The Shattered Axe

‘I was once…’ Grog paused to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat, ‘I


was close with High King Oahn. There weren’t many secrets he kept from me. He told

me about The Sovereign Shadows.’


Krordous looked up at Grog.


‘By the Ancient Ones, Krordous, what happened to you?’


Grog could tell that the pain that flooded into Krordous’ eyes and crumpled his face

had nothing to do with the cold. The scarred dwarf bit his lip, closed his eyes, and –


with a groan of pain and effort – he rolled onto his other side, turning his back on


Grog.

Fine, be that way, Grog thought as he raised the flask to his mouth and downed the


remaining contents. He was very-much in the mood to get drunk. He had a pair of red-


raw frostbitten hands to add to his long – and ever-growing – list of injuries. He was


also tired, filthy, freezing and more than a little shaken-up by the death of Major

Hammerbuckle, and the bizarre and horrific scarring he’d just seen etched into the


skin of Krordous.


He made his way over to his pack, intending to fish out the large glass bottle of


whisky that he’d found amongst Major Hammerbuckle’s belongings. He was just

wondering whether he should bother refilling the metal flask, or whether he might just


start drinking directly from the bottle, when he noticed something that made him very


angry.


‘You bastards!’ he yelled at the sky. ‘You cruel heartless bastards!’

Looming large on the western horizon were the jagged, mountain-sized rocks


known as Kalian’s Teeth, and drifting over those towering rocks was an ominous bank

of dark clouds. A spring storm was rolling in. Grog guessed they had less than an hour


to find some kind of shelter before the cursed Ancient Ones attacked them with

lightning bolts and blasting rain. If they weren’t able to keep Krordous dry and


relatively warm … he really might die.


‘Tarian!’ Grog yelled. ‘Orifam! Look!’


The others looked up and followed his pointing finger.

The string of expletives that Tarian let loose was enough to make even Grog wince.


‘We need to find some shelter,’ she said as she trudged back towards Grog and


Krordous, dumping her armful of damp twigs.

‘Oh, you think so?’ Grog asked, emboldened by his gutful of smoulder whisky.


‘Cos I was just drawing your attention to those storm clouds so you could admire how


lovely they look as they come hurtling towards us.’


Tarian wiped her hands on her breeches and gave Grog a look that might have

made a troll cry. ‘Have you ever wanted to know what your intestines look like?’ she


asked in a conversational tone, ‘because I could help you with that.’


‘Save your strength, love,’ Grog said, ‘you’re going to need it to help me drag this


frozen lump over to those foothills.’ He jutted his chin towards the east, and the

mountain ranges they’d only just climbed down from.


And then his chin was jerked violently down. Tarian had leapt forward, grabbed


hold of Grog’s bushy black beard with both hands and yanked his face to within


inches of her deadly glare.

‘Don’t call me love! You got that? My name’s Tarian.’


‘Gawt it!’ Grog mumbled, barely able to move his jaw to form the words.

Tarian released him. ‘You’ve been drinking,’ she said, wrinkling up her nose. ‘At a


time like this, you’re fucking drinking.’

‘Seems to me like this is the perfect time to be drinking,’ Grog said, rubbing his


chin. ‘It’s been a tough day.’


‘Well, it’s about to get even tougher,’ Tarian looked down at Krordous, who


remained curled up and shivering on the strip of canvas. ‘There’s no way he’s walking

that far in this state. Are you sure there’s some caves, or somewhere to ride this out


over there?’


‘Maybe not a cave, but those cliffs are absolutely riddled with old mines.’

‘We do have tents,’ Orifam said from behind Grog.


‘I’ve seen them,’ Grog said, ‘but I don’t much like their chances against that.’ He


gestured towards the roiling black clouds tumbling over the spiked peaks of Kalian’s


Teeth, and the streaks of lighting which were now ripping across the horizon. ‘I’d

much rather solid stone over my head when that hits, wouldn’t you?’


‘Fine,’ Orifam said with a sigh of resignation, ‘but if we’re about to carry four


packs and a solidly-frozen dwarf a full mile or two, I’m going to need you to relight


this.’ He held up the pipe which Grog had dropped when Krordous had fallen into the

pond.


Much to Tarian’s annoyance, Grog and Orifam shared the rest of pipe and more


than a few slugs of whisky while they bundled Krordous and his backpack onto the


spread-out canvas of one of the tents. Once everything was secured, the three of them

grabbed a couple of fistfuls of the edge each, and began to drag their quivering


companion eastward.

