Masters of Stone and Steel - Gav Thorpe & Nick Kyme

by Warhammer

  ‘What about the Outer Deeps?’ asked Gabbik, from just behind Skraffi. ‘The South Reaches? The Western Towers?’

  ‘All of the major gates will be defended,’ Menghir assured them. ‘Some of the further mine workings will be abandoned. When we leave the Lower Gate anyone in them will be isolated. Already families and vaults are being evacuated from the affected areas.’

  ‘And then what?’ demanded Stofrik.

  ‘What about the engines?’ asked Skraffi.

  Menghir looked at Stofrik first, frowning. ‘And then we continue to fight to defend our homes, Thane Stofrik, as the king commands. We cannot defeat this horde with one glorious battle. This will be a war of attrition, one that will be much better served in Ekrund proper with supplies and thicker gates.’

  Stofrik seemed mollified by this, but only just. He stomped away, grumbling for his clansdwarfs to go with him.

  ‘As for the engines,’ said Menghir, ‘that is a matter for which we are already prepared. Those not in imminent danger will be withdrawn. Those most at risk were chosen and set to those positions on purpose, for many bear the Rune of Immolation, so do not fear for them falling into green hands.’

  Engineers from the machines based upon the bastion came along the wall, seeking volunteers to help with the dismantling and carriage of their creations. Skraffi and the other Angboks set to with purpose under the direction of a guildmaster in a heavy black apron threaded with many engineering runes and soon they had the timbers, cables and fixtures of a mangonel shared between them, loaded on low trolleys or carried on their shoulders.

  ‘This is the right thing, isn’t it?’ asked Haldora, wheeling a barrow of wooden cogs beside Skraffi, who had a large loop of rope from left shoulder to right hip.

  ‘The king’s no fool,’ Skraffi told her. ‘There’s many that will not like it, I can tell you, but he’s the one that has to make the hard decisions. If Erstukar thinks it’s right, I’ll not argue.’

  ‘Easy enough for you eastfolk to say,’ said one of the dwarfs from the bastion’s garrison – a Lower Gater by clan. ‘It’s not your homes they’re throwing to the orcs to buy some time.’

  ‘Would you prefer it if the orcs broke through and rampaged everywhere?’ said Haldora. The dwarf shrunk back, mumbling something. ‘I’m sorry about your halls, but it sounds like the East Deeps are going to be sacrificed too, and we’re not even there to make sure our belongings are brought out safe.’

  ‘The Society will look after everyone’s hoards, right?’ said Gabbik, alarmed at the thought of goblins being given free run of the clan vaults. ‘Hedrigar will make sure everyone’s vaults are emptied, timely like.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ said Skraffi. ‘Some of my best mead recipes are in that vault.’

  ‘Your recipes?’ spluttered Gabbik. ‘It’s the family trove I’m worried about. What with the recent gold seam, we’ve been doing all right. We can’t let that get taken.’

  The crack of a detonation cut across the valley, drawing their attention back to the southerly ramparts. Greenskins had taken over a handful of fortifications, but the gates had been barred against them. Skraffi knew that rocks were being piled inside right at that moment, and rune-inscribed columns activated, readied to bring down the roof on any intruder that passed the enchanted wards.

  The explosion had come from a bolt thrower in one of the furthest towers. Nordok and his runesmiths were activating the Runes of Immolation, engraved into the war machines. Filled with magical energy, these explosive runes were created for just such an occurrence. A catapult exploded next, ripping through the greenskins clambering over the walls around it. More fiery blasts erupted along the flanks of the mountains, slaying greenskins by the score.

  As the last of the dwarfs on the bastion marched into the gatehouse, the Master Runes of Destruction were cast. Great blossoms of fire punctured the valley wall as sigils engraved into the foundations and stones of the defences unleashed more than a thousand years of accumulated magical energy. Like miniature volcanoes, each rune burst with fire and smoke, hurling broken rock and shattered masonry far down the valley, incinerating hundreds of goblins and orcs, scattering thousands more.

