The doom of dragonback, p.23
The Doom of Dragonback, page 23
Sleep tugged at her eyelids again and this time she did not try to fight it. Not only would it be an impossible task, she knew she would need all her strength to give the king the attention he deserved. After a while she became accustomed to the motion of the sedan chair and she tried to relax, telling herself over and over that her father and grandfather would return safe and well. Eventually her tiredness conquered once more and she slipped into a fitful sleep, woken only twice more when the bearer teams changed.
When they reached their final destination and she was roused by polite coughs from her bearers Haldora found herself being lowered to a wooden stage built on the floor of a small but beautifully tiled chamber. The walls and floor were covered by a single mosaic depicting in miniature the grand hall of Karaz-a-Karak. Haldora only knew this because she had seen other versions in carvings and etchings as wall decorations in the halls of other clans.
Without further explanation, clearly still hastening to their lord’s command, the messengers flanked Haldora and led her through a curtained portal into a tunnel that sloped gently upwards. She could see an archway ahead through which crept sunlight, and her guardians took her out onto a balcony cut into the mountainside.
Everything was carved from the naked rock, from the awning-like protrusion above held up by six stout pillars lining the exterior wall to the oblong balcony itself, easily thirty paces wide and twice as long, surrounded by a crenulated battlement as tall as Haldora.
The view took her breath away, as they had come out near the parapet at one end of the loggia and she could see to her left a huge waterfall spilling down from above. The spray touched her cheek, and the roar, which she had been able to hear but not identify coming up the corridor, was thunderous. All around were the peaks of the Dragonbacks and from the position of the sun she realised that they were somewhere on the west side of Mount Bloodhorn, in mid-afternoon. She tried to look up to the source of the immense waterfall but a nudge from one of the messengers reminded her that time was pressing.
As she turned away her breath was caught again, this time by the robed figure sitting on a throne on a shallow plinth at the far end of the balcony.
The king.
Fear gripped her, greater than anything she had experienced since facing the wolves with the rangers. This was King Erstukar Rinkeldraz, overseer of Ekrund, the richest and most powerful dwarf west of the old mountains. She had expected to see an advisor, perhaps, or one of the princes if she had been lucky. They were here also, two handsome dwarfs, one standing to the side of the throne – Rodri, many years her senior, and his brother, Horthrad, a few years her younger. Rodri eyed her impassively, almost dismissively, but Horthrad gave her a surprised look and a smile that sent a shiver of a different kind down her back. His beard and hair were thick and black, and as Horthrad stroked a hand down his chin in contemplation she saw rings with gems the size of peach stones on each finger. A coterie of grey-bearded runesmiths and loremaster-types huddled around the opposite side of the king. They appeared far less welcoming.
‘Approach,’ said a hammer-bearing captain in full war regalia.
She did so, bowing and curtseying every other step, unsure what the correct decorum was when in the presence of so much royalty. She tried to keep her gaze on Erstukar, though not meeting his eyes, but she kept looking around, trying to work out where she was and who was who.
The messengers overtook her and presented themselves with florid bows before the king, sweeping their beards aside with graceful gestures as they did so.
‘Name yourself,’ said the king’s guard. ‘State your purpose.’
‘Haldora Angbok, your majesty,’ she said, addressing her answer to Erstukar. She flapped a hand at the heralds. ‘I was brought here by your messengers.’
‘Angbok?’ A greybeard with eyebrows that protruded past the brim of his felt hat said the word slowly, his blue eyes intent upon her, their colour a rarity amongst the Ekrundfolk and thought to be a gift of Valaya. Certainly by his garb – a heavy apron stitched with metal thread over sturdy trousers and shirt – he appeared a crafter of some kind and Haldora assumed he was a runesmith. She heard her name being muttered by some of the others, and there were exchanges of looks that she could not decipher.
‘Yes, Angbok,’ Haldora said. She curtsied again, just to be sure, flustered that her name caused so much consternation.
‘She was in the outer towers?’ Horthrad asked the messengers. They all bobbed their heads in answer.
‘So was claimed,’ one of them replied.
