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Masters of Stone and Steel Omnibus – Extract

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Chapter one

‘The Angboks were miners by inclination for the most part, neither the largest nor the most powerful to live in Karak Eight Peaks, but also not the weakest or smallest. Our people since the ancestors walked among us have held to tradition and custom as the bedrock of existence, and so it must be today, for if we forget where we have come from we will wander without end. But even so, the Angboks and others of similar mind were perhaps given to a more outward-looking temperament. They were not discontent, but there was set in their thoughts a notion that the halls of Karak Eight Peaks did not contain all that they desired. So it was that a great number of them gathered and with permission from their king ventured forth, heading towards the sunset to find a new land they could add to the great empire of our people.’

Biting her lip to stop it trembling, Haldora barely listened to her father’s words as he recited the life-wreaths of her grandmother, Awdhelga. Instead, Haldora’s thoughts were filled with more personal memories than those bold achievements listed by rote on the tomb-slab of the family crypt. She thought of ‘Gramma Awdie’ working the valves on the small brewery she built; sharpening her axe on the whetstone at the top of the western delves; telling the story of how she killed five goblins in as many heartbeats while she polished their gilded skulls.

‘Five years, to this day,’ Haldora’s father intoned as he stepped away from the tombstone, letting his hand drop to his side from where his fingers had been following the lines of runes cut into the granite. With due ceremony concluded, Gabbik allowed himself a sniff of grief; a personal moment as a tear glistened in his eye. ‘A fine mam.’

He was dressed in his best clothes, like all of them, his shirt tucked into his woollen breeches, boots polished to glisten like fresh coal, hair neatly combed into a single knot, beard and moustache plaited into long braids.

Beside him was a more unkempt, older figure, one shirt tail half-out of his leather work trousers, beard hastily combed, the scent of ale about him. ‘A fine dwarf,’ added Skraffi, widower to the renowned, some would say infamous, Awdhelga Angbok. ‘The best.’

‘Blackbeer and skrob kuri tonight,’ announced Friedra, Haldora’s mother. She wore a long black dress embroidered with complex knotwork in thick silver thread. Her hair was tied in two bunches held by gold-studded leather thongs. Her eyes were cast down to the bare stone floor of the mausoleum, hands fidgeting with the square of a handkerchief. ‘Awdhelga’s recipe, like always.’

‘My favourite,’ said Gabbik, wiping the back of his hand across his nose. ‘Aww, mam, keep safe in yonder halls.’

In silence they filed out of the crypt, back up a short passage to the family shrine adjoining Skraffi’s meadery. The room was egg-like in shape, the fatter end of the oval carved into tiers like steps, six in all. Arranged on the highest shelf were three figurines almost as tall as the dwarfs – Grungni, Valaya and Grimnir. Ancestors to the whole dwarf race, they took pride of place: Grungni with hammer and anvil, Valaya with cloak and herbs, and Grimnir with axe and orc skull.

On the step below were the five oldest fathers of the Angbok clan, rendered as metal discs with stylised faces, helms and beards. Beneath them the family ancestors, a mix of clay and metal badges, figurines, busts and other ornaments each made to the fashion and preference of the family at the time. A likeness of Awdhelga took pride of place in the middle of the tier, rendered out of a single piece of coal hewn by her own hand the day before she had finally died of old age.

Next to it was a simple clay pipe, fixed just behind the bowl with a strip of bronze. This triggered the strongest memories of all – Gramma Awdie with all the clan beardlings gathered around to hear tales of the old days before the War of Vengeance and elf-brought grief.

‘She made herself mistress of many things,’ Haldora said with a sigh, ‘but her stories I’ll miss the most. She spun tales better than her yarn.’

‘And was never shy to share them, neither,’ said Skraffi. He patted his son on the shoulder. ‘Very generous was your mam.’ Skraffi turned his attention to Haldora and winked. ‘And right proud of you too, she was. ‘Tis a shame she ain’t here to teach you more.’

‘Everything important, she told me ‘fore she went,’ said Haldora.

‘That’s as you like, but there’s still plenty a trick round fireplace and kitchen you need to learn,’ said Friedra. ‘You’ll be helping me with the kuri, won’t you now?’

