The Great Betrayal (34 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

War Counsel

No decision ever
made by a dwarf came easily. One that must be debated by a dynasty of dwarf kings was near impossible to reach a consensus over.

Debate raged in the Great Hall. Tempers were fraying after the news of Agrin Fireheart’s death had got out. The High King had made no attempt to conceal it, but the furore it had created was increasing the number of worry lines upon his brow tenfold.

All of the kings from the brodunk were there. Thagdor had also travelled from his encampment to be at the council. Only Bagrik, who had long since returned to Karak Ungor, was absent. There were other nobles of the dwarf realms, of course: the lodewardens of Mount Gunbad and Silverspear, too busy at their mineholds; the southern kings of Drazh and Azul, too distant. Both Brugandar and Hrallson had sent emissaries for the rinkkaz, both of whom had returned to their holds and not attended the brodunk. There was no time to request the presence of them or their liege-lords. The same was also true of Karak Varn and its king, Ironhandson. Fledging holds, those of the Black Mountains and Grey Mountains, would also not be present and so the decision whether or not to make war with the elves would be decided by but a few.

The King of Zhufbar was unperturbed by that and took his opportunity to speak eagerly.

‘We must fight the elgi. What other choice do we have now?’ Thagdor asked of them all. ‘Dead merchants, theft and thagi across the length and breadth of the Karaz Ankor. Settlements burned, and now rhun lords slain by sorcery. What’s next? Besiegement of our holds and lands? Will I wake up tomorrow from my bed to find a host of elgi outside my gates?’ The King of Zhufbar paused for breath. ‘I bloody won’t. I’ll kill the sods before it comes to that.’

Luftvarr thumped his chestplate, declaring, ‘Elgi cannot be allowed to stay in the Old World. I have warriors, two thousand strong, ready with
az un klad
to kill the elgi traitors!’

The Norse king’s declaration was met with rousing approval from Brynnoth who burned with retribution for the slaying of his runelord, but it was Varnuf who spoke up next.

‘None of us want war with the elgi…’ he began, waving off protests from the more belligerent kings, but eyeing Gotrek in particular, ‘but anything less would be seen as weakness on our part now.’

Brynnoth tugged at his beard, unable to say much of anything. His eyes said enough. He wanted blood.

‘We should not be hasty,’ counselled Aflegard, tucking his thumbs into the jewelled braces he wore across his paunch. ‘I can spare no warriors for war, and it would be unwise to attack the elgi before we know who the perpetrators of Agrin Fireheart’s death were.’

Grundin stepped in to cut off some of the more pugnacious kings before they could voice further tirades. ‘For once, I find myself in agreement with the ufdi king. He’s thinkin’ aboot his purse, though–’ Grundin snapped. ‘Ah, shut it ya wazzock!’ before Aflegard could open his mouth to deny it. ‘We all know ye trade with the elgi. Am no sayin’ you’re a traitor or even an elgongi, just a miserly bastard, protectin’ his hoard.’ The King of Karak Izril looked far from placated but Grundin ignored him so he could carry on. ‘But I dinny think we should be killin’ elgi fer no good cause. Ach, I know that Agrin lies cold. Dreng tromm, I know it, but I canny see how declaring war on the pointy-eared wee bastards is ginny change that.’

Brynnoth glared, unconvinced and swung his murderous gaze over to the High King, who so far had only listened.

‘Trade with the elgi ends. Now,’ Gotrek declared to all. ‘We shut our borders to them until such a time as the fighting stops and we can return to the negotiation table.’

‘Negotiation,’ said Thagdor, brandishing his fist. ‘I’ll negotiate with the buggers at the end of my chuffing axe, I will.’ He shook his head and the copper cogs attached to his beard jangled. ‘There can be no treating with these elgi, none at all. I won’t do it,’ he said, folding his arms as if that was an end to the matter.

‘See this?’ Gotrek brandished a slender note in his meaty fist, the parchment too thin and smooth to have been made by a dwarf. ‘Written by the hand of a prince and brought to mine by a bird,’ he said. ‘Can you imagine such a thing? How different are we, the elgi and the dawi?’ He laughed without genuine humour. ‘As mud is to the sky, I have heard said behind our backs. This Prince Imladrik is an honourable warrior and ambassador to his king. He claims another race did this.’ He paused to read a word from the note, finding the pronunciation difficult. ‘
Druchii
.’

‘What is this
druchii
?’ asked Thagdor, unconvinced.

None of the kings were.

‘A darkling elgi,’ said Gotrek, unsure himself. ‘Some murderous but distant kinsman, bent on mischief. I do not know.’

‘Elgi is elgi!’ snapped Grundin. ‘Ach, the pointy-eared bastards will say anything to save their silk-swaddled arses.’

Mutters of approval from the other kings greeted the lord of Kadrin’s outburst.

‘There was betrayal here,’ said Gotrek to quieten the murmurs of his vassal lords, eyeing Brynnoth in particular, ‘and mark me that retribution will be meted out, but I cannot sanction war against all elgi on account of the deeds of a few, especially when there is any doubt.’

‘You may not be able to stop it,’ answered Varnuf dangerously.

Gotrek swung his gaze onto the King of Eight Peaks. ‘Speak your mind plainly, Varnuf,’ he told him, his voice level and laden with threat. His knuckles cracked as he seized the arms of his throne.

