Hearth and Hold
Thurbad left them as soon as they had passed through the great gate and were safely inside the outer entrance hall of the upper deep. A vast echoing chamber had greeted the dwarf nobles, a very dark and sombre place with its gloom leavened partly by immense brazier pans aloft on chains suspended from the vaulted ceiling. The glow of fiery coals cast a lambent light across statues, inscribed columns and yawning archways. It barely reached the ceiling, the creeping tongues of fire lapping less than halfway up the columns, but cast enough of a glow to make the inlaid gemstones sparkle like a firmament of lost stars embedded in a stony sky.
At the back of the chamber, across a sprawling plaza of stone slabs, was the Ekrund. This monstrously broad stairway was the outer marker that led to the lower deeps and the hold proper. Stout-looking Gatekeepers, the same brotherhood who watched the eagle gates, glared like stone golems from their posts, barring the way below to the uninvited.
At its flanks, half hidden in shadowy alcoves, were the hearthguard. Though ostensibly the bodyguard of dwarf nobles, the warrior veterans were arrayed in force to safeguard the many retainers and dignitaries the kings and regents of the other holds had brought with them as part of their entourages.
Treasure keepers, shield carriers and lantern-hands, oath-makers, lorekeepers, reckoners, banner bearers, weaponsmiths and gold counters, muleskinners and their mules, wheelwrights, bards, brewmasters, cooks and consorts all hustled together more than a thousand strong. Like any regal lord a dwarf king had need of many servants, but such retainers were never admitted to the great halls. Despite the masses, the grand entrance hall was not even close to full. Yet dwarfs favoured closeness to their kith and kin, and so the entourage of each king and regent chose to stand together.
They were watched keenly by quarrellers, the king’s own, from a lofty perch of stone overlooking the entire chamber. Both Snorri and Morgrim knew that two hundred and fifty of the Eagle Watch were tasked with the safeguarding of the outer entrance hall. There were no better marksmen in the realm, not even the rangers.
As soon as the nobles had set foot inside the hall a doleful voice had boomed out, resonating through a speaking horn.
‘Prince Snorri Lunngrin, son of Gotrek, of clan Thunderhorn,’ it announced, and then ‘Morgrim Bargrum, son of Bardum, of clan Ironbeard,’ shortly afterwards. This had continued, until each and every one of the new arrivals was accounted for, named and recorded.
All had bowed, even Snorri, to the speaker and showed their respect as one.
‘Tromm,’ they intoned.
Standing behind a pulpit of stone, raised above ground level by a thick dais, was one of Karaz-a-Karak’s lorekeepers. A thick, leather-bound tome sat on the lectern in front of him and he called the names of each and every visitor, be it dwarf, elf or otherwise, that entered or left the entrance hall. This he then recorded in his book for the later use of reckoners or chroniclers. With all the retainers currently in residence, there was little wonder the lorekeeper was hoarse.
‘And so we are named,’ said Morgrim as the hearthguard departed.
‘Are you not seeing me to the temple then, Shieldbearer?’ Snorri asked of Thurbad.
The hearthguard captain did not look back. ‘I’ve charged your cousin with that duty, my prince.’
‘Let it be known that Thurbad Shieldbearer did make grudgement against the heir of Karaz-a-Karak,’ said Snorri in a petulant tone under his breath.
‘You’d be wise not to bait him, cousin.’
‘Aye, I reckon my next lesson in axecraft or hammer throwing will be a hard one.’
‘I have no doubt at all.’
Morgrim gestured to the myriad retainers thronging part of the hall. He noted some bored but stoic faces.
‘The rinkkaz must be well attended and many hours old.’
‘It will last for days, cousin,’ Snorri moaned, striding purposefully towards the Ekrund, ‘days. You had best get me to my priestess. I think I’ll have need of some fortification before seeing my father again,’ he said with a wink.
‘I do not envy him, cousin,’ said Morgrim, ‘not at all.’
At the entrance to the temple of Valaya, the dwarfs parted ways.
Snorri regarded his bandaged hand. The blood had long since clotted, making a mess of the wrappings Morgrim had used to staunch the bleeding.
‘You are not half bad as a nurse, cousin. Shave your beard and perhaps they’d have you at the temple if the miners’ guild doesn’t work out for you.’
‘I see your humour has returned,’ Morgrim answered dryly.
‘Only, if you do, make sure you don’t tend my battlefield injuries. I would rather it be a rinn that bathe my cuts and clean my wounds. One in particular, in fact.’ A flash of mischief lit up Snorri’s eyes at this last remark.
‘Ah, and now I see why.’
‘She has been waiting for me, I am sure.’
Morgrim groaned, removing his horned helmet to massage his forehead in exasperation.
‘Tenacious as ever then?’
‘Would you not be with a rinn like that? She is no Helda.’
‘That we can agree on. You do know that priestesses cannot be betrothed to any dwarf, noble or not?’
‘Who is talking about marriage here, cousin?’
The Valkyrie Maidens, temple warriors of Valaya, glared scornfully at the prince from behind their half-faced war helms but Snorri seemed not to notice.
Morgrim rubbed his eyes, as if a persistent headache he thought gone had suddenly returned to haunt him.
‘I bid you farewell and good luck,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and find what news there is to be had of the hold. Try and keep it in your trousers.’
Snorri grinned. ‘I make no promises.’
‘Do you ever wonder, cousin, whether the reason you want her is because you cannot have her?’
‘There is nothing I cannot have, cousin,’ said Snorri, laughing as he was ushered silently through the gate and into the temple. ‘I am the prince of Karaz-a-Karak!’
‘You are a fool.’
Elmendrin’s scowl was fiercer than some ogre chieftains Snorri had met. She was slowly removing the makeshift