‘Oh mam, we’re breaking into a new seam today. The gang’ll need every pick and shovel to help.’

‘It’s all well and good you doing your part down the mines, but you’ll not catch the eye of a future husband covered in coal dust and without a pot of something filling on your arm.’

‘I’m just two years past my thirtieth birthday, plenty of time for that sort of thing once I know I can earn my keep.’

‘You earn your keep by having floors swept, bellies full and bringing on the patter of little boots,’ said Gabbik. ‘It was a blessing the day I had a daughter, but for all the way you act we might have had a son.’

‘Gramma Awdie killed goblins and brewed beer and stitched the standard of Ekrund, all ‘fore she was one hundred – there’s no good reason I have to be chained to the ovens.’

‘Nobody’s saying that, but you’re not a stripling now, my girl.’ Friedra started towards the archway leading out into the passage towards the Angbok halls. ‘You think Awdhelga was too good to fill a trencher for her family on feast days? Show her more respect than that.’

‘Grammi, tell them!’ Haldora said when her mother had left, turning her attention to Skraffi, who had started to absent-mindedly polish the metal ancestor badges with the tail of his shirt.

‘Your mam is right, and so are you,’ he said. He fumbled in the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a set of thick-rimmed nose-pinch spectacles. He ceremoniously put them on and looked at the inscription of the golden badge in his other hand. ‘Grafgar Angbok. My great-uncle. Lost his left thumb in the war.’

‘Grammi, that’s no answer!’

‘Only one you’ll be getting today, Haldi.’

‘My name is Haldora. I am a grown-up now.’

‘Whatever you say, Haldi.’

‘We should be off to break that new seam,’ said Gabbik, heading towards the door. He looked back at Haldora and Skraffi. ‘If you two have finished with your mooning about, of course.’

Skraffi put down the ancestor badge and followed Gabbik out.

Alone with her ancestors, Haldora took a moment for herself. She stood in front of all the badges, deathmasks, busts and statuettes, curling a tress of hair around her left thumb. She looked at Awdhelga’s symbol on the ledge and took a deep breath.

‘Gramma Awdie? Thank you. Look over us today.’ On a whim she lifted the old pipe and took it with her as she turned away. ‘I hope I will be half the dwarf you were.’

Like all dwarfs, the Angboks were right at home when underground, though even they could not see in absolute darkness. The light of lanterns swinging from rods and candles fixed to helmets glimmered along the rough-hewn tunnel as Gabbik accompanied the next shift down to the mines. This part of Ekrund was a working mine, the living seams still yielding ore for the craftsdwarfs and furnaces above. The floor was uneven but sloped gradually downwards and curved to the right following the course of an excavated seam; the walls and ceiling were marked by pick and lever bar, pitted and broken in places. Every dozen paces a strong timber joist held up the roof, which in places was barely higher than the heads of the dwarfs and in others three or four times their height.

The illumination from candles and lamps did not stretch far and the winding nature of the tunnels, with many cross-junctions and forks, meant that the dwarfs advanced in a bubble of light that barely stretched a few dozen paces. At the fore of the group Gabbik’s cousin, Grothrund, whistled, low and constant, the tight walls reverberating the sound to the back of the group some three dozen paces behind. There were fifty-two dwarfs in the work party, all part of the Angbok clan through birth or marriage, each decked in heavy clothes, hands protected by thick gauntlets, picks and shovels and crowbars carried over their shoulders.

They pulled several small carts with them, laden at the moment with more tools and small blackpowder breaching charges. In one was carried the food supplies – piles of hard bread and linen-wrapped cheese, along with a small hogshead of beer and leather skins of fresh water from the springs that fed Ekrund’s many waterways. The beardlings – those dwarf lads not yet come of age – rode on the carts, each with a whetstone, working on the blades of the picks of those around them, riding the bumpy wagon train with stout poise.

Now and then Grothrund would stop and raise his voice in a high-note, low-note call that echoed far down the tunnels. By the sound of the reverberations that disappeared into the gloom the older dwarfs could check their location.

