Nick Kyme - The Great Betrayal

Gotrek put the slate down, still staring at the Khazalid engraved upon it.

In the end, Thagdor broke the silence.

‘Well this is what we’ve been waiting for,’ he said. ‘Not since this bloody war began has the elgi king shown his pointy ears. Now, we have a chance to kill the bastard and send the rest of ’em running for their ships.’

Brugandar was nodding. ‘I agree. This is a mistake, born out of elgi arrogance. We must seize upon it.’

Gotrek wasn’t listening. He turned to Thurbad, who was waiting dutifully behind him.

‘Did the runner say if my son had already left the keep?’

‘Two days ago, my king. He marches with his cousin and most of the garrison.’

‘So, we won’t reach him before he gets to Angaz Baragdum.’ Gotrek knew the answer before it was given, and didn’t care that his face betrayed all of his concern for his errant son.

‘No, my king. We will not.’

A horn blared in one of the lower deeps. Its doleful echo carried all the way to the Great Hall, signalling the miners to the rockface. To Gotrek, it sounded like a death knell.

Had he believed his cousin would listen, Morgrim would have told Snorri to wait. True, the rift with his father had scabbed and healed over the last few years but the young prince was still convinced the only way to achieve the great destiny he so craved was to seize it for himself.

Slay the drakk, become king .

He had spoken of little else since word had come to Black Fire Pass that the elf king was in the Old World and marshalling an army.

‘I am surprised,’ said Snorri, marching at the head of an army twenty thousand strong.

‘Cousin?’ asked Morgrim, from Snorri’s left. Drogor, ever dutiful and silent, was on his right holding up the banner.

‘That Elmendrin is not here to dissuade me.’

There was hope in the prince’s voice, not that the priestess would convince him not to fight the elf king but that she would be there before he did to see it.

‘She would not wish this for you,’ Morgrim answered.

‘Of course she would. Elmendrin understands legacy and its importance. I don’t want to usurp my father, I just want to ease the burden of kingship from his shoulders. Ending this war will let me do that.’

‘Twenty years ago we were going to end this war, cousin. Seems we only started it, though.’

‘Aye,’ Snorri sighed. The attack on Kor Vanaeth had been rash, but necessary. ‘But it was right that we did. Kill or capture the elf king and the war ends, though, Morg. That I know.’

‘Do you wish she was here, Elmendrin I mean?’ Morgrim asked.

Most of the Valayans had returned to Everpeak after the third siege. A handful remained at the keep, but Elmendrin was needed back at the capital.

Snorri nodded. ‘It would have been good to see her again, but her brother takes up much of her time these dark days.’

At this, Morgrim looked down. All who had returned from the ambassadorial mission to Ulthuan had come back with deep scars. None more so than Forek Grimbok, and even then not all had made it. Gilias Thunderbrow was dead, slain through elven treachery. Morgrim thought this must trouble Forek the most. Few dwarfs had seen him since he had come back. In fact only the High King and his closest advisors knew where the shamed dwarfs were now, and the priestess who ministered to them of course.

‘I knew she was there, you know,’ said Snorri.

‘Where, cousin?’

‘At the first siege. I saw you talking with her as she tended the wounded.’

Morgrim frowned. ‘And you wait until now to mention it?’

Snorri shrugged. ‘Seemed as good a time as ever. Besides, we have been busy.’

The war had thrust the cousins apart for the last few years. Ever since the end of the first siege and the retreat, both Snorri and Morgrim had returned to their clans to prepare further musters. The elves had surprised them with their discipline and the size of their armies. Not content to merely soak up the dwarfs’ punishment, the elves had gone on the offensive. Several lesser holds had been attacked, particularly in the south. Most notably Karak Azul had sustained serious damage to its some of its upper deeps during one assault. King Hrallson was still refortifying his walls and sealing off the damaged areas, which had become infested with greenskins and giant rats, if the rumours were to be believed.

Morgrim had gone south to bring reinforcement, and turned back the elf army camped on Azul’s doorstep so its clans could return to their forges and fashion the engines and armour the dwarf war effort so badly needed. Snorri had greeted him warmly upon his return, but couldn’t entirely conceal his jealousy at his cousin’s success.

Now, it seemed he was just glad to have him back at his side.

‘What did she say to you in the field of the dead, Morg?’ he asked.

Morgrim snorted with amusement. ‘She asked me to try and keep you alive.’

Snorri clapped him on the back. ‘Well, you’ve done your task well then.’ He laughed. ‘Do you ever wish we were back in the ruins of Karak Krum chasing talking rats, eh?’

Morgrim laughed too but stopped when he saw the seriousness in his cousin’s eyes. ‘Every day,’ he muttered soberly.

Snorri slowly nodded.

‘Lords,’ Drogor interrupted. ‘The Angaz Baragdum is over the next hill. We should be able to see the elgi throng arrayed.’

‘And they us,’ noted Snorri, signalling a halt. He turned to one of his rangers, who was outriding at the edge of the army. ‘Any sign?’ he called.

‘The skies are clear, Prince Snorri.’

‘No eagles, that’s a good thing,’ Snorri said to himself.

Morgrim drew close to him as the dwarf column ground to a halt with a clattering of armour. ‘Are you certain of this plan?’

‘Arrogance has brought the elgi king to this place. He must be made to realise the folly of that, and when he does he cannot be allowed to escape. For the same reason we strike now and do not wait, you must do what I’ve asked you to next.’ Snorri smiled, gripping Morgrim’s armoured shoulder with his gauntleted hand. ‘Do not fear, cousin. Drogor is by my side. Neither I nor the banner will fall this day.’

Not entirely convinced, Morgrim summoned his warriors. He gave Drogor a parting glance but could find no clue as to the Karak Zorn dwarf’s thoughts. His own were fraught with concern that he would not be there to temper the prince’s eagerness. Certainly, Drogor would not do it.

Half the army would go with Morgrim. Sheltered by the foothills, they would take the wide and rugged path east, come around the back of the enemy and close off any route of escape. Dwarfs knew the mountains better than anyone; they could sneak up on elves easily enough. It would leave Snorri with only ten thousand to face whatever host the elf king had amassed. According to their scouts, it was considerable.

Before he left, he said to Snorri, ‘Hold them until I get there, cousin. Hold them and only then engage the king.’

‘Aye.’ Snorri grinned. ‘I’ll cut off his pointy-eared little head.’

The Spilling of Noble Blood

No ceremony, no celebration of any kind had greeted the army of Barak Varr when it had returned to the Sea Hold. Led by Brynnoth, a battered and brutalised king, the dwarfs were a returning tide, washing up on the borders of the great fastness with all the detritus that had survived the siege of the elven city.

No, as Heglan remembered that day, just as he had remembered it every day since, it was more like a funeral procession. All along the Merman Pass, trailing back down to the shipyards many miles behind, were dour-looking clanners shouldering biers of shields the colour of the ocean. Upon them were their fallen brothers. And there had been a great many. At first, Heglan had hoped some of the warriors had remained with the High King to garrison the lesser citadels but the mood was too sombre, too withdrawn and bereft of hope for that to be true. A defeated force had returned to Barak Varr, carrying its dead. But they clung to something else too, a very familiar emotion to Heglan now — vengeance.