"Today I shall inscribe a Rune of the Furnace on this amulet for Thorgil Edmundson and then a Rune of Warding on this ring for Cnut Cnutson," said Grimr. "You should work on repairing those breastplates, there."
Grimr leaned back. "The day after tomorrow, you will leave to travel to Zhufbar with Harald Stonebreaker and his patrol. You will take the pony and cart. In Zhufbar, you will meet with Hargeld Runefinder and receive from him a load of gromril ore to bring back. Give him this bag of gems. Now, to work."
Snorri clutched the bag of gems tightly and carried them to his workspace. The breastplates that needed repair were piled several deep and with a squinted eye picked out one that might not take quite as long as the others. Setting the gems aside, where they would be within his sight, Snorri reached for his apron and looped it over his head. Rough hands expertly tied the cords and smoothed his beard before picking up his hammer. Soon the ring of hammer upon metal blended with soft whistling as he began his day's work.
The work went well as did Grimr's, and at the end of the day Master and Apprentice were truly ready to head down the tunnel to Mistress Gudrun's for a few tankards of ale and a plate of whatever dinner she had made.
Snorri removed his apron and took time to properly care for his set of hammers and grips. They were to be his livelihood and from an early age he could remember his father teaching him the importance of tools. Finally, after cleaning up he grabbed the bag of gems and joined Grimr for their descent.
"Mistress Gudrun is a nice woman, don't you agree?" he commented.
"Indeed so," said Grimr. "And conveniently located to the smithy."
"A fact, which I am sure, benefits you both. She has captured quite a few men's hearts, and not only with her cooking."
"Aye, in the day she was a beauty," said Grimr. "Now, though, she is past childbearing and I think she enjoys the freedom she has here." He waved with his chicken leg to indicate the tavern.
Snorri licked the foam from his beard after taking a draught from the tankard. "The gromril ore, what will we use it for?"
"Armour mostly," said Grimr. "Even without runes, it's light and strong, and only Runesmiths can work it. He cast a sidelong glance at Snorri, "We might have enough left to face an anvil."
The young dwarf's eyes widened, preceding a smile, "That would be nice." Snorri pulled a chunk of bread off the loaf and sopped up the remains of dinner. "Is there anything else I should acquire? perhaps I will get a good price on the ore and have some left over?"
"The deal has already been struck," said Grimr. A thought struck him, "You should take some armour from the stock to wear on your trip. Take what you like."
"You expect trouble?" Snorri asked, pushing his plate away and beginning to brush his beard.
"Not particularly, but the mountains are always full of raiding parties," said Grimr.
"Aye, tis best to be prepared." Snorri began to think ahead as to what he would select for the journey.
Snorri found a mail shirt in the stock that fitted him well and borrowed if for the expedition. He told his brother and sister where he was going and when he expected to be back and Halr gave him a few letters to pass to friends in Zhufbar.
The day of the expedition dawned (presumably, although in the depths of Karak-Kadrin there was no direct way to tell.) Harald Stonebreaker and his patrol of five sturdy dwarf warriors arrived at Grimr's forge to pick up Snorri. The cart had been hitched to the pony and Snorri was ready to depart.
The group passed through the inhabited parts of the dwarfhold and past the checkpoint at the southern end. The guard moved carefully now out into the more dangerous passages, although the path they would take was actually used with some regularity as it led to an exit near the foot of the mountains. By the end of the first day, they had reached the exit with no difficulties and camped just inside the tunnel mouth.
They now faced a week or more of travel through the foothills of the World's Edge Mountains until they reached a safe entrance that would take them back underground.
Some ten days later, they reached the tunnel mouth where they met a patrol out of Zhufbar who told them that things were mostly quiet, but they had heard a goblin raiding party from Mount Gunbad might be trying to make a passage to the Empire between Zhufbar and Karak-Kadrin and to be on their guard.
Another two days along the underground road brought them to Zhufbar, the greatest industrial center of the dwarves, home to the Engineer's Guild, location of three Anvils of Doom, where waterfalls fed by the Black Water drove waterwheels and trip hammers. The site of the underground cascade was always impressive and the party paused for a few moments to enjoy the site, lit by the fires of numerous forges. Then they moved on to the smithy of Hargeld Runefinder.