Often these calls were repeated by similar high-low replies in the distance as other mining teams called back, coordinating with each other so that they did not end up working the same seams. By such means Grothrund effortlessly led the miners into the depths towards the new seam without once making a wrong turn or leading them into a dead end.

Towards the back of the group Gabbik conducted a whispered debate with Skraffi. Usually the older dwarf spent his time working in the meadery or tinkering in his workshop, but the breaking of a new seam required every able-bodied dwarf and Skraffi’s experience in the mines was second-to-none despite his eccentricities. The dwarfs around them possessed keen hearing – it was said Lorgi Troggklad could hear a coin drop at a thousand paces – but the rumble of the wagons and the tramp of booted feet masked their low conversation.

‘You indulge Haldora too much,’ Gabbik complained. His daughter was a few paces ahead, chatting with her cousins. ‘You make me look like a stubborn wazzock.’

‘You are a stubborn wazzock. Ancestors bless you, Gabbik, but you have to give Haldi some space.’

‘We don’t have the luxury of that. It’s not like back in your day when the Angboks controlled half the mines. We’ve lost our best to other clans. We mostly dig coal now. You find me some nice quartz or sapphire or ruby again and maybe I’ll let up. And her name’s Haldora. If she can marry into the Brikboks, or, ancestors smile upon us, the king’s clan itself, it would bring much-needed investment. That’s coin we can use for more prospecting. Don’t you want your grand-daughter to have a good home?’

‘Always counting gold and never blessings, you are. I can’t believe you’re my son sometimes.’

‘It’s all good for you, sitting on your little hoard eking it out til the grey days end. Some of us have families to support, futures to plan for. Haldora’s come of marriage years and there’s many as would pay a healthy dowry for a fine Angbok wife. You think that meadery of yours makes us money? We still haven’t paid back the loans from the king we got last year.’

‘Still perfecting me recipes.’ Skraffi sniffed disdainfully. ‘Been trying the honey from hives in the orange groves. That’ll be a winner, mark my words.’

‘Ekrundfolk drink beer. They’ve always drunk beer. They’ll always drink beer. Mam knew that, brewed the best blackbeer in the hold. Then you sell up the brewery and waste it all on bees!’ Gabbik became aware that his voice had risen, attracting the attention of the dwarfs nearby. They’d had this conversation two dozen times if they’d had it once and still Skraffi wouldn’t admit that the meadery had almost sunk the clan’s finances. The vaults were only half full! ‘Anyway, she’s my daughter, I’ll judge what’s best.’

Skraffi nodded and stroked a gloved hand through the thick curls of his beard. ‘I’m sure you will, lad.’ He laid a hand on his son’s shoulder and suddenly Gabbik could see the hurt in Skraffi’s eyes. ‘You’re a good pa to Haldi, I don’t say otherwise. But you push her one way and she’ll run t’other, mark my words. More than a streak of Awdhelga about her.’

‘More than a streak, you’re right,’ said Gabbik, patting his father’s hand. ‘Sorry, I know it’s mam’s deathday and all, and I didn’t mean to stir up troubles. We all miss her.’

Skraffi shrugged and gave Gabbik an encouraging half-smile. They carried on down to the end of the tunnel, about another seven hundred paces down the newest mine, the tunnel switching back on itself several times as it descended. At the bottom the lanterns caught the gleam of the new seam. Gabbik’s heart beat a little faster still when he noticed an even brighter glitter amongst the water-polished black.

‘Is that…?’ He pushed his way to the front and crouched beside Grothrund, who was running a hand over the narrow seam exposed by the prospectors the previous day. There was a tiny vein of bright metal in the coal. Gabbik’s hands shook as he laid his pick to one side and took off his gloves. He reached with a hesitant finger. ‘Gold?’

Grothrund grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

‘Why didn’t you say?’ Gabbik demanded, turning on Fleinn, the leader of the prospecting team. He grabbed the other dwarf’s jerkin, a tear of happiness in his eye. ‘Angbok gold?’

‘Wait now a moment,’ said Fleinn, waving a finger at Gabbik. ‘We don’t know how much there is, if anything’s worth taking. Don’t go counting coins we haven’t got yet.’

