about clans that fled the Worlds Edge Mountains to a land of everlasting fire and who swore fealty to a different god entirely, a father of darkness.
No dwarf in their right mind would venture this deep alone. Snorri and Morgrim were only there by misadventure, but the old dwarf had clearly come here deliberately. Perhaps he sought to profane the temple. Perhaps it was not a dwarf at all but some unquiet spirit of the lost dwarfs of Karak Krum.
Snorri’s skin felt suddenly cold and he suppressed a shiver. He edged forwards, caught a reassuring glance from Morgrim who was just behind him.
Axe at the ready, Snorri called out, ‘I said, rise and make yourself known. You are in the presence of the prince of Karaz-a-Karak.’
‘I see a great destiny,’ said the old dwarf, both cousins in his sight but looking right through them. ‘A king one day.’
Snorri partly lowered his axe without thinking. Another step brought him within a few short feet of the old dwarf.
His uttered a choked rasp.
‘ My destiny? King?’ The desire in his eyes and his tone betrayed him.
‘One who will lift the great doom of our race, he who will slay the drakk…’ said the old dwarf, half lost in his prophetic reverie and, muttering the last part. ‘ Elgidum …’
‘Drakk?’ Snorri’s axe went up again. ‘What drakk, old one? Is there a beast in these tunnels?’ He glanced around, nervously. Morgrim did the same.
‘I see nothing, cousin,’ he hissed, but was deathly pale and clutched his hammer tightly.
Anger burned away Snorri’s fear like fire banishes ice, and he returned to the old dwarf.
‘Who are you? Speak now or I will–’
‘You will what, brave prince?’ asked the old dwarf, regarding him properly for the first time, groaning in protest as he struggled to his feet in the light. ‘Kneeling is a young dwarf’s game,’ he mumbled under his breath. ‘Would you stab an unarmed dawi, then?’
Like a veil had lifted from his eyes, Snorri balked as he recognised Ranuld Silverthumb, Runelord of Karaz-a-Karak and part of the High King’s Council.
‘Lord Silverthumb, I…’ He kneeled, bowed his head.
So did Morgrim, who caught a flash of azure fire in the runelord’s eyes before he looked down.
Ranuld sighed wearily, ‘Arise, I have no desire to strain my neck and back further by looking down on you pair of wazzocks .’ He scowled at the two dwarfs who got up apologetically. ‘And sheathe your weapons,’ snapped the runelord. ‘Did you think me one of the dawi zharr , mayhap? Or an uzkular ? Ha, ha, ha!’ Ranuld laughed loudly and derisively, muttering, ‘Wazzocks.’
Snorri flushed bright crimson and fought the urge to hide his face.
‘What was that prophecy you spoke of?’ he asked.
Lord Silverthumb grew angry, annoyed. ‘Not for ears the likes of yours!’ he snapped, and a shadow seemed to pass across his face. Snorri thought it looked like concern, but the runesmith was quick to recover and wagged a finger at them both.
‘Choose your own fate. Make your own. Destiny is just about picking a path then walking it.’
Shaking his head, Morgrim asked, ‘What are you doing down here in these ruins, lord? It’s perilous to venture here alone.’
Ranuld gaped in sudden surprise, glancing around in mock panic.
‘Danger is there?’ he asked. ‘From what, I dread to know? Might I be stabbed in the back by my own kith and kin?’ He scowled again, his face wrinkling like old leather, and sneered scornfully. ‘I came here in search of magic, if you must know.’
The look of incredulity on Morgrim’s face only deepened.
Snorri was also perplexed, his silence inviting further explanation.
Ranuld raised a feathery eyebrow, like a snowfall upon the crag of his brow. ‘And you two are supposedly from the blood of kings. Bah!’ He stooped to retrieve his rune stones, chuntering about the thinning of dwarf stock and the dubious practice of krutting , when one consorts with a goat.
Snorri got
No dwarf in their right mind would venture this deep alone. Snorri and Morgrim were only there by misadventure, but the old dwarf had clearly come here deliberately. Perhaps he sought to profane the temple. Perhaps it was not a dwarf at all but some unquiet spirit of the lost dwarfs of Karak Krum.
Snorri’s skin felt suddenly cold and he suppressed a shiver. He edged forwards, caught a reassuring glance from Morgrim who was just behind him.
Axe at the ready, Snorri called out, ‘I said, rise and make yourself known. You are in the presence of the prince of Karaz-a-Karak.’
‘I see a great destiny,’ said the old dwarf, both cousins in his sight but looking right through them. ‘A king one day.’
Snorri partly lowered his axe without thinking. Another step brought him within a few short feet of the old dwarf.
His uttered a choked rasp.
‘ My destiny? King?’ The desire in his eyes and his tone betrayed him.
‘One who will lift the great doom of our race, he who will slay the drakk…’ said the old dwarf, half lost in his prophetic reverie and, muttering the last part. ‘ Elgidum …’
‘Drakk?’ Snorri’s axe went up again. ‘What drakk, old one? Is there a beast in these tunnels?’ He glanced around, nervously. Morgrim did the same.
‘I see nothing, cousin,’ he hissed, but was deathly pale and clutched his hammer tightly.
Anger burned away Snorri’s fear like fire banishes ice, and he returned to the old dwarf.
‘Who are you? Speak now or I will–’
‘You will what, brave prince?’ asked the old dwarf, regarding him properly for the first time, groaning in protest as he struggled to his feet in the light. ‘Kneeling is a young dwarf’s game,’ he mumbled under his breath. ‘Would you stab an unarmed dawi, then?’
Like a veil had lifted from his eyes, Snorri balked as he recognised Ranuld Silverthumb, Runelord of Karaz-a-Karak and part of the High King’s Council.
‘Lord Silverthumb, I…’ He kneeled, bowed his head.
So did Morgrim, who caught a flash of azure fire in the runelord’s eyes before he looked down.
Ranuld sighed wearily, ‘Arise, I have no desire to strain my neck and back further by looking down on you pair of wazzocks .’ He scowled at the two dwarfs who got up apologetically. ‘And sheathe your weapons,’ snapped the runelord. ‘Did you think me one of the dawi zharr , mayhap? Or an uzkular ? Ha, ha, ha!’ Ranuld laughed loudly and derisively, muttering, ‘Wazzocks.’
Snorri flushed bright crimson and fought the urge to hide his face.
‘What was that prophecy you spoke of?’ he asked.
Lord Silverthumb grew angry, annoyed. ‘Not for ears the likes of yours!’ he snapped, and a shadow seemed to pass across his face. Snorri thought it looked like concern, but the runesmith was quick to recover and wagged a finger at them both.
‘Choose your own fate. Make your own. Destiny is just about picking a path then walking it.’
Shaking his head, Morgrim asked, ‘What are you doing down here in these ruins, lord? It’s perilous to venture here alone.’
Ranuld gaped in sudden surprise, glancing around in mock panic.
‘Danger is there?’ he asked. ‘From what, I dread to know? Might I be stabbed in the back by my own kith and kin?’ He scowled again, his face wrinkling like old leather, and sneered scornfully. ‘I came here in search of magic, if you must know.’
The look of incredulity on Morgrim’s face only deepened.
Snorri was also perplexed, his silence inviting further explanation.
Ranuld raised a feathery eyebrow, like a snowfall upon the crag of his brow. ‘And you two are supposedly from the blood of kings. Bah!’ He stooped to retrieve his rune stones, chuntering about the thinning of dwarf stock and the dubious practice of krutting , when one consorts with a goat.
Snorri got
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