Taker Of Skulls (Book 5)

by William King

There was a collective hiss of indrawn breath. Utti stopped again and Kormak was aware that all eyes in the place were looking at him and every gaze expressed hostility, outrage and anger.

  The dwarves turned and moved menacingly towards Kormak. He balled his fists, regretting that he had no more effective weapon and prepared to do what he could. Sasha put some distance between them. Boreas moved to assist him. Karnea looked around blinking out from behind her glasses as if not entirely sure about what was going on.

  Ferik bellowed for them to halt. “No decision has been come to yet. If these strangers are to be killed, let it be done according to the Laws of our people.”

  The dwarves stopped moving towards Kormak but they still eyed him menacingly. Still, Ferik’s words had given him some hope. Why would he even mention the word if there was not some chance of them being allowed to remain alive?

  “I would hear what these strangers have to say for themselves,” said Branhilde the Beautiful.

  “That is not usual,” said Utti.

  “Nonetheless, there is precedent,” said Ferik. Branhilde nodded. “In ancient times, allies and outlanders were allowed to speak before the Moot on matters of importance.”

  “Allies,” said Utti. “And that was before the Dying. Those were more trusting times.”

  “Is there precedent or not?” Verlek asked. Was there a note of mockery in his tone? Utti glared at him and then looked at Branhilde. If he had been a man, Kormak would have thought he was licking his lips.

  “There is precedent,” said Utti. “Let the stranger speak. I would hear from his own lips why he came here bearing such a forbidden weapon.”

  “Kormak Swordbearer, you are called to speak, if you so desire.”

  Kormak strode up out of the crowd and leapt onto the lowest step. He heard some gasps at his effrontery from the assembled dwarves. He felt the blazing heat of the fire behind his back. He felt sweat beading his skin.

  “I came here on a mission for my order,” he said, speaking slowly and clearly so that he might be understood by all. “I came here as a guard for the scholar, Karnea. We came to the City in the Deeps seeking knowledge of the Lost Runes and the metal netherium. We had hoped to find it or trade for it.”

  “Why do you seek netherium?” someone in the crowd asked. Kormak could not but suspect that he already knew the answer.

  “We seek it in order that we may repair our blades and protect ourselves from the Old Ones,” he said. He saw no point in trying to deceive them and he thought he might as well get the worst of it, from the point of view of the dwarves, out into the open at once.

  They were staring at him now. He could not help but notice that all of their eyes were pools of blackness. Ferik’s had not been, nor Branhilde’s nor any of the speakers from the steps. Was it something to do with staring at the flames, he wondered, then realised that was not relevant to what he had to say.

  “You admit then that you use your blade to slay Eldrim,” said Utti.

  “Aye, I have slain the Old Ones but only when they broke the Laws that they agreed to be bound by, just as my people did.”

  “Blasphemy,” someone in the crowd shouted.

  “Perhaps for you but not for me,” Kormak stated defiantly.

  Guttri held up his hand. “I have never heard of such laws.”

  “They were agreed in the time after the City in the Deeps was sealed.”

  “So you say.”

  “I am a Guardian of the Order of the Dawn and I speak the truth in this matter,” said Kormak. “And it seems to me that you know something about fighting the Old Ones yourselves. I have seen the warding runes on your gates, intended to keep Graghur out. I have been told that he is your enemy, as he is mine. His people attack you. He unleashes monsters in the corridors of the City in the Deeps. He plots to destroy you and make this whole city his. Is that not also the truth?”

  Silence crashed down on the gathering. Kormak knew that he had touched a nerve. “Is that not the truth?” he asked, this time so quietly that the dwarves had to strain to hear.

  “It is truth,” said Ferik.

  “It is truth,” said Branhilde.

  “It is truth,” said Guttri.

  “Then I believe I may be able to help you.”

  “And how would you do that?” asked Utti. There was a hushed note even in his hate-choked voice.

