The doom of dragonback, p.27
The Doom of Dragonback, page 27
The elves offered to help the dwarfs clear the foul green things from their settlement, and since he had not asked for help, the king was keen to accept their assistance. Backed by battle mages and finest archers, the Drakkanfolk and Grimbalki’s men joined forces and retook Ankor-Drakk in four days and three nights of bloody fighting.
The goblins had made a ruin of much of the stronghold, and on seeing this the elves declined further invitation to stay, saying that they had other business to attend to. And that was the last the Dragonback dwarfs saw of elves until they were fighting them in the war.’
The wisdom of surrendering the Lower Gate, or at least the outer defences there, proved itself over the following days. Perhaps surprised by the ease of their victory, the orcs and goblins set to looting and destroying whatever they could find in the ruins of the towers and guard rooms, frequently fighting with each other over the meagre spoils. From the gatehouse proper the warlord was observed flying around on his wyvern trying to restore order, but as soon as the greenskin general’s attention was drawn elsewhere its minions started bickering again.
Although many engines had been lost – as the king had been warned might happen – there were still several dozen catapult and bolt throwers left to rain down death from afar on any mob of greenskins that approached too closely to the bastion. The runesmiths served shifts to counter the enemy spells, thwarting the sorceries of the shaman and several magical goblin acolytes.
It seemed as though with the bolt-like surprise of the orc attack weathered, Ekrund gave itself time for a breath and to take stock. The attacks to the east and west had reached the major gates, but the towers and other defences were holding well. They were subjected to nightly assaults but the goblins and orcs had learnt to fear the accurate war machines during the day.
Yet there was no complacency amongst the Ekrundfolk. They knew they had come close to disaster and only happenstance, or perhaps the guidance of the ancestors, had led the Angbok patrol into the path of danger to bring warning of the impending onslaught. While the orcs busied themselves despoiling and burning everything south of the bastion, the Angboks became minor celebrities as word of their adventure spread, along with the rumour that they were favoured somehow by the king and princes. Gabbik was keen to have any renown being offered, though he worked diligently to ensure Skraffi had as little contact as possible with others on account of his wild exaggerations concerning his personal feats during the Battle of Burned Tor, as it came to be known.
Haldora found herself something of a curiosity too – on account of her clan but also her participation as a warrior. She insisted that she continue to walk the walls and serve guard duty at the inner gates with the others, and between their different duties she saw little of Nakka. It seemed that whenever she was coming back from the walls he was heading out or the other way around.
Though they enjoyed their limited fame, some might think it notoriety, it came as a surprise to the Angboks when they received fresh summons from the king. Haldora, Skraffi and Gabbik did their best to smarten themselves up for the audience, but they were woefully aware – except perhaps Skraffi – of how grubby and stained they appeared. Friedra had done her best but there had been little enough time to wash bloodstained tunics, sharpen battle-dinted blades and polish gore-spattered mail.
‘The king’s a dwarf’s dwarf, he doesn’t care about a few bits of goblin stuck in your beard,’ Skraffi assured them as they were led into Lord Garudak’s chambers, where the king had taken up residence, his cousin ousted to the lower levels.
The inner court was in attendance, surprising Haldora even more. She had assumed there would be a wider gathering, but aside from the king, princes, Gundraks and Angboks, there were a handful of retainers, Runelord Nordok, Thane Brekar and the advisors she had seen before. They were gathered about a table of food and drink, picking at berries, meats and cheeses. The king was standing over a platter heaped with different foodstuffs, a half-eaten duck leg in one hand.
‘Skraffi Angbok,’ said the king, eyes narrowing, letting the drumstick drop from his greasy fingers. ‘The prop bearer.’
Haldora had no idea what this meant but it raised a wry smile on the lips of her grandfather. His smile faded as he turned his gaze on the advisors, who were all in various stages of dining.
‘The very same wagglebeard and wazzock,’ Skraffi replied.
‘Had we listened to your advice, Angbok, half the Ekrund throng would be heading across the wildlands to reclaim Karak Varn while goblins left their little turds in our halls.’ This was from Brekar. ‘Or did we misinterpret your addled rant?’
