by Warhammer
‘Not you, your majesty,’ Haldora replied quickly. ‘I am sure you have been most considerate and considered in your deliberation. But I heard a few of these folk say that perhaps there’s not so many orcs as I said, and I think they need to be corrected. There are a lot of orcs, your majesty. Not just more than I’ve ever seen, but more than anybody in Ekrund has ever seen, I warrant. If we go out to fight them we’ll be outnumbered horribly.’
‘I have no intention of surrendering the advantage of our defences,’ said the king, throwing a glare at his eldest son.
‘Oh,’ said Haldora. ‘Well, that’s good.’
‘We must protect the Lower Gate,’ said one of the king’s other advisors. He looked at Haldora. ‘The outer defences have already been abandoned without any attempt to hold them, we cannot do the same of the Lower Gate.’
‘Excuse me,’ said Haldora, feeling that this comment was an accusation of some kind, ‘but had we tried to hold Undak Grimgazan none of us would have lived to warn you of the danger. And we did fight, believe me, when we had to.’
‘Nobody is doubting your courage,’ said Erstukar. ‘But it is a shame that there was no opportunity to delay the orc advance and allow further preparations.’
‘Begging your pardon, your majesty, but I think that’s just what this gentledwarf was doing.’ Haldora crossed her arms, as she had seen Awdhelga and her mother do so many times. The male dwarfs had certainly seen such a stance before too and several of them paled visibly, perhaps remembering stern lectures from their own kin during their younger years. ‘Doubting our courage, I mean. There’s not an Angbok, or Troggklad, nor even a Fundunstull or Grimsson, that would not have happily died defending our homes if it had made a beggar’s bit of difference. But it won’t have and so we didn’t, and any dwarf that thinks otherwise is a fool.’
The dwarf in question trembled at this, his beard swaying to and fro as he shook his head vigorously.
‘Apologise, Brekar, and let us get on with this,’ said Prince Horthrad.
The advisor looked as though he was about to protest, but the king turned an eye in his direction and the matter was settled.
‘I am sorry for inadvertently impugning the courage of your clan and their allies,’ Brekar said stiffly. He breathed out heavily and addressed the king. ‘Regardless, I think it would be an oversight to not make the most of the Lower Gate’s defences.’
‘And if we send out warriors and war machines against this… tide?’ Unlike the others, Runelord Nordok spoke softly and slowly, measuring his words as diligently as he no doubt measured the metals and minerals in his alloys and runes. ‘If the Lower Gate cannot hold we must abandon the engines or else expend more lives bringing them back to the main walls.’
‘I understand your concern, cousin,’ said Erstukar, but his tone already betrayed his intent to disagree. ‘We cannot expect the clans of the Lower Gate to simply allow the orcs to break in and plunder what they wish. No orc will ever pass the gates of Ekrund, not while there is anything we can do. To allow this army access to the upper passes without confrontation is not an option I will consider.’
Nordok accepted this judgement with a silent nod. There were a few grumbled protests from the runelord’s allies and some smug looks on the faces of Brekar’s contingent. With the principle and policy decided, the council set to wrangling the details of the plan – which clans would be sent, how much support they would offer to the Engineers’ Guild and so forth.
Haldora waited a while but it became clear that these negotiations would take some considerable time. She cleared her throat loudly.
‘If it pleases your majesty, might I be excused? Only, it’s that my father and grandfather had not yet returned when I was summoned and I would like to go back to the Lower Gate to seek news of them and to aid in the defence.’
Erstukar looked down at her, slightly surprised by her continued presence. He stood up from the throne and stepped off the dais. Haldora felt like curtseying again but half-resisted the urge, resulting in an ungainly bob up and down in front of the king.
‘Summon my armourer,’ said the king, looking back at his advisors. ‘We shall resolve this matter whilst we make our way to the Lower Gate. If the defence is to be there, that is where I shall also stand. It will not be said that King Erstukar did not fight upon his own walls at this troubled time.’
‘That is very heartening, your majesty,’ said Haldora. She dropped her voice. ‘If it’s all the same, that sounds like it might still take a while. Is it all right if I nip off now?’