  “I will kill Graghur for you.” A tremendous uproar erupted. Kormak realised that he had most likely said the wrong thing. The dwarves surged forward, seemingly intent on tearing him apart with their bare hands.

  “Get them out of here,” Ferik bellowed to their escort.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “WELL, AT LEAST we’re still alive,” said Boreas. Kormak stared at him. The cells walls pressed in oppressively.

  “What did you say when you were up there,” Sasha asked. “I thought they were going to tear you limb from limb. If those guards had not protected us, we would all be dead by now.

  “The Guardian offered to destroy one of the beings they worship,” said Karnea. She looked as if she did not quite know what to think of that, as if she was torn between admiration for his bravery and contempt for his stupidity.

  “They are at war,” Kormak said. “That much was obvious. I offered to do what their leaders must want but which is beyond their abilities.”

  “They could just take your sword and do it themselves.”

  “Look around you,” said Kormak. “Have you seen a single dwarf carrying a sword? They call them forbidden weapons. I strongly doubt any of them could wield one except as a club. They could not beat Graghur with it.”

  “But you could?” Sasha asked. She was not mocking. She seemed to want to believe that he could.

  “Yes,” said Kormak. The doorway ground upwards. Guttri, Ferik and Branhilde were there. They were alone but all three of them were armed.

  “What did you say?” Guttri asked. “You seem to have disturbed your companions.”

  Kormak told him.

  “Do you really believe that, man?” Guttri asked.

  “Yes. I have killed Old Ones before.”

  “You have borne that blade for a long time.”

  “More than twenty years.”

  “You would be considered little more than a child among our people,” said Guttri.

  Ferik said, “I have seen him wield it. He would kill many of our seasoned warriors if they fought with him.”

  “That might be useful,” said Guttri. He looked at them. “Come, walk with me. I think there are matters we should discuss. Let there be plain speaking between us.”

  He gestured towards the doorway. There were no guards there, only the dwarvish leaders. Kormak wondered what was going on. Had he guessed right? Were they willing to make a deal with him to kill Graghur?

  There was only one way to find out.

  The old dwarf limped along the corridor. The walls were marked with softly glowing runes. Beneath them were little stands of earth in which herbs grew. Guttri turned and looked directly at Kormak. “We are dying and we’re desperate,” he said. “I cannot say it before the clan but it is the truth. Once this place held thousands of dwarves, hundreds of our younglings, now there are barely enough of us to hold the gates and no children have been born in fifty years. In another few centuries we will be gone, leaving only this dead city as our monument and our vows unfulfilled.”

  He smiled and ran his hand through his limp beard. “Some of us will be gone sooner than others, so I can risk saying these things. I am a smith and I have no living son to pass my secrets on to. So another tradition dies and I pass the secrets to my nearest kin because the clan must have weapons. More things will be lost if I die before I teach all I know. I do not know what my father did, and he did not know what his father did and my apprentice will not know all that I know. We lose so much. Once we built this city for the Old Ones. Now we can barely forge an axe-blade.

  “And today you come among us and show us a weapon that is
beyond our skills to make, and not just because it was forged with forbidden runes, and you tell us that we have kin living elsewhere. I say, even though those kin may be betrayers, it is good to know they live.”

  Ferik looked away as though embarrassed but Branhilde smiled.

  “Your kindred do not know you are here,” said Karnea. “How did this happen?”

  Both Ferik and Branhilde shot Guttri a warning look. He made a disparaging gesture and said, “Our secrets do us no good once we are dead.” He made a circling gesture with his hand. “The warchief and the runekeeper both think I have become garrulous in my senility. Perhaps it is true but I will answer your questions if you will answer mine. There will be truth between us.”

  “Very well,” said Kormak.

  “Where was that sword made?”

  “In the Hall of the Dwarves beneath Mount Aethelas.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Hundreds of miles south of here. Why are you still here among the ruins of Khazduroth when everyone thinks you are dead?”

