by Andy Remic
“Welcome, Sakora,” said Jonti, with a broad smile.
Sakora nodded, moving to one side, leaning against the wall, one hand stroking down a section of flowing silk. “It's been a while,” she said. “When he,” she nodded towards Beetrax, “sent the invitation, I was immediately suspicious.”
“Har har! You know my reputation far too well!” boomed Beetrax.
“Indeed I do,” purred Sakora, eyes fixed on the huge warrior, “and sometimes the words sex, and pest, enter the same timeline within the frame of my mind.”
“Ha! Sex pest? You'd be so lucky.”
Sakora shrugged. “You have indeed pestered me before.”
“I don't remember that,” said Beetrax.
“You do. I broke your thumb.”
“Oh, that little misunderstanding!”
“I believe you dribbled a good pint of saliva down my breasts before I had to resort to the physical.”
“Love, you can resort to the physical with me any time!” beamed Beetrax.
“You wish me to break your other thumb?” she said.
“Ladies, brothers, let's get to the point.” Dake waved his hands suddenly, attracting their attention. “I – we – are completely flattered, and honoured, that you all came. Brother Beetrax here is resplendent in his willingness to go that extra league in making our anniversary something special. However, the hour is late, and without meaning to sound crass in any way, it really is time me and my lovely wife relived our wedding night from all those moons ago. I assume you are all staying in the locality, and thus we should meet again tomorrow noon, and perchance seek joy in food, drink, lively banter and one another's happy reminisces.” Dake beamed, as if proud he'd managed to utter the words through an ale-fug which clouded his brain.
“Wait,” said Jonti, looking around. “There's something else, isn't there?”
Lillith nodded, as did Talon.
“You've not told them?” Sakora gave a sideways glance at Beetrax, and made a clucking sound of annoyance.
“Told us what?” said Dake, frowning.
“Hey, hey, I wanted it to be a surprise, right? I wanted the old gang back together before I spilled the beans and got Dake and Jonti here all excited and buzzing about a good idea and our future adventures.”
Jonti gave a narrow smile. “What future adventures would these be, my ambitious little Trax? Seems like you have it all worked out ahead of us... without actually bothering to find out if we'd be interested in the first place.”
“No no, don't get like that,” said Beetrax, pleading with his hands. “Don't be getting pissed about it before you've even given me a chance to speak. Because when I speak, trust me,” he pointed with a stubby index finger sporting a blackened nail, “trust me, you'll want to be in on it.” He lifted his hand and gave a little wave. One of the few remaining serving maids brought over a large wooden tray containing several flagons and bottles.
Sakora waved away a glass – she did not drink – but the others helped themselves.
“Go on, have some,” muttered Beetrax, looming close.
“It is not the way of the Kaaleesh. It affects judgement, timing, power, speed, all of those things you believe you possess.” She looked up from those dark eyes and Beetrax gave a little groan.
“Gods,” he mumbled, “it's going to be a long night.”
“Right,” said Dake, standing suddenly. “Jonti, come on, it's time we called it a night. As I said, we're all pleased you came, but the time for drinking is now gone, and we can discuss Beetrax’s ‘future adventures’ tomorrow over a proper full fried breakfast... Mrs Mangan’s down the street does a wonderful fried black pudding, and when you crack an egg yolk it all soaks in, and–”
“Sit down,” said Beetrax.
Despite his voice being low, almost unheard, Dake caught a tone he'd not heard in a decade. He looked at Beetrax again, and saw something in the big axeman's eyes that made him give a little shiver. He felt goose bumps run up his arms and tickle his spine.
“Hear him out,” said Talon, settling down on a stool and folding his arms. The slim archer had a cool, detached smile on his lips.
Dake laughed it off with a boom, tilted his head, and then gave Beetrax a single nod, sitting himself back down and crossing one high, gleaming black boot across the opposite knee. “Go on then. Explain, Axeman.”
“I've spent the last week in the Rokroth Marshes,” said Beetrax.
“Doing what?” asked Jonti.
“I was helping an old friend escape from... his enemies. You may know him. His name is Fanakor Greeves.”