  The warlord was almost caught in one such detonation, but a flash of foresight and the powerful wings of its mount carried it to safety moments before the tower it had perched upon turned into a column of fire that scorched into the night, lighting the valley for more than a thousand paces in every direction.

  Blackened bodies littered the road, alongside the bloody smears of those crushed by falling rocks and the ammunition of the stone throwers. As many lay pierced by crossbow quarrel and bolt thrower. From the crumbling walls greenskins hewn down by axe and hammer spilled like waterfalls.

  Skraffi took a last look over the rampart – the bastion would be left standing and defended from the Lower Gate itself – and guessed that the orc and goblin dead numbered several thousand, just from one night’s fighting. A few thousand dead. Ten, twenty, maybe thirty times that number left. Even so, Skraffi was not despondent as he felt a tug on his arm and turned.

  ‘It feels like we’ve lost,’ Haldora said with a mournful look. Skraffi gave her his best smile of encouragement.

  ‘Nobody loses until they’re dead,’ he said, but as he took one last look at the horde – already swelling in number again, forging through the breaches towards the gates following the giants – he wasn’t sure if it was just pride talking.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ‘At this time, to show respect to the King of the Dragonbacks, boats from across the ocean arrived on the coast bearing emissaries from the elves.

  The elves claimed that the wildlands belonged to them, and that their prince, the famed Malekith himself, had helped clear the orcs from the plains. Grimbalki did not dispute this, but claimed no ownership of the wildlands anymore, having left the Urbarvornfolk many years earlier. He offered to send messages to the scattered villages and towers to ask if they minded the elves coming back, but the elves said not to bother – they could see there wasn’t much worth claiming in the wildlands after all.

  Grimbalki welcomed them to his stockade, though his abode was rough and not to their liking. He apologised for the starkness of his surrounds and explained that the palatial quarters in Ankor-Drakk were currently occupied by goblins.

  The elves offered to help the dwarfs clear the foul green things from their settlement, and since he had not asked for help, the king was keen to accept their assistance. Backed by battle mages and finest archers, the Drakkanfolk and Grimbalki’s men joined forces and retook Ankor-Drakk in four days and three nights of bloody fighting.

  The goblins had made a ruin of much of the stronghold, and on seeing this the elves declined further invitation to stay, saying that they had other business to attend to. And that was the last the Dragonback dwarfs saw of elves until they were fighting them in the war.’

  The wisdom of surrendering the Lower Gate, or at least the outer defences there, proved itself over the following days. Perhaps surprised by the ease of their victory, the orcs and goblins set to looting and destroying whatever they could find in the ruins of the towers and guard rooms, frequently fighting with each other over the meagre spoils. From the gatehouse proper the warlord was observed flying around on his wyvern trying to restore order, but as soon as the greenskin general’s attention was drawn elsewhere its minions started bickering again.

  Although many engines had been lost – as the king had been warned might happen – there were still several dozen catapult and bolt throwers left to rain down death from afar on any mob of greenskins that approached too closely to the bastion. The runesmiths served shifts to counter the enemy spells, thwarting the sorceries of the shaman and several magical goblin acolytes.

  It seemed as though with the bolt-like surprise of the orc attack weathered, Ekrund gave itself time for a breath and to take stock. The attacks to the east and west had reached the major gates, but the towers and other defences
were holding well. They were subjected to nightly assaults but the goblins and orcs had learnt to fear the accurate war machines during the day.

  Yet there was no complacency amongst the Ekrundfolk. They knew they had come close to disaster and only happenstance, or perhaps the guidance of the ancestors, had led the Angbok patrol into the path of danger to bring warning of the impending onslaught. While the orcs busied themselves despoiling and burning everything south of the bastion, the Angboks became minor celebrities as word of their adventure spread, along with the rumour that they were favoured somehow by the king and princes. Gabbik was keen to have any renown being offered, though he worked diligently to ensure Skraffi had as little contact as possible with others on account of his wild exaggerations concerning his personal feats during the Battle of Burned Tor, as it came to be known.

