabbik saw with shock that the wyvern had a rider. Perched on a high-backed throne atop its back was an orc larger than any he had seen – not that he had seen many. Although perhaps the night and the monstrous steed made it seem even more hulking, the orc rider was easily twice as big as a dwarf. It was clad in plated armour hung with ragged pieces of mail, spikes of bone and tusk jutting out from the shoulders, its helm a simple skull cap topped with a crest of what looked like dagger-long teeth.
The crunching of bone, splash of blood spatters and screams of dwarfs being eaten made Gabbik cringe, pushing himself tight against the stones of the wall as he peered over. His fingers felt cold and with some effort he maintained a grip on his axe haft.
Other dwarfs were dashing away from the terrifying beast, moving along the wall or running into the rocky ground of the valley sides. To the gigantic wyvern the wall was no obstacle; it bounded over with a single flap of its wings, jaw snapping once more to scoop up an unfortunate who had been frozen with dread as he had cowered behind a rock.
A few hardier warriors charged the wyvern, hurling throwing axes that bounced from its scaled hide, their hammers and battleaxes inflicting little injury. The orc rider pulled a wicked-looking blade from a sheath across its back, the curved sword as long as a dwarf is tall. Irritated more than afraid, the wyvern turned, smashing two of the dwarfs from their feet with a swipe of its tail. The orc’s sword decapitated another and the survivors fell back, seeking sanctuary amongst the boulders.
‘We can’t stay here,’ G
abbik heard someone say. Then he realised the words had come from his lips. Skraffi and the others looked at him, brows furrowed.
‘You’re going to attack that thing?’ said Menghir, clearly impressed.
Gabbik was about to tell the thane not to be so ridiculous but the words wouldn’t come. The weight of expectation suddenly heaped upon his shoulders and he had no choice but to bear it; to do or say otherwise would bring near-crippling levels of embarrassment.
‘Head to the Lower Gate, quick as you can,’ said Skraffi, moving up alongside his son. He gave Gabbik an encouraging thumbs up. ‘Don’t worry, lad, I’ll not let you fight alone.’
‘It’s true what they say about you Angboks,’ said Menghir. He stood and waved to some of the others and held his axe aloft, a signal for his warriors to rally to him.
‘You’ve heard of us?’ said Gabbik, surprised and delighted in equal measure.
‘Oh, aye,’ laughed Menghir. He nodded towards Skraffi. ‘After his performance at the king’s council? Everybody in Ekrund’s heard of the Angboks.’
‘They think we’re… brave?’ Gabbik asked hesitantly, knowing the answer.
‘They think you’re all as mad as a vault of weasels,’ said Menghir. ‘But Grimnir’s doom to you, I’ll be sure to mention the bravery part when we get back.’
Gabbik turned his attention back to the wyvern, which was back on the road now, chasing after a group of rangers who had tried shooting it with their crossbows. He felt movement around him and looked about to find himself joined by many of the lads that had been at Undak Grimgazan.
‘So, I hear we’re doing some stupid fool thing, eh?’ said Vifi. He waved his catapult under the Angbok thane’s nose. ‘Think I’m going to kill a wyvern with this, do you, Gabbik?’
‘I never asked…’ Gabbik’s voice trailed away as he realised that they were all there – Angboks, Troggklads, even the Narjaks and Skurllissons. He was their thane and they followed him. His chest swelled with pride for a moment, and then a hideous fear gripped him.
He was going to lead them all to their deaths!
‘No heroics,’ said Skraffi, perhaps sensing his son’s sudden hesitation. ‘We keep the wyvern busy enough to give the others a good head start and then we make a run for it ourselves. Right?’
‘Aye, and how do we do that?’ asked Fleinn.
Skraffi shrugged and looked at Gabbik.
‘This was your idea, lad, what did you have in mind?’
Gabbik looked around for inspiration, his mouth opened and closed without anything occurring. He watched the rest of the dwarfs heading south, some on the road, others not, running as fast as their short legs would carry them, wishing more than anything that he could have been with them. The wyvern had some poor unfortunate under its claw and was chewing off bits, while the orc was beating his mount about the shoulders with a massive fist, trying to get the monster to chase after the fleeing dwarfs.
‘Come with me,’ Gabbik said, playing for time. He had no idea how he was going to do this, but felt that action was more important than a plan at that moment. He hoped something would come up, or perhaps if he could delay long enough someone else would speak up with a brilliant strategy.
Having finished its meal, the wyvern looked around. Chains like reins hung from an iron mask riveted into its long face, bolted to the forearm of the orc atop its back. By the way the wyvern smarted and fought against every tug on the chains, Gabbik figured that this was not so much a partnership of steed and rider so much as a master and monstrous slave. Perhaps there was something that could be done with that.
The wyvern saw them as they edged closer along the wall, following Gabbik’s lead. Its nostrils flared and moonlight glinted in its eyes. It opened its jaw wide, exposing bloodstained teeth. Pieces of dwarf flesh and tattered mail trailed from between its fangs.
With an exultant shout, the orc prodded the wyvern into motion.
‘Grungni’s flaming forge, it’s coming right for us,’ muttered Vifi.
‘We should’ve sent up the flare and got Stofrik’s boys to come back,’ said Nakka. He huffed on the blade of his axe and polished off a fleck of dirt with his cuff. ‘Would have made this a lot easier if there had been more of us.’