‘Maybe,’ said Skraffi, ‘and maybe not. I did say danger was coming.’
‘While the past is often the seam we must labour upon, I am not interested in history at this moment,’ the king interjected. ‘If you recall, I sent out patrols and reinstated the garrisons of the Mingol-a-gazan. Had I not, the situation would have been far worse. As it is, the outer workings have been sacrificed, and I have no doubt that the Lower Gate will fall just as soon as our foes can be bothered to assault it.’
‘I still think that is no foregone conclusion,’ said Prince Rodri. ‘If you had left enough engines to defend the gates properly we could make the orcs pay for their gains more dearly.’
‘A mistake repeated is a double burden,’ cut in Nordok. ‘Your majesty, we have other matters to bring to bear.’
‘Yes,’ said Erstukar. A throne, one of several used when travelling about the hold, had been brought down to the chambers. The king settled on the red cushions, plate balanced with one hand on his gut. ‘Rodri is right in a sense. I would be a foolish zaki not to make the defence of the Lower Gate count for something. However, we cannot risk losing more machines to the next greenskin advance. I am convinced that we will need every engine we have for the defence of the main gates if we are to hold out until the colder weather.’
‘That is your intent, your majesty?’ asked Gabbik. ‘To endure as we can until winter loosens the grip of these orcs?’
‘Do you have an issue with that?’
Gabbik shrunk back as though confronted by another wyvern. ‘Not at all, your majesty! Nothing was further from my mind. I was simply seeking clarification, your majesty, to make sure I had it straight.’
The king looked at him for a while, caught between confusion and irritation. Eventually he continued. ‘I am led to believe that you have been responsible for some extraordinary exploits. The name Angbok is being spoken in high circles.’ Haldora wasn’t sure, but she thought there was a flicker of a look towards Prince Horthrad at that moment.
‘I assure you, your majesty, that we would not like to think we were being thought of as ufdut, not at all,’ Gabbik said quickly, thinking that Erstukar considered the clan to be boastful and vain. ‘It is not our intent to spread rumours or tell tales for the sake of false reputation.’
‘I thought no such thing,’ said Erstukar. He nodded at Haldora. ‘I have already heard a portion of what has happened first-hand, and it seems to me that there is something in the Angbok blood that lies deep and hidden at most times but springs forth in times of desperate need.’ The king looked at his advisors. ‘Did I not only earlier this day hear from my own captain of the halls, Thundred, about the astounding feats of Skraffi Angbok during the war with the elves? In particular, the slaughter of some seventeen of their finest swordmasters in one battle.’
‘I had a hangover, your majesty, and was not best pleased to be woken so roughly,’ said Skraffi, misunderstanding the king’s intent.
‘And now,’ Erstukar said without giving in to the distraction, ‘I hear that his son confronted a wyvern with nothing more than a signal flare and the fury of Grimnir.’
‘In all honesty, your majesty, I didn’t kill the wyvern,’ confessed Gabbik. ‘I just scared it off. I know some of the stories what have been going around say I killed it, but I never did no such thing.’
‘The killing was not the point,’ the king said gravely. He looked at the three of them in turn, stroking his beard. ‘It can be said, without fear of contradiction, that the Angboks are counted alongside the bravest dwarfs amongst all Ekrundfolk. You are an example to the other clans, of studious intent, industrious pride and fierce heart. All the qualities we value from Grungni, Grimnir and Valaya.’
‘There are tough times ahead,’ said Nordok, darting a look of impatience at the king, who had stopped to take a bite of a ham. ‘The orcs will do their worst, but waggling tongues and weak hearts are the greatest threat to Ekrund. The greenskins will run rampant through the Dragonbacks, burning farms, destroying the crops– ‘
‘My hives!’ gasped Skraffi.
‘ –but we must show that we can endure this hardship while the orcs cannot. Surrendering the Lower Gate is the right thing to do, but we cannot have it look like a defeat. If the rest of the valley falls without a fight there will be mutterings and mumblings.’
