The Unweaving

by D. P. Prior

  The others shuffled forward, but Shader raised a hand and they stayed where they were.

  “Bugger,” the Nameless Dwarf said, pounding the side of the great helm with his fist. “How’m I gonna drink in this bucket?” He turned on the guards. “Any of you lads know a good blacksmith?”

  They all exchanged looks.

  “Won’t help, my friend,” Shader said. “It’s fused to your skin.”

  The Nameless Dwarf ran his fingers along the seam connecting the helm to the base of his neck. “Bloody shogging shogger,” he grumbled, shoving the door open and stepping out into the corridor. “Where’s that bastard philosoph… Oops.”

  A dozen spear tips came at him at once. He twisted past two, batted a third aside with his axe, and hacked down. Someone screamed, and a hand sploshed to the floor, fingers still wriggling. A spear glanced off his chainmail, and another grazed his shoulder. He roared and swung the axe like a scythe. The spearmen scurried back, but the Nameless Dwarf was relentless, stepping in close and bashing away with the flat of his blades.

  “My hand!” a pale-faced dwarf screeched. “He lopped off my shogging hand!”

  Someone started blowing short, desperate blasts on a trumpet.

  The dwarves in the cell crept toward the Nameless Dwarf’s back, but Shader stepped in front of them.

  “Out of the way,” one of them snarled, “or we’ll gut you like a pig.”

  The clash of axe on armor was deafening. Shader risked a glance over his shoulder. Four guards were down, and the Nameless Dwarf was bleeding from a score of cuts. He caught sight of a white robe, but then a rustle of movement forced him to turn back. He sidestepped a spear thrust and wrapped his chains around his assailant’s neck. The others poked at him, but he kept the sputtering dwarf between himself and their spear tips.

  Another clang came from behind, followed by a dull thud.

  “Don’t hurt him,” Thumil cried. “He’s using the flat.”

  “Not on my shogging wrist, he didn’t!”

  “Don’t hurt him? What about us?”

  Shader dragged his captive to the doorway then shoved him back into the cell, pulled the door shut, and slid a bolt across.

  Heavy footfalls were pounding down the corridor to the left, and that seemed to give the guards renewed courage.

  “C’mon, lads, we can take him,” one yelled, and lunged with his spear. It struck the Nameless Dwarf in the guts, snapping a link on his hauberk.

  “Laddie,” the Nameless Dwarf growled, “I’m trying to give you a chance.” He took hold of the spear haft and yanked, pulling the wielder into a crunching headbutt with the great helm.

  “Stop!” Thumil cried, waving his arms and stepping between the Nameless Dwarf and the dozen standing spearmen. “Please stop!”

  “You’ll do no such thing!” yelled Grago, just coming into view at the head of a column of heavily armed red-cloaks. “Kill him and anyone who gets in the way.”

  The Nameless Dwarf backed up against the door beside Shader. “Crouch down and put your hands on the ground.”

  He raised the axe and Shader understood. The blades came down, sending up stone chips and dust, and shearing straight through Shader’s chains. He went to snatch up a spear from an unconscious dwarf, saw he had a dagger in his belt, and grabbed that instead.

  “Ready?” the Nameless Dwarf said, stepping away from the door and twirling his axe like a baton.

  The spearmen parted to admit the newcomers. Banded armor creaked, swords glinted in the unnatural light, and hard eyes glared from visored helms. They were packed into the corridor, four abreast with shields locked, and Nous only knew how many ranks deep.

  Thumil stepped in front of them. “Stop, in the name of the council.”

  A couple of spearmen grabbed him and pulled him aside.

  “Ready.” Shader said, licking his lips and turning the dagger over and over in his hand.

  The shield wall advanced, inexorable as the tide.

  “One.” The Nameless Dwarf rolled his shoulders.

  The red-cloaks picked up pace, hammering their swords against their shields.

  “Two.”

  A shout went up from the phalanx, and they started to jog.

  “Thr—”

  Thunder boomed, light flashed, and smoke billowed, flooding the corridor.

  Hands gripped Shader’s arm. He raised the dagger, then his jaw dropped.

  “Come on,” Rhiannon said, “let’s go.”

