Thorgrim (Warlords of Karak Eight Peaks Book 3) by David Guymer

Author:David Guymer [Guymer, David]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Black Library
Published: 2014-01-14T16:00:00+00:00

King of Kings

On this day am I reminded of my meeting with Leoncoeur, king of that human province they call ‘Bretonnia’. My throng was in the Grey Mountains to burn out some bandit lord based within the lands of Karak Norn. The umgi king had, I presume, mustered to similar purpose. Suffice to say that the thaggi stronghold was crushed, the thief-lord slain by my own axe. This then left the issue of captives. The manling king did plead with me on their behalf. ‘They were without choice,’ he did say, for they were but starving peasants, and did proceed to speak at length upon a code he referred to as ‘chivalry’.

Perhaps such philosophy is the consequence of harbouring elgi within one’s borders.

‘They had a choice,’ I did patiently remind this young king, and they had chosen not to starve. The soil of Karak Norn was well nourished that day. There can be no tolerance for oathbreakers, even amongst the younger races. How else are they to learn, if not by relentless example?

– The remembrances of Thorgrim Grudgebearer,

Recorded following the razing of Schwarzheim

from the foothills of Cragmere

Under the jaded hue of torches and celebration lanterns, dwarfs in a mix of clan colours jostled over the flagstones of Veldi Vor. Darkness was just beginning to creep into the sky. The air held the day’s mugginess though, and the added heat of the lanterns was enough to bring the tempers of dwarfs still stoked by battle right back to the boil. Thorgrim did not think he could ever comprehend what had possessed a dawi to construct a hold so slaved to the elements and the cycles of the heavens. By the harsh glare of naked flame grudges were traded, like skarrenawi over a goat. Whispers of wrongdoing passed from ear to ear, growing more egregious with each retelling until the chain was broken with young clansdwarfs rendered speechless with wrath.

‘Beggars and cheats,’ went the accusations of the Everpeak clans.

‘Arrogant misers,’ came the embittered return of the Eight Peaks.

From the magisterial height of the Throne of Power, Thorgrim observed it play out. As he watched, a chisel-jawed Eight Peaks stonemason squared up to a warrior of Karaz-a-Karak and it looked like their disagreement would be settled in a runk before a pair of hammerers dragged them apart. This was as the dammazuk should be; an arena for grudges that had been given too much time and space in which to fester.

A group of warriors waited on the East Gate Road, holding just outside the square well away from the arguments brewing within. The Akrund clanners that had joined the throng from Karaz-a-Karak had the same dour temperament as their lord. Leading them for the first time in decades, Duregar bore himself with a certain grim-faced pride. The longbeard was still filthy from the battle. Thorgrim afforded him a brief nod. Duregar returned it, then he and his clan about turned and marched back in the direction of the East Gate.

A proper dawi, Thorgrim thought, and a good influence on his feral cousin.

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