All was activity in his shop, several apprentices scurried around on tasks that Snorri was deeply familiar with. From the back came the sounds of chanting and hammering, and one apprentice told them that Hargeld was occupied with inscribing runes on a piece of gromril armour. He invited them to rest and refresh themselves until Hargeld was available.
After a few hours, Hargeld, an old but hale dwarf, cheerful and well respected in Zhufbar and abroad, arrived. He devoured a meal, commenting that "Runesmithing is hard work." Then he turned to Snorri, "What news of Karak-Kadrin and my old friend Grimr Gormlson?"
"All is well," belted out Snorri. "Master Grimr is still as strong as goat's breath!" The apprentice hefted the bag of gems to his shoulder and looked around the impressive shop. "We stay busy, but not this busy," he said with a touch of envy.
"We do well enough," said Hargeld looking around with pride. "Still, there is much work to be done. You are here for the ore, yes? It is there." He pointed to a stack of crates on one side of the shop, "I'll have my apprentices load the cart for you. You'll spend the night?"
"That would be best, while the journey here was uneventful the return could be different with a laden wagon."
"Very good." With that accomplished, Hargeld excused himself and returned to work.
"The lads and I will sleep at the barracks and make some reports there," said Harald. "We'll be back in the morning."
The next morning the cart was loaded by the time Harald and the patrol returned. The gems and letters had been given to Hargeld with thanks for the one and promises to move the others on to their eventual destination.
The patrol began to retrace it's steps. They left the tunnels after a day and a half and began to work their way back north. Seven uneventful days passed, on the morning of the eighth, that changed.
"Aargh," cried the lead dwarf as an arrow sprouted from his left arm.
"Goblins," cried Harald. And it was true, from ahead on the road three goblins had appeared firing arrows at the party one of which had found a target. Near the archers, three more goblins armed with a mishmash of hand weapons stood. The goblins began to reload their bows.
Snorri's ingrained racial hatred for the greenskins was tempered by the fact that this was his first violent encouter with them. So, when Harald ordered, "Snorri, stay with the cart," he found it easy enough to obey. The dwarf patrol fired their crossbows and one of the goblins shrieked in pain, then the patrol readied their weapons and charged. The goblins volleyed again and two more dwarves grunted as arrows struck home.
As they hit the enemy, three more goblins leapt out from ambush surrounding the patrol who went back to back and began to lash out with their axes, swords and hammers.
Upon Harald's instruction Snorri hunkered down in the wagon keeping a low profile and clutched his axe in readiness. He kept his his peeled, peering into the rocky crevices which grew up around them. The stench of vile greenskins permeated his nostrils ... or had he imagined that? Nevertheless he secretly hoped that one would break free and fall to his axe. With sure-footedness Snorri stomped around the interior of the wagon around the ore swinging his axe.
His secret hope was answered. From a rock nearby, a goblin leapt into the back of the wagon. "Stumpy die now!" it shrieked raising a notched and jagged sword.
Snorri's training came to the fore and he swung his axe in a low arc. The gobbo caught it on his shield, but that put him out of position for a decent counterstrike. The pair traded another few blows and feints until Snorri landed a solid blow to the goblin's chest that rocked the greenskin back on his heels.
Frightened now, the goblin began to leave more openings, and Snorri pressed his advantage. In doing so he exposed his side and pain shot along his ribs as the goblin slashed his weapon brutally along them.
As the fight continued, Snorri landed a glancing blow on the goblin's arm and took one himself in exchange. After another few blows, Snorri landed a solid blow to the goblin's right forearm. The bones shattered with a crunching sound and the sword fell to the ground. With a cry of pain and horror, the goblin backed to the edge of the cart and leapt off for the safety of the rocks.
Snorri bellowed to the fleeing goblin, "Run back to the pits, greenskin!" punctuated with a spit. Snorri wanted desperately to pursue his adversary and finish him off, yet the wagon could not be left unguarded. Besides, pursuing a goblin alone was dangerous for there was no honor among the dregs and he didn't want to be surrounded by the savages.
With grace belying his compact size, the dwarf dropped off the wagon to the ground and took the abandoned sword, assessing its quality. "Bah, you forgot your pig sticker!" he cried throwing it into the rocks.