‘Depart with my blessing, young lady,’ the king said with a smile. ‘Someone will arrange a chair to take you back to the Lower Gate. I hope your family are well and sound and that I will get to meet them when I arrive.’
‘Oh, your majesty, that might well make my pa drop dead with pride!’ Haldora bowed, then curtseyed, and then turned and almost ran from the loggia, partly in dread and partly out of excitement.
Stewards were waiting with her axe and shield and, she was surprised to see, a parcel of food for the journey. She took the pack of provisions and shook the servant’s hand.
‘The king knows how to treat his guests proper, I’ll say that for him,’ she said.
‘Aye, he’s big on hospitality is Erstukar,’ the retainer replied. He produced a weighty gold coin from somewhere and handed it to her with a sly wink. ‘You’re Awdhelga’s grand-daughter, right? If you could fix up a barrel of that famous blackbeer for the king’s table, there’s a couple more where that came from.’
‘You’ve been very kind,’ Haldora said loudly, putting the coin into a belt pouch as the servant backed away. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
She stepped onto the sedan chair and gave the bearers a thumbs up when she was settled into the cushions. ‘The Lower Gate, if you please!’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘Grimbalki gave permission to his people to dig as much as they wanted from the coal seam, but they weren’t to sell a single piece to the Drakkanfolk or send it to the old mountains. Instead, using the last of his money and sending a trade party along the south road led by his own son, Grimbalki signed a treaty with the king of Karak Eight Peaks. Half the coal of Mount Bloodhorn would belong to the other king in exchange for ore to smelt.
The king of Karak Eight Peaks thought this a fine idea, for his furnaces were as hungry as any, and he sent iron and tin and lead and other ores that were needed to create forged and proper tools.
With these in his possession, Grimbalki had the Angboks, who knew best smelting of all the clans loyal to him, build the first forge. Fuelled by coal from under their feet, the forgeworks ran day and night as the king’s followers laboured to make pick and truck and bucket. As quick as they could get it out of the ground, the Angboks burned the coal to make more digging implements.
The mine grew.’
The rest of Gabbik’s night was spent in hectic retreat, running down the road with the others, ignoring the soreness of burned hands and face. His head was throbbing, the cut he had received in the first skirmish with the goblins feeling raw now that it was exposed to the night air. It was near enough to finish him but he gritted his teeth and put one foot in front of the other, pounding south along the paved valley. When his strength flagged all he had to do was look at Menghir and his lads – much more rested before that night’s events – and pride fuelled Gabbik’s next steps, propelling him onwards to the Lower Gate.
Daylight was a smear over the mountains when there was a shout of warning. Looking back, Gabbik saw the dreadful, telltale shape of the wyvern moving across the last of the night stars, sweeping back and forth, no doubt looking for them.
‘I can’t,’ Gabbik gasped. ‘I can’t fight no more.’
‘Steady there, lad,’ said Skraffi, falling into step beside him. ‘Let’s just keep running a ways and see what happens.’
Gabbik concentrated on keeping his footing, risking the occasional glance to keep track of the wyvern’s progress.
It was now above the road, some way behind them, circling slowly. It was not fear that kept Gabbik running, not in the sense anyone but a dwarf would understand it. The thought of the wyvern attacking worried Gabbik tremendously, but even more concerning was the thought that the dwarfs around him, even Skraffi, might see he was worried and think less of him. The loss of honour this would represent outweighed the physical fear by a considerable margin, overcoming the natural self-preservation and dread that might otherwise have plagued Gabbik.
So it was that despite being exceptionally vexed by the thought of being eaten by a wyvern, and having risked the same not so long previously, Gabbik’s determination to show that he was in control remained resolute. He knew the others were feeling the same; it would be unnatural not to be concerned by a gigantic monster intent on devouring them. ‘Fear’ was, like ‘love’, a word and concept that was not spoken but taken as existing without a need to constantly refer to it. Every dwarf knew there were times when the heart beat faster and undergarments might feel a little uncomfortable, for either fear or love, but there was no need to go on about it.
