Free The Great Betrayal by Nick Kyme

over his awe quickly. ‘What do you mean? How can you simply look for magic? It isn’t like a lost axe or helmet. It can’t be touched.’
    Ranuld looked up wryly as he put the last of his rune stones into a leather pouch and drew its string taut. ‘Can’t it? Can’t you?’ Straightening up, grimacing as his back cracked, he jabbed a gnarled finger at the prince like it was a knife.
    ‘I am… um–’
    ‘No lad, you are Snorri, son of Gotrek, so named for the Whitebeard whose boots your beardling feet are unworthy of, let alone his name. I do not know who um is.’
    Snorri bit back his anger. He had stowed his axe, but clenched his fists.
    ‘Venerable one,’ Morgrim stepped in calmly, ‘we are not as wise as you–’
    ‘But have a gift for stating what is obvious,’ Ranuld interrupted, turning his back on them and taking a knee before the shrine. ‘Never any peace,’ he grumbled beneath his breath, ‘even in lost years. Overhearing words not meant for ears so young and foolish…’ Again, he frowned.
    Morgrim persisted, showing all proper deference. ‘ Why are you looking for magic?’
    Finishing his whispered oath to Grungni, Ranuld rose and grinned ferally at the young dwarf.
    ‘ That is a much better question,’ he said, glancing daggers at Snorri. ‘ This, ’ he said, rubbing the dirt and air between his fingers, ‘and this …’ he smacked the stone of the temple wall, ‘and this …’ then hacked a gob of spittle onto the ground, just missing Morgrim’s boot, ‘ is magic. Some of us can feel it, beardling. It lives in stone, in air, in earth and fire, even water. You breathe it, you taste it–’ Ranuld’s face darkened, suddenly far away as if he was no longer talking to the dwarfs at all, ‘–but it’s changing, we’re changing with it. Secrets lost, never to return,’ he rasped. ‘Who will keep it safe once we’re gone? The gate bled something out we couldn’t put back. Not even Grimnir could do that.’ He stared at the dwarfs, his rheumy eyes heavy-lidded with the burden of knowledge and all the many years of his long life. ‘Can you feel it, seeping into your hearts and souls?’
    Morgrim had no answer, though his mouth moved as if it wanted to give one. ‘I… I do not…’
    As if snapping out of a trance, Ranuld’s expression changed. As fiery and curmudgeonly as he ever was, he barged past the two dwarfs and into the long gallery. The runelord was halfway down when Morgrim shouted after him, ‘Where are you going now?’
    ‘Didn’t find what I was looking for,’ Ranuld called back without turning. ‘Need to try somewhere else.’
    Morgrim began to go after him. ‘It’s fortunate we found you, old one. Let us escort you back to the underway.’
    ‘Ha!’ Ranuld laughed. ‘You’re lost, aren’t you? Best help yourselves before you help me, werits . And find me, did you? Perhaps I found you? Ever consider that, beardling? And this is the underway, wazzock.’
    ‘No part of it I know.’
    ‘You know very little, like when it’s a good time to run, for instance,’ Ranuld replied, so distant his voice echoed.
    ‘Wha–’
    A low rumble, heard deep under their feet, felt through their bones, stalled Morgrim and he looked up. Small chunks of grit were already falling from the ceiling in vast clouds of spewing dust. Cracks threaded the left side of the gallery wall, columns split in half.
    Morgrim had spent enough time in his father’s mines to know what was about to happen.
    ‘Get back!’ He slammed into Snorri’s side, hurling the dwarf off his feet and barrelling them both back inside the temple.
    The roof of the long gallery caved in a moment later, releasing a deluge of earth and rock. Thick slabs of stone, weighed down with centuries of smaller rock falls, speared through the roof from above and brought a rain of boulders with them. A huge pall of dirt billowed up from the sudden excavation.
    Though he tried to see him, Ranuld was lost to Morgrim. It