Now that he was free to look around, he saw that the rest of the battle was drawing to a close. By the patrol, six, no seven, goblins lay dead on the ground. Two of the archers, it seems, had managed to flee. To Snorri's horror, two dwarves also lay unmoving on the ground. Of the others, none save one had come through the fight unscathed. Two of the patrol lifted their fallen comrades at Harald's order and bore them back to the wagon as Harald and the unwounded dwarf stood guard and searched through the fallen goblins.
Snorri helped to arrange the fallen dwarves on the wagon and when he stood, he saw Harald holding something out to him. "What do you make of this," he said.
With a wince, Snorri clutched his ribs and assured Harald that he was fine. A deep breath felt both good and bad as the pain brought a smile to his face. He reached for the object and grunted approvingly, examining it from all sides.
It was an axe, the shaft was both slipshod and a recent addition, typical goblin work. The head, though ... Snorri caught his breath. The head was dwarf work, very fine, and there glowing dimly in the sunlight but burning brightly to his trained senses were two runes. He looked more closely, the axe-head was inscribed with a Rune of Speed and a Rune of Cleaving.
A grunt and then "Tis of our kind. Charmed with runes, it is." Snorri held the axe by the head and began to balance it on his outstretched palm. "Much too good for a greenskin, and never to have been sold." He sniffed the blade, rubbing the runes and then touching his tongue before spitting to the side. "Master Grimr ought to see this, maybe he can determine who did the carvings and for whom. I fear a comrade might have fallen."
"That's well thought," said Harald. "It was wielded by that damned greenie," he hawked and spat, "who used it to crush poor Redbeard's skull. Come on lads, let's throw this carrion off the road so we can move on." The surviving members of the patrol climbed off the cart and shoved the goblin bodies off the road allowing Snorri to move the cart on.
The rest of the trip was without event, but all breathed a sigh of relief when they passed the checkpoint into Karak-Kadrin. "Me and the lads will make our report now," said Harald. "We'll send someone 'round for the fallen and too hear what Grimr has to say." He offered a hand to Snorri, "Ye handled yourself well there. Pity that one escaped, but ye did right to stay with the wagon. If you find yourself wanting to do a stint with the troops, look me up."
"That ye can count on," barked Snorri with a firm pat on the back.
Climbing back onto the wagon Snorri tugged the reins to send the team over to Grimr's shop. Upon arrival he climbed down and untied the restraining ropes before going inside. He hefted his own axe up to his shoulder and carried the found one with reverence. Oh how he wanted to remove the haft and replace it with something fitting, to free it from the abomination that some greenskin had attached, and restore it to prominence. That, however, must wait until Master Grimr had examined.
"Master Grimr, I have returned with the ore and much more," he called out.
"Good, good," said Grimr bustling out of the smithy. "We're at the busy time again, but in a few days you can start smelting the ore." He stopped cold at the sight of the bodies in the cart, "The trip was not quiet then, are you allright? What happened?"
Snorri looked over his shoulder at the wagon and hung his head, "I am better than some." For the next few minutes Snorri told Grimr of the trip to Zhufbar and Hargeld's well wishes. When time came to speak of the attack, he took seat on a shop stool and recounted the horrid greenskins and downplayed his part, subconsciously rubbing his aching side.
Harald found this, he said offering the dwarven axe. "It claimed the life of Redbeard, look there are runes upon the blade."
Grimr took the axe and examined it. Almost to himself he said, "We must rehaft this." He traced the runes carefully wit a finger, "These designs ... the style." His brow creased in concentration, "Can it be?" His face was a study in surprise, "If I am not mistaken, these runes were engraved by Durak Dimzadson. His clan has been lost for hundreds of years and Durak himself was lost at that time. They had gone to to found a hold in the Middle Mountains but the entire hold was lost and so, too, were the records of where it lay."
"So this is hundreds of years old?" Snorri asked. "Can we determine when it was forged?"
"It is, to the best of my knowledge. But I know of no way to tell when it was forged," said Grimr.
"Could it be that the clan was not lost? and that they still forge and fight in the mountains?" inquired Snorri with the tone of a child.
"It could be," said Grimr, "but why would they not send word? I think it more likely that this goblin found this weapon somewhere, perhaps the ruins of the failed keep." A glint of avarice lit up Grimir's eyes. "They had an Anvil of Doom with them in the hold when it was lost. Perhaps the Anvil is there still."