  “We kept the faith,” said Guttri proudly. “When all fell into chaos and war we kept the faith.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It is easier to show you, which I will in time.”

  “It seems to me that I am answering your questions and you are not answering mine,” said Kormak.

  “Be assured that I will. And now I will try harder to answer your first question. We are here because this is our home. It has always been our home. We built this city for the Eldrim but it was really our place. Our masters came and they went. They had palaces on mountain peaks and beneath the waves and amid the snows. They came here to meet and play politics, to commission new devices. We lived here, beneath their notice save when they wanted something. We recorded their deeds and contracts. We built the engines they required. We maintained their homes. We were their first, best and best-loved servants. Or so we thought.”

  Karnea was watching wide-eyed. Kormak guessed she had never heard such plain speaking from a dwarf before.

  “The Old Ones turned against you?” Karnea asked.

  “They did, but they turned against each other first.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There were those among the Eldrim who sought power over the others. They came to the elders of the clans and had them forge, in secret, the first of those dreadful blades, the like of which you carry.”

  “They wanted weapons that could easily kill the other Old Ones?” Kormak asked. “I thought that was forbidden.”

  “I would wager that it is forbidden for one of your people to murder another and I would also wager it still happens.”

  “It is no wonder they wanted it done in secret. A group armed with such weapons would be able to dominate all the other Old Ones,” said Karnea.

  “Only until the others armed themselves similarly,” said Kormak. “And the Old Ones have all the time in the world.”

  “The weapons were made and the weapons were used, and we were blamed for it,” said Guttri. “Eldrim killed Eldrim and as they did so, a terrible secret was revealed. Those who wielded those first weapons were pacted with the Shadow. They slew indiscriminately, took revenge on their enemies, made war on each other. But, in the end, it went as you suspected...” he nodded to Kormak. “The weapons fell into the hands of their enemies. Deaths multiplied. The City in the Deeps was abandoned by most of the Eldrim. They came only seeking weapons and in secret and they made the most dire threats. We could not but do what they wanted. Some of our folk fell into evil ways. Some tried to remain neutral. Some refused to serve the Shadow but who can know whether they did or not? Evil does not always come wearing an evil face.

  “The war raged for centuries. The realms of the Old Ones were in chaos. All were suspicious of each other. None knew who secretly followed the Shadow. Rumours reached us of dark and terrible things occurring across the world, but we remained in our city and did as we always had. We obeyed. And then it happened... we were betrayed by our masters. They cursed us with a terrible plague.”

  “Why?”

  “Other servitor races were rebelling. They did not want the secret of the making of forbidden weapons to be unleashed in the world. To be given to their enemies.”

  “They cursed you?” Karnea said. “That is terrible.”

  “The Old Ones think in terms of millennia,” said Kormak.

  “They cursed us and we died,” said Guttri. “During the plagues we died in the tens of thousands. Husbands died in their wives arms. Children died weeping for succour from the gods who had abandoned us.

  “The Plague did not kill all of us though. It is the nature of such things that some survive and are immune and their children are immune. When that failed, another curse was laid upon us. This curse altered the Underlings who had been our servants as we were the servants of the Eldrim. They mutated, became fierce and cunning and disobedient. They bred quickly. They fell to the Shadow and became fearsome foes, haunting the city they had helped us carve from the bones of the earth. They became stunted, misshapen things.”

  “Goblins,” Karnea said. She nodded her head.

  “The followers of Graghur,” said Guttri. “The ones you fought.”

  “They are the descendants of your servants,” said Karnea. Her voice was hushed. Her hand had formed a grip on an imaginary pen.

