She had seen an army outside her city. Others would come, compelled by greed. Though her desire to return and take out her anger on the dwarfs was strong, she resisted. The other cities would need to be warned.
Tor Alessi was the greatest of them, so she would go there first.
Urging Vranesh, she tried to push the images of Kor Vanaeth from her mind but they burned, just as the city had burned, and would not fade.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
A Shaming
They were ugly creatures, the king decided.
Bulbous noses, ruddy cheeks, their jutting foreheads and brutish feet. Every cobble-booted step as they walked down the long aisle towards the throne put his teeth on edge. And the smell… Caledor held a pomander up to his nose to smother the worst of it. Sadly, it could not hide the dirt or hair of the beasts.
Caledor could easily believe they lived in holes in the ground.
So incongruous in his pristine hall, amongst the fluted archways and pale stone. The throne room of the palace at Lothern was so smooth and perfect. These dwarfs – even the name was lumpen – were just… gnarled.
He leaned over in his throne.
‘They seem humbled,’ he remarked, considering the sober expression of the one in front. Like the rest, he had a long plaited beard which was no doubt crawling with lice and other vermin. ‘Do they seem humbled to you, brother?’
Imladrik was standing beside the throne, one hand on the hilt of Ifulvin, the other behind his armoured back. Though he wasn’t wearing a helmet, his face was hard as steel as if masked by one.
‘They look proud to me. Defiant.’
Caledor shook his head. He wore robes, white as swan feather with a gold trim, and reclined like a dilettante. No effort had been made to adopt the mantle of the warrior king. In fact, since the dwarf vessel had found its way into the harbour of Lothern, little effort had been made at all.
Ushered from the city to the Phoenix King’s court, few words beyond those which were necessary had been exchanged. A cohort of spearmen had shadowed the dwarf ambassador and his small retinue, the rest of the dwarfs staying behind with their crude-looking ship.
Word had come from the High King, brought by eagle riders, that he wished to parley. Amused, Caledor had granted his request. Less than two weeks later, the dwarfs had arrived. A fast crossing across the Great Ocean. Apparently, they had navigated its many perils through the efforts of their veteran captain and a dwarf wizard of some description. His mages had dismissed the feat as hedge magic, or some baser sorcery, but the fact remained that they had penetrated the veils and reached Ulthuan as swiftly as any elf vessel.
‘I think they looked humbled,’ Caledor reasserted, ‘even grovelling.’ He reached for his goblet, supping deeply and regarding the approaching dwarfs over its gilded rim.
There were six in total. Five were warriors, armed and armoured despite Imladrik’s protests to the contrary, but one carried no weapon and wore a tunic and cloak. Obviously, this was their ambassador. He clutched a letter in his grubby little hands.
As the dwarf delegation came to within ten feet of the throne, Imladrik raised his hand and a line of spearmen stepped between them.
‘That’s far enough,’ he said.
Caledor waved him down.
‘Nonsense!’ he cried. ‘Let them come closer. Is this any way to treat guests of our court?’
If the dwarfs understood his mocking tone, none of them showed it.
Pausing in his theatre for a moment, Caledor looked to Hulviar who was standing on the opposite side to Imladrik.
‘They can understand us, can’t they, Hulviar?’ he muttered.
‘My lord,’ one of the dwarfs spoke up.
The ambassador stepped forwards as the line of spearmen parted. He bowed.
‘I can speak elven, if only rudimentarily.’
Caledor snorted, laughed. His eyebrows arched incredulously.
‘Then you are a clever pig, aren’t you?’
The ambassador became indignant. ‘I am no pig, my lord.’
‘You dig holes in mud where you then live, and protest you are not swine?’ Caledor smiled haughtily. ‘Intriguing. What do you make of my court?’ he asked, gesturing expansively to the columns of white marble decorated with statues of griffons rampant, brooding dragons and majestic eagles. Banners and tapestries hung along the walls, which were punctuated by fist-sized rubies and sapphires. It was austere, but it was also magnificent.
‘A fine antechamber, my lord.’
A nerve trembled in Caledor’s cheek, the king unable to tell if the dwarf was now mocking him.
‘Is your sty so much grander then?’
‘I am no pig,’ the ambassador repeated. ‘I am Forek Grimbok, dawi of Karaz-a-Karak and representative of the High King.’ He brandished the letter. ‘And I bring his terms in this missive.’
Caledor arched an eyebrow, half distracted by drinking his wine. He drained the goblet and gestured to a nearby servant to bring another.
‘Terms?’ he said, focusing his full attention back on the dwarf.
‘Yes,’ said the ambassador. ‘For peace. That is why we are here. That is why we have travelled across the Great Ocean from the Old World.’
Caledor smiled, nodded. ‘Peace, is it? Where was this peace when Kor Vanaeth was attacked? Does your king have an answer for that in his letter?’
The ambassador struggled to hide his surprise. News about Kor Vanaeth had arrived only that morning, sent by Liandra Athinol, the city’s custodian.
‘It does not,’ admitted the dwarf. ‘Nor have I heard of such an attack.’
‘Burned to the very stone,’ said the king, dangerously.
Some of the other dwarfs shifted uncomfortably at the obvious change in mood. Several of