Snorri leaned forward, "Greenskins would not, could not, appreciate such a magnificent thing such as that. We should go claim it!" The young dwarf rubbed his rough hands together, "if there are more weapons there, then it is important that they not fall in the hands of greens."
"Aye," said Grimr, "and recovering an Anvil of Doom would secure our family's fame. And give me - us - the ability to craft permanent Runes without borrowing time from Zhufbar."
"It is best for all," said Snorri concluding that everyone would agree. "Should I speak to Harald about seeking the lost clan?" he asked.
"It is best that I speak to the King first, I think," said Grimr.
Snorri found sleeping to be difficult. The pain in his side was only partly to blame as the thought of that magnificent axe head inscribed with Dwarven runes resting there in its defiled state. Realizing that smelting would be delayed while he healed, Snorri rolled out of his bed and trudged off to the shop. It was still early, but he had work to do. First, he would find a haft worthy of the axe head and then he would begin to rectify what the greenskins had attempted to pervert.
Snorri spent a frustrating morning trying to find an appropriate haft for the blade. He had found a few pieces of wood that might work, but one split as soon as he began to shape it and another turned out to have rot at the core. He had just settled down with a third piece and started to plane it a bit when Grimr returned with the axe. He nodded approvingly when he saw Snorri at work. "I have spoken with King Ungrim, shown him the axe. He agrees that we must investigate this further and seek the lost hold."
"Excellent," barked Snorri as he finely shaved curls from the wood. "I have finally found a haft worthy of such a blade," he loosened the vice and looked down the length with an approving eye. Twirling it, he landed it onto the workbench and tested it for balance and surface. "When might I leave?" asked Snorri off-handedly hoping that Grimr would allow him to go.
Grimr put down the axe and lifted the new haft, giving it an experimental swing through the air. "You wish to follow up on this?" He nodded, "Of course you do. These raiders are entered in your Book of Grudges, eh? If your honour demands it, who am I to stop you?"
"Aye, one escaped me." Snorri hung his head in shame, "for our lost clan, for Redbeard, our family, and my honor I must go."
"But go where? that is the question," said Grimr. "Ungrim is consulting with his warriors and chiefs, we have little to go on at the moment. Rest now. Finish rehafting this weapon. Then we will determine both to whom it should go. If you have thoughts on how to proceed, take them to Harald Stonebreaker."
Snorri nodded and went back to work.
It was the tenth of Sigmarzeit when Grimr spoke of the subject again over dinner. "The plan has been made, Snorri," he said. "The raiders who attacked you were a scouting party attached to a larger group of raiders that call themselves Morbag's Marauders. They seem to be made up of members of several different goblin tribes and led by a few orcs. They seem to work back and forth from Mount Gunbad and parts of the Empire. Our scouts have found a base they have built between here and Zhufbar - the scum! Ungrim will lead a team of Slayers in a frontal assault, Harald Stonebreaker will lead a smaller unit through what looks like an escape tunnel - to seal it off so that none may escape. Would you like to go with Stonebreaker?"
"Aye, that I would. To crush them in their moment of cowardice will be sweet!" Snorri tore into a potato that he had been chasing around his plate. "When we take the base we will find more about the lost clan," he stated, "that is if the vile greens can write!" A guffaw followed at his joke, to which he added for Grimr "I will find the Anvil. But first I need to finish up with the ore." With a heave he pushed himself from the table and started off for the shop.
Grimr stopped him, "No. Go see Harald Stonebreaker and learn what you must do. You leave tomorrow. Take my helmet. I have not worn it in battle for many years, but it may serve you well."
Snorri looked on in awe at the majestic helm, and took it with reverence. "I shall wear it with pride." The apprentice shuffled out carrying the helmet, once outside he chanced to put it on and decided to seek out Stonebreaker in preparation for adventure come morn.
He found Harald in the quarters assigned to the army, near the huge central hall of the keep. He noticed immediately that Harald bore the runeaxe they had found. Harald followed his gaze. "Yes," he said, "King Ungrim has given me Sharptooth so that Grundi Redbeard may be properly avenged. Will you join us tomorrow?"
"That I am, there is much left unfinished. May Sharptooth serve you well, it has been reborn in the hands of a dwarf."