‘But…’ Gabbik couldn’t help himself. A gold seam in a coal bed wasn’t unknown, but it wasn’t common, and certainly not in the Dragonbacks. Even a small gold haul could see the clan right for many years to come, on top of what they’d get for the coal. ‘It’s a sign,’ he muttered, taking his hand from Fleinn and clenching his fist. ‘Gold on mam’s deathday. It’s got to be her, looking after us still.’

‘Come now, pa, let’s give Fleinn some room to make a bit more of an investigation,’ said Haldora, taking hold of Gabbik’s arm. He didn’t resist as she pulled him away, though his eyes strayed back to the gold-laced seam of black.

Gabbik fixed his attention on Fleinn as the prospector took a small pick from his belt and began tapping away at the exposed seam. The other dwarfs stood around and watched in tense silence, excited and vexed in equal measure.

‘Wait on,’ said Fleinn, standing up. ‘Quiet all.’

He held up his hand and the silence deepened as several dozen dwarfs stopped their nervous shuffling and held their breath. Nothing broke the still for several moments.

And then it came. A tinny knocking coming from the wall of the cavern itself. Fleinn bent his ear to the stone, face screwed up with concentration. The taps came more clearly, a series of single, double and triple knocks.

‘It’s the Fundunstulls!’ declared Fleinn. ‘They’ve found the other end of the seam.’

‘Give me that here,’ said Gabbik, pushing to the front. He took Fleinn’s pick and turned it about so that he could gently strike the coal seam with the tap hammer at the back of the head. ‘We’ll not be having any claim-taking today!’

This-is-Angbok-rock-get-your-own.

Gabbik waited for the reply to echo back through the rock face, mood darkening as he translated the code.

Fundunstulls-came-here-first-we-have-right-to-dig.

‘Not today, not ever,’ growled Gabbik. He put the hammer to one side and cracked his knuckles purposefully. ‘I’m not standing for this.’

Agitated whispers spread through the Angbok dwarfs. It was rare for clans to come to blows with each other, but not impossible. The Fundunstulls were working a mine quite a distance away and if the seam reached that far it would be rich indeed. Neither clan would be happy to back down on such a find.

By tradition they would each stake their claim with the king of Ekrund and he would decide who had the priority or, if it was a close call, propose a division of the wealth between the disputing clans. There was, however, a much more recent custom that had taken precedence. Gabbik took a steadying breath as he picked up the hammer, and then beat out a quick burst of taps and gaps. The trick to a good insult was to keep to the truth, if possible, whilst impugning the honour of the rival clan as much as possible.

Fundunstulls-have-goat-diseases.

There were approving nods from the dwarfs around him, who gathered closer to listen to the reply.

Angboks-drink-bee-water.

This drew a couple of gasps from the attendant clansdwarfs but Gabbik had heard much worse. Skraffi’s brow knotted with anger.

Fundunstulls-are-so-tight-fisted-they-put-out-the-fire-while-they-turn-the-bacon.

This drew some knowing laughs from the other Angboks. Skraffi and Haldora joined Gabbik, nodding encouragement.

‘You tell them, lad,’ said his father. Everything fell still as the next code tapped through from the other end of the seam.

Angboks-were-busy-washing-their-beards-during-the-war.

This caused a ripple of consternation to spread out through the mining party, filling the tunnel with gasps and curses. The noise grew louder as some at the back had to be told what the message was, adding to the commotion. To Gabbik it felt like a fist in the gut; his ancestors had fought hard against the elves and it had been nothing more than poor timing that none of them had been present at the major sieges and battles.

‘Raggedy-beard no-hopers!’ snapped Fleinn.

‘Claim-stealing goat fondlers!’ added Skraffi.

Gabbik shushed them all while he tried to think of something to tap out. If he took too long he would concede the battle of wit by default.

‘Quickly, quickly,’ said the dwarf behind him, Nurftun. He made a grab for the hammer but Gabbik snatched it away and started rapping his answer.

Your-ancestors-were-so-dirty-they-lost-weight-in-the-bath.

This was greeted with groans from the Angbok contingent – a generic insult and an oft-used one at that.