‘We need a warrior’s account,’ said Rodri. ‘Not the ramblings of some miner’s wife.’
‘I believe that is what we are going to have,’ said the king, eying Haldora closely. The mutterings silenced as the king waved for her to approach, the messengers stepping away to one side to allow this to happen. ‘The Angboks are a strange breed, it seems. Can you not see from her garb that she is a warrior?’
Haldora thought he might be poking fun at her, but Erstukar seemed sincere.
‘She wears armour and bears a shield, that does not make her a warrior,’ said Rodri.
‘I’ve killed near a score of goblins these last two days, how many have you?’ Haldora snapped, tired of this treatment.
‘And you have landed another fell blow,’ laughed Horthrad, punching his older brother on the arm. ‘One well-deserved.’
‘Enough prattling,’ said Erstukar. His piercing stare fell on Haldora. ‘Tell me, Haldora Angbok, what has been happening to the south?’
She recounted, as briefly and accurately as she could recall, the events of the last few days, from being posted to Undak Grimgazan and the missing patrol right the way up to the flight to the Lower Gate. During this time servants came up and relieved Haldora of her axe and shield, replacing them with buttered bread, a round of soft cheese and a stein of water, for which she was most grateful.
‘Wyverns?’ said one ageing advisor. He looked up into the cloudless sky past the columns as if to see such a beast right there.
‘How many, did you say?’ Erstukar said quietly. ‘How many orcs?’
‘A hundred thousand, your majesty,’ Haldora replied. ‘Or so the greybeards reckoned it.’
‘Preposterous,’ was the verdict from Rodri. ‘They must have been drinking.’
‘A little,’ Haldora admitted, ‘but I saw with my own eyes enough orcs to cover the wildlands from sight’s end on the left to the right.’
‘Fifty thousand or a hundred thousand, it matters not,’ said the runesmith. ‘It’s a horde, and one that needs dealing with.’
The council set to debating the matter and Haldora felt herself overlooked, her testimony finished. She tried to follow the conversation of her elders and betters but they kept talking all at once, and often at crosswise purpose, arguing over not only the veracity of her account, and her usefulness as a witness, but also the best course of action given a variety of likely and unlikely scenarios.
She was shocked when she felt a hand on her arm.
‘Refreshments?’ asked Prince Horthrad.
Up close he was just as handsome, his eyes flint grey, the hand by her elbow strong but gentle, the fragranced oil in his hair so different from the fire smoke, lard and coal dust she was used to. Nakka never had oil in his hair. Well, not the fragranced kind. Thinking of him made her suddenly feel guilty and, as politely as she could, she tugged her arm from Horthrad’s grip.
‘Pardon?’ she said.
‘Refreshments,’ the prince said again, indicating a trestle that had been brought out and laid with fine ceramic plates and dishes, and crystal tankards on silver trays.
‘Beer please,’ she said. ‘Just something light, like an Owd Lorkki’s or Badger’s Delight.’
‘I’m not sure we have either of those,’ Horthrad said with a grin. ‘Perhaps some Star Amber?’
‘I’ll give it a try,’ said Haldora. She took the proffered cup and looked back at the king and his advisors. ‘What’s going to happen?’
‘Haven’t got a clue,’ confessed the prince. He took a drink from his tankard. Foam bubbled on his beard as he listened attentively for a moment. ‘Seems as though Rodri is keen to lead the army out and meet the orcs head-on, while Nordok is advocating that we pull back everybody behind the great gates and leave the Lower Gate defences. The others are siding with one or the other.’
The debate was certainly spirited and the council’s voices were getting louder and louder, while their gestures became more forceful. Beards were wagged, stroked and tugged, all part of the complex negotiations that were progressing – just as dwarfs are likely to look to the companion with the longest beard for advice and leadership, so the dwarfs arguing with each other were prone to trying to make their beards look as long, big and important as possible to lend weight to their arguments.
Rodri in particular was agitated, sometimes pounding a fist into his other palm and on several occasions flat out jabbing his finger at his father, who seemed unimpressed by this behaviour.