A loud, rasping shriek of triumph followed the dwarfs on the wind, accompanied by a barely heard bellow. Beast and rider had both spied their prey and when Gabbik next looked back he saw the wyvern plunging low across the mountainside, following the curve of the road.
He stumbled to a stop and turned, drawing his axe. He sensed Skraffi stopping a few paces later and felt his father’s hand grip his shoulder.
‘Not this time, lad. Let’s keep moving.’
Gabbik looked over his shoulder and saw that Menghir and the rest of his warriors were continuing down the road without hesitation. A few of Gabbik’s clan had stopped, reacting to his halt, others were still following the dwarfs from the Lower Gate.
‘If it falls upon us when we’re not ready…’ Gabbik didn’t feel the need to explain further.
‘We got lucky last time,’ said Skraffi. He pointed down the mountain, to where Gabbik could see lantern lights like sparks in the twilight. ‘That’s the walls of the Lower Gate, lad. If we run now, we can make them before that thing catches up.’
With one more look at the wyvern, remembering teeth like swords and the wicked blade of the rider, Gabbik needed no further encouragement.
It was hard to stay relaxed and just let the road and mountainside sweep past knowing that at any moment a giant claw might close around him, but Gabbik managed to do just that. He breathed easily, almost resigning himself to whatever doom would come, neither hoping to reach safety nor fearful of being killed. In confronting his worst dread – the loss of his honour, not the wyvern – he had somehow come through and out the other side into a placid state of acceptance. Not fatalism, but a certain knowledge that what he was doing was the right thing and that he had given himself every chance of surviving. Knowing there was nothing else to do but run made his boots feel lighter and the road soft beneath them.
Another cry like the cawing of a gigantic crow shook Gabbik from his fugue. Sweat stung his scorched skin as he increased his pace, trying to listen for the telltale flap of wings, the scratch of claws on stone or perhaps the stentorian breathing of the monster bearing down on him. He dared not look back in case he lost his footing. Gabbik pumped his arms as though he was getting the last dregs from a barrel, mouth open to heave in as much air as possible.
Ahead the towers and ramparts that rose from the mountainside were alive with light. Lamps as big as dwarfs hung on chains from the parapets while a plethora of smaller lanterns were mounted on the ramparts.
Gabbik flinched as he heard something whistle overhead. It was only after a moment that he realised the sound had come from in front, not behind. It was repeated several times and he risked a look up to see iron shafts as long as the span of his arms hissing past overhead. Higher still, just about visible against the paling sky, boulders from stone throwers arced across the night.
A monstrous roar of pain greeted the fusillade, followed swiftly after by the crack and smash of stones hitting the road. Gabbik could see the war machine crews on the towers now, winching their engines around to track the incoming wyvern, while others hurriedly reloaded massive darts and wound down the arms of mangonels and trebuchets.
A heartening cheer welled up from the crowds of dwarfs thronging the battlements and turrets. Banners fluttered defiantly in the night air and golden icons gleamed in the flickering light of the lanterns and torches. Gabbik risked a quick peek behind, just long enough to see the wyvern no more than fifty paces behind him, dropping quickly, half a dozen shafts jutting from its chest, neck and shoulders.
Another hail of bolts hissed past and the following cheer was even more raucous. Gabbik saw the other dwarfs around him slowing, turning to look back, and he did likewise.
The wyvern was grounded, one wing broken, blood streaming from scores of cuts, its crest mangled by boulder impacts. Another trio of shafts slammed into the creature, punching into the flesh of its neck with sprays of blood and shattered scales.
As the wyvern slumped forward, its long, battered face crashed into the flagstones. The orc leapt from the back of the dying monster. Gabbik stood looking in awe at the huge greenskin coming towards him; in truth its skin was so dark as to be almost black. A baleful energy gleamed from its bared blade and its red eyes were filled with raw hatred.
With a crash that made Gabbik jump, a stone the size of a small shed landed on the orc, smearing blood, bone and pieces of armour across the splintered paving of the road.