“That old rogue!” grinned Talon, showing perfect white teeth.
“Old rogue my boot,” said Dake, eyes heavy-lidded. “He's wanted by Yoon and the King's Guard for High Treason; smuggling dark magick texts, blood sacrifice... you name it. Beetrax, you mad bastard, Yoon will have you hanged if you're caught aiding Greeves. Worse, he'll have you tortured for a month prior, and have you squealing like a kitten in a bear trap. Have you lost all your senses?”
“Would you help me if I was in trouble?” countered Beetrax.
“Yes, but that's different. You're a brother. Despite the bad beard.”
“I owed him, Dake. I owed him my life. But that's a different story for a different day. The point is, I helped him evade capture; I smuggled him out. And I used my... less than salubrious contacts to fashion Greeves with a new identity.”
“Well, I still think you've taken a dangerous, unnecessary risk, my friend.”
“In return, Fanakor Greeves gave me his greatest possession, acquired after fifty years of study and grave-robbing; earned after a lifetime's obsessive investigation into the dark arts, into Equiem magick; into the Harborym Dwarves.”
“Go on,” said Dake, and the room was deathly quiet. The fire crackled, coals occasionally popping in the glowing hearth. Talon took a gentle sip of some fine white wine sprinkled with crystals.
Beetrax looked about, as if suddenly frightened of being overheard. He lowered his voice.
“Greeves gave me a map; a page torn from the Scriptures of the Church of Hate, or at least, what fragments still remain.”
“That is one ancient, deadly, cursed tome,” said Lillith, her eyes narrowing a little, their cores flickering like dragon fire.
“It is indeed,” said Beetrax, face solemn.
“Legend has it that book belonged to the sorcerer, Morkagoth. The evil bastard who summoned the mud-orcs from the slime and attempted to kill every man, woman and child in Vagandrak.”
Beetrax nodded. “Apparently. Whatever its origin, Greeves acquired access to the book, and stole the map.”
“A map to what?” said Jonti.
“It's a map,” said Beetrax, licking his lips, looking shifty for a moment, “that leads to the Five Havens, the five dwarf cities under the Karamakkos Peaks. They were once ruled by the Great Dwarf Lords who mined untold wealth – I'm talking oceans of jewels, warehouses full of gold coin, lakes of molten silver! Enough to buy you a lifetime of whores, Falanor brandy and Hakeesh weed!”
“Wasn't there something about a dragon?” said Talon, eyes narrowed, rubbing his chin.
“Three dragons,” said Beetrax, his own eyes wide. He took a hefty swig from his ale tankard, warming to his subject, and smacked his lips. “By the gods, that’s good. Yes. The three dragons were slaves to the Harborym, their minds hammered and broken, or so the legend goes. They were locked away in three huge cylindrical pits, where they were used to light the furnaces. Or something. Anyway, that's all academic bollocks. The point is, the Harborym are long gone, extinct for ten thousand years, the Five Havens lost to the knowledge and thoughts of us mere mortal men. But all that treasure is still there, waiting for some hardy adventurer types to trot along and fill their pockets, and maybe even a few wheelbarrows, with an orgy of sparkling loot.”
“I hate to piss on your fire, Beetrax,” said Dake, frowning, “but unless you hadn't noticed, we're all affluent to the poin
t of decadence. That's what being Vagandrak's Best Kept War Heroes did for our pockets. Why then, in the name of the Holy Mother, would we want to risk life and limb climbing mountains, fighting rock demons, and delving into long forgotten underground pits probably better left to the psychopathically demented Rock Fairies and all their little golems? Hmm?”
“Because of the three Dragon Heads,” said Beetrax, eyes glinting. “Tell them, Lillith.”
“The Dragon Heads were colourless jewels found deep, deep beneath the mountains. It was discovered they had incredible healing powers – they could bring a man back from the brink of death; they could heal massive, open wounds, making flesh run together like molten wax; they could cure plagues and cancers and other diseases we couldn't even dream of. They are referred to in the Scriptures of the Church of Hate with reverence, as if they were bestowed on the Great Dwarf Lords by the Mountain Gods themselves. Indeed, it is the Dragon Heads that gave the Great Dwarf Lords their dominion and kingship.”