‘Flare?’ Gabbik turned on Nakka and grabbed his collar, pulling him close. ‘What flare?’
‘Durk took one of them rocket-things from Undak Grimgazan, just in case.’ Nakka thumbed over his shoulder to a worried-looking Durk. ‘He’s still got it in his pack.’
‘That so?’ Gabbik spared a glance at the wyvern. It was about fifty paces away and picking up speed, but at least it wasn’t airborne. It was hissing as it ran, tongue lolling across bloodied fangs.
Spurred by speed he never thought he possessed, Gabbik pushed Nakka aside, turned Durk around and unfastened the buckles on the other dwarf’s pack. Sure enough, nestled between a few bags of sandwiches and a bedroll was the tube and rod of a signal rocket.
Gabbik pulled the flare free and looked at Skraffi.
‘Flint. Now. Quick.’
His father complied, pulling free his lighting box, snapping at the sprung striking head. On the second attempt the tinder caught.
Gabbik slid the flare onto its pole and then leaned forward, bracing himself over the wall, rocket on his shoulder angled at the incoming wyvern.
‘Light it!’ he yelped. ‘Light the damned fuse and get back!’
He heard a sputtering behind him, which quickly became a growing crackle next to his ear, and then the thud of boots rapidly retreating.
The wyvern was twenty paces away, the orc on its back leaning forward, blade held low. Gabbik fancied he could smell the foul breath of both, but then realised it was the burning bang powder impregnated into the flare’s fuse.
‘This is really stupid,’ he told himself. He raised his voice. ‘Tell Friedra and Haldora I love them!’
The main charge of the flare caught with a deafening bang right next to Gabbik’s head. He smelt burning hair amongst the fume of the bang powder a moment before the rocket leapt from its rod, spewing red smoke and flame.
Gabbik saw nothing for a moment as his face was bathed in fire and smog, head ringing from the detonation. Through blinking eyes he just about saw the flare flying along the road, fluted cuts in its side making a piercing screech as it picked up speed.
The flare, now a small comet of red and yellow, smacked into the side of the wyvern’s head, spraying burning bang powder, smoke and sparks. The wyvern let out a panicked wail, utterly unlike anything Gabbik had ever heard, and veered to the right, its eye blistering from the impact and heat. Bellowing, the orc stood up and wrenched at the chains but to no avail – the wyvern took three steps and flung itself into the air, wings snapping out, almost tossing the rider from its back as it climbed swiftly. Its plaintive cry trailed away as it ascended.
Gabbik could smell burning still. The flare was fizzing along the road, a few hundred paces away by now and still going. He looked down and saw tiny blue flames burning at the ends of his beard-braids.
With a yelp of fear, he patted out the flames, and then repeated the process on top of his head. Pulling off a gauntlet he felt his face. The skin was raw and tender and his eyebrows were missing. His hand quested up to his scalp and he felt more burned flesh and little else. Turning slowly, he faced the others.
‘How bad is it?’ he asked, dropping the flare pole. They looked at him, saying nothing, which was all he needed to know. It was bad. His skin was starting to sting, as though a thousand angry wasps had set upon him, and he could feel his eyes closing up.
Skraffi was next to him, Fleinn on the other side. Both of them looked up as a bestial snarling resounded down the valley.
‘It won’t be gone for long,’ said Skraffi.
‘Can you run?’ asked Vifi, as the rest of the band clambered over the wall, helping Gabbik onto the road.
‘I can damn well run away from here!’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
&nb
sp; ‘Lord Garudak, such as he styled himself then, the Drakkanfolk not quite ready to call him king, offered to take in Grimbalki and his followers, Angboks and all.
Grimbalki sent his younger brother a package. Within was a lump of dried goblin dung and a note to the effect that Lord Garudak would be begging for Grimbalki’s forgiveness one day, and his pleas would be worth the contents of the parcel.
These seemed like brave words to the Drakkanfolk, I guess, who were all snug behind their stockades, digging their mine. But what they didn’t know was that Grimbalki’s prospectors had finally found something. Not gold, not diamonds, but something worth almost as much, and it would be the thing that Ekrund would be famed for in later generations.
They found black gold. Coal.‘
Haldora woke up. It felt as though her whole body had been meticulously pummelled by an army of goblins with small hammers. From the inside of her skull down to her toes, everything ached. It hurt even to open her eyes but she forced herself to do so, blinking hard in the light of an immense lamp hanging from the roof of the hall.
She was lying on a stone bench against a wall, with a large tapestry hanging above her, and to the right she saw a pair of iron-bound gates.
The Lower Gate.
She winced as memory flooded back. Sitting up, she looked around for a familiar face and spied her mother with a group of other womenfolk, but there was no sign of her father or Nakka, or Skraffi. There were lots of other dwarfs around though, all clad in armour and carrying weapons.
Sliding to her feet she unsteadily walked across the hall, catching her mother’s eye as she did so. She had expected a smile in greeting, but Friedra’s expression was one of concern.
‘Where’s pa?’ Haldora asked, fearing the worst.
‘He went with the others to look for Skraffi and the greybeards,’ Friedra explained.
‘Without me?’
‘Sorry, my dear, but they thought it was for the best.’
‘And you let them?’