With a last plaintive roar the wyvern shuddered heavily, raised its head one final time and then fell dead, rolling to its side. Gabbik watched it for some time, to make sure it was truly deceased, before he started walking towards it. Wyvern scales were highly prized by runesmiths and armourers, and its teeth would fetch a little coin too. If anybody was entitled to a cut of the proceeds, it was Gabbik.
‘Hoi! Where are you going?’ Gabbik looked back to see Menghir gesturing wildly at him.
‘It’s all right,’ Gabbik called back. ‘It’s dead.’
‘That one is!’
Gabbik wasn’t sure what Menghir meant by that until he saw that the war engines on the walls were in motion again, turning southwards and angling up. He followed their aim to see more gigantic shapes blotting out the stars.
The other two wyverns.
Spurred by this fresh threat, he turned and sprinted down the road. The Lower Gate was open and a sea of dwarfs pressed into the gap, cheered and urged on by their kin on the walls and gatehouses above. Gabbik was one of the last to go through, casting one more glance along the road. In the pre-dawn grey he could see little of the foot of the mountain, save for a living shadow, an ocean of warriors and beasts that swept over the foothills like a violent tide.
For the second time that night he stumbled over the threshold of the Lower Gate, grateful to hear the thud of the huge wooden portals closing and the clang of bars and locks being set into place.
The hall was awash with dwarfs, both newly arrived and those that waited for them. Skraffi emerged from the scrum and hugged his son, causing Gabbik to wince.
‘We made it!’ Skraffi declared.
Menghir joined them, grabbing Gabbik’s free hands in both of his to shake it vigorously.
‘Well done, Gabbik, well done!’ Menghir let go and pointed across the milling crowd, towards a pole hung with a silver bearded face above a bronze representation of a lightning bolt. ‘And look, the messengers reached my father in time. He’s brought his guard back from Gundak Karazin. We should be able to hold the Lower Gate without much trouble now.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
‘Unknown to Grimbalki and his friends, his younger brother was not faring so well. His mine at Ankor-Drakk was drying up and after the Great Eastering most of the demand for the goods of his people was gone as well. King Grimbalki would never trade, and taxes from the road dropped because everything going to Garudak’s brother went by the southern rou
te.
He might have been able to turn his fortunes around, but he was not well liked by the Drakkanfolk at this point. When miners broke into a goblin lair and Ankor-Drakk was invaded, many of the dwarfs fled. Garudak stayed and insisted that the mine could hold, but he was killed in a battle with the goblins and the rest of his followers were forced out.
His son took his father’s name, and vowed that Ankor-Drakk would be retaken and he would rule, but suddenly it seemed that the power in the mountains had shifted firmly back to Grimbalki.’
‘The gates will never hold,’ declared Lord Garudak, staring with a sour expression over the rampart of the High Tower.
‘They have giants…’ muttered the king.
Haldora saw the truth of this. From her vantage point amongst the entourage of Erstukar at the pinnacle of the fortifications overlooking the Lower Gate she could see south almost all of the way down to the wildlands, and if she turned around and looked east she could see a good portion of the pass leading up to the East Gate and the Second East Gate.
What she could see was a cause of some dismay, though she did not give in to it. The orcs had split into three distinct armies, heading to the western, southern and eastern roads. The greater portion of the horde seemed to be coming directly towards the Lower Gate, a host at least forty thousand strong. As yet the enemy were too distant and the morning light not yet strong enough to discern details, but it was clear there were several larger figures moving amongst the others, several times taller than any orc, troll or ogre. And of these last two types of creature there appeared to be a goodly number as well.
‘This is not coincidence,’ Prince Rodri growled. ‘This is an alliance of dark forces forged by some knowing mind.’
‘Do not attribute to intelligence that which can be readily explained by raw malice.’ Everybody turned at the sound of Nordok Stormhammer’s voice. ‘All creatures of darkness from the smallest goblin to the greatest giant have cause to despise our kind. It was us that drove them from the old mountains and scoured the plains and hills of their ilk. Such spite as we see today is the product of hundreds of years of resentment and bile building until it can no longer be dammed.’
