Wearily, the engineer picked himself up. It felt as if he’d been beaten by a mob of urk.
‘Bloody Dungni, son of Thok!’ he spat, his shame giving way to anger. If his glare could kill then the dwarf captain sloping back towards the outer gate of the hold would have died at once. ‘Drunken bloody bozdok. The clod handles a ship like a grobi grabbing at a hruk. Grungni’s arse, I’ll see this lodged with the reckoners.’
Nadri looked on grimly, at Dungni and the wreck scattered like kindling across the lowland.
‘Stoke that furnace, brother. A dawi without fire in his gut is no dawi at all,’ he said, and whistled at the devastation. ‘Not much to salvage?’
‘Ruined, brother,’ said Heglan his voice barely louder than a whisper. ‘There is nothing left. Nothing.’ He seemed to sag, sinking lower than when he was on his knees. ‘Bugger.’
A muted cough broke the brief silence that had fallen between them. Nadri turned at the thinly veiled signal.
‘Krondi?’ he said, addressing one of the merchants who had also remained behind but who was anonymously waiting at the gate to Merman Pass.
‘My thane.’ Krondi bowed deeply. He was a grizzled dwarf, who had seen much battle in the wars of the High King against the urk. Fair-bearded, he never really fit into the mould of a merchant but had been part of the guild for almost a decade. ‘We are expected in Zhufbar in just over two weeks.’
‘Aye,’ said Nadri, ‘and a stop to make at Karaz-a-Karak beforehand. I am well aware of our commitments, Krondi.’
Krondi bowed. ‘Of course, my thane.’
Nadri narrowed his eyes at the other merchant. ‘Is our passenger ready to travel?’
‘He is. Our wagons stand ready to depart at your word.’
Nadri looked down at the wreck in the valley again. ‘Then it would not do to keep him waiting,’ he said to himself beneath his breath before regarding Krondi again. ‘Ride on ahead and pass on my assurances to the king’s reckoners that he’ll get what he’s owed. Gildtongue has never reneged on a bond of trade, tell them.’
Though Nadri’s family name was Copperfist, he was known as ‘Gildtongue’ by his fellows in the merchant guild on account that his every word turned to gold. So successful was he as a trader that he had holdings and wealth that some kings would envy. Of course, in Karaz-a-Karak the hoard of any merchant would always be bettered by the High King.
‘I need you to leave me two carts with mules and drivers, Krondi.’
Krondi bowed again and left down the Merman Pass without further word.
‘You risk much by not making full delivery, brother,’ said Heglan. ‘Don’t let my failure drag you down.’
‘Don’t be a wazzock, Heg. By Valaya’s golden cups, I’m helping you pick up the pieces of your ship. There is no argument to be had.’
Heglan looked about to protest, but there would be no changing Nadri’s mind and so he capitulated. He cast a final glance at the wreckage, the vessel into which he had poured his craft, his sweat and his heart.
‘I could have made it fly,’ he uttered, the strength of his voice stolen by the wind.
Nadri tried to be consoling. ‘You did, brother.’
‘That wasn’t flight, it was a slow fall.’
‘Don’t be too disheartened, Heg. At least you are still of the guild.’ Nadri was heading towards Merman Gate. From there, they’d travel the winding pass all the way to the upper hold gate, just above the first deep.
Heglan waited until Nadri had passed under the Merman Gate and was out of earshot.
‘I will make it fly, brother,’ he said beneath his breath. ‘For Dammin and Lodri Copperfist, I shall do it.’
Heglan and Nadri were already back inside the hold, through the fastness wall and more than halfway down Merman Pass when a bell tolled. It was a warning signal from the sea wall at the other side of Barak Varr.
Through the glass lens the waters of the Black Gulf undulated like a desert of obsidian. Tiny breakers, errant spumes of white foam, exposed the lie of that misperception. In the storm darkness it appeared endless, stretching to an infinite horizon. In truth, it was vast and the Sea Hold of Barak Varr was its only bastion-port.
A flotilla of ghazan-harbarks, six in all, plied the gulf. A signal had roused them and together they looked for enemies.
Nugdrinn Hammerfoot perched on the prow of one of the ships, and scoured a small stretch of the Black Gulf that was lapping at the flanks of the Sea Hold. He had a brass telescope pressed to his left eye and peered hard through the lens. Three beacons were lit in the watchtowers, which meant three dwarfs had seen something approaching the gate. A warning bell was tolling, warring with the persistent ringing in the captain’s ears, but thus far the horns had stayed silent.
Cessation of the bell and the clarion of horns meant danger approached and the many defences of the sea wall would be levelled at the intruders. Batteries of ballistae and mangonels stood sentry upon the wall, as well as a hefty garrison of Barak Varr quarrellers. If the ghazan-harbarks were the hunters then the warriors on the sea wall would be the spear to slay whatever predator was lurking in the darkness beyond their lanterns.
‘Bori, bring the lamp forwards,’ he said, one meaty fist wrapped around a length of rope to steady him, one clutching the telescope to his remaining eye. The other was patched, a small oval of leather studded with the ancestor badge of Grungni.
O’er earth and sea, the great miner sees all, Nugdrinn would often say and tap his eye-patch. In other words, just because he only had one eye didn’t mean he wasn’t watching. ‘Shine it here, lad.’ He pointed with the telescope. ‘Here. Quickly now.’
Nugdrinn had been a sailor all of his life. Born and raised in Barak Varr, there was no ship
