‘The elgi will not rest during the barrage. Come the dawn, when we attack, they’ll be tired. Weaker.’
‘Hmmm…’ The High King grumbled into his beard, then let the silence linger.
It was the Ancient who had once said, ‘In talks or negotiation of any kind, only speak when necessary and let silence be your greatest weapon. For in quietude your opponent’s tongue will reveal more than he wishes in seeking to fill it.’
Snorri knew the tactic, but spoke anyway.
‘Are they strictly necessary, father?’ He gestured to a small cadre of warriors at the side of the High King. At first, the prince had thought them to be hearthguard. Certainly, they wore the armour and trappings of these veterans. But even Thurbad amongst their ranks, the High King’s ever-present shadow, was not enough to persuade Snorri that these were not singular dwarfs of a different order.
There were seven in total, clad in gromril plate, wearing war helms with full-face masks and a mailed smock that went from armoured chin to chest, draped over the gorget like a beard of chain. No skin was visible on a single one, and for a moment the prince wondered if they were truly alive at all or some runic golems brought to life by Ranuld Silverthumb.
In the end, the High King revealed nothing and merely dismissed them with a nod.
Thurbad led the warriors out of the tent, and father and son were alone.
‘Attacking Tor Alessi alone was an unwise move,’ Gotrek uttered flatly.
Snorri bristled but held his temper again. ‘You were late.’
The High King made no such concession and bellowed, ‘And you are reckless! Starting a war without any thought to the consequences. Rushing in like a fool. You are a beardling playing at being a king, and I will have you kneel before me as your liege-lord.’ He sat up in his throne. ‘Do it now, or I’ll put you down myself.’
Snorri thought about protesting but saw the wisdom in bowing to his father and his king.
‘I acted for the benefit of the Karaz–’
‘No! You acted for your own self-interest, Snorri. You attacked a city, destroyed it, and threw us into war.’
Snorri glared, unprepared to capitulate completely. ‘War was inevitable, father. I merely struck first.’
‘I forbade you.’ Gotrek was on his feet, two steps down from his throne. ‘And you mustered an army. And you played on Brynnoth’s grief, drew him and three other kings into this.’ He shook his head, snarled. ‘I daresay Thagdor and the rest were easily convinced.’
‘They saw as I did.’
‘And they’ll be punished for that. Grudges laid down in blood.’ Taking a long pull of black beer, Gotrek exhaled an exasperated breath. He sat back down again, wiped his beard. ‘By seeking to unite the clans, you have divided us.’
Snorri frowned, confused. ‘But now you’ve declared war, the dawi are one.’
‘Because of you, I have to sanction four of my vassal lords. If you were not my son, I would have killed you for such a transgression.’
Snorri got to his feet, and the High King roared.
‘Don’t defy me further. Kneel down!’
‘I will not, father!’ He thumped his chest. ‘I regret nothing. Nothing! You’ve grown old sitting in that chair. Peace has softened you, made you weak. We’ve already been invaded, our holds and borders both. The skarrens flourish, their king mocks you, and we ignore it. I was wrong about the war, about it being inevitable. We were already at war, a war of wills. Ours versus the elgin’s…’ Snorri’s tone became pleading, ‘and we were losing, father.’
The prince let his arms drop to his sides. He lifted his chin, pulling aside his beard to expose his neck.
‘So, do as you will. But I didn’t divide the holds or the clans. You did, when you put the crown of Karaz upon your head and did nothing. Kill me, if the Dammaz Kron demands it.’
Gotrek’s fists were clenched like anvils, his chest heaved like a battering ram. Wrath like the heart of Karag Vlak boiled within him.
‘I cannot,’ he growled through a shield wall of teeth.
‘Come, do it! If that is your will, but promise me you’ll destroy these elgi and drive them from the Old World.’
‘I cannot!’ he snapped, standing.
Snorri took three paces until he was before his father at the foot of the Throne of Power.
‘Why, father? Mete out your retribution.’
‘I cannot,’ he hissed.
‘Why?’
‘Because I cannot lose my only son!’ The anger died as quickly as it had erupted and the High King sagged, his face a fractured mask of weariness and remembered pain. ‘Your mother, my queen, is dead, and when she passed half my heart went with her, dreng tromm.’
Releasing a shuddering breath, Gotrek gripped Snorri’s shoulder. Tears glistened in his eyes. The High King’s voice came out in a rasp.
‘I am afraid. This war will destroy us if we let it. I fear it will destroy you too…’
‘Father…’
They embraced, and the bad blood between them drained away.
‘I’m sorry, father. I should not have defied you. Dreng tromm, I should not–’
‘Enough, Snorri.’ Gotrek held Snorri’s face in his hands. He clasped his neck, bringing their heads together, and closed his eyes. ‘It doesn’t matter now. I have been a poor father. I tried to teach you, but was over harsh. I can see that now. I am an old fool, who almost forgot he had a son.’ He pulled back, meeting Snorri’s gaze. ‘We will break the elgi together, and take back the Old World.’
Snorri nodded, wiping away tears with the back of his hand.
‘Now,’ said the High King, ‘tell me of the siege preparations. We have a city to sack.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The First Siege of Tor Alessi
For six days, Liandra’s morning had begun the same.
Clanking armour as the wearers stomped in unison, the stink of their bodies potent on the breeze, the reek of their dirty cook fires, their furnaces, the soot and ash that seemed to paste the very air, make it
