A Song of Askaldenfirsts and Dragons. Book one: The outlanders (Part I-IV)
Chapter 21: Tulvarick

Tulvarick walked through the mud, the rain poured down without stopping, the king’s beard almost reaching the muddy mess, his boots fell into puddles, his cloak dragged behind him, picking the pieces of dirt.

The king was annoyed by the disputes between the snunorfs and tonnebeards about strategy and tactics. The northerners weren’t stupid, but their straightforwardness made them want to attack Melkath Seydikt’s forces in the open battle, not caring at all about his big ashklahars. The king, on the other hand, suggested going in from the rear, bypassing the army, setting traps along the way, and alternatively offered to fortify the city, distributing part of the army outside the city wall, to try to break the siege from both sides in case of anything. But the time for tactical tricks is over. Melkath’s army was already approaching Forsholden.

Tulvarick entered the castle of the snunorfs, there the snunorf’s king was with the three commanding advisors, who raised their voices, staring at the map, arguing loudly. Richten Bjordflodson, a huge snunorf with light blue eyes and straight blond hair, with a neat straight nose, tried to prove to Birdog Stromwaldskar, a thin northerner with black hair, with a broken wide nose, that his tactics were sheer nonsense.

Wilbert Wulfrotson, a tall, slender blond with little curly hair was more like a giant elf, with the refined beauty and arrogance of elves, he had little northern directness and insolence, he stood aside and looked at the king. King Ganrikter Chrisskarson II sat on the throne that and listened attentively. When Tulvarick entered the tent, everyone fell silent and stared at him.

“Your Majesty,” Tulvarick bowed, he felt too short in front of the northerners and the high table.

Ganrikter bowed back.

“We’ve been stuck here for an eternity, Your Majesty,” the tonnebeard continued, “my advisers and commanders are losing patience, I’m losing patience, we need to move out immediately, or at least make a decision on a fortification for the siege.”

“Leave us,” Ganrikter said to northerners, and three snunorfs left the castle room.

“We cannot argue forever, Ganrikter,″ Tulvarick insisted, “we’re running out of time, and it is in your interests, because azdairiks, having captured Forsholden, will ravage your lands and rape your women, and even will kill children. We had time and opportunity, but we argued and argued–”

“I understand,” the king interrupted him calmly, ignoring the small outburst of anger of the tonnebeard, “and I completely agree, we are moving forward at dawn, I have already ordered the division of the army into three parts. We will strike in the forest, where there will be little maneuverability for the ashklahars, from three sides at once. Are you satisfied, Your Majesty?”

Tulvarick glowed.

“Of course, at last, we’ll strike them hard and swift and they’ll remember our rage,” the dwarf gladly said, and added in a slight bow, “Your Majesty.”

Ganrikter bowed back, smiling slightly.