by D. P. Prior
Table of Contents
REVIEWS OF THE Chronicles of the Nameless Dwarf
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Map of central MALKUTH
THE ANT-MAN OF MALFEN
THE AXE OF THE DWARF LORDS
THE SCOUT AND THE SERPENT
GLOSSARY
Nameless news and updates
PRAISE FOR THE SHADER SERIES
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
THE FANTASY WORKS OF D. P. PRIOR
REVIEWS OF THE Chronicles of the Nameless Dwarf
“…this is a masterful peek into Prior's style and the world he has created. I recommend it to all fans of fantasy fiction.”
Five Stars
--M.R. Mathias, best-selling author of the Wardstone Trilogy
“This book has a wonderful plot, some great fights, twists and turns plus interesting characters; and maybe most importantly a main character with a dry and cynical sense of humor...a couple of laugh-out-load moments…I can hardly wait for future installments.”
Five Stars
--Ray Nicholson, Top 1000 Reviewer Amazon.com
“…strong and leads the reader on a chase to the ending. There is something for everyone in this tale: some violence, some venality, some bonding of characters and some comic relief. I found this an easy and fast paced read and quickly devoured it. I will be sure to follow Nameless through his Chronicles.”
Five Stars
--J.L. Chase, Red Adept Reviews
“The Ant-Man of Malfen is steeped in the tradition of good old-fashioned swashbuckling fantasy, reminiscent of Robert E. Howard…Prior writes in a style that is both fearless and entertaining, and gives each of his characters a unique voice. This novella was my first foray into this unique universe, and by the end, I was wanting more. Very good read.”
Five Stars
--V. Daniels, best-selling author of The Interstellar Age and Fallen Angels series
“D.P. Prior has a talent for characterization...The plot of this book is dark, filled with sorcery, brutal fights, and more than a few monsters… I also saw just a tad of humor. Prior is a master at imagery. His pen paints a vivid picture of the realms and the characters…Fans of science fiction and fantasy will enjoy The Ant Man of Malfen.”
Five Stars
--Readers Favorite
“The Ant-Man of Malfen's story drew me in quickly, captivated me with its characters and kept me reading feverishly until the very end... Prior's unique world building and history were exemplary... I can definitely say that I'll be adding my name to the list of those eagerly awaiting future installments. Well done.”
Five Stars
--Media Man
“All authors have a tale to tell, but only a few can really tell a tale...and Derek Prior belongs in the latter category.”
Five Stars
--Ray Nicholson, Top 1000 Reviewer Amazon.com
Copyright Page
THE NAMELESS DWARF
OMNIBUS
D.P. Prior
First Edition, 2012
Copyright © D.P. Prior 2012
All rights reserved
The right of D.P. Prior to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not be, by way of trade or otherwise, lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form, binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed upon the subsequent purchaser.
Cover art by Patrick Stacy ([email protected]) and C.S. Marks
Check out Patrick’s portfolio at: http://artbum-pat.deviantart.com/
Acknowledgements
I’ve been really lucky to have a team of talented people working on all the technical aspects that go into producing a book. The Nameless Dwarf Omnibus wouldn’t be half as attractive, and navigable, without the input of:
Paula Prior – e-book formatting, copy editing, and generally putting up with all things dwarvish for far too long;
Theo Prior – for listening to the story and being so enthusiastic; for the map of Aethir, which was originally hand-drawn, but has now been revised using map making software that was way beyond my wine addled brain; and also for the animation on the Nameless Dwarf blog of Silas and Nameless playing zombie tennis;
Patrick Stacy and C.S. Marks for the iconic cover art;
And finally I’d like to offer my thanks to the mysterious cover designer (He-who-shall-not-be-named, which is somehow appropriate for this series). His ineffable skills in this area have turned a great picture into an incredible cover where all the elements work together beautifully.
Map of central MALKUTH
Malkuth, the Light Side of Aethir. Beyond the Farfall Mountains lies the Nightmare Land of Qlippoth, where The Axe of the Dwarf Lords and The Scout and the Serpent take place. Qlippoth has never been charted. Taken from the Nils Fargin Collection, Scriptorium of the Academy, New Jerusalem (Year of the Reckoning: 916)
THE ANT-MAN OF MALFEN
THE ANT-MAN OF MALFEN
Nils ducked into the tavern’s porch and pushed his rain-slicked hair out of his face. He shivered and hugged himself, wondering how clear violet sky in every direction could suddenly give way to a sagging sheet of blackness.
Where the Abyss had the cold come from? Only minutes ago he’d been sweltering. If Nils had known it was going to be like this he’d have packed some warmer clothes. He fancied he could hear his mum’s nagging voice all the way from New Jerusalem: “What did I tell you? You’re just like your father, Nils Fargin—you never listen, the pair of you.”
Nils threw a quick look at his companion who waited in the meagre shelter of a barren yew. The dwarf’s face was swamped by a mass of sodden hair and beard. He too was hugging himself for warmth but other than that he stood stock-still; so still in fact that he appeared as rooted as the tree. His sombre clothes, all blacks and browns, merged with the charcoal skies. If Nils hadn’t known the dwarf was there he would have looked straight through him.
Sticking up above the dwarf’s shoulder was the cloth-wrapped head of an axe, which he’d bundled up to protect it from the rain. He carried a bulging pack on his back; whatever was inside had scraped and clanged as they walked.
Shifty bastards, dwarves, thought Nils. Canny, his dad called them, and tough as mountains. Least they had been till they’d up and left the land of Malkuth, abandoning their ravine city of Arx Gravis following the defeat of their tyrannical ruler. As far as Nils knew, his nameless companion could be the last of his kind, for if the rumours were true—if the survivors of Arx Gravis had gone into the nightmare realm of Qlippoth—there was slim to no chance of seeing them again.
The thrumming of the rain on the tin porch gave way to the fierce pelting of hail and sleet. The racket was deafening, making it hard for Nils to think.
The dwarf didn’t seem to notice—he was like a stony statue set beneath the yew tree to glare perpetually at the entrance to the tavern. It was as if he served as a warning to the ne’er-do-wells and rogues within. Either that or he was cursed, barred for all eternity, and desiring nothing more than to enter into the warm, smoky interior so that he could taste some ale.
At least that’s what Nils thought taverns were like. They seemed that way in the stories, the sort of place a weary traveller could hang up his hat, cross his feet atop a broad oak table and grow mightily drunk. Heck, there might even be a serving of hot
broth and a buxom wench to ease away his travel sores.
Nils knew next to nothing about any of that. What he did know was that he was shogging cold and wanted nothing more than to finish this job, warm himself by the fire, and then get as far away from the borders as he could. For all his griping, his home back in New Jerusalem suddenly seemed like one of the Seven Halls of Araboth.
He lifted one leg at a time to brush off the dried mud he’d picked up on the trail. Five days of hard going across some of the wildest land in Malkuth.
They’d left New Jerusalem by the Old