  Shadrak strode through the roiling smoke, blasting away with his pistol. He was like a ghost, part in, part out of reality. All Shader could see were his hands and face, his blood-colored eyes. Screams went up from the red-cloaks, and then they were panicking, bumping into each other in their hurry to retreat.

  “Friends,” Shader explained to the Nameless Dwarf. “Quickly, come with us.”

  The great helm swiveled between Rhiannon, Shadrak, and the routed red-cloaks.

  “Ah, shog,” the Nameless Dwarf said. “I could’ve had them.”

  Thumil staggered from one side of the corridor to the other like a blind man. A cluster of guards crawled about looking for their spears, and from somewhere deep in the scattered phalanx, orders were barked.

  “What the shog’re you waiting for?” Shadrak said, backing toward Shader. He whipped a piece from the handle of his pistol and snapped another into place. “Move!”

  They tore along the passageway, which sloped deeper and deeper into the ravine.

  “Other way,” the Nameless Dwarf panted. “Only fifty of ’em, give or take. I tell you, I could’ve—”

  “Someone shut scuttle-head up,” Shadrak hissed. “I’m trying to concentrate.” He ran his hands over the left-hand wall, muttering and cursing. “It was here. I shogging know it was here.”

  “After them!” Grago’s voice rolled down the corridor behind them, and the tramping of boots on stone sounded every bit like an approaching avalanche.

  “Sure that’s only fifty?” Rhiannon asked, casting a worried look over her shoulder.

  “Give or take, I said.” The Nameless Dwarf walked past Shadrak and stepped right through the wall, as if it wasn’t there. An instant later, his helmed head popped back through. “I take it you were looking for this, laddie. You have to have the knack, see, because they shift.”

  “How the shog—?” Shadrak started.

  “Old miner’s trick. My pa was… Ah, never mind. Coming?”

  Rhiannon went next, as if she did this sort of thing all the time.

  “After you,” Shader said to Shadrak.

  The assassin’s cloak merged seamlessly with the passageway. His eyes flicked past Shader as the first of the dwarves came into view up the incline. He unfastened a belt and handed it to Shader along with the scabbarded gladius. “Guess you might be needing this.”

  Shader buckled it on, and they stepped through the wall, emerging at an intersection. For habit’s sake, he pulled the prayer cord from his pocket and hurriedly tied it to the belt.

  “Pub’s this way,” the Nameless Dwarf said.

  “Yeah, well the walkway ain’t,” Shadrak said, heading in the opposite direction.

  “After a drink, laddie.”

  Shadrak whirled round, gesturing with his pistol for Shader and Rhiannon to follow him. “You do what you like, pan-head, but we’re getting out of here.”

  The dwarf growled, and Shader approached him with hands raised.

  “You can’t drink in that thing, remember?”

  “I’ll get a reed. A long twisty one to poke through the eye slit.”

  Rhiannon sniggered. It was the first good humor Shader had heard from her in a long time. He gave an answering laugh of his own, but her eyes immediately hardened, and she turned to follow Shadrak.

  At that moment, a sword poked through the wall, followed by a bearded head encased in a visored helm. The red-cloak’s eyes widened, and he started to yell something as he stepped into the corridor… right into the Nameless Dw
arf’s fist.

  “Ah, shog it, laddie,” the Nameless Dwarf said to Shadrak. “Have it your way, but you owe me a pint.”

  “Whatever,” Shadrak said, raising his pistol as another dwarf started to separate from the wall.

  “No!” the Nameless Dwarf said. “No killing. These are my—”

  Shader stepped in and brained the emerging red-cloak with the pommel of his gladius.

  “Come on!” Rhiannon said, setting off down the corridor.

  “You lot go on ahead,” Shadrak said. He produced a glass sphere from a belt pouch. “This’ll hold ’em.” He caught the eye slit of the great helm watching him. “Don’t worry. No one’ll get hurt. Trust me.”

  “Hmmm,” the Nameless Dwarf grunted, but he started after Rhiannon anyway.

  Another head peeked through the masonry. Shadrak launched himself into the air and delivered a jaw-cracking kick, and stone formed back over where the head had been.