Nordok shook his head, and Haldora was left in no doubt how dire mumblings and mutterings could be. She knew herself the damage stray words could cause, having suffered them several times in recent days.
‘So we need some heroics,’ said the king, licking his fingers. ‘And that means some heroes.’
‘And a heroine,’ added Horthrad with a grin. ‘Don’t forget the heroine.’
‘Yes, heroines too,’ said Erstukar. ‘There’s many a maid and wife that’ll be needed to wield axe as well as pan in these coming battles.’
‘The Angboks?’ Gabbik looked horrified by the prospect, but Haldora’s chest swelled with pride, which considering the tight fit of her mail shirt was no easy feat.
‘What do we have to do?’ she asked, breathless with the thought.
‘A raid,’ said Nordok. ‘The orcs will bring their engines into range of the bastion. We’ve lost too many of our own for counter-battery attack, so we are mounting a night raid to burn and destroy as many of their machines as we can, to even the score, so to speak.’
‘Just us?’ Gabbik held up his hands. ‘We’ve done all right, against wolves and goblins, but I’m not sure the three of us could handle such a mission.’
‘Don’t forget the wyvern,’ Horthrad said with a smirk. ‘With just a signal flare.’
‘Behave yourself, Horthrad,’ snapped the king. ‘Of course it’s not just the three of you! I want you to be heroes, not corpses. Lord Garudak’s son, Menghir, will lead the sortie from one of the hidden doors the orcs have overlooked. Out, do some damage, and then back in again, all in the dark, with you right there to lend your expertise.’
‘Sorry, your majesty,’ said Haldora. ‘This is all very exciting, but why do you need us? There are plenty of more experienced warriors.’
‘Let’s be honest here,’ said Erstukar, making Haldora wonder if he had been dishonest before. ‘We all like a good story. Our people are going to need some good stories to keep up their spirits in the days to come. Never mind the food, think how bad morale will be if the beer starts running low! You three are perfect. Greybeard, thane and, um, daughter – warriors across the generations. You’ll have sagas written about you.’
‘You’re not changing your name to Ardent,’ muttered Gabbik, darting a warning look at Haldora. She blushed at the thought. The thane returned his attention to the king. ‘Is there, for instance, compensation for this kind of dangerous work?’
It was all a bit much for Haldora to accept and understand, but the king made it clear that the raid was going to happen that night, before the orcs and goblins finished their looting and gathered for another attack. He made it equally clear that although there would be recompense of some fashion – if they returned – this was not an offer the Angboks could refuse.
Gabbik reached under the dark cloak concealing his armour and gripped the talismans of Valaya, Grimnir and Grungni in turn, hoping that all three of the great ancestors were watching over him that night.
It was madness, he knew, but the sort of madness that could not be contradicted or escaped. How could he explain away the misunderstanding that had led him to confront the wyvern? How could he point out that the Angboks were just victims of circumstance who had made the best of a bad situation over the last few days?
‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ he muttered.
‘Did you have other plans?’ said Menghir, who was standing close at hand. There were fifty dwarfs in all, hand-picked by the king and Lord Garudak. The lord’s son raised his eyebrows, genuinely expecting a reply. ‘Maybe some other strategy in mind?’
‘No, no plans, no strategies,’ replied Gabbik. He reached over his shoulder to pat the pack-full of firebombs on his back. The others were likewise laden. ‘We sneak out, set fire to as many goblin engines as we can before legging it back here. Clear as diamond, and a fine plan to boot.’
Gabbik drifted away as Menghir moved the party closer to the doors. From this side the sortie portal looked like a small stone gate just a little taller than a dwarf and wide enough for two abreast; on the outside it was indistinguishable from the craggy rock face overlooking the valley, concealed by a holly bush.
‘This is exciting,’ said Haldora. Her face was smeared with oil as rough camouflage and her black cloak was a little too long for her shorter frame, almost dragging on the floor. Against her darkened skin her teeth showed like pearls when she grinned. ‘We’ll be famous!’