‘He came of age right at the end of the war with the elves. They retreated back across the sea before he had a chance to see battle and he’s been trying to prove himself ever since,’ explained Horthrad, finishing his beer. A steward appeared as if by magic and whisked away his empty tankard. Haldora was left to put her empty cup back on the trestle.
‘You don’t feel you have something to make up for, to prove you’re equal to the longbeards?’ she asked.
‘I’ll prove myself in other ways,’ said the young prince, tapping the side of his head. ‘Been studying my runes and my engineering, see? Rodri can go chasing orcs as much as he likes. My legacy will be something even grander – a revolutionary type of catapult or a grand hall or maybe even a new type of rune. Sorry, I think they’re waiting for me. I suppose I better show willing.’
Haldora watched Horthrad join the rest of the council. He seemed quite different to the other dwarfs she knew. There was something in him that she recognised about herself – the desire to make her own destiny.
‘We have a duty,’ one of the longbeards said. ‘Is it not an oath of the king to protect Ekrund? The Lower Gate is part of Ekrund, your majesty.’
‘I do not need to be reminded of my oaths,’ Erstukar replied, thumping the arm of his throne.
‘Orcs are cowardly creatures at heart,’ said Rodri. ‘One good charge and we’ll send them straight back into the wildlands. Give them some cold iron and they’ll not trouble us again.’
‘I fear it is too late for that,’ said Haldora. The council members turned in unison, eyes widening with surprise.
‘You have something to add, young maiden?’ asked the apron-clad dwarf, whom she now realised was none other than the runelord Nordok Stormhammer. He was famed beyond Ekrund, and had once even served a commission for the High King at Karaz-a-Karak. His startling eyes bore straight into her thoughts, quicker than an Angbok digging gold. ‘You come to the king’s assembly bearing not just news but counsel?’
‘I…’ Haldora took a deep breath and saw Horthrad give her a wink, lending her much-needed strength. ‘I don’t want to talk out of turn– ‘
‘Too late,’ muttered Rodri.
‘ –but I really think you need to take what I said seriously.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked the king. ‘How are we not taking you seriously?’
‘Not you, your majesty,’ Haldora replied quickly. ‘I am sure you have been most considerate and considered in your deliberation. But I heard a few of these folk say that perhaps there’s not so many orcs as I said, and I think they need to be corrected. There are a lot of orcs, your majesty. Not just more than I’ve ever seen, but more than anybody in Ekrund has ever seen, I warrant. If we go out to fight them we’ll be outnumbered horribly.’
‘I have no intention of surrendering the advantage of our defences,’ said the king, throwing a glare at his eldest son.
‘Oh,’ said Haldora. ‘Well, that’s good.’
‘We must protect the Lower Gate,’ said one of the king’s other advisors. He looked at Haldora. ‘The outer defences have already been abandoned without any attempt to hold them, we cannot do the same of the Lower Gate.’
‘Excuse me,’ said Haldora, feeling that this comment was an accusation of some kind, ‘but had we tried to hold Undak Grimgazan none of us would have lived to warn you of the danger. And we did fight, believe me, when we had to.’
‘Nobody is doubting your courage,’ said Erstukar. ‘But it is a shame that there was no opportunity to delay the orc advance and allow further preparations.’
‘Begging your pardon, your majesty, but I think that’s just what this gentledwarf was doing.’ Haldora crossed her arms, as she had seen Awdhelga and her mother do so many times. The male dwarfs had certainly seen such a stance before too and several of them paled visibly, perhaps remembering stern lectures from their own kin during their younger years. ‘Doubting our courage, I mean. There’s not an Angbok, or Troggklad, nor even a Fundunstull or Grimsson, that would not have happily died defending our homes if it had made a beggar’s bit of difference. But it won’t have and so we didn’t, and any dwarf that thinks otherwise is a fool.’
The dwarf in question trembled at this, his beard swaying to and fro as he shook his head vigorously.
‘Apologise, Brekar, and let us get on with this,’ said Prince Horthrad.
The advisor looked as though he was about to protest, but the king turned an eye in his direction and the matter was settled.