  “Best get going,” he said to Shader before lobbing his globe through the wall. There was an answering muffled boom, and then he tore off after the Nameless Dwarf, his cloak merging with the tunnel, making it seem the stonework itself was rippling.

  Shader touched his forehead and shut his eyes for a second, and then he followed the others with long, loping strides.

  Rhiannon led them through a maze of twists and turns along a gentle incline. Once or twice, she faltered, but Shadrak prompted her with hissed, impatient commands. When they arrived at the door they’d first entered by, they were confronted by half a dozen red-cloaks.

  “Look what we got,” one of them said, running his thumb along the edge of his sword.

  “Nice one, Storz. Reckon we’ll be up for promotio… Oh, shog my shogging shog-stick.”

  The Nameless Dwarf strode toward them whistling a jaunty tune.

  The red-cloaks clustered together, brandishing shaking swords and bringing their shields so high their eyes were barely visible peeking over the rim.

  “Now, just calm down, son,” Storz said. “Don’t make me shog you up.”

  A deep, rumbling laugh rolled up from the great helm.

  “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer. We can settle this without—”

  “Meat for the dwarf lords of Arnoch,” the Nameless Dwarf sang in a booming bass.

  Cries of “Oh, shog,” went up from the red-cloaks, and they started to jostle each other for the place at the back.

  “Bones to be ground for their bread,” the song continued.

  “I’m warning you,” one of the red-cloaks said.

  “Hold down a bloke with a headlock; gouge both the eyes from his head!”

  The Nameless Dwarf roared and charged right at them, but the red-cloaks scattered and went tearing off down the corridor. He checked his charge and turned back to the others, letting out a loud hoot, bending over double, and snorting with laughter.

  “Glad you’re having fun,” Shadrak said, producing a sliver of stone and breaking it into two halves.

  The door began to grind its way upward, letting in a blast of fresh air from the walkway.

  The Nameless Dwarf sobered in an instant. “Where’d you get that?”

  Shadrak ducked into the widening gap and stepped over a black bundle as the others followed him outside. It was a cloak, Shader realized. Shadrak’s old cloak, by the looks of it, and it was covering something.

  “Is that…?” The Nameless Dwarf reached down and pulled away an edge of the fabric. Dead eyes stared up at him from a bearded face. Black blood crusted the corners of the mouth, and the beard was drenched in crimson.

  Shader knelt for a closer look, moved a clump of beard aside, and revealed a gash across the throat.

  “Nice,” Rhiannon said. “That your handiwork, midget?”

  Shadrak scowled, and his pink eyes narrowed to slits when the Nameless Dwarf straightened up and turned on him.

  “Well, laddie?”

  The assassin’s cloak whipped up behind him in the gusting wind, taking on the blue of the sky, the ocher of the ravine wall. Sunlight glinted from the blades nestled in his baldric, and a pallid hand crept toward one. “So what if it is? It’s what I do. You got a problem with that?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes.” The Nameless Dwarf set his axe-head on the walkway and folded his hands atop the haft. “Can’t blame you for not knowing, laddie, but this city’s seen too much blood. Way too much.”

  “Look, mate,” Shadrak said, “no one asked you to come along. If you don’t like it—”

  “I asked him,” Shader said. “He can help us get into the tunnels.”

  The Nameless Dwarf swung his axe up onto his shoulder. “That I can, laddie, but only on condition that your little friend here doesn’t kill anymore of my people.”

  “Who the shog are you to tell me what to do?” Shadrak said. “And besides, my ma told me never to trust a bloke with a bucket on his head.”

  “I’m with the midget there,” Rhiannon said. “It’s not like we know anything about him. Last thing we need is another Dave.”

  Shader cast a quick look back at the entranceway. “You planning on closing that?”

  “Oh shit,” Shadrak said. He fumbled his two pieces of stone back together and the door started to come down.

  “Thanks.” Shader held up his arms, letting the broken chains dangle from the manacles. “You any good with these?”

  Shadrak sighed and put away his pistol and the door-stone so he could bring out a rolled leather pack. He found a thin pick and set to work.

  “Look,” Shader said, as the first clasp clicked open. “This is… Well, he doesn’t have a name anymore.”