  “They have descended a long way from what they were. Once they were gentle creatures, passive, bred for labour and for obedience. The plagues changed them, almost as if that was the intent.” The old dwarf looked at his hulking tattooed barbarous companions and then looked ironically at the statue of a noble civilised dwarf that occupied an alcove above him. “They changed us too. The few that survived. Some of our people found terrible rage in their hearts. Some swore to the Shadow and were saved and vanished. Some slid away, seeking sanctuary elsewhere, hoping to find a refuge. One clan of smiths broke into the forbidden armouries and took a cache of weapons. We thought them slain in the Long Dying but their mark is upon your blade. I am guessing they still seek revenge on our masters.”

  “I can understand why,” said Kormak. “I cannot understand why you do not.”

  “Because not all of the Eldrim turned against us. Some sought to aid us, to preserve us. They warded us through the plague, saved those they could, fought the ones who would destroy us. They protected us and we kept the faith with them. It is what we were bred to do. We are sworn to serve and it is not in our nature to break our oaths.”

  “What became of the Old Ones who protected you?”

  “They fought a long grinding war against those who would exterminate us. Eventually all save the most determined fell away on both sides, leaving behind only a few committed utterly to the conflict. The war tore the City in the Deeps apart. They warred with dreadful sorceries so potent that even if they did not destroy outright, their targets were crippled for centuries or longer. The plagues they unleashed began to change even the Eldrim, crippling them, twisting them, driving them mad. In the end only two were left to fight, the rest grew weary. One of those was Graghur. The other was... well, see for yourself!”

  They had entered a great chamber. A dozen gigantic statues of Old Ones stood around the walls. In the centre was a great stone sarcophagus with a crystalline lid. The dwarves all knelt and made a complex symbol over their hearts before they advanced up the stairs to it. Kormak knelt and from force of habit made the Elder Sign of the Sun then he rose to approach the coffin in which the Old One lay. The others did the same.

  Looking down, Kormak saw the face of a dead goddess. She resembled the dwarves in some ways but her features were finer. She was beautiful and strange, with her long hair like filaments of spun glass and eyes black as the pits of night. She was garbed in a robe of fishscale silver with runes of iron on her shoulders. A staff marked with symbols of power was across her chest. On her brow was a circlet bearing the sign of the first-born children of the Moon. A great wound marked her chest,
a single drop of blood emerged from it, redder than any human blood would have been.

  “Behold Morloqua,” said Guttri. “The Mother of Dwarves, our creator. She did not abandon her children. And we will not abandon her. She lies sleeping until she can heal from her wounds. We watch over her still.”

  He made a complex sign over the sleeping goddess with his right hand and then led them from the chamber. They walked in silence through the empty halls.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THEY SAT IN Guttri’s chambers, on benches that had clearly been made for the comfort of dwarves, not humans. A bed of stone inscribed with runes stood in one corner. At its foot was a chest. There were no other furnishings.

  “What happened to the Mother?” Karnea asked. Her voice was very quiet and there had been a note of almost religious awe in it since she had seen the Old One.

  “She was wounded by Graghur. She withdrew to her stasis coffin to attempt to purify herself and there she has remained. Graghur’s sorcery is strong though and she has not been able to heal herself of the poisonous effects.”

  “Why has Graghur returned to seek vengeance now?” Karnea asked.

  “We do not know,” said Guttri. “He and the Mother fought their final battle millennia ago. He was terribly wounded and fled before her. She drove him out of the city and ordered the gates sealed with runes of warding and concealment so that we would not be found again by our enemies. She was so badly depleted herself that she collapsed thereafter and was placed within her sarcophagus. The process has taken longer than any of us ever expected but still we keep the faith. Graghur abandoned his spawn in the depths and we have warred with them since.” Kormak struggled to understand what the dwarf was saying. The word depleted clearly had some significance he could not quite comprehend.

  “When did Graghur return?” Sasha asked, after what had been said was explained to her.

  “About sixty moons ago,” said Guttri. Karnea translated.

  “That would have been about the time the Elder Signs on the gates were smashed,” Sasha said. “He would have been able to get back in then.”