‘Forces already muster north of Karaz-a-Karak.’ His eyes widened and a slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, barely visible beneath his long beard. ‘And they are making ready to march.’

‘Aye,’ said Aflegard, ignorant of what was happening between the other two kings, ‘and I’ve heard talk of elgi laying siege to the skarrens too.’

‘Ach, that’s a lot of shite,’ said Grundin, scowling at the effete dwarf. ‘You would jump at your own shadow, ufdi.’

Aflegard was puffing up his chest, about to reply, when the High King bellowed.

‘Silence! Both of you.’ He glared, then returned his gaze to Varnuf. ‘Any vassal lord of mine who marches on the elgi will be answerable to me, whether these so-called
druchii
exist or not. Is that plain enough?’

The mood around the Great Hall was fractious. The kings did not look keen to submit easily. Varnuf had read it well and chose then as his moment to act.

‘Dawi lie dead and you ask us to do nothing,’ he said. ‘What will stopping trade achieve? How will shutting our borders and roads stop the killing? It will not. It will send a message to the elgi that we are soft, that they can kill our kith and kin, and that we will let them.’ He stood up to address the gathering. ‘I won’t stand by and allow murder and destruction to continue in my lands, our lands, without response.
Our
lands,’ he reaffirmed, nodding to all, ‘not theirs, not the elgi’s.’ He looked at Gotrek, who glowered, and pointed a beringed finger at the High King. ‘When you vanquished the urk and grobi–’ Varnuf bared his teeth, revelling in the bloody memories, ‘–rendered them so low that they would never threaten our kingdoms again, I would have followed you into the frozen north itself. A king of kings sat upon the Throne of Power then. He did not fear war. He was stone and steel with the wisdom of Valaya upon his brow, Grimnir’s strength in his arm and Grungni’s dauntless courage.’

There was regret in Varnuf’s eyes and hurt too, as if from a sense of betrayal. ‘Now, all I see before me is a scared dawi who no longer has the stomach for a fight. What value has peace, if it is bought and paid for with our deaths?’

A shocked murmur ran around the chamber like a flame as each of the kings shuffled back. Alone of all them, Varnuf stepped forwards. He had unhitched the hammer from his belt.

Gotrek was already on his feet and had done the same. He knew what was coming and couldn’t help but think back to what his son had said to him all those nights ago in this very hall.

‘Speak the words then. Do it now or by Grungni I shall descend from this throne and crack open your skull, Varnuf of the Eight Peaks.’

Varnuf did not just speak the words, he snarled them. ‘Let it be known that on this day, Varnuf of Eight Peaks did pronounce grudgement on Gotrek of Karaz-a-Karak.’

Aflegard stifled a gasp, but only so Grundin wouldn’t clout him for it.

The others looked on solemnly, waiting for the High King’s answer.

‘So be it.’ Gotrek unclasped the cinctures and torcs binding his beard, unfurling it like a belt of cloth as he stepped from the dais of his throne and onto the chamber floor.

Vanruf had done the same. Like Gotrek he had also removed his crown.

Both dwarfs wore no armour beyond that which was ceremonial and had no war helms either. Their hammers were not runic, but they were well fashioned from hewn stone and could crack bone easily enough.

Thurbad was not present, so Gotrek turned to another ally to officiate.

‘Grundin, come forth,’ he said, gripping the full thickness of his beard in one meaty hand and proffering it to the northern king. ‘Bind us,’ he said, staring into Varnuf’s eyes as he too gave Grundin his beard.

‘You two are proper wazzocks…’ muttered the King of Karak Kadrin.

‘Tie it tight,’ said Gotrek, the leather grip of his hammer creaking in his clenched fist.

Grudgement was a solemn oath pledged by kings and lords. It was a trial by combat and could also end in death, though no dwarf would ever condone the slaying of his own. This was a matter of honour and for such things a dwarf would shed blood, even kill if necessary. By the binding of beards did both combatants commit to the fight. There could be no flight, though some had tried only to end up with their brains dashed upon rock or their necks severed by a heavy-bladed axe. Only death or the cutting of the beard bond, the
trombaraki,
could end such a duel.

‘Hammers then,’ muttered Varnuf, swinging a few half circles to loosen up his shoulder.

‘Aye, hope you have a harder head than you look.’

‘Hope yours is not as soft as your stomach,’ Varnuf bit back.

Once grudgement was declared and accepted rank and station counted for naught. Two dwarfs entered this deadly compact and only one would be standing at the end of it. Alive or dead was at the victor’s discretion.

Tired of talking, Gotrek nodded to Grundin. The northern king backed away and so grudgement could begin. All the kings had done the same, leaving a small arena for the two dwarfs to fight in.

‘It’s not too late, Gotrek. Relinquish your throne and I will take us into this war.’

‘You’re a damn arrogant fool, Varnuf. And there can be no backing out, not once grudgement is pronounced. But you can do me one favour…’

‘Name it, your tongue may be incapable of speech after I’m done with you.’

‘Stop talking and swing. I have a kingdom to protect.’

Varnuf roared, yanking on his beard and dragging Gotr
ek towards him. His blow glanced the shoulder of the High King, who grunted but was unbowed, planting his hammerhead into the other king’s gut. Beer breath exploded violently from Varnuf’s mouth and he almost retched, but managed to smack his haft against the High King’s nose.