"Good. I was on my way to the Temple of Grungni to pray for success and swear vengeance on Grundi's killers," he said.
"Well met, I would like to follow and learn more of our mission and my duties," said Snorri falling into pace beside the warrior.
The two turned into the large cavern off the main hall and knelt for a few moments before the giant statue of Grungni and when they rose, Harald's eyes shone with renewed purpose. "Let's get a drink," he said. Over the ale, he filled Snorri in. "Your job is two fold. First, of course, is to fight and help block the exit so that none may escape. Secondly, at the moment I just right, you and I will lead a team down into the caverns to see what we can learn about the origin of Sharptooth. You are the expert in runes and will perhaps see things that we would miss."
With a nod Snorri understood.
"Good." Harald finished his ale. "Be at the muster point tomorrow morning at the sixth hour. We have a two day march."
Harald and his troops took up a position outside the escape tunnel and waited. They had no way of knowing what was happening inside or when the attack had begun, they only assumed their side would prove victorious.
After some time, their faith was rewarded. A disordered rabble of goblins exploded out of the tunnel in full rout. The waiting dwarves fell on them and massacred them to the last. For the next hour, goblins appeared in dribs and drabs and were slaughtered. Then the pace slacked and Harald came to a decision. "Snorri," he called, "it is time. Search squad, come with me."
Snorri pushed his way to the front, adjusted his borrowed helm and hoisted the axe to his shoulder. He had been keeping a low profile during the skirmish, except when it came to a goblin with a badly injured arm which he did not see. "Lead on," he said peering into the tunnel.
The construction of the interior was of poor quality, the engineer in Snorri noted as they moved in. In addition to Snorri and Harald there were eight other dwarves on the search team. They moved on and down looking for any pockets of goblin resistance or clues to the source of the runeaxe Harald bore.
Here and there they found a few snotlings, quickly dispatched, or the occassional terrified goblin. They had no opporuntity to take prisoners nor did they find anything unsual until they had dropped fifty or sixty feet down into the earth. There something caught Snorri's eye, a sideshaft had been cut, and although it was rude and unfinished, it bore the unmistakable mark of dwarvish design.
Even though the main tunnel was sloppy Snorri recognized that the acoustics could still give their position away. He gently tapped Harald on the shoulder and gestured toward the sideshaft. He rubbed his hands along the wall and tugged on his beard to convey dwarven workmanship. A knowing nod indicated that they should explore this way, for their brethren had once gone there.
The party went down the shaft, and Snorri realized that the although the design was good, most of the work was poor. Almost as if greenies had been working from Dwarvish plans. Something caught his eye, there were strange holes drilled in the ceiling. It struck him them looked like holes for blasting or demolition.
Snorri shuffled over to Herald and whispered "Something is amiss. The design is of our kin, the execution by the hands of the greens." He sniffed the air and stroked his beard, pointing out the holes above. "Could be fer blastin' the greenies are looking fer something. Somethin' our brothers detailed."
Suddenly, the use of the holes became clear. A faint scent of sulfur and Harald shouted, "Get out!" He grabbed Snorri and shoved him down the tunnel diving after him as a series of explosions rocked the tunnel. When the dust cleared, Harald was nursing a bruise on his arm where a piece of falling rock had hit him and of the rest of the squad there was no sign. The tunnel had collapsed completely and any who had not been crushed by the falling rock were trapped on the far side of the rubble.
Snorri scrambled to his feet and brushed off his shirt. Soon he found the helm Grimr had loaned him and replaced it atop his head. "Bah! I hate the greenies." He turned to Harald, "They may spring ev'ry trap known to the light and the dark, but they won't stop us." A cursory look around their surroundings led him to propose, "We can't go back. We go forward."
Harald recovered his axe and shield and looked grim. "Indeed, we have no choice. That trap did not seem like a greenie trap, though. I wonder what we have stepped into."
"Aye, worked a bit too good to be from them," Snorri surmised. He began to trace the walls with his hands, they could tell him much he hoped.
Carefully, the two dwarves began to move forward. With luck, whoever had set the trap would think they had been killed when it went off.
Perhaps not, though. A faint chink of metal on stone was all the warning they got before a figure launched itself out of a small side passage. It looked like a dwarf in full armour wielding a two handed axe and only reflex saved Harald from a devastating blow.
