‘This is barbaric,’ hissed the elf. ‘The creature is no further threat.’
Morgrim simply shook his head.
‘Don’t be fooled,’ said Snorri, and elf and dwarf prince met eye-to-eye with the dying goblin between them. As he withdrew gory metal fingers from the wound, the goblin snarled but Snorri caught its wrist in a steel grip and twisted it before the greenskin could shove a piece of broken blade into his stomach.
It yelped but Snorri kept going until he’d broken the wrist. Then he wrapped his thick fingers around its head and yanked it round to snap its neck.
‘See,’ said Snorri to Imladrik alone, ‘can’t be trusted not to stab when your back is turned, no matter how dead you think they might be.’
Though he trembled with anger, Imladrik maintained his composure.
‘Your cousin fought well,’ he said, his jaw still taut. ‘With honour.’
Morgrim was nodding when Snorri interjected and said, ‘He doesn’t need your false magnanimity, elgi,’ before stomping off back towards the royal pavilion.
‘My apologies for my cousin,’ said Morgrim in a low voice. ‘He doesn’t realise the effect of his words on others sometimes.’
Imladrik glared at the prince’s back as he watched him go.
‘It is of no consequence.’ He drew his sword, saluted and then sheathed it quickly. ‘You honour your kin enough for both of you, Morgrim Bargrum. Tromm…’ he intoned, bowing once more before returning to the elven tents with his armourers.
Morgrim went after Snorri but noticed something glinting in the battlefield earth. It was a piece of silver scale, cut from Imladrik’s armour. Watching Snorri depart, he was suddenly glad that the father had banned his son from taking part in the games.
An elf death, accidental or otherwise, was the last thing peace needed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Wise Words
Snorri called, ‘Come, cousin!’, as he tramped across the arena towards the royal pavilion.
A massive stone ancestor head loomed over them, the great god Grungni. Enormous emeralds hewn from the lowest deeps glittered in his eyes and a set of broad steps unfurled from his wide-open mouth like a stone tongue.
Within, lit by the flickering flame of braziers, was the High King of Karaz-a-Karak.
Bedecked in his finest royal attire, a red tunic with a skirt of gleaming gromril mail, matching cloak trimmed with ermine fur and the Dragon Crown of Karaz fixed upon his brow, Gotrek cut a powerful figure sat atop the Throne of Power. Alongside the king, fitting easily in the ancestor’s gaping maw, were several of his elders but only those who were capable of leaving the hold and staying awake for the festivities. There was also a place at his side for his son.
Gotrek was in a saturnine mood, rattling heavy rings against the arm of his throne as he awaited the prince’s return.
As if sensing his father’s displeasure and perhaps even seeking to aggravate it, Snorri slowed as he got closer to the royal pavilion.
‘Did you mean to hit him, cousin?’ Morgrim asked as he caught up.
‘Didn’t realise I had,’ said Snorri, feigning surprise.
‘You are the best axe thrower in all of the karak.’
Snorri smiled wryly. ‘It was only a nick, nothing to trouble a master of drakk that is for sure.’
‘If he noticed it…’
‘Then he is not saying, cousin. Let it go.’
‘I cannot.’ Morgrim paused. What he asked next wasn’t easy. ‘Are you deliberately trying to scupper peace with the elgi, cousin?’
His smile faded and Snorri stopped in the middle of the field. He dismissed the dwarf armourers tagging along behind them.
‘Why so serious, Morg? It was a jest, a polite reminder that dawi rule these lands, not them.’
‘Not them? You speak as if they’re already our enemies.’
The silence that followed suggested Snorri thought precisely that, to a lesser or greater degree. After a few moments they walked on.
All the humour bled out of the prince, his mood now matching that of his cousin.
‘A band of elgi was killed for trespassing on dawi soil a few days ago. I heard my father talking to Furgil about it.’
‘Murdered?’ Morgrim sounded shocked.
Snorri glanced at him. ‘They were uninvited and unannounced, cousin. Given the recent attacks on the caravans, the burning of Zakbar Varf, is it any wonder?’
‘Dreng tromm…’ Morgrim shook his head. ‘It’s worse than I thought.’
‘Trade has all but ceased with them. More and more of the elgi are going to the skarrenawi now because King Grum has no sense of honour.’ Snorri hawked and spat. ‘He is barely half dawi as it is, and now he makes himself an elgongi to rub in further salt to already stinging wounds.’
‘You learned all of this from your father?’
‘Aye,’ said Snorri, ‘as well as speaking with some of the other lords. King Varnuf and King Thagdor have sanctioned heavy embargoes on trading with the elgi. If these “troubles”, as my father calls them, continue they will enact outright bans.’
Morgrim’s eyes narrowed. ‘Aren’t Varnuf and Thagdor against your father’s petition to keep the peace?’
Snorri nodded. ‘By listening to my fellow dawi lords, I’m not going against my father, Morg.’
‘But if commerce breaks down between our races, it will lead to but one road after that,’ Morgrim warned.
They were nearing the pavilion now and would soon have to part. Morgrim’s armour needed tending and Snorri was expected by his father.
The prince’s steady gaze told Morgrim he knew what road that was.
‘And, cousin?’
‘And?’ Morgrim was incredulous. ‘And? Think of the cost, Snorri, in lives and livelihoods.’ He kept his voice low in case others were listening in. ‘War will devastate our lands, our clans.’
‘Nonsense, cousin. We will expel the impudent elgi with barely any dawi blood being shed. They are merchants and squatters, Morg. Barely a decent warrior amongst them.’
‘What about Imladrik? He just bested me in single combat.’
‘Bah, you just let him–’
‘I let him do nothing. I fought him, as hard as I could, and still he beat me.’
Snorri dismissed the notion with a snort, regarding the broken shield the armourers
