‘He merely told me where you would be mustering. I chose to come here of my own accord. The warriors are for the protection of my sisters who insisted on accompanying me.’
‘What would your brother say, I wonder?’ Though he tried, Snorri could not help it sounding petulant.
‘Since he is with your father, trying to find a way to maintain peace with the elgi, I would not know.’ She paused, searching for some mote of conscience in the prince’s eyes. ‘I would speak with you, Snorri Lunngrin.’
‘It’s Halfhand.’ He brandished the gauntlet. ‘And I am here,’ said the prince, ‘so speak. Though be quick, I have an army to lead.’
‘So I can see.’ She scowled disdainfully, then gestured to where one of the encampment tents had yet to be taken down. ‘I would prefer to talk alone.’
Snorri smirked. ‘Finally want to get me alone do y–’
‘Stop it!’ Elmendrin snapped, and there was venom in her eyes that told Snorri his remark had been an unworthy one. ‘You are acting like a wanaz.’
He capitulated at once. ‘Tromm, I’m sorry. We can talk, but I cannot linger.’
‘That’s all I ask,’ she said, and headed for the tent.
Snorri turned to his cousin. ‘Morg…’
‘I’ll keep them here until you return,’ he said, gripping Snorri’s shoulder before he left. ‘Listen to her. Please.’
Snorri nodded. He caught Drogor’s gaze as he went after Elmendrin – he was standing with the Everpeak dwarfs and had an intensity about him that disquieted the prince. Shrugging off a profound sense of urging to expel the priestess, he followed her into the tent.
She had her back to him as he entered the narrow angular chamber. It was gloomy inside and the canvas reeked of sweat and stale beer. Snorri found it embarrassing that she should have to endure this, and felt suddenly crude and ungainly in his armour.
‘I would offer you something, but the victuallers have packed it all up. Not even a crumb of stonebread remains.’
‘We’ve recently eaten. It’s fine.’ She was wringing her hands, clearly nervous.
Snorri wanted to go to her, but knew it was not his place.
‘It has been a while since I last saw you,’ he ventured awkwardly.
‘You had lost some fingers to a rat, if I remember.’
Snorri looked to his gauntlet, tucking it behind his back as Elmendrin turned around to face him.
‘It was a big rat,’ he said, frowning.
She smiled, but all too briefly and all too sadly for it to warm the prince.
‘I thought… I mean, I saw you at the brodunk, did I not?’ he asked.
‘Yes, you did. I was in the healing tent, tending to the wounded. You seemed to be on better terms with your father then.’
Snorri’s face darkened and he half turned away. ‘My father doesn’t know me. He sees only a petulant son, who must be kept in his place.’
‘He sees what you show him,’ said Elmendrin.
The scathing glance Snorri was about to give her faded when he realised she wasn’t remonstrating with him.
‘He loves you, Snorri,’ she told him.
Snorri sagged, and his pauldrons clanked dully against his breastplate.
‘And I him.’
‘Then don’t be so pig-headed, you stubborn, obstinate fool. Look beyond your own selfishness and see what this will mean. If you make war on the elgi, you will invite devastation on us all and estrange your father into the bargain. Is that what you want? Is that why you are here?’
‘It’s my destiny.’
‘To kill wantonly to satisfy your need to be honoured by your father? Do you think he will clap you on the back and tell you how proud he is of you for defying his will? He will not respect you for this. He will despise you for it. So will I,’ she whispered.
Snorri had no answer. In his heart, he thought what he was doing was right. Some small part of him knew it was to serve selfish needs, but he assuaged that guilt with the certain conviction that he was acting on behalf of the greater good. Confronted by the hard truths from Elmendrin, he wasn’t so sure.
‘Hearth and hold, oath and honour,’ she asked. ‘Whatever happened to that?’
‘Wrath and ruin, that is what we must do in times of war.’
‘We aren’t at war. Not yet.’
‘Not yet, indeed.’ Snorri started pacing, exasperated but also conflicted. Elmendrin had a way of clearing his thoughts, easing away the fug of doubt and guilt that fostered his belligerence. ‘What would you have me do?’ he asked, pointing to the entrance of the tent. ‘Out there, fifteen thousand dawi await my command. At Black Fire Pass another five thousand will join us. It is too far gone to turn back now. I cannot.’
‘You are the prince of Karaz-a-Karak, what can you not do?’ She came over to him, touched her fingers to his arm, and drew the gauntleted hand out of hiding from behind Snorri’s back. ‘Losing a few fingers is one thing, but the consequences of a reckless decision here are far worse. Stay your armies. Show what kind of a king you will be, one who calls for calm when all others are losing their heads, one who is not afraid to take the hard path if it is the best of all roads, a king who puts his people before himself.’
Though Elmendrin was proud, by far the proudest dwarf woman he had ever known, Snorri saw the tears in her eyes and knew she was pleading with him. He willed her not to get onto her knees. He didn’t want that.
In the end he sighed. ‘Brynnoth will not be pleased, nor Luftvarr.’
Morgrim was waiting at the entrance to the tent. Evidently, the army was waiting but could do so no more. He had overhead the last part.
‘I’ll tell them both,’ he said.
‘No, Morg, it should fall to me.’
Snorri was on his way out when he turned back to Elmendrin.
‘Though I sheathe my axe today, war is coming. My father knows it too, though he would deny it to all but his
