Not waiting for a reply, Liandra whispered a harsh word of command and Vranesh took to the skies. The chain fastening its ankle to the ground broke apart as if it were brittle bone, and the muzzle shattered likewise as the beast uttered a feral roar.
Imladrik watched her disappear into the clouds, an ill-feeling growing in his heart.
‘I am sorry, though,’ he whispered, but wanting to say it out loud, ‘about your mother.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Father and Son
Drogor clapped Snorri on the shoulder from where he sat behind the prince. Since he’d entered the royal pavilion, his father had said nothing to him and this was the first act of recognition the prince had received since taking his seat… aside of course from the High King’s toady, Grimbok. Preened and plucked as ever, the reckoner had been particularly obsequious during the brodunk and cleaved to Snorri’s father’s side like a limpet. Like a narrow-eyed crag-hen, he scoured the clans watching the tournament, his dirty little book of reckoning ever chained to his belt. In fact, he had only averted his gaze from the crowds to give both Snorri and his new friend a withering glare as the prince had joined the royal party.
Mouthing the word ufdi, Snorri had ignored him after that, including his muttered rejoinder. Drogor had laughed. It was a burbling sound that rattled in his gut, but was not so loud that it woke or roused any of the High King’s guests that were sitting with him.
Since making his acquaintance in the drinking hall, Drogor had been Snorri’s near-constant companion over the past few days. Regaling him with tales of Karak Zorn, of scaled monsters that lurked in the torpid jungles of the Southlands and of ziggurats of pure gold that stretched all the way to the sun, Snorri had found his company a welcome respite from Morgrim’s continual lectures about duty and the decency of elves. Several were sat with the High King and did not look best pleased by the fact. Snorri ignored them too.
As Prince Imladrik was the Elf King of Ulthuan’s representative, he was afforded a seat in the royal pavilion but had yet to sit in it because he was still taking part in the brodunk. Along with the presence of the elves, this was another reason for Snorri’s distemper.
At least Morgrim had stopped urging him to heal the rift with his father, which was some small respite, but then he had barely seen him to talk to at length. Other, more conciliatory voices had the prince’s ear now.
‘Saw what you did out there,’ Drogor whispered. ‘That axe throw…’
‘Heh.’ Snorri grinned, enjoying the quiet acclaim. ‘Yes, a little closer than I had intended.’ Given who was sitting nearby, he lowered his voice still further. ‘The elgi moved quicker than I thought.’
‘Not close enough to my unpractised eye, my lord.’
‘I think drawn blood might have put a dampener on the brodunk, Drog.’
A brief pause suggested Drogor thought that would be no bad thing at all.
‘You should be out there competing against the elgi, my lord.’
‘Aye, but I am not.’ Snorri half turned so he could see the other dwarf. ‘And stop calling me “my lord”. It’s overly formal. Use “my prince” instead,’ he said with a wry smile.
Drogor chuckled, but the smile he wore didn’t quite reach his eyes, which glittered like endless dark pools in the dim light of the pavilion. He leaned in closer, pointing across the field to the elven rookery.
‘See there,’ he hissed, ‘the elgi rinn lurking in the darkness?’
Snorri nodded.
‘Not stopped glaring at you or your cousin since she clapped her narrow little eyes on you. What do you think she is saying?’
Surprised that Drogor could even see that far, let alone know it was an elf female that was looking at them, Snorri squinted but couldn’t tell much of anything.
‘How I am supposed to know.’
‘It doesn’t look friendly. She scowls, like she just stepped in something.’
‘Perhaps our rugged earth disagrees with her.’
‘That or the fact she is surrounded by dawi,’ said Drogor. ‘I see the same expression in many elgi faces.’ He glanced askance at the elven lords in the royal pavilion. They appeared too self-absorbed to pay much attention to the High King, let alone any other dwarf sitting with them. ‘I do not think they can be trusted.’
Now Snorri turned all the way around, earning a reproachful glance from his father who was trying to look interested in the brodunk but who had a host of other matters on his mind.
‘What are you saying, Drogor?’ Snorri asked.
‘That elgi and dawi should not mix. We are too different.’
‘Aye, as solid rock to an insubstantial breeze.’ Supping on his pipe, he returned his attention to the battlefield.
‘Bad enough having skarrenawi around.’ Drogor pointed at the champions taking part in the next event, an elf and a hill dwarf Snorri had heard of.
The prince clenched his teeth a little.
‘They are not so bad.’
Rundin Ravenhelm was well known to him. Skarnag Grum had made him his captain and chief reckoner. He seldom left Kazad Kro, on account of the king’s paranoia no doubt. This, then, was a rare occasion. Obviously, Grum had sent him here as his champion to uphold what little honour the hill dwarfs had. Snorri felt his annoyance at his father for barring him from the brodunk anew – he would have dearly liked to measure himself against this Ravenhelm.
‘Perhaps not,’ hissed Drogor and shrank back into the shadows.
Snorri watched as the elf and hill dwarf readied their weapons, the former carrying a silver longsword and wearing an eagle-winged helm, while the latter bore a finely crafted rune axe and went unhelmeted in lacquered black leather armour.
‘He is bold, for certain…’ muttered the prince and could not help but admire the hill dwarf. Half turning again, Snorri was about to reply to his friend but Drogor was gone.
The air was hot
