Free The War of the Dwarves by Markus Heitz

dwarven rulers, “you promised me enough masons and warriors to rebuild
     the fifthling kingdom and seal the Northern Pass. It was a truly generous offer, but no dwarf should be forced to leave his
     kingdom at his monarch’s command. Those who wish to remain with their clansfolk should do so, but those who want to join me
     will be welcomed with open arms.”
    He sat down on the pew, placing Keenfire in front of him. The ax head jangled against the marble, echoing through the hall.
    He wasn’t surprised to see Boïndil striding purposefully toward him. The secondling plumped down beside him, and a moment
     later, Balyndis took a seat on his right.
    Tungdil was thrilled to see one delegate after another stand up and join him. At last, half of the fifthling pews were taken.
     Among Tungdil’s new companions were seven chieftains, who promised to ask the rest of their clansmen to make their homes in
     the fifthling halls.
    Balendilín sat up in his chair, the marble trinkets in his graying beard clinking softly. “Tungdil Goldhand, your wisdom is
     proof, if proof be needed, that you belong among Girdlegard’s monarchs, not on the pews. I know that you are not inclined
     to push yourself forward, but the dwarves of the fifthling kingdom will recognize your qualities. At our next meeting, you
     will be seated among the rulers, I’m sure.” He turned to the delegates, his long gray hair curling about his shoulders like
     silvery wool. “We are gathered here today to settle a matter of great importance. Gundrabur Whitecrown, the late high king,
     was called to Vraccas’s smithy, leaving an empty throne. The new high king must be a strong leader who will set our course
     through good times and bad.” He unfurled a roll of parchment with his one good hand. “Gandogar Silverbeard of the clan of
     the Silver Beards, ruler of the fourthlings and head of Goïmdil’s line, are you ready to assert your claim to the high king’s
     throne?” he asked, repeating the words that he had spoken at an earlier assembly, many orbits ago.
    The fourthling monarch rose. “Unyielding as the rock from which we were created and keen as this blade is my will to defend
     our race against its foes,” came his solemn reply. “Bislipur cast a shadow over my mind, but I have driven out the darkness.
     With a clear heart and mind I swear loyalty to the dwarven folks whose welfare will be my guiding concern. Let Vraccas and
     the dwarven monarchs witness my oath.”
    Balendilín nodded. “Gandogar Silverbeard has asserted his claim.” He raised his voice. “Will anyone challenge him?”
    “What are you waiting for?” hissed Boïndil, prodding Tungdil in the ribs. “Another of your fancy speeches, and the throne
     will be yours.”
    The one-armed king dropped the parchment onto the table. “The succession is uncontested: Gandogar shall be crowned.” He sounded
     his bugle, producing a long, drawn-out tone.
    The doors opened, and a procession of warriors from the folks of Beroïn, Borengar, and Goïmdil marched into the hall, bearing
     the crown and ceremonial hammer on an ornamental shield. Studded with gemstones, etched with magnificent runes, and inlaid
     with intarsia of vraccasium, silver, and gold, the hammer brought together the finest artisanship from all the folks, symbolizing
     the high king’s power.
    The procession stopped in the middle of the hall and the warriors got down on one knee. Balendilín walked over to them and
     signaled for Gandogar to approach. “Chosen by the united will of the folks to reign over us,” he said solemnly, lowering the
     crown gently onto the fourthling’s head. “Gandogar Silverbeard of the clan of the Silver Beards, ruler of the fourthlings,
     head of Goïmdil’s line—dwarf of all dwarves.” He signaled for Gandogar to take the hammer.
    Reverently, the new high king reached forward and wrapped his fingers around the handle. The hammer was heavier than he had
     expected, and it took both