‘And if he doesn’t?’
Snorri’s eyes were hard as granite. A harsh wind tossed the curls of his beard, making him appear even more belligerent.
‘Then I shall declare it for him.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
War Counsel
No decision ever made by a dwarf came easily. One that must be debated by a dynasty of dwarf kings was near impossible to reach a consensus over.
Debate raged in the Great Hall. Tempers were fraying after the news of Agrin Fireheart’s death had got out. The High King had made no attempt to conceal it, but the furore it had created was increasing the number of worry lines upon his brow tenfold.
All of the kings from the brodunk were there. Thagdor had also travelled from his encampment to be at the council. Only Bagrik, who had long since returned to Karak Ungor, was absent. There were other nobles of the dwarf realms, of course: the lodewardens of Mount Gunbad and Silverspear, too busy at their mineholds; the southern kings of Drazh and Azul, too distant. Both Brugandar and Hrallson had sent emissaries for the rinkkaz, both of whom had returned to their holds and not attended the brodunk. There was no time to request the presence of them or their liege-lords. The same was also true of Karak Varn and its king, Ironhandson. Fledging holds, those of the Black Mountains and Grey Mountains, would also not be present and so the decision whether or not to make war with the elves would be decided by but a few.
The King of Zhufbar was unperturbed by that and took his opportunity to speak eagerly.
‘We must fight the elgi. What other choice do we have now?’ Thagdor asked of them all. ‘Dead merchants, theft and thagi across the length and breadth of the Karaz Ankor. Settlements burned, and now rhun lords slain by sorcery. What’s next? Besiegement of our holds and lands? Will I wake up tomorrow from my bed to find a host of elgi outside my gates?’ The King of Zhufbar paused for breath. ‘I bloody won’t. I’ll kill the sods before it comes to that.’
Luftvarr thumped his chestplate, declaring, ‘Elgi cannot be allowed to stay in the Old World. I have warriors, two thousand strong, ready with az un klad to kill the elgi traitors!’
The Norse king’s declaration was met with rousing approval from Brynnoth who burned with retribution for the slaying of his runelord, but it was Varnuf who spoke up next.
‘None of us want war with the elgi…’ he began, waving off protests from the more belligerent kings, but eyeing Gotrek in particular, ‘but anything less would be seen as weakness on our part now.’
Brynnoth tugged at his beard, unable to say much of anything. His eyes said enough. He wanted blood.
‘We should not be hasty,’ counselled Aflegard, tucking his thumbs into the jewelled braces he wore across his paunch. ‘I can spare no warriors for war, and it would be unwise to attack the elgi before we know who the perpetrators of Agrin Fireheart’s death were.’
Grundin stepped in to cut off some of the more pugnacious kings before they could voice further tirades. ‘For once, I find myself in agreement with the ufdi king. He’s thinkin’ aboot his purse, though–’ Grundin snapped. ‘Ah, shut it ya wazzock!’ before Aflegard could open his mouth to deny it. ‘We all know ye trade with the elgi. Am no sayin’ you’re a traitor or even an elgongi, just a miserly bastard, protectin’ his hoard.’ The King of Karak Izril looked far from placated but Grundin ignored him so he could carry on. ‘But I dinny think we should be killin’ elgi fer no good cause. Ach, I know that Agrin lies cold. Dreng tromm, I know it, but I canny see how declaring war on the pointy-eared wee bastards is ginny change that.’
Brynnoth glared, unconvinced and swung his murderous gaze over to the High King, who so far had only listened.
‘Trade with the elgi ends. Now,’ Gotrek declared to all. ‘We shut our borders to them until such a time as the fighting stops and we can return to the negotiation table.’
‘Negotiation,’ said Thagdor, brandishing his fist. ‘I’ll negotiate with the buggers at the end of my chuffing axe, I will.’ He shook his head and the copper cogs attached to his beard jangled. ‘There can be no treating with these elgi, none at all. I won’t do it,’ he said, folding his arms as if that was an end to the matter.
‘See this?’ Gotrek brandished a slender note in his meaty fist, the parchment too thin and smooth to have been made by a dwarf. ‘Written by the hand of a prince and brought to mine by a bird,’ he said. ‘Can you imagine such a thing? How different are we, the elgi and the dawi?’ He laughed without genuine humour. ‘As mud is to the sky, I have heard said behind our backs. This Prince Imladrik is an honourable warrior and ambassador to his king. He claims another race did this.’ He paused to read a word from the note, finding the pronunciation difficult. ‘Druchii.’
‘What is this druchii?’ asked Thagdor, unconvinced.
None of the kings were.
‘A darkling elgi,’ said Gotrek, unsure himself. ‘Some murderous but distant kinsman, bent on mischief. I do not know.’
‘Elgi is elgi!’ snapped Grundin. ‘Ach, the pointy-eared bastards will say anything to save their silk-swaddled arses.’
Mutters of approval from the other kings greeted the lord of Kadrin’s outburst.
‘There was betrayal here,’ said Gotrek to quieten the murmurs of his vassal lords, eyeing Brynnoth in particular, ‘and mark me that retribution will be meted out, but I cannot sanction war against all elgi on account of the deeds of a few, especially when there is