Snorri cursed aloud, "What madness be this?" He readied his axe and waded forward, "You, can't ye see we are your brethren. Look at the beards!" It would probably be futile, but Snorri did not want to bring harm to a fellow dwarf, even one who might be mad due to years of captivity under greenskin oppression.
Weapons rang on armour as their foe attacked silently and implacably. He drew blood on Harald's injured arm, but Harald's blow with Sharptooth to his chest rocked him back and let Snorri land a ringing blow to the enemy's head.
Shrugging it off, the dwarf, if dwarf it was, continued to attack Harald's wounded arm. Harald parried with Sharptooth but such was the force of the blow that the shaft of the axe shattered sending Harald staggering back as the head fell to the floor.
Turning to Snorri, the enemy pressed the attack. Grimr's helmet saved Snorri from a painful wound, but the followup blow to his arm was extremely painful and the subsequent one was terrible in it's force.
Harald had recovered somewhat by now and drawn his dagger. He slammed into their foe from behind, driving the dagger point into the collarbone. The foe made the first sound they had heard, a burbling cry of pain. He twisted around and missed removing Harald's head by a hair's breadth. Off balance, Harald's next blow knocked the enemy to the ground. Flailing about, his leg lifted into the path of Snorri's next blow, which took it off completely at the hip. Blood gushed from the wound and the foeman shook once, then lay still.
Falling to his knees, Snorri crawled over to the downed foe. "Me brother, why did you attack us?" With a pained expression he looked to remove the helmet of their slain attacker.
With some effort, he managed to pry the helmet off the foe, and then recoiled in shock. The face within was dwarven, save for the mass of tentacles growing around the mouth - a hideous Chaos mutation!
With horror Snorri dropped the helmet and scuffled backwards on his hands backside. Impacting the stone wall, he was snapped back to the moment at hand. "Curse you!" he shook his fist to the sky and spat at the infernal beast. Then he looked to Harald, "are you okay, me friend?" Struggling to his feet Snorri approached his companion.
Neither dwarf was at their best, both would require medical aid if Snorri was any judge. Harald concurred, "We would have difficulty besting a snotling in this state was his estimation."
Snorri, looked forward and back. "Going forward would be foolhardy," he determined. "Surely our brothers have begun digging out, we could go back and let them know we are alive. Perhaps a healer has been called in." His eyes came to rest on the creature.
He examined the Chaos dwarf, for surely that was what it must be. His Runesmithing skills came to the fore and he examined the weapons and armour. The foul thing bore a two-handed axe, and both he and Harald bore testament to its effectiveness, and was clad from head to toe in plate armour. All was clearly of dwarf make, though with strange and disturbing designs. The axe and the armour also bore runic designs. Snorri could identify them as temporary runes whose power was spent. The axe bore a Rune of Fury, the armour a Rune of Healing and a Rune of Smiting.
Harald watched the search. "This thing," he said, "has slain my patrol and smirched my honour. He has paid, but his tribe must pay as well." Snorri could almost see the creature's tribe being entered into Harald's mental Book of Grudges. "They will search for us, but only if they find the passage and the fall looks recent. Or if some of the patrol escaped on the other side. Are we better waiting here, retiring to the collapsed tunnel, or faring forward?"
Snorri sighed, stroking his beard. "If we advance, we could meet more like that," he thumbed toward the creature. "More could bear the runes of our kind, which might very well claim our lives and leave grudges unpaid." After a couple of steps from where they came, he stood hands upon his hips "We have no way of knowing how deep the cave-in occured in the tunnel. You are correct that they might not know our peril, they would expect us to continue on." Snorri looked at the runic axe, and Harald's sundered weapon. If only there were a way to salvage it.
Snorri sighed, stroking his beard. "If we advance, we could meet more like that," he thumbed toward the creature. "More could bear the runes of our kind, which might very well claim our lives and leave grudges unpaid." After a couple of steps from where they came, he stood hands upon his hips "We have no way of knowing how deep the cave-in occured in the tunnel. You are correct that they might not know our peril, they would expect us to continue on." Snorri looked at the runic axe, and Harald's sundered weapon. If only there were a way to salvage it.
