Then he left and so did Morgrim, who gave a nod to the priestess, left alone in the gloom.
‘Thank you, cousin,’ said Morgrim, walking by Snorri’s side as he went to address the throng. ‘For heeding her, I mean.’
‘It will do no good,’ said the prince. ‘None of this will. I meant what I said, war will come. Dawi and elgi are too different, it’s only a matter of time before we start killing each other for real.’
‘Then why disband the army if that’s what you believe?’
‘Because she asked me to, and I’m not disbanding us.’
‘What then?’
‘There is a fortress at Black Fire Pass, large enough to hold a force this size. I plan to garrison it and set up pickets along the mountains.’
Morgrim stopped him. ‘You’re waiting, aren’t you?’
‘Isn’t that what we dawi do best?’
‘Do you really think there can be no peace between our races?’
Snorri favoured his cousin with a stern glance. ‘None.’
‘And what of the kings? They have holds and will not wait for war to begin.’
‘None will march without me. Even Luftvarr is not so bold as to go against my father without the presence of his son. Thagdor will return to Zhufbar, and Brynnoth to Barak Varr. But both will leave warriors in my charge. The Norse will probably go back to Kraka Drak, but I’d prefer to be without the savages anyway. The rest will remain here for as long as it takes, a bulwark against further elgi aggression.’
‘So this is a shield wall now, is it? One to keep the elgi out.’
‘We’ll lock our shields for now, but we will become a hammer when needed and mark me, cousin, it will be needed. The only difference now is that when I do eventually march it will be at the head of a much larger throng. Word will be sent to the lesser mountains and when my father sees how many have come to my banner, he will have no choice but to throw in with me.’
They had reached the army, fifteen thousand dwarfs waiting silently for their prince to lead them. Even the Norse were quiet but the scowl on King Luftvarr’s face suggested he suspected all was not as it had been before the prince had entered the tent.
An oath stone was embedded in the earth in front of the throng, set there by Snorri’s hearthguard. These warriors were as dour as any of Thurbad’s praetorians but they believed that war was the only answer to the elves and had thrown in with the young prince. Snorri nodded grimly to them as they parted their armoured ranks for him. Just before he climbed the oath stone, he saw Elmendrin’s silent departure back towards Everpeak. He watched her for a few moments but she didn’t look back, not once. In her absence he felt his anger returning, and found he was drawn to Drogor who waited in the front rank of the Everpeak dwarfs.
‘While our axes remain clean, there is still hope for peace,’ said Morgrim, wrestling Snorri from the other dwarf’s gaze.
Snorri looked down on him before he addressed the army, clutching in his gauntleted fist a large speaking horn handed to him by one of the hearthguard.
‘Peace died in that gorge, cousin. It died when Agrin Fireheart was murdered. A wall of shields has risen up in answer. With you by my side or not, Morg, I shall kill the elgi and drive them from the Old World. Whether now or in ten years, war is coming. And I will be ready for when it does.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Gold and Grudges
There was a glint in the eye of the hill dwarf king that only came upon him when he was in his counting house surrounded by his most precious possessions. Of late, they had diminished and it was for this that he scolded his goldmasters.
‘Every year for the last eight my hoard has lessened.’ Grum cast around, gesturing to the piles of treasure, the ingots, doubloons, crowns, pieces, gemstones, bracelets, torcs, mitres and chains that festooned his counting house. Sets of scales were abundant, all carefully balanced and their amounts meticulously logged in stacks of leather-bound volumes that lined the bookcases on the walls. They were hard to see, not just because vast mounds of accumulated treasure obscured them but because of the sheen that was emanating from all the gold. It hurt the eyes to look upon it, though Grum’s were bird-like and narrow as if the mammonistic king was well used to the sight and had evolved to compensate for it.
Uncharacteristically, his eyes were wide at that moment as he thrashed in a fit of conniption.
‘It should accrue, not diminish!’ He thumped the arm of his throne with a gnarled, bony fist. ‘Explain yourselves! Why aren’t you bringing more treasure to my coffers? Why aren’t I getting any richer? Eh?’
There was a fever in the king’s expression and the chief of his goldmasters balked before it as he made his excuses.
‘Since the High King of Karaz-a-Karak suspended all trade with the elgi–’ He didn’t even get chance to finish his sentence before Grum interrupted with another bout of apoplexy.
‘I am High King of this city, of the skarrens. I care not for the whims of Gotrek bloody Lunngrin. He is not my lord and master. Let him be concerned with the mountain. If he has taken umbrage with the elgi then that is his business. Our gates remain open to their gold and business.’
In his anger, Grum knocked over a pile of coins with his kicking leg and scattered them across the floor. His gaze followed them for several moments, drawn to the tinkling, glittering pieces inexorably. A little patch of white froth bubbled at the corner of his lip.
‘Well then?’ he raged, as if coming out of a trance and remembering where he was and the matter
