Holding Morgrim’s gaze, Snorri slowly nodded and then looked across to the killing field where a host of broken shields, shattered helms and axe hafts remained. Both sides had allowed the other clemency to remove their dead but the earth was soaked with blood that would not be so easy to excise. And amidst all of this carnage, Tor Alessi still stood like a defiant rock in the storm.
‘They are harder than they look,’ Snorri conceded.
‘Aye,’ Morgrim agreed, following the prince’s eye.
‘Gather the other kings,’ said Snorri. ‘We need a different strategy.’
‘Such as?’
‘What we should have done when we first got here. Lay siege.’
The prince’s decision was met with unanimous approval. Even King Brynnoth, whose eagerness to kill elves hadn’t lessened much since Kor Vanaeth, was in agreement. The dwarfs would do what they did best; they would wait.
For the rest of the day, whilst blacksmiths repaired armour and weapons, healers tended and the victuallers and brewmasters kept the army fed, bands of rangers ventured into the nearby forests. They returned with cartloads of wood and at once the dwarf engineers and craftsmen began to fashion battering rams and siege towers. Raw iron had been brought from the holds for just such a purpose and once they were done with arming the clans, the blacksmiths began labouring to reinforce the wooden siege engines. Stout ladders were made too, along with broad, metal-banded pavises and mantlets for the quarrellers.
Every dwarf in the throng had a trade and every dwarf was put to the task. Unlike most armies who possessed dedicated labour gangs to achieve such a feat, barring the warrior brotherhoods dwarfs could call upon their entire host and so the engines went up quickly. From their tents and around the flickering glow of cook fires came the sound of deathsong, sombre on the breeze. For their enemies or themselves, the sons of Grungni accepted either.
It put Nadri in a grimmer mood than in the aftermath of the battle. He hadn’t seen Werigg amongst the dead, and barely knew the old warrior anyway. Yet it burdened him, especially the callousness of his death. Seeking to stymie his grief, Nadri had looked to other tasks to occupy his mind. His father, Lodri, was a miner and lodewarden. He knew rock and metal, and had passed some of that knowledge on to his sons. The ex-merchant, a trade to which he doubted he would ever return, was hammering the roof of a battering ram when a voice intruded on his thoughts.
‘Stout work.’
Nadri kept labouring, carefully beating the plates with a mallet and then using a hammer to drive in the iron nails that secured to its frame.
‘I said stout work.’
Looking up, Nadri reddened at once when he saw it was Prince Snorri Lunngrin addressing him, his retainers and bodyguards close by.
‘It’ll need to be to turn those elgi arrows, but thank you, my liege.’
‘I saw you at Kor Vanaeth, didn’t I?’
‘You have a sharp eye, my liege. Yes, I fought at the gate.’
Snorri seemed to appraise him. ‘You’re not a warrior, though.’
‘No, my liege. I am a merchant but took up az and klad to fight the elgi for my king.’
‘And you shall be remembered for it. What’s your name, dawi?’
‘Nadri Lodrison, my liege. Of the Copperfist clan.’
‘Tell me, Nadri, do you have any kin, a rinn or beardlings back at the Sea Hold?’
‘A brother only, my liege. Heglan. My father died during the urk purges of your father, Gotrek Starbreaker the High King.’
At mention of the name, the prince visibly stiffened.
‘He does not fight, your brother?’
‘He’s an engineer, my liege, fashioning war machines for the army of Barak Varr.’
That was a lie as far as Nadri knew but he saw no reason to reveal that Heg was trying to build a flying ship. Unless the master of engineers had discovered his workshop and then he might be toiling in the mines instead. A sudden pang of regret tightened Nadri’s stomach at the thought of his brother, but he was glad too, glad Heg didn’t have to endure all of this. At least not yet. ‘And I would dearly like to see him again,’ he added in a murmur.
Snorri nodded, genuinely moved by such fraternity. ‘You will, Nadri. The elgi will break against our siegecraft and the war will be over. Grungni wills it, Grimnir demands it and Valaya will protect us throughout.’
‘Tromm, my liege.’ Nadri bowed his head, whilst the prince echoed him and continued on his tour of the siege works.
‘I just hope I am alive to see it,’ he whispered when the prince was gone, and returned to his hammering.
‘It was a good idea to tour the ranks,’ Morgrim muttered in Snorri’s ear.
‘Aye, there’s not only pride that needs salving after a beating like that.’
The dwarfs were passing through a throng of blacksmiths’ tents, and the air was pleasingly redolent of ash and smoke. The ring of metal against anvil was soothing and brought with it a small measure of home.
Only Drogor seemed unmoved. ‘Were we beaten, though?’ he asked. ‘I see dead elgi littering the outskirts of the city, not just dawi.’
Morgrim grew belligerent. ‘We were bloodied, kinsman. Badly.’
The three were accompanied by one of the hearthguard, a flame-haired brute called Khazagrim, who bristled as he remembered the battle. Otherwise, he was silent and only present to protect the prince against elven assassins, should any try to kill him.
‘It didn’t look like defeat to me,’ said Drogor.
‘I didn’t say we were defeated. I–’
‘Enough bickering,’ Snorri sighed. ‘The elgi city stands, and we must find a way to bring it down. Simple as.’
They left the forging tents and came upon the edge of the camp where the war machines were covered under tarp and chained down. It was an impressive battery of machineries. Heavy stones lay piled in stout buckets, thick bolts were lashed together with rope