  Haldora found herself something of a curiosity too – on account of her clan but also her participation as a warrior. She insisted that she continue to walk the walls and serve guard duty at the inner gates with the others, and between their different duties she saw little of Nakka. It seemed that whenever she was coming back from the walls he was heading out or the other way around.

  Though they enjoyed their limited fame, some might think it notoriety, it came as a surprise to the Angboks when they received fresh summons from the king. Haldora, Skraffi and Gabbik did their best to smarten themselves up for the audience, but they were woefully aware – except perhaps Skraffi – of how grubby and stained they appeared. Friedra had done her best but there had been little enough time to wash bloodstained tunics, sharpen battle-dinted blades and polish gore-spattered mail.

  ‘The king’s a dwarf’s dwarf, he doesn’t care about a few bits of goblin stuck in your beard,’ Skraffi assured them as they were led into Lord Garudak’s chambers, where the king had taken up residence, his cousin ousted to the lower levels.

  The inner court was in attendance, surprising Haldora even more. She had assumed there would be a wider gathering, but aside from the king, princes, Gundraks and Angboks, there were a handful of retainers, Runelord Nordok, Thane Brekar and the advisors she had seen before. They were gathered about a table of food and drink, picking at berries, meats and cheeses. The king was standing over a platter heaped with different foodstuffs, a half-eaten duck leg in one hand.

  ‘Skraffi Angbok,’ said the king, eyes narrowing, letting the drumstick drop from his greasy fingers. ‘The prop bearer.’

  Haldora had no idea what this meant but it raised a wry smile on the lips of her grandfather. His smile faded as he turned his gaze on the advisors, who were all in various stages of dining.

  ‘The very same wagglebeard and wazzock,’ Skraffi replied.

  ‘Had we listened to your advice, Angbok, half the Ekrund throng would be heading across the wildlands to reclaim Karak Varn while goblins left their little turds in our halls.’ This was from Brekar. ‘Or did we misinterpret your addled rant?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Skraffi, ‘and maybe not. I did say danger was coming.’

  ‘While the past is often the seam we must labour upon, I am not interested in history at this moment,’ the king interjected. ‘If you recall, I sent out patrols and reinstated the garrisons of the Mingol-a-gazan. Had I not, the situation would have been far worse. As it is, the outer workings have been sacrificed, and I have no doubt that the Lower Gate will fall just as soon as our foes can be bothered to assault it.’

  ‘I still think that is no foregone conclusion,’ said Prince Rodri. ‘If you had left enough engines to defend the gates properly we could make the orcs pay for their gains more dearly.’

  ‘A mistake repeated is a double burden,’ cut in Nordok. ‘Your majesty, we have other matters to bring to bear.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Erstukar. A throne, one of several used when travelling about the hold, had been brought down to the chambers. The king settled on the red cushions, plate balanced with one hand on his gut. ‘Rodri is right in a sense. I would be a foolish zaki not to make the defence of the Lower Gate count for something. However, we cannot risk losing more machines to the next greenskin advance. I am convinced that we will need every engine we have for the defence of the main gates if we are to hold out until the colder weather.’

  ‘That is your intent, your majesty?’ asked Gabbik. ‘To endure as we can until winter loosens the grip of these orcs?’

  ‘Do you have an issue with that?’

  Gabbik shrunk back as though confronted by another wyvern. ‘Not at all, your majesty! Nothing was further from my mind. I was simply seeking clarification, your majesty, to make sure I had it straight.’

  The king looked at him for a while, caught between confusion and irritation. Eventually he continued. ‘I am led to believe that you have been responsible for some extraordinary exploits. The name Angbok is being spoken in high circles.’ Haldora wasn’t sure, but she thought there was a flicker of a look towards Prince Horthrad at that moment.

  ‘I assure you, your majesty, that we would not like to think we were being thought of as ufdut, not at all,’ Gabbik said quickly, thinking that Erstukar considered the clan to be boastful and vain. ‘It is not our intent to spread rumours or tell tales for the sake of false reputation.’