“They can heal?” said Dake, voice gentle. He did not look at Jonti, but he squeezed her hand.
“Better than heal, boy,” snapped Beetrax. “They promise immortality! The Great Dwarf Lords lived for a thousand years, ruling their underground realm with iron fists. That was because of these gems. Until...”
“Until what?” asked Jonti, almost breathless.
“There was a civil war. Between the Church and the Crown. The Harborym Dwarves murdered one another in their tens of thousands. Being a noble race, the survivors, borne down by terrible guilt at what they had done, cast themselves into the pits of Moraxx, Kranesh and Volak.”
“Who?”
“They were the dragons,” grinned Beetrax. “So the book reckons; so Greeves told me. Volak was the big dragon, apparently. The male.” He shrugged.
There followed a long silence, where everybody considered Beetrax's words. The big axeman took another generous swig, and looked around the group with as much subtlety as he could muster. Talon: well, he had the archer. He knew Talon was a restless soul, and no amount of money in the coffers under his bed would stop him going on a reckless adventure with his old war buddies. He was the easy one. Beetrax’s gaze shifted. Lillith. He had Lillith, too, because to Lillith, her quest for knowledge and new abilities to heal would outweigh any personal risk or possibility of death. She was a good woman at heart; too good. Beetrax knew that well, for once, many years ago, they were betrothed. Before she found her good side. Before she pledged herself to the spirits, the gods, and the greater good; damn them all to The Furnace.
The others, though?
Beetrax glanced at Sakora. She was staring at him, cool as anything, eyes unreadable, lips moist. She exercised her wrists, circling her fists and then pushing her shoulders back to stretch muscles and tension her spine. By all the gods, that's one amazing specimen of a woman, thought Beetrax, momentarily distracted.
Sakora smiled, closing her eyes. She caught images of his thoughts, flashing at her like flickers of starlight.
You'd better believe it, she projected back, not quite sure if he would be receptive to the thought, but willing to give it a try. She opened her eyes and smiled. Beetrax frowned, and turned to Dake and Jonti.
They were gazing into one another's eyes, and there was something wrong there. Beetrax tilted his head. They were supposed to be arguing with him, him trying to convince them, but... there was something else. Subtle. Out of context. Beetrax knew he was a big boorish lout, an axeman with a love of frothing ale, long-legged women and waking up in a pool of his own sick. But he was, surprisingly, well-versed in the art of the subtle. He could read people, and read them well. He was surprisingly intuitive, a fact which had probably gotten him into double the number of tavern brawls than should have been normal for one of his character. But now... now he couldn't read his old friends Dake and Jonti. There was something they were not telling him. They were holding back. Something serious.
Talon broke the silence, as Beetrax knew he would. “When do you propose we leave?”
“In a week's time, from the front doorstep of this very tavern.”
“I'm in,” said Talon, brushing back his long blond hair. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a hot young brunette warming my bed sheets, and I simply haven't enjoyed him enough to satisfy my ego for one evening.”
He stood, a quick hard movement, and turned to leave.
“Are you not going to wait and see who else volunteers?” said Beetrax, bushy brows forming a thunderous ridge.
“Not necessary. They'll all come.” Talon swaggered off, reaching the foot of the stairs, where he turned for dramatic effect, tossing back his hair just a little. “After all... why would they not?” He disappeared, and Beetrax looked around at the others.
“I knew he'd be the easy one. He always was.”
“I didn't realise you two had got it on that way.” Sakora winked.
Beetrax reddened. “Ha! He wishes, the spindly little maggot. Anyways. What do the rest of you think? Lillith? You recognise the healing potential, the quest for knowledge from something like this?”
Lillith considered Beetrax, then ran both hands down the olive skin of her face. “I recognise the healing potential you have for yourself becoming possibly immortal. Is that what you want, Beetrax? Really?”
“I want,” said Beetrax, resting his hand on his chin in a studied philosophical pose, “ten wives, a hundred children, a warehouse full of fine wine, enough money to live like a king, and the chance to live for a thousand fucking years, my dear. Yes. I am that vain, I am that greedy, I am that selfish, and I am that hedonistic.”
“And the prospects for all the other people of Vagandrak?”
“When I'm immortal, you can do what the hell you like with the gems,” grinned Beetrax.
“I always thought your selfishness was an affected air,” said Lillith, with considered gentility.
Beetrax deliberated on this. “No,” he said, and turned to Sakora. “What about you, O unarmed combat expert with the bad social grace to get her stinking feet out at a party gathering? Eh? You up for a bit of an adventure with old Uncle Beetrax?”
“Although I would deeply love to reject your proposal on the grounds of spending any kind of trip with you being worse than an eternity of torture at the hands of the Torture Priests from the Church of Hate, I must confess: a) I have become complacent with my wealth, my lack of personal challenge, and a certain growing need to push myself once more to the limits of human physical endurance, and b) I have studied a hundred different combat systems from a multitude of cultures. This would give me a chance, perhaps, to broaden my knowledge base.”
“You seek knowledge?” said Beetrax. “Bah! Well, anyway, whatever does it for you. Glad to have you with us. I know your, er, bare feet will be wonderful in any attack situations we might find ourselves in. Unless they’re wearing armour of course!” He slapped his thigh and roared with laughter.
“Any time you wish to dance the cobbles, my big and excessively hairy friend, all you need to do is lead the way outside.”
“Hah! Maybe one day, little lady. But not now. I have a quest to prepare! In fact, damn, I have a contract for us to sign. Lillith, be a love and nip upstairs, drag that wastrel Talon down here, by his foolish long hair if necessary.”
Lillith growled something at Beetrax, but stood and moved to the stairwell. Her open annoyance was irrelevant. Beetrax had already turned towards Dake and Jonti. Jonti was pale, a weak smile on her lips. Dake was holding both her hands in his own.
“I suppose we're going to have that big argument now, eh?” beamed Beetrax. There was a certain optimistic rivalry in his expression.
“No,” said Dake, voice gentle. And as Beetrax watched, he realised his old friend's eyes had filled with tears. “We've agreed to come with you on your foolish adventure looking for diamonds of immortality.”
“Really?” Surprise, forcing Beetrax's bushy eyebrows up into an arch. “For the gold? The jewels? The fame and the
fortune? To explore long lost caverns and have a bloody damn great fun time doing it?”
Dake gave a sorrowful shake of his head. “No,” he almost whispered. He glanced at Jonti, who gave a single nod of her head. Dake fixed Beetrax with a powerful stare. “Jonti is dying,” he said, his words emerging like cursed charms on a river of sorrow. “She doesn't have long left to live. No amount of money can save her. The best physicians in Vagandrak have given up trying – that’s why you are all here, for this reunion, this party. We'd invited you here to tell you the news. This was supposed to be our last get together before... the inevitable happens.”
Beetrax literally stumbled into silence. His mouth opened once, then closed again with an audible clack of teeth.
“So yes,” said Jonti, voice soft. “We'll come with you, Beetrax. Because I'm out of options.” She looked up, and gave him a beautiful smile, her eyes full of tears. “In one month from now, I'll be dead. And there's nothing I can do about it.”
It was the early hours. The fire, once a roaring inferno, a fireball to equal the pits of The Furnace itself, had calmed, flowing down into molten embers which glowed, and pulsed, like fireflies gathered over a rotting corpse in the Rokroth Marshes.
The men and women who stood around the table were sombre indeed. Beetrax had unrolled a thick vellum parchment, on which, in surprisingly neat script, he had drawn up the contract. One huge hand held the scroll in place. His eyes moved around the table, meeting each and every member, until they came to rest on Jonti Tal.
“This is our contract,” he said, with great authority. “Each man and woman here should sign their name, or mark.”
“I don’t understand why we have to sign it,” said Sakora, voice silk. “We all know one another; we all trust one another.”