Prince Arlyr glared, and spat something in his native tongue before flashing a condescending smile.
‘I think he’s trying to mock you, Gotrek,’ observed Thagdor.
Gotrek smiled back. ‘Yet he’s the one covered in donkey shit.’
‘Caught between the city and the arriving army, we would be hard pressed,’ admitted Snorri, seeing the sense in what his father was saying but inwardly chafing at the need to retreat. ‘How close is the fleet?’
Gotrek turned his gaze from the elf to look at his son. ‘Furgil says they’re close enough that some of the machineries will need to be left behind if we’re to make good our escape.’
‘Grimnir’s balls, those engines are not cheap,’ moaned Ironhandson. ‘I’ll lose a fortune if we leave them.’
‘You’ll do it and be glad that I don’t further balance your accounts, Hrekki,’ snapped Gotrek, referring to the king’s existing debt in the great book of grudges.
Knowing what was best for him, Ironhandson backed down.
Thagdor balled his fists against his hips and sighed. ‘Bugger me. They’re right sneaky, them elgi bastards.’
‘Aye,’ Gotrek agreed. ‘Tor Alessi is their anvil, the fleet their hammer. We’d be crushed.’
Snorri was scowling. ‘This is wrong. Escape? We’re running? From them?’ He jabbed a finger at Prince Arlyr, who appeared to be enjoying the debate more than the dwarfs. ‘The wall is breached in at least two places and there are fires that will last well beyond morning.’
‘Aye,’ said Gotrek, ‘and for fourteen days we’ve knocked on their door and for fourteen days been repelled. Can anyone here think of a fastness the dawi could not crack in two weeks of hammer?’
None could.
‘But, father…’
‘But nothing,’ Gotrek began, harshly at first, but softened quickly. ‘I feel your frustration, but this isn’t over. We were naive to think the elgi could be so easily broken. They obviously want to stay here very badly. We’ll need to beat that out of them, but all meat must be tenderised before it’s cooked and eaten. Just so happens that elgi is a little tougher to chew than we thought.’
‘So that’s it then?’ said Snorri. ‘What about Varnuf and Grundin, Aflegard and the rest of them?’
Valarik looked down at this boots.
Ironhandson shook his head.
‘I’ve sent runners north and south,’ Gotrek told them, ‘but so far none have returned bearing word of the other kings. We cannot rely on them for reinforcement.’
‘So we’re going back to the mountains?’ Brynnoth didn’t sound pleased.
Gotrek nodded. ‘To gauge the elgi’s strength, and their keenness for a fight. Admit it or not, we’ve underestimated this enemy, and are already counting that cost. War won’t be over in a single siege.’ He turned to his son. ‘How many did your cousin say we’d lost thus far?’
Snorri’s face darkened. ‘Close to three thousand dawi, father.’
‘Dreng tromm…’ breathed Valarik, whilst the other kings except for Brynnoth shook their heads at the thought.
‘We return to the holds,’ Gotrek told them all, ‘and make strategy for a long war. This is far from over. It has barely begun.’
‘And what about little lord dung boots over there?’ asked Thagdor, gesturing to Prince Arlyr.
Gotrek fixed the elf with a cold stare that robbed the lordling of all his defiance.
‘Oh, I can think of something.’
Liandra was knelt by Vranesh, tending to the dragon’s wounds in one of Tor Alessi’s ruined courtyards, when the dwarfs’ message came sailing over the wall. It landed with a wet splut!, rolling awkwardly until it came to a halt by a spearman’s boot. The elf looked down at the severed head of Prince Arlyr and was promptly sick. To see such a noble lord so brutally abused had turned the young warrior’s stomach.
Horns rang out, summoning the garrison commander, Lord Impirilion.
When Arlyr’s body was flung over the walls next, engraved in vengeful dwarf script, Liandra could not have been less surprised.
‘They are leaving,’ she told one of Lord Impirilion’s retainers.
‘How do you know?’
She laughed humourlessly, pointing at the headless corpse. ‘What do you think that is?’
The retainer looked nonplussed at the body.
‘It’s a parting gift,’ she told him, getting to her feet. ‘Can you fly, my beast?’ she asked the dragon.
Vranesh growled in affirmation.
‘Where are you going?’ asked the retainer. ‘What about Lord Impirilion?’
‘I have no business with the garrison commander, and you have no need of me here now the fleet has arrived. I will return to Kor Vanaeth. There are still people who are living like wretches in its ruins.’ She swung into the saddle. ‘This is not over. Far from it, and we need every bastion if we are to defeat the dwarfs on their own soil. Rest assured, this is but a taste of the war to come,’ she said, a flash of excitement in her eyes as she took to the skies.
For now, fighting the dwarfs took precedence over her other concerns. Liandra’s prey would have to wait, the druchii would have to wait, but not too long.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Two Decades of War
The foothills north-east of Kazad Kro were swathed in darkness. It wouldn’t last; a pale sunrise was already breaching the horizon, smearing it in washed-out yellow. In less than an hour it would be vibrant and ochre, blazing like the summer. Light would paint the land, revealing the ruination, the barrows and the churned earth of over twenty years’ worth of battles.
Rundin had played no part in any of them. He had trekked from his city, walking over forty miles to reach this place, which was little more than a clearing of scattered rocks.
‘Took your time,’ said a familiar voice, the speaker squatting on one of the collapsed menhirs surrounding Rundin.
‘Just because we are not at war doesn’t mean I have no other duties to attend to, brother.’
Furgil smiled, jumping down from his rocky plinth, and went over to Rundin.
The two dwarfs embraced, clapping one another on the back with genuine bonhomie. Two decades was not so long to a dwarf, but their reunion was heartfelt.
‘Good to see you,