‘I know, I know,’ snarled Gabbik. ‘It’s a kruk, but I can’t think with you all jabbering and nattering like that.’

The Fundunstull missive came through loud and quickly, showing that they had not been put off in the slightest by Gabbik’s poor attempt to shame them.

Going-to-war-without-the-Angboks-is-like-going-on-a-troll-hunt-without-your-bellows-organ.

This caused much gnashing of teeth and Skraffi started pulling at his beard. Gabbik was on the verge of incoherent rage that his ancestors and the current Angboks be called cowards in such easy fashion. The fist holding the hammer shook so much he couldn’t even strike the rocks.

‘No, no, no!’ Fleinn banged his hand against his helmet. ‘Quickly! We’re going to lose! Rap something!’

Gabbik felt the hammer pulled from his grasp and through the red haze of rage looked up at Haldora. Her lips were thin, eyes narrowed as she started to tap away at the coal face.

Your-ancestors’-beards-were-so-short-they-were-mistaken-for-elves-at-Tor-Alessi.

It was as though all the air was suddenly sucked from the tunnel as the dwarfs heaved in a simultaneous breath. It almost made Gabbik’s ears pop. The silence and tension were like a weak prop, threatening to split and bury them all at any moment.

‘You’ve gone too far, lass,’ whispered Gabbik’s uncle Norri. ‘It’ll be a real battle next, not a war of words, mark what I say.’

‘Hush now,’ said Gabbik, his voice suddenly exceptionally loud in the quiet confines. The scrape of a boot and rattle of a pebble caused everyone to quiver with shock.

No reply.

After a few more heartbeats still there came no tapping. Gabbik let out his breath slowly and long, and then broke into a fit of chuckles. Like a tinder catching light, the dwarfs burst into noise, patting and thumping each other’s backs, cheering and laughing. He pictured the reddened faces and apoplectic beard-tugging that was probably rendering the Fundunstulls incapable of response.

‘You did it, lass,’ said Norri, slapping Haldora on the arm.

Gabbik stepped between the two of them and looked Haldora right in the eye. She smiled back at him. He felt fit to burst with pride, every sinew straining not to throw a big hug around his daughter. Decorum prevailed and Gabbik stood there wobbling gently, rocking on his heels rather than be seen making an unseemly emotional display in front of his clansdwarfs.

‘Good work,’ he said, voice strained with the effort of speaking. He patted her hand.

Haldora looked back at him, her grin fading. She looked hurt and shook her head. Before Gabbik could say anything, his daughter had pushed away through the throng, leaving him surrounded by cousins, uncles and nephews each roaring with delight and insisting they shake his hand.

She would understand, he told himself, when she had a moment. He caught Skraffi looking at him, his expression sorrowful. Gabbik managed a quick shrug of confusion before he was being pounded on the back again. Swallowing hard, he brushed aside the dwarfs congratulating him, and glimpsed past them to see Haldora taking a pick from the closest wagon.

‘My seam, my first swing, right?’ she said. The dwarfs nodded, parting to allow her to approach the coal and gold.

Haldora took up a good stance, almost at right angles to the rock face, knees slightly bent. Gabbik admired her balance. She was strong, but not as a strong as the male dwarfs, and so she had perfected technique when others sometimes relied on brute force. Swinging the pick, she transferred the effort almost perfectly from hips and shoulders along the length of the pick handle and into the head.

With a resounding clang the pick bit home, sending up a shower of grit. Haldora dragged the pick free and looked back over her shoulder at her father. He gave her a thumbs up and retrieved his own tools.

Before long the tunnel thundered to the noise of industrious digging, far louder than Gabbik’s happy whistle as he worked.

Click here to buy Masters of Stone and Steel Omnibus.

A Black Library Publication

The Doom of Dragonback first published in 2014.
Ancestral Honour first published in Inferno! magazine in 2001.
Grudge Bearer first published in 2005.
Oathbreaker first published in 2008.
Honourkeeper first published in 2009.
City of Dead Jewels first published in 2012.
This eBook edition published in 2018 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Kevin Chin.
Maps by Nuala Kinrade.

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