‘We’ll be dead,’ Gabbik grumbled quietly. ‘We don’t belong with this lot. Look, there’s folk from the hammerers and longbeards and ironbreakers and rangers. We’re miners, not fighters, I don’t know why the king picked us.’
‘He explained it well enough,’ said Skraffi. ‘And you’re wrong. Things might not have happened just as we expected but the stories of what we’ve done is true. We survived that patrol and the forest and the wyvern, and we’re going to survive this.’ He patted Elfslicer, which hung from his belt, a leather hood over the head to conceal the gleaming blade. ‘Stick close to me and each other and we’ll get through this. I thought you wanted the Angbok name to be known across Ekrund.’
‘For reliability, for responsibility… Not for, I don’t know, jaunting about killing goblins.’
A horn echoed in the depths behind them, and another followed, closer to the group. It was the signal they had been waiting for. Beside the secret portal Thaggrin Brikbok, a runesmith, incanted the words of opening. Silver runes gleamed on the stone gate. Thaggrin laid his hand upon the rock and gently pushed. The door swung silently outwards on hidden gimbals, letting the cool breeze of night wash in.
‘Stick together. Nobody lights a fuse until I say the word,’ Menghir told them. Thaggrin stepped aside and the strike force filed out, following the heir to the Lower Gate. As he waited for the others to pass the threshold, Gabbik tested his firebox one last time, getting a spark from the flint before he stowed it into a pouch on his belt.
The Angboks were amongst the last dwarfs to leave. Gabbik caught his cloak on the holly bush obscuring the secret door, and as he turned to tug it free he looked back and could see nothing but pale grey rock. Even though he knew his own people had fashioned such a thing, still he was amazed by it.
There was no light save for a sliver of the red moon. The lamps upon the bastion had been doused to make it harder for the goblins to target their engines by night; when subjected to stones and bolts from the main gate, the greenskins had also learnt not to illuminate their siege line. Darkness filled the closest part of the valley, though further south campfires stretched down to the wildlands and beyond. If anything there were even more than they had seen from the rampart of Undak Grimgazan. The sky to the west and east was obscured by smoke beneath the scattered clouds, evidence of the other two prongs of the orc attack.
Slowly they picked their way down the slope, careful to draw no attention to themselves. The rangers went ahead with their bows and crossbows, ready to silence any sentry or prowling wolf, but their progress went unheeded. In the orgy of looting and destruction of the outer defences the orcs and goblins had sated some of their eagerness, and most were still further down the valley filling their guts with dwarf meat and stolen ale.
The goblin engines were located on the road and the western side of the valley, spread over several hundred paces. Coming to the wall on the eastern flank of the road, the dwarfs stopped and surveyed the situation. Unable to accurately target the dark-shrouded defences the goblins, lazy creatures to a fault, slept by their machines, snoring, grunting and hissing.
Nobody was keeping watch.
Menghir signalled for them to cross the wall and they did so in pairs and trios, taking care not to make any noise on the flagstones – they had bound cloth over their boots for just such a reason. The closest of the engines, a catapult several times taller than the creatures manning it, was seventy paces away.
As they had agreed, the party thinned out, spreading across the road with the lead dwarfs heading straight over towards the machines on the opposite side of the valley while those at the back angled to the left, moving south towards the closest engines. Gabbik imagined the glass globes of flammable liquid in his pack jiggling together as he jogged, but they too were bound to stop a stray clink from betraying the sortie force.
They hunkered down about thirty paces from the war machines, waiting for the signal to attack. As the dwarfs across the valley had further to retreat, they would throw their flame bombs first, which would give them a little more time. Gabbik was now second-guessing the wisdom of being near the back because, although he was certainly a few hundred paces closer to the secret door, by the time he attacked the goblins would undoubtedly be aware of what was going on. His hope was that they would be drawn to the flames, abandoning their own machines in the chaos.
Crouched on the road, trying to keep his breathing steady, Gabbik resolved to himself that he would not let his pride get him into such a damnably foolish situation again. He was happy to fight for his hold – perhaps a stint on the war engines as he had done in the war – but he simply didn’t have the mental constitution for this sort of escapade.