  ‘I thought no such thing,’ said Erstukar. He nodded at Haldora. ‘I have already heard a portion of what has happened first-hand, and it seems to me that there is something in the Angbok blood that lies deep and hidden at most times but springs forth in times of desperate need.’ The king looked at his advisors. ‘Did I not only earlier this day hear from my own captain of the halls, Thundred, about the astounding feats of Skraffi Angbok during the war with the elves? In particular, the slaughter of some seventeen of their finest swordmasters in one battle.’

  ‘I had a hangover, your majesty, and was not best pleased to be woken so roughly,’ said Skraffi, misunderstanding the king’s intent.

  ‘And now,’ Erstukar said without giving in to the distraction, ‘I hear that his son confronted a wyvern with nothing more than a signal flare and the fury of Grimnir.’

  ‘In all honesty, your majesty, I didn’t kill the wyvern,’ confessed Gabbik. ‘I just scared it off. I know some of the stories what have been going around say I killed it, but I never did no such thing.’

  ‘The killing was not the point,’ the king said gravely. He looked at the three of them in turn, stroking his beard. ‘It can be said, without fear of contradiction, that the Angboks are counted alongside the bravest dwarfs amongst all Ekrundfolk. You are an example to the other clans, of studious intent, industrious pride and fierce heart. All the qualities we value from Grungni, Grimnir and Valaya.’

  ‘There are tough times ahead,’ said Nordok, darting a look of impatience at the king, who had stopped to take a bite of a ham. ‘The orcs will do their worst, but waggling tongues and weak hearts are the greatest threat to Ekrund. The greenskins will run rampant through the Dragonbacks, burning farms, destroying the crops–’

  ‘My hives!’ gasped Skraffi.

  ‘–but we must show that we can endure this hardship while the orcs cannot. Surrendering the Lower Gate is the right thing to do, but we cannot have it look like a defeat. If the rest of the valley falls without a fight there will be mutterings and mumblings.’

  Nordok shook his head, and Haldora was left in no doubt how dire mumblings and mutterings could be. She knew herself the damage stray words could cause, having suffered them several times in recent days.

  ‘So we need some heroics,’ said the king, licking his fingers. ‘And that means some heroes.’

  ‘And a heroine,’ added Horthrad with a grin. ‘Don’t forget the heroine.’

  ‘Yes, heroines too,’ said Erstukar. ‘There’s many a maid and wife that’ll be needed to wield axe as well as pan in these coming battles.’

  ‘The Angboks?’ Gabbik looked horrified by the prospect, but Haldora’s chest swelled with pride, which considering the tight fit of her mail shirt was no easy feat.

 
; ‘What do we have to do?’ she asked, breathless with the thought.

  ‘A raid,’ said Nordok. ‘The orcs will bring their engines into range of the bastion. We’ve lost too many of our own for counter-battery attack, so we are mounting a night raid to burn and destroy as many of their machines as we can, to even the score, so to speak.’

  ‘Just us?’ Gabbik held up his hands. ‘We’ve done all right, against wolves and goblins, but I’m not sure the three of us could handle such a mission.’

  ‘Don’t forget the wyvern,’ Horthrad said with a smirk. ‘With just a signal flare.’

  ‘Behave yourself, Horthrad,’ snapped the king. ‘Of course it’s not just the three of you! I want you to be heroes, not corpses. Lord Garudak’s son, Menghir, will lead the sortie from one of the hidden doors the orcs have overlooked. Out, do some damage, and then back in again, all in the dark, with you right there to lend your expertise.’

  ‘Sorry, your majesty,’ said Haldora. ‘This is all very exciting, but why do you need us? There are plenty of more experienced warriors.’

  ‘Let’s be honest here,’ said Erstukar, making Haldora wonder if he had been dishonest before. ‘We all like a good story. Our people are going to need some good stories to keep up their spirits in the days to come. Never mind the food, think how bad morale will be if the beer starts running low! You three are perfect. Greybeard, thane and, um, daughter – warriors across the generations. You’ll have sagas written about you.’

  ‘You’re not changing your name to Ardent,’ muttered Gabbik, darting a warning look at Haldora. She blushed at the thought. The thane returned his attention to the king. ‘Is there, for instance, compensation for this kind of dangerous work?’