rats,’ he added, before stomping off.
Groaning under his breath, Morgrim followed.
CHAPTER TWO
Whispers in the Dark
Snorri and Morgrim knew there was something in the Ungdrin Ankor, vermin maybe, but definitely an enemy the dwarfs had not faced before. Tales abounded, they always did, told by drunken treasure hunters. Few dwarfs, barring the credulous and the gullible, beardlings in the main, believed such tall stories. But myths made flesh were hard to refute. Morgrim was reminded again of the stories of his father, of the glowing rock unearthed by Karak Krum’s miners. He brought to mind the faces of the savage creatures they had just escaped and decided there was something alarmingly familiar about them.
The two dwarfs spent the next few minutes in silence, listening for any sign of the rats’ return.
After passing through a vast open cavern, its narrow stone bridge spanning a bottomless pit and its ceiling stretching into darkness, Morgrim asked, ‘How is your hand, cousin?’
Snorri kept it close to his chest, taking the axe one-handed as he walked. Blood stained the metal links of his armour where it had bled through the makeshift bandage. Regarding the wound, he sneered, ‘Think you need thicker pampering cloths.’
Morgrim ignored the gibe, reading the pain etched on his cousin’s face. ‘Looks in need of a redress.’
They had left behind the chasm chamber with its narrow, precipitous span and walked a long gallery with a high ceiling. Errant shafts of light cast grainy spears in the darkness from clutches of brynduraz . Such a rare mineral was worthy of mining and Morgrim had wondered then whether the clans of Karak Krum had left willingly – or moved at all. Long stalactites dripping with moisture that reflected the brightstone made the dwarfs duck occasionally, and a chill gave the air a bite.
‘Hurts like Helda just sat on it wearing full armour,’ Snorri complained, wincing as the ruddy cloth was re-tightened.
Morgrim laughed out loud.
Helda was one of many would-be consorts that Snorri’s father had attempted to arrange for the young prince. She was of good stock, too good in Snorri’s opinion given her impressive girth. A dwarf lord was said to be worthy to marry a rinn if his beard could wrap around her ample bosom at least once. Snorri doubted Helda would ever find a mate able to achieve that feat. If she did it would be a longbeard and past the age when siring an heir was amongst the dwarf’s concerns. In fact, one night Helda would likely test the poor sod.
Her father, the King of Karak Kadrin, was a strong ally of Karaz-a-Karak and had offered a sizeable dowry from his personal coffers to secure the union but Snorri had objected and then declined. Comely as she was, he had no desire to bed such a walrus and continue the Lunngrin bloodline. Besides, he had eyes for another.
‘She was a broad girl,’ admitted Morgrim, wiping tears from his eyes as he finished binding the wound anew.
‘As an alehouse, cousin.’
‘And a face like a troll.’
‘Trolls are prettier.’
Morgrim was holding on to his sides, which had begun to pain him, when he saw the light. It was faint, like a distant fire or a partly shuttered lantern.
And it was moving.
‘Hide!’ he hissed. Both dwarfs moved to the opposite edges of the gallery and hugged the walls.
Snorri gestured silently to his cousin, asking him what he had seen.
Morgrim nodded to the lambent glow in the distance. The reek of soot had grown stronger too.
Dawi? Snorri mouthed.
Morgrim shook his head.
Not this deep .
Karak Krum was a tomb in all but name. It only harboured creatures and revenants now. It fell to the dwarfs to find out which this one was.
The blade of Snorri’s axe caught in the light from the brightstone, signalling his intention.
Nodding slowly, Morgrim drew his hammer and followed his cousin as he crept along the opposite side of the gallery. All the while the patch of light bobbed and swayed, but never
Groaning under his breath, Morgrim followed.
CHAPTER TWO
Whispers in the Dark
Snorri and Morgrim knew there was something in the Ungdrin Ankor, vermin maybe, but definitely an enemy the dwarfs had not faced before. Tales abounded, they always did, told by drunken treasure hunters. Few dwarfs, barring the credulous and the gullible, beardlings in the main, believed such tall stories. But myths made flesh were hard to refute. Morgrim was reminded again of the stories of his father, of the glowing rock unearthed by Karak Krum’s miners. He brought to mind the faces of the savage creatures they had just escaped and decided there was something alarmingly familiar about them.
The two dwarfs spent the next few minutes in silence, listening for any sign of the rats’ return.
After passing through a vast open cavern, its narrow stone bridge spanning a bottomless pit and its ceiling stretching into darkness, Morgrim asked, ‘How is your hand, cousin?’
Snorri kept it close to his chest, taking the axe one-handed as he walked. Blood stained the metal links of his armour where it had bled through the makeshift bandage. Regarding the wound, he sneered, ‘Think you need thicker pampering cloths.’
Morgrim ignored the gibe, reading the pain etched on his cousin’s face. ‘Looks in need of a redress.’
They had left behind the chasm chamber with its narrow, precipitous span and walked a long gallery with a high ceiling. Errant shafts of light cast grainy spears in the darkness from clutches of brynduraz . Such a rare mineral was worthy of mining and Morgrim had wondered then whether the clans of Karak Krum had left willingly – or moved at all. Long stalactites dripping with moisture that reflected the brightstone made the dwarfs duck occasionally, and a chill gave the air a bite.
‘Hurts like Helda just sat on it wearing full armour,’ Snorri complained, wincing as the ruddy cloth was re-tightened.
Morgrim laughed out loud.
Helda was one of many would-be consorts that Snorri’s father had attempted to arrange for the young prince. She was of good stock, too good in Snorri’s opinion given her impressive girth. A dwarf lord was said to be worthy to marry a rinn if his beard could wrap around her ample bosom at least once. Snorri doubted Helda would ever find a mate able to achieve that feat. If she did it would be a longbeard and past the age when siring an heir was amongst the dwarf’s concerns. In fact, one night Helda would likely test the poor sod.
Her father, the King of Karak Kadrin, was a strong ally of Karaz-a-Karak and had offered a sizeable dowry from his personal coffers to secure the union but Snorri had objected and then declined. Comely as she was, he had no desire to bed such a walrus and continue the Lunngrin bloodline. Besides, he had eyes for another.
‘She was a broad girl,’ admitted Morgrim, wiping tears from his eyes as he finished binding the wound anew.
‘As an alehouse, cousin.’
‘And a face like a troll.’
‘Trolls are prettier.’
Morgrim was holding on to his sides, which had begun to pain him, when he saw the light. It was faint, like a distant fire or a partly shuttered lantern.
And it was moving.
‘Hide!’ he hissed. Both dwarfs moved to the opposite edges of the gallery and hugged the walls.
Snorri gestured silently to his cousin, asking him what he had seen.
Morgrim nodded to the lambent glow in the distance. The reek of soot had grown stronger too.
Dawi? Snorri mouthed.
Morgrim shook his head.
Not this deep .
Karak Krum was a tomb in all but name. It only harboured creatures and revenants now. It fell to the dwarfs to find out which this one was.
The blade of Snorri’s axe caught in the light from the brightstone, signalling his intention.
Nodding slowly, Morgrim drew his hammer and followed his cousin as he crept along the opposite side of the gallery. All the while the patch of light bobbed and swayed, but never
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