  The great helm dipped toward the walkway.

  “They call him the Nameless Dwarf now.”

  Shadrak wasted no time with the second manacle and held his pick up to the dwarf. The great helm nodded.

  “There a reason for that?” Rhiannon said. “I mean, it doesn’t sound good.”

  “Aye, there’s a reason, lassie,” the Nameless Dwarf said, holding his arms out.

  Shadrak scoffed as he fiddled about with his pick. “Sounds like the sort of stupid monikers the journeymen are always coming up with. Twats.” The comment was punctuated by the clangor of a chain dropping to the walkway. The Nameless Dwarf rubbed his wrist before Shadrak set about the other one.

  “It’s no worse than Shadrak the Unseen,” Rhiannon said.

  “Yeah, well that weren’t me. It’s a reputation, ain’t it?”

  “I could think of something better,” Rhiannon mumbled.

  “Won’t catch me using it,” Shadrak said. “No offense, mate. It’s just a bit wanky, if you ask me. Reckon I’ll just call you Nameless, if it’s all the same to you.” The other manacle snapped open, and he slung it from the walkway, the chain snaking in its wake.

  The great helm tracked its descent. “Careful, laddie. There’s people down there.”

  “Oops,” Shadrak said.

  The door had barely thunked into place when it began to rise again. “We need to move,” Shader said. “Which way… uh, Nameless?”

  The dwarf pointed toward the archway they’d entered by. “Past the bald bastard, out of the ravine.”

  “Bald bastard?” Shader said.

  All eyes turned to look where Nameless was pointing.

  —Aristodeus!

  A CHANGE OF PLAN

  The philosopher stood on the far side of the arch, toga flapping in the wind, a leather satchel on one shoulder. He was turning Callixus’s black sword over and over in his hands.

  Shader glanced back at the door in the ravine wall. It was starting to rise, and dozens of boots could be seen in the growing gap at the bottom.

  Nameless started toward the philosopher with Rhiannon in tow. Shadrak pulled his cloak tight, until only his hands and eyes were visible.

  A red-cloak, keener than the rest, rolled beneath the rising door, and Shader took that a
s his cue to leave.

  “Now this I wasn’t expecting,” Aristodeus said, upending the sword and leaning on the hilt. His gaze was fixed on Nameless. “You weren’t meant to awaken without… ah!” His eyes flitted to Shader. “Of course.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Well, they said there was trouble.”

  He nodded behind them at the red-cloaks gathering in front of the now fully open door as he fished a black rectangle from his satchel and pressed his thumb to it. It beeped and flashed. He gave a little shrug and put it away again.

  “But how to turn this to our advantage?” He pursed his lips, inclined his head, and then clicked his fingers. “Could work in our favor, I suppose. A moment, please!” he yelled over their heads.

  Shader turned to see Grago emerge at the front of the soldiers. Thumil pushed through beside him.

  More doors were opening around the ravine walls, and from one came a group of white-robed councilors. A blonde-haired and bearded dwarf in a sky-blue dress broke away from them and ran across her walkway toward the central hub. She was flicking looks at Nameless, and at the same time waving to Thumil, who hurried along his own walkway to meet her.

  “What do you mean, ‘of course’?” Shader said. “He wasn’t meant to awaken without what?” What have I got to do with it? At every twist and turn, Aristodeus seemed to show up. What was this, just a game to him? Shader’s childhood mentor may as well have formed the same blistering carapace as Dave, for all he really knew him. Who was this man who’d had such an influence over his formative years, who’d steered him on the course to the Templum? Was there any corner of Shader’s life he hadn’t crept into?

  “His voice,” Thumil said, approaching them, hand in hand with the bearded woman. “Only his voice could break the spell.”

  “Must be the accent. No other explanation for it,” the philosopher said. “Dear ol’ Britannia. Starting to miss her yet?”

  Accent, my foot, Shader thought. Aristodeus did a good job of sounding Britannic, but he’d never shaken off his Graecian roots.

  “Accent or no accent,” Nameless said, “I’ve a bone to pick with you, laddie.”

  He took a step toward Aristodeus, but Rhiannon barged past him, sweat beading her forehead, drenching her robe.