‘So,’ Orifam puffed after they’d been dragging for a few minutes, ‘does one of you


want to tell me what in the name of the Ancient Ones we all just saw back there?’

‘Storm,’ Tarian said.


‘Pond,’ Grog added.


‘You know that’s not what I’m talking about.’


‘We know,’ Grog confirmed.

‘Just save your breath for pulling,’ Tarian added.


And so they laboured in silence, sliding their strange cargo across the melting


snow, listening to the rumbling thunder growing louder behind them, and feeling the

wind gathering strength.


***


The first frigid drops of rain began to fall when they were still a few hundred paces


from the rocky cliff walls. Grog could already make out the entrance to one of the

many dwarven mines which burrowed into the solid rock, but progress had slowed to


almost a standstill.


Grog was utterly exhausted, and his companions weren’t doing much better. Even


Tarian – who’d definitely taken the dragon’s share of the weight – was struggling to

haul the damp canvas over the now-sloping ground. When the deep – but still shaky –


voice of Krordous reached his ears, Grog could have turned around and hugged him.


‘I can walk,’ Krordous said. ‘Where are my boots?’


‘Here,’ Tarian retrieved them from behind Krordous’ backpack.

Grog knew they should be saying things like, “oh, are you sure, Krordous?” but the


wind was now buffeting them with gusts of ever-increasing force and the gigantic

grey curtain of rain that was sweeping across the tundra was almost upon them.


They helped the blanket-wrapped dwarf to get to his feet and put his boots on,


Tarian picked up his pack and they took off for the cliffs as fast as their aching legs


could carry them, which – in Krordous’ case – was exactly as fast as snails aren’t.

‘Come on Pal!’ Grog yelled as Krordous staggered up the muddy slush-covered


slope. ‘Nearly there!’


Whatever bastard god was in charge of rain decided to hold back the full force of

the storm until the party had almost reached the entrance to the mine. This was just


long enough for Grog to kindle a glimmer of hope that they might just make it inside


without getting too wet. Then, with a deafening blast of thunder, the skies opened up


and within seconds, all four of them were soaked to the core.

‘Well that’s fucking brilliant,’ Orifam said, dumping his pack on the floor of the


mine as soon as they’d entered. ‘Now we’ve got no dry blankets to put this bugger in!’


He pointed at Krordous who’d entered last and was dripping prodigiously all over the


stone floor.

‘Stop whining and look in the packs,’ Tarian said.


‘You do that,’ Orifam unclasped his battle axe from his pack. ‘I’m going to chop


some timber from those beams back there.’ He began walking deeper into the tunnel.


‘We’ve got to have a fire.’

Grog dropped his pack and knelt down beside it, searching inside for dry clothing.


‘You’re going to have to get out of those blankets,’ he said to Krordous. ‘Don’t worry,

me and Tarian will look the other way.’


Krordous said nothing, he just stood close to the mouth of the tunnel, shivering and


staring out at the torrential rain.


A shout from Orifam echoed down the tunnel, and it sure as shit wasn’t a happy

shout.


‘Orifam!’ Grog called, getting to his feet and placing his hands on the hilts of his


two short swords.

There was muffled thud and the sound of something hard clattering on stone.


‘Orifam!’ Grog yelled again, drawing his weapons and breaking into a run.


Tarian was beside him. Together they sprinted deeper into the mine. Together they


raised their weapons as Grog saw Orifam’s boots slide into the darkness of an alcove

some distance ahead – as though their titanium-clad companion was being dragged


away. Together they roared an impotent cry of anguish as a slab of stone began to


slide across the opening.


The last thing Grog saw in the shadows before the stone door shut was the face of a

dwarf – painted in a combination of dark and mustard-coloured paints, grinning out at


him like a hideous skull.


The stone crashed into place, leaving nothing but the thinnest outline around it to


show that it was ever there.

Grog and Tarian arrived at the door and began throwing themselves against it. They


screamed Orifam’s name. They broke their fingernails trying to wrench it back. Tarian

picked up Orifam’s battle axe from where it lay on the floor and tried to pry the door


open. Nothing they did had the slightest effect.

‘Where is he?’


Grog turned to see Krordous standing behind them. He was holding his hatchets


and wearing nothing but wet undergarments and a multitude of pale scars.


‘He’s gone,’ Grog said, pressing his palm against the cold unyielding stone. ‘The

bastards have taken him.’