‘I am sorry for inadvertently impugning the courage of your clan and their allies,’ Brekar said stiffly. He breathed out heavily and addressed the king. ‘Regardless, I think it would be an oversight to not make the most of the Lower Gate’s defences.’
‘And if we send out warriors and war machines against this… tide?’ Unlike the others, Runelord Nordok spoke softly and slowly, measuring his words as diligently as he no doubt measured the metals and minerals in his alloys and runes. ‘If the Lower Gate cannot hold we must abandon the engines or else expend more lives bringing them back to the main walls.’
‘I understand your concern, cousin,’ said Erstukar, but his tone already betrayed his intent to disagree. ‘We cannot expect the clans of the Lower Gate to simply allow the orcs to break in and plunder what they wish. No orc will ever pass the gates of Ekrund, not while there is anything we can do. To allow this army access to the upper passes without confrontation is not an option I will consider.’
Nordok accepted this judgement with a silent nod. There were a few grumbled protests from the runelord’s allies and some smug looks on the faces of Brekar’s contingent. With the principle and policy decided, the council set to wrangling the details of the plan – which clans would be sent, how much support they would offer to the Engineers’ Guild and so forth.
Haldora waited a while but it became clear that these negotiations would take some considerable time. She cleared her throat loudly.
‘If it pleases your majesty, might I be excused? Only, it’s that my father and grandfather had not yet returned when I was summoned and I would like to go back to the Lower Gate to seek news of them and to aid in the defence.’
Erstukar looked down at her, slightly surprised by her continued presence. He stood up from the throne and stepped off the dais. Haldora felt like curtseying again but half-resisted the urge, resulting in an ungainly bob up and down in front of the king.
‘Summon my armourer,’ said the king, looking back at his advisors. ‘We shall resolve this matter whilst we make our way to the Lower Gate. If the defence is to be there, that is where I shall also stand. It will not be said that King Erstukar did not fight upon his own walls at this troubled time.’
‘That is very heartening, your majesty,’ said Haldora. She dropped her voice. ‘If it’s all the same, that sounds like it might still take a while. Is it all right if I nip off now?’
‘Depart with my blessing, young lady,’ the king said with a smile. ‘Someone will arrange a chair to take you back to the Lower Gate. I hope your family are well and sound and that I will get to meet them when I arrive.’
‘Oh, your majesty, that might well make my pa drop dead with pride!’ Haldora bowed, then curtseyed, and then turned and almost ran from the loggia, partly in dread and partly out of excitement.
Stewards were waiting with her axe and shield and, she was surprised to see, a parcel of food for the journey. She took the pack of provisions and shook the servant’s hand.
‘The king knows how to treat his guests proper, I’ll say that for him,’ she said.
‘Aye, he’s big on hospitality is Erstukar,’ the retainer replied. He produced a weighty gold coin from somewhere and handed it to her with a sly wink. ‘You’re Awdhelga’s grand-daughter, right? If you could fix up a barrel of that famous blackbeer for the king’s table, there’s a couple more where that came from.’
‘You’ve been very kind,’ Haldora said loudly, putting the coin into a belt pouch as the servant backed away. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
She stepped onto the sedan chair and gave the bearers a thumbs up when she was settled into the cushions. ‘The Lower Gate, if you please!’
Chapter Sixteen
‘Grimbalki gave permission to his people to dig as much as they wanted from the coal seam, but they weren’t to sell a single piece to the Drakkanfolk or send it to the old mountains. Instead, using the last of his money and sending a trade party along the south road led by his own son, Grimbalki signed a treaty with the king of Karak Eight Peaks. Half the coal of Mount Bloodhorn would belong to the other king in exchange for ore to smelt.
The king of Karak Eight Peaks thought this a fine idea, for his furnaces were as hungry as any, and he sent iron and tin and lead and other ores that were needed to create forged and proper tools.
With these in his possession, Grimbalki had the Angboks, who knew best smelting of all the clans loyal to him, build the first forge. Fuelled by coal from under their feet, the forgeworks ran day and night as the king’s followers laboured to make pick and truck and bucket. As quick as they could get it out of the ground, the Angboks burned the coal to make more digging implements.
