A Kingdom in Chaos (A Kingdom Divided Book 3) by Stokes S.C

Author:Stokes, S.C. [Stokes, S.C.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Prescient Publishing
Published: 2017-07-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

The Everpeak

Morning came swiftly, and it found the throne room thronged once more. Some clansmen had absented themselves, clearly disinterested in watching two Dwarves kill each other in the name of honor. Others gathered, waiting almost giddily for the macabre event. Never before had the Kirin Ankor been employed to settle a matter of royal succession.

The fate and future of the Dwarven Kingdom rested on the outcome of the deadly combat. Whoever emerged victorious would surely be ratified by the assembled Clan Leaders. If Torgen were victorious, the Kirin Ankor would see a shift in the ruling title of the Dwarves from the Ironheart to the Ironfist—it would herald a new age. Whether such a change was for good or evil was yet to be determined. Those Dwarves who stood eager to preserve the ways of tradition had allied themselves with the heir to the Ironheart. Exile they could overlook, but defiling the last rites of the Great Tharadin was an offense that had stirred considerable dissent.

Torgen was not without his supporters—in his time in the Ironguard he had served with a host of Dwarven nobility. Those comrades of old had now returned to their places in their clans. Some ruled their houses, and others wielded influence and respect. The depth of those loyalties forged in battle were displayed proudly as Torgen’s supporters clustered about him, eagerly voicing their support.

The assembled Dwarves spoke among themselves as they waited for Ferebour to appear. The exiled Dwarf had not been seen since the meeting had dispersed the previous evening.

The sound of steel on steel rang through the chamber. Clang. Clang. Clang.

Dwarves looked about, searching for the source of the noise. It rang out again. Torgen approached the Ironguard by the throne for an explanation.

“It’s Ferebour, milord. He’s in the King’s Forge.”

“Has he been there long?” Torgen asked, a little surprised to find his foe so engaged.

“All night, milord.”

“By the Allfather—what is he up to?”

“I don’t know, milord,” the Ironguard replied gruffly.

“Why don’t you go and ask him?” Torgen suggested as he motioned toward the forge.

“Very well, sire,” the dwarf answered. The Ironguard turned smartly and walked swiftly to the door of the forge. Then the old dwarf paused for a moment and pushed open the door.

Torgen tapped his boot against the stone floor as he waited for the Ironguard to re-emerge. Dressed from beard to boot in the plate mail of the Ironguard, he cut an impressive figure. Under his arm he carried his helmet, and slung across his back was the large two-handed axe the Ironguard were famous for employing.

After a short wait the Ironguard re-emerged and crossed the room to where Torgen waited.

“Well?” Torgen asked.

“‘E said ‘e was smithin’, milord.”

“Smithing? At a time like this?” Torgen was incredulous, unable to tell whether the delay was a lapse in judgment on his foe’s part or whether Ferebour had simply gone mad. “Well, get him out here. The Kirin Ankor awaits, as do we all.”

“‘E ‘ad an answer for that, too, milord.

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