‘Dawi bloody grit and chuffing determination is what!’ said Thagdor, thumping the table. ‘They’ll yield, they have to at some point.’
Ironhandson was unmoved by the King of Zhufbar’s typically demonstrative outburst and stroked his beard thoughtfully. ‘What of the garrison at Black Fire? Does your son bring any news, High King?’
Gotrek raised his eyebrows, arrested from whatever dark reverie had claimed him for the last few minutes. Snorri was not at the rinnkaz. Upon the third defeat at the gates of Tor Alessi, he had gone back to the fortress at Black Fire Pass, Kazad Kolzharr, to act as his father’s eyes and ears beyond the mountains.
It had been weeks since his last runner to Everpeak.
The High King was about to speak when Thurbad entered the war chamber and every pair of eyes within it turned to alight upon him.
‘Lords,’ he addressed the assembly, before approaching Gotrek. ‘A message from the Kolzharr, my king.’ Thurbad handed over a piece of slate the size of his fist.
‘As if Valaya’s own hand had a part in it,’ said Ironhandson, marvelling at his own apparent prescience.
Gotrek ignored him and took the slate.
Silence fell in the Great Hall as everyone present watched the High King read.
‘“Our rangers bring word that the king of the elgi has been sighted,”’ Gotrek began aloud. ‘“Tired of impasse, he has taken to the field at Angaz Baragdum with a sizeable army. I shall meet him and give battle.”’
Gotrek put the slate down, still staring at the Khazalid engraved upon it.
In the end, Thagdor broke the silence.
‘Well this is what we’ve been waiting for,’ he said. ‘Not since this bloody war began has the elgi king shown his pointy ears. Now, we have a chance to kill the bastard and send the rest of ’em running for their ships.’
Brugandar was nodding. ‘I agree. This is a mistake, born out of elgi arrogance. We must seize upon it.’
Gotrek wasn’t listening. He turned to Thurbad, who was waiting dutifully behind him.
‘Did the runner say if my son had already left the keep?’
‘Two days ago, my king. He marches with his cousin and most of the garrison.’
‘So, we won’t reach him before he gets to Angaz Baragdum.’ Gotrek knew the answer before it was given, and didn’t care that his face betrayed all of his concern for his errant son.
‘No, my king. We will not.’
A horn blared in one of the lower deeps. Its doleful echo carried all the way to the Great Hall, signalling the miners to the rockface. To Gotrek, it sounded like a death knell.
Had he believed his cousin would listen, Morgrim would have told Snorri to wait. True, the rift with his father had scabbed and healed over the last few years but the young prince was still convinced the only way to achieve the great destiny he so craved was to seize it for himself.
Slay the drakk, become king.
He had spoken of little else since word had come to Black Fire Pass that the elf king was in the Old World and marshalling an army.
‘I am surprised,’ said Snorri, marching at the head of an army twenty thousand strong.
‘Cousin?’ asked Morgrim, from Snorri’s left. Drogor, ever dutiful and silent, was on his right holding up the banner.
‘That Elmendrin is not here to dissuade me.’
There was hope in the prince’s voice, not that the priestess would convince him not to fight the elf king but that she would be there before he did to see it.
‘She would not wish this for you,’ Morgrim answered.
‘Of course she would. Elmendrin understands legacy and its importance. I don’t want to usurp my father, I just want to ease the burden of kingship from his shoulders. Ending this war will let me do that.’
‘Twenty years ago we were going to end this war, cousin. Seems we only started it, though.’
‘Aye,’ Snorri sighed. The attack on Kor Vanaeth had been rash, but necessary. ‘But it was right that we did. Kill or capture the elf king and the war ends, though, Morg. That I know.’
‘Do you wish she was here, Elmendrin I mean?’ Morgrim asked.
Most of the Valayans had returned to Everpeak after the third siege. A handful remained at the keep, but Elmendrin was needed back at the capital.
Snorri nodded. ‘It would have been good to see her again, but her brother takes up much of her time these dark days.’
At this, Morgrim looked down. All who had returned from the ambassadorial mission to Ulthuan had come back with deep scars. None more so than Forek Grimbok, and even then not all had made it. Gilias Thunderbrow was dead, slain through elven treachery. Morgrim thought this must trouble Forek the most. Few dwarfs had seen him since he had come back. In fact only the High King and his closest advisors knew where the shamed dwarfs were now, and the priestess who ministered to them of course.
‘I knew she was there, you know,’ said Snorri.
‘Where, cousin?’
‘At the first siege. I saw you talking with her as she tended the wounded.’
Morgrim frowned. ‘And you wait until now to mention it?’
Snorri shrugged. ‘Seemed as good a time as ever. Besides, we have been busy.’
The war had thrust the cousins apart for the last few years. Ever since the end of the first siege and the retreat, both Snorri and Morgrim had returned to their clans to prepare further musters. The elves had surprised them with their discipline and the size of their armies. Not content to merely soak up the dwarfs’ punishment, the elves had gone on the offensive. Several lesser holds had been attacked, particularly in the south. Most notably Karak Azul had sustained serious damage to its some of its upper deeps during one assault. King Hrallson was
