‘The elgi, my liege…’ Grimbok began. He had sat back down and was no longer clapping. He looked as unsettled as the High King.
‘I know,’ said Gotrek, impotent to do much of anything in that moment.
‘Sire–’ Grimbok persisted.
Gotrek snapped, head turning on a swivel to face the reckoner.
‘I know!’
‘They are leaving, my king.’
Without a word, the elf ambassadors had risen from their seats and were filing out of the royal pavilion with their retainers in tow.
‘Should I…’ Grimbok was getting to his feet.
‘No, sit down,’ chafed the High King. ‘These are our ways, dawi ways. If the elgi cannot stomach that, then… well, I will not change our customs for outsiders.’
‘Outsiders, my king?’
‘Yes! That is what I said. The elgi are–’
Whatever Gotrek was going to say next remained unspoken when a hearthguard strode up the stone steps of the royal pavilion, interrupting him.
Thumping the left breast of his cuirass, the warrior took a knee and removed his war helm.
‘Rise, hearthguard,’ said the king. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the elves still lingered and were looking at the warrior too. ‘You are Gilias Thunderbrow, aren’t you?’
‘Aye, my king,’ the warrior said, standing up. ‘Sent by Captain Thurbad with a message from the entrance hall of the upper deep. He bade me come swiftly.’
Around the arena the din from brawling was dying out as all attended to the lone hearthguard. Without his helm, which now sat in the crook of his left arm, to conceal it, the warrior’s face was grim.
‘Bad news, is it, Gilias?’ Gotrek exchanged a dark look with Grimbok, for he already knew the answer to his question.
‘Aye, my king,’ the hearthguard replied. ‘Bleak as winter.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Coming of War
Except for the High King’s guards, Nadri Goldtongue stood alone in the entrance hall of Karaz-a-Karak.
The merchant guildmaster from Barak Varr paid no heed to the mute ranks of quarrellers and hearthguard that surrounded him. Silence persisted like that of a tomb. It only served to echo his darker thoughts. He closed his eyes… Snatched glimpses of what he had seen in the gorge returned.
The dead everywhere… their blood soaking the earth…
Krondi… Poor old Krondi… His friend, who hadn’t stood a chance…
And a husk that was once a dwarf…
Sending the rest of the wagons on their way, Nadri had travelled to Everpeak by himself with a single mule and cart.
The great gate opened, arresting Nadri from his black reverie, admitting a pair of kings and their retainers. One of the liege-lords advanced ahead of the other and embraced the guildmaster warmly.
‘Nadri,’ said King Brynnoth, stepping back to clap the dwarf on the shoulders. ‘I am relieved to see you alive and in one piece.’
Nodding, Nadri said, ‘Tromm. I have bleak tidings, my king.’
‘Tell us, lad,’ said Gotrek, moving into a patch of brazier light.
Nadri bowed deeply to the High King, but then recoiled sharply when he saw the other members of the party who had entered the hall behind them.
‘Elgi!’ he hissed.
Eyeing first the guildmaster and then the elves shrewdly, Brynnoth raised his hand for calm.
‘Easy, Nadri.’
‘All is well here,’ added Gotrek, nodding silent thanks to Thurbad who had been waiting in the shadows. ‘Prince Imladrik is an ally of the Karaz Ankor.’
‘What harm befell you, guildmaster?’ asked the elven prince.
Nadri’s face contorted into a mask of fury. ‘It was not me who was harmed. Agrin Fireheart lies dead, so too my kith and kin. A noble friend, Krondi Stoutback was amongst them.’ He wept without shame. Some of the dwarf retainers tugged or gnawed at their beards.
Brynnoth wore a snarl as he stepped away from the elves to his guildmaster’s side.
‘Thagi!’ he spat. ‘Agrin Fireheart was runelord to my hold, a near ancestor of the dawi. His death is perfidy beyond reckoning.’ He glared at the elves. ‘Something must be done.’
‘I agree,’ said another voice from farther back in the hall. Varnuf had entered through the great gate. Gotrek scowled when he saw the King of Eight Peaks.
Snorri was with him.
‘Did you bring him here?’ he asked belligerently of his son.
‘I came of my own accord,’ Varnuf interceded, ‘to find out what dire matter would demand such hasty attention. I see now I was right to do so.’
Gotrek noticed one of the elves, a female, reach to her sword but a fierce glance from Imladrik stayed her hand. The High King could see why they were suddenly paranoid. The dwarfs had them surrounded.
‘Be calm, all of you,’ he said. ‘This is still my hold and I am still High King of the Karaz Ankor.’
Varnuf’s eyes narrowed slightly at that remark. Gotrek expected nothing less.
‘Then expel the elgi from our halls and lands, father,’ Snorri urged.
‘I will not!’ roared the High King.
All the dwarfs present, even the other kings, lowered their eyes in acknowledgement of his superiority. All except Snorri.
‘They kill dawi by the score, take our gold, cheat our merchants and burn our settlements to the ground and you still wish to treat with them?’
The elf female could contain her ire no longer and spoke out. ‘Our people have been slain too. Fort Arlandril was burned and innocent asur murdered. It is not just–’
‘Quiet, Liandra!’ Imladrik glowered at her, but retained some of his composure to address the High King. ‘Liege-lord,’ he said, ‘this heinous act will not go unpunished. Allow me to send riders to find these bandits and bring them to justice.’
Gotrek was shaking his head. His shoulders sagged, as if defeated.
‘It has gone beyond that, my prince. Deaths of merchants are one thing but the slaying of an ancient is something else entirely. I must think on this. Decide upon a course of action.’
Snorri was incensed. ‘What is there to think about? Banish the elgi and draw
