by D. P. Prior
“And elsewhere besides,” Nameless said.
“So, you’re not angry?” Ardo said.
“Laddie, it’s a rare thing for a man to impress me, and it only helps your case that you like beer. Of course I’m not angry. I can think of no one more deserving of the title Strongest Man on Thanatos. Best physique, too.” He frowned at Ardo’s midsection. “Though you might want to go easy on the beer. You’re losing definition.”
Ardo’s hands flew to his stomach, and a look of horror crossed his face.
Nameless guffawed. “Got you again!”
NIGHTFALL
The obsidian sun dipped imperceptibly toward the peaks of the black mountains, and before Nameless had really registered the fact, it was gone.
The effect on the lighting was minimal. Twilight still prevailed, though it may have been a shade darker. The moon that came up in place of the sun was crimson, a pool of blood that shimmered as a wavering film of fog drifted across its face.
Landmarks were in short supply, and the only indication of how far they had walked was the measure of burn in his legs.
Ardo had supplied them with waterskins for the journey. Apparently, there was no naturally occurring water fit to drink, and the villagers had to rely on supplies from the city. It tasted chalky to Nameless, and he’d sooner have had beer.
There was little enough food for the circus troupe as it was, and certainly not enough to spare. The wildlife of Thanatos, Ardo said, was inedible. Chances are, whatever you bit into would kill you.
Shadrak cursed the lack of planning, but to Nameless’s mind, it was too late to worry about that now. It simply meant they had to move faster, and hope they didn’t collapse from starvation before this world of death finished them off.
Kadee said she never needed to eat, and the husk girl showed no signs of hunger, in spite of her sporadic spurts of growth.
The further they went from the villages, the thinner the coating of ash on the ground grew. Swaths of razor-sharp grass stood out in islands, but mercifully, the closer they got to the foothills, the harder the ground became, until they were walking over smooth rock, black, and with the quality of glass. It was not unlike the charred and melted shoreline where Arnoch had once stood, and it set Nameless to wondering if something similar to the dragon’s attack had happened here, or if it was just the natural structure of rock on Thanatos.
They followed a gentle gradient of ebon scree that shifted beneath them and sliced through boot leather. Kadee’s feet were bleeding, but she just gritted her teeth and bore it.
When they reached higher ground, they rested awhile, and Kadee produced a drawstring pouch from between her breasts and set about daubing her cuts with some kind of poultice. Without it, she said, infection would set in, and her flesh would rot within hours. She asked if anyone else had been cut, before secreting the pouch once more beneath her animal-skin top.
Shadrak bound her feet with strips he cut from the hem of his cloak. All the while, Grimwart polished his shield with spit and a rag.
The husk girl stood apart from the group, staring at nothing. The bone stubs above her shoulder blades protruded like fists of ivory.
Nameless offered her a waterskin, but she didn’t react. He poured a little into his cupped hands and held it to her lips. To his surprise, she smiled and bent her head to lap it up.
He lifted the waterskin to take a swig himself, and when he lowered it, she was watching him.
Her eyes were sapphires once more, glittering with with intelligence that seemed to peel away the layers Nameless buried his true nature beneath. Everyone did it, he was certain—wore multiple masks, and not all as obvious as those the Pressers sported.
It felt like a violation, the way she peeked into his depths. He knew only too well what she must have seen there: a darkness blacker than the Void, though even that wasn’t the whole of it. Had she glimpsed beyond that obscuring veil, seen whatever it was he drew upon in his most desperate moments?
He certainly hoped so, because the older he got, the more distance he put between himself and the Ravine Butcher who’d visited such horror on his own people, the more he realized his core was not evil. There was something stronger even than that; something he was starting to like.
He knew it was nothing he’d earned by merit. He’d been gifted it by his parents. And it wasn’t just the blood of the Immortals he’d inherited from his mother’s side. It was far more precious, and far more fragile. The strength that resided at his core was the knowledge that he’d been loved. Yyalla had loved the child in her womb so much, she had died to protect it. And Droom had loved through the example of his life, the good nature he’d bequeathed his sons.