Examining the weapons, Snorri proposed. "I might be able to repair yer axe, though it'll take some time. I could refit the haft of this two handed axe to it. It won't be perfect, but it'll do." He looked down the edge and nodded, "Time is what we have plenty of and we could use the healin'" He looked up at Harald, "What say ye?"
"Aye," said Harald. "Lend me your axe so I can stand guard while ye work." The two took their positions, and for a time the only sound was the scrape of knife on wood as Snorri whittled the haft of the big axe down to size. Twice he borrowed his axe back from Harald to make deep cuts. Finally after a couple of hours, he was finished. They traded weapons and Harald took a couple of swings. "It may do," he said. "I think that if there was anything else down here, we would have heard from them by now."
"Unless they are made to attack when someone gets near," he cautioned. "It bore runes of a temporary nature, to be used for a short time and a purpose, to kill visitors. There could be others, let us hope I am wrong." Snorri climbed to his feet and cleaned his knife as best he could returning it to his side. Affixing his borrowed helm, he set off deeper into the mountain. The appearance of the Chaos defiled dwarf confirmed the dwarven influence on the tunnels, that is if dwarves corrupted such still had their minds about them to design plans. Regardless, there was evil ahead and they were marching into its midst.
Their fears came to naught, as it happened. The extent of the tunnels beyond their resting place was small. The side shaft had been constructed as an ambush point, and served its purpose well, the main shaft led down only another short distance before ending in two chambers. One was a storage room. It contained several bags of what Snorri identified as gromril ore, and - a sight to gladden their hearts - a selection of mining tools, as well as a supply of gunpowder and fusing, which explained the mechanics of the collapsing tunnel. The second room was living quarters, clearly designed for a single occupant. They were pleased to see several casks of water and one of hardtack. They were uncertain what animal was the origin of the slices of roast, and Harald suggested that they avoid eating that. Other than that, there was little in the room - a bed, a slop bucket and a chair. Snorri saw nothing to indicate that a Runesmith was in residence.
Snorri took greater care to examine the living quarters, hoping to find some sign as to who might have called it home, and to determine how recent it had been occupied. The gromril ore was a good find, and it might mean that the Anvil was nearby.
It seemed as though the Chaos dwarf had been the sole occupant.
"We can use these to escape," he said fingering the mining tools. "Blasting might be risky, I don' trust the greenies mining. Could bring down the rest of the tunnel, it could. We can dig out, and pray that our brothers will hear our work."
Harald agreed. "We can work in shifts, with one resting while the other labors. We are neither of us fit for extended mining."
They took their tools back to the collapsed tunnel and under Snorri's guidance picked their starting location. In their battered condition, it was slow going. They stopped often to drink and rest and twice to sleep. Fortunately, their was an airshaft somewhere in their tunnels or else those sleeps had been their last. Eight times, they paused in their work to pull a crushed body from the rubble and lay it out gently in the store room. During one rest, Snorri rehafted Sharptooth with the haft from one of the axes carried by a fallen comrade.
Little by little, the level of water in the casks dropped, the hardtack dissappeared, and the rubble was shifted. The deeper they went the slower the going was as they had to move the rubble further and further back. The labor sometimes reopened their wounds and they paused to make bandages from the bedclothes. But progress was made, inch by painful inch.
By Snorri's estimation, it was nearly a week before they broke through into the former raider hideout. They collapsed and nearly wept with relief.
A smile broke across his face and he combed through his beard at their accomplishment. With sore muscles he patted Harald on the back, "there not be a mountain a dwarf cannot tunnel his way through!" The exertion caused him to stagger and he leaned against the wall. "We rest, and then find our way out."
Harald nodded, "You are one of the toughest dwarves I have ever known, Snorri Odmasson, and I count you as a brother after what we have done here."
Snorri turned a bit red under his brown beard, but took the compliment as a badge of honor.
The pair rested and then gathered, at Harald's suggestion, the rest of the hardtack, "In case we must walk all the way home." They retraced their steps slowly back to the exit from the hideout, noting on the way that the dwarvish sweep had been thorough - no bodies of dwarves or greenies remained.
Outside the door, they found a pyre where the greenskin bodies had been burned and they stopped again to rest for a moment. "Though I love the deeps," said Harald. "There is something to be said for the sun."
A barrel chested breath of air filled Snorri's lungs and he exhaled forcefully, "That goes double for me. There not be much sweeter than the ring of a hammer, smell of smelted ore, and the bright sun." He looked back from whence they came, "There lies many more mysteries back there. We ought to explore it's secrets, could mean a great deal toward paying some grudges."
In fact, they met a patrol of dwarves the next morning who were shocked to see them alive. They whisked them home and heard their tales, which they told to Grimr, to the dwarven Warlord, and eventually - what honour! - to the King himself.
While they rested and recovered, aided by a visit from Grimr and his anvil and Rune of Restoration painted on their foreheads, a recovery party was sent to sweep the raider hold clean again.
A week passed while the pair recovered from their wounds; neither had suffered any dreadful hurt and the rest and care of the healers allowed their naturally robust constitutions full play so that by that time both felt nearly their old selves. Then they were called in to meet with Grimr and Vemund Boarsbane, the Warlord of Karak-Kadrin.
"Snorri, Harald," said Vemund, "You have uncovered a terrible thing. Grimr, tell them."
"This Chaos dwarf," Grimr spat, "was the foulest thing I have ever seen. I was to examine his armour and weapons for clues to his origin. I found his armour was grown into his flesh in a fashion most unclean. All his accoutrements were of dwarf make, but with corrupt designs and such engraved into them. The runes are the most troubling. The lineage is clear, that of Durak Dimzadson, but I do not know the hand. No true Runesmith would put his work on such abominations as this creature's armour and weapons, thus I can only think that someone in Durak's line has become tainted with Chaos. This foulness must be expurgated."
Snorri felt cold inside at the words of Grimr. It was so, that he knew, when he first saw the creature for what it was yet he could not fathom the depths of the evil. He glanced over at Warlord Vemund and felt inadequate. Snorri's beard came to mid torso and the brawny warlord's stood tucked in his belt, ready for battle at all times. Self-consciously he scratched his meager beard and spoke, "I agree. We have many grudges for what befell us in the mountain, not just us but the kingdom." Despite its scope, he felt that not too harsh of an indictment.
"T'would be an honor to go below and remove the defilers, and in turn reclaim what is ours." Snorri looked at Harald, confident that he felt the same way. "Master Grimr, Warlord Vemund. If one that is tainted wields our ways, then I wish to be the hand that stops them."
"And mine as well," said Harald.
The two old dwarves exchanged looks, then Vemund nodded. "It could not be otherwise. Now, though, we have run the trail to its end. In light of your information, the Engineer's Guild have gone over the raider's stronghold with exacting detail. There are no deeper caverns attached to it. All we know is that Durak Dimzadson was lost in the Middle Mountains. Perhaps that is whence these abominations issue. But, we do not know where!" He pounded fist in palm in frustration.
"Snorri, Harald, have you any thing to add?" asked Grimr. "Any way to trace back the creature to his lair?"
"We found where he laid his vile head," began Snorri detailing the side passage and the two rooms found there. Snorri spoke of the mining supplies and ore. "I didn' find any signs of maps nor writings. Just that ev'rythin had the mark of goblin handiwork," he spat.
"Those rooms were found and examined and the gromril ore recovered," said Vemund. "But the Engineers found nothing else of interest there either. Frustrating as it seems, there is little we can do now."
For all the concern and danger, there seemed to be little that could be done at the moment. Vemund increased patrols in the area around the former raider stronghold, and almost as an afterthought had some sappers seal the entrances to prevent fresh raiders from using it.
Months passed and Snorri fell back into the routine at the smithy. He smelted the gromril ore, both the ore brought from Zhufbar and that recovered from the raiders. He watched and learned as Grimr worked the metal into helmets, breastplates, greaves and gauntlets.
The main change in his routine was that Harald Stonebreaker came to visit often, to talk of his work and learn of Snorri's. Their friendship deepened. Harald spoke of his horror at their discoveries and how it had strengthened his devotion to Grungni. He said that he was considering working toward becoming a Templar in the Order of the Stone Wall.
Eventually, though, things began to return to normal, and by winter when the snow closed the passes, the raid seemed to have faded from the minds of most of the folk in the dwarfhold.
Eventually, though, things began to return to normal, and by winter when the snow closed the passes, the raid seemed to have faded from the minds of most of the folk in the dwarfhold.