The realization was an antidote for the loss of name that had been the punishment for his crimes. Even his family name had been ripped from him, removed from every place, every record, every time. But he’d retained the memories of his parents, and the things they’d done to make him who he was. No matter how dark life had grown for him, and no matter how bleak the situation now facing the dwarves, Nameless had to count his blessings.
When Shadrak had finished tending to his foster mother, and Grimwart had worked every blemish and smudge from his shield, they pressed on into the foothills.
Shadrak went off by himself, as was his way, scouting ahead unseen. Whereas once Nameless might have found it troubling, expecting a knife in the back at any second, these days he found it reassuring. At least, if the rest of them got into any scrapes, there was always the chance Shadrak would come to their aid, like he’d done so many times before.
Nameless, more than anyone else, understood the looks Kadee gave whenever the assassin acted upon his crueler and more violent instincts. They were looks tinged with an equal measure of sadness and fondness. Shadrak might have been a ruthless killer to most, but to his foster mother and Nameless, he was a wounded soul with a heart as big as any dwarf’s.
“Can we talk?” Grimwart said, breaking Nameless’s train of thought.
“Asking the question is evidence that you can,” Nameless said. “And my response speaks volumes for me. I think our ability to talk is incontestable.”
He didn’t like it, the sourness of his tone, but he couldn’t shake off the irritation he felt around Grimwart. It wasn’t just the change of name, and the newfound seriousness his old comrade-in-arms had; it was almost certainly a reaction to the black cloak he wore.
Grimwart did his best to take Nameless’s reply as a joke, but his chuckle sounded forced, like he was making an effort not to take offense.
“Sorry, laddie,” Nameless said. He’d have to try again. It was no way to talk to anyone, let alone an old friend. Droom would never have been so rude, even to his worst enemy. Not that he’d had any enemies, Nameless’s pa. He was as popular as a dwarf could be, and all on account of his humility, and an endless supply of wit and good humor. Must have been why Yyalla had married beneath her station. Must have been where Nameless got it from, too. So, why had it deserted him now?
“No need to apologize, Nameless. I think I know what this is about.”
“Oh?”
Grimwart stood in front of Nameless and stopped his progress. It’s what he was good at, stopping things. With that huge shield of his, he was as immovable as a mountain. Nameless had seen just what he was made of in the tunnels beneath the volcano, when Duck, as he’d been called then, had been all that stood between the dwarf children and a horde of insatiable feeders.
“I haven’t changed, Nameless,” Grimwart said.
“Changed your name.”
Grimwart dropped his chin to his chest and shook his head with mirth. “If it’ll make you feel better, you can still call me Duck.”
“It would, laddie, but a dwarf should choose what others are to call him, not the other way round. It took a little time, but I’m starting to warm to Grimwart.”
It was a white lie, but sometimes white lies were necessary. He’d grown used to the name change, but it was the
why of it that rankled him. He suspected it was a symptom of something else. There was no point beating about the bush. Grimwart already knew what was troubling him. It just took one of them to come out and say it.
“What made you join up, laddie?”
“Don’t you mean who?”
Grimwart lifted his eyes to Nameless’s. He chewed the end of his mustache, clearly thinking about what to say next; how much to say.
“The Krypteia have always gotten under my skin, laddie,” Nameless said. “Ever since I first had dealings with them back in my Ravine Guard days.”
“Mine, too,” Grimwart said. “Everyone hates them… us. It’s the nature of the job: spying, stealing, killing, and all in the name of the greater good. But someone has to do it.”
“Do they?”
“The Council thinks so. And if not me, then who?”
“I thought you were better than that, laddie. You were a dwarf I could look up to, someone who’d have my back in a tight scrape.”
“I still do.”
“Pah.” But Nameless knew that was the truth of the matter. Grimwart had done nothing Duck wouldn’t have done since they’d arrived on Thanatos. The only difference was in how Nameless perceived him. In how he viewed the black cloak of a Kryptès.
Kadee coaxed the husk girl to sit atop the smooth black rock of the escarpment. She fussed about the girl, examined the bony nubs sticking out of her back.
“What did the Krypteia ever do to you?” Grimwart said. A harder edge had crept into his tone. He was running out of patience, and Nameless couldn’t say he blamed him.
“Other than standing in the way of justice, forcing Marshal Thumil to back away from investigations, having a hand in the illegal trade of somnificus, and sending assassins after my brother… nothing. What I don’t get, though, is why Duck”—he paused to emphasize the name—“would want to get involved.”
“He didn’t,” Grimwart said. “I didn’t. Sometimes, you have to do things you don’t want to.”
“I don’t,” Nameless said. He still wasn’t being truthful, but he was powerless against this new strain of belligerence.
“Really? So, you want to be here, do you? Getting eaten alive by insects? Not knowing if you’re suddenly going to be struck down by some invisible death? Because I certainly don’t want to be here. Neither did Kal.” He let their friend’s name hang heavy in the air. “But he came, and so did I. And I bet you were no keener than either of us.”
“Still doesn’t tell me why you joined the Krypteia, Grimwart. What was it, power? Notoriety? The chance to influence affairs? No, don’t tell me, it was to get your hands on a steady supply of somnificus so you could while away your retirement in a cloudy haze.”
“Cordy,” Grimwart said so softly Nameless almost missed it. “Cordana.”
For a split second, Nameless felt the burning twinge of jealousy, but something about Grimwart’s expression told him he needn’t have worried.
“When Old Moary was dying, she came to me. She already knew by then she’d been chosen to succeed him. Old Moary insisted on it. She’s shrewd, Cordana. She might be a brewer’s daughter, but she knows dwarves, and she knows politics from when Thumil…” Grimwart faltered, not wanting to say it.
Nameless spared him from having to. “Aye, Cordana knows politics, right enough, and there’s no one shrewder.”
“She asked me to join, Nameless. She knew there would be knives out for her. You know how our people are, how we’ve been since Maldark’s day.”
Sticklers for tradition, scared to make even the slightest change in case it led to disaster. There had never been a woman in charge before, same as the Council of Twelve had always been comprised purely of men.
“Old Moary designated her regent, Nameless, and she was scared. She begged me to join the Krypteia, so she could have me assigned to her. So I could watch her back. And even when she stood down and re-formed the Council, the threat never went away. If anything, it grew worse when they made her Voice. I’ve been watching her like a hawk, and it’s no easy task, I can tell you.”
Nameless felt such an arse. “Oh, laddie, forgive me. I’ve been a complete and utter shogger.”
“You’re not wrong there,” Grimwart said.
“But,” Nameless said, suddenly full of trepidation. “Did anything happen? Did anyone come after her?”
Grimwart’s raise of the eyebrows was confirmation enough, and it made Nameless want to get back to Arnoch even sooner.
“Don’t worry. Say what you like about the Krypteia, but we have eyes and ears everywhere. Such threats as there were have been eliminated. She’s fine, for the time being.”
Nameless let out a sigh of relief. “Except she’s beneath the sea, with a five-headed dragon up above, and less than three days of life remaining to her.”
“Well, there is that,” Grimwart said.
Nameless reached out and grasped him by the wrist. “I’m truly sorry, laddie. And I’m grateful you’ve been looking out for her.”
“I know,” Grimwart said. This time, he gave a playful flutter of his eyebrows. “And if it’s any consolation, before we left Arnoch, she asked me to do the same for you.”
Nameless gave a double cough and clapped Grimwart on the shoulder. He walked past so the Kryptès wouldn’t see the flush of his face.
She’d asked him? Cordana had asked Grimwart to watch his back?
A lump formed in his throat, and his heart swelled to twice its normal size. For an instant, it shattered the chains of worry that had constricted it, so overwhelmed was he by an influx of joy. But it swiftly passed as his old anxieties came flooding back a hundredfold. He’d always had a lot to lose, given the peril threatening his people, but in that moment, it felt like so much more. It felt like everything.
The bloody circle of the moon was suddenly sliced into a crescent by a guillotine blade of darkness. Nameless blinked, expecting to see the moon’s fullness restored when the cloud or whatever it was passed. Instead, blackness thickened all across the night sky, and the moon was further whittled away. It was like a shutter closing on a lantern. All that remained of the moon was a thin smile of red, and then even that was gone.
Animal cries sounded in response to the pitch black: growls, squawks, hisses, and roars. Most were distant, but closer by, as if awakening amid the rocks they stood upon, things chittered and scuttled, and the drone of a thousand insects filled the air.
Away to the left, at a distance impossible to gauge, staves of light winked into existence, incandescent against the blackness, vertical lines of red, green, blue, and yellow—all the colors of a rainbow. They were arrayed in a wide circle, as if they marked out a perimeter. Some of them flickered as shadows passed in front.
Out of the night, two tawny eyes blinked open, close enough for Nameless to expect the warm blast of fetid breath. He tightened his grip on Paxy, and in response, she effused a golden dweomer that was enough to illuminate the ground beneath their feet. The eyes vanished, then reappeared further back, watching. Waiting.
Kadee crouched down in the aureate pool cast by Paxy’s blades. She cocked her head, listening.
“Lassie?” Nameless said, edging closer.
On her other side, Grimwart lifted his shield and scraped his mace along its edge.
Kadee waved her hand for silence.
The husk girl let out a whimper. She hugged her arms as her body trembled.
An insect buzzed in Nameless’s ear. He slapped it away from his face.
“Shog!” Grimwart said. “Something stung me.”
“Be quiet,” Kadee hissed. “We are being—”
A deeper dark streaked toward her. So fast it had to be instinct, Grimwart’s shield swung in the way, and whatever it was rebounded with a dull thud.
Nameless lunged in and swung his axe, but the shadow rolled past the blades. Silver flashed toward his face, missed by a hair’s breadth as he swayed. Another glint came from his right, but Paxy deflected it in the nick o
f time. And then followed a whirlwind of silver stabs and slashes, swifter than anything should be able to move. Nameless blocked, countered, and dodged so impossibly fast he knew it must be the Axe of the Dwarf Lords enhancing his own preternatural reflexes. It was the only thing keeping him alive.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw more dark shapes flowing toward Grimwart, Kadee, and the husk girl. But there was nothing he could do.
A cold voice spoke in his mind as he continued to weave a web of defense with Paxy’s blurring blades.
Tired. So tired. You need to sleep.
He wanted to tell it to go shog itself, but that would have been all it took. Even the slightest distraction, and he was a dead dwarf.
A shape cannoned into Grimwart’s shield, and he stumbled back. Kadee cried out a curse, and the husk girl emitted a shrill, musical scream.
Nameless struggled for every breath. His heart stampeded through his ribcage, and he was dizzy with exertion. Even with the blood of the Immortals, even with Paxy’s aid, he couldn’t take this pace much longer.
Silver slashed down, and this time, it glanced from Paxy’s blade and grated across his hauberk. Another dagger thrust for his heart, and he stumbled back to avoid it.
There was a rattle of shots. Shadrak? The retorts seemed sharper than those of his flintlocks, and they came in rapid succession.
Flames gouted skyward amid the roaring rush of air. The shadow attacking Nameless broke off and zipped into the surrounding dark. In that instant, he saw it for what it was—the same as the thing that had attacked them in the Forest of Lost Souls: a Thanatosian.
A blur of movement out of the corner of his eye had him turning. The creature attacking Grimwart feinted and then flowed around his shield. The silver of its blade arced down like lightning, and Grimwart grunted as it struck him in the chest.
“No!” Nameless cried. He pulled his arm back to hurl Paxy.
There was another spray of fire, this one angled lower, a warning intended for the creature on the inside of Grimwart’s shield. It instantly turned and fled, and when more streams of flame erupted in a circle around them, the other Thanatosians—three, at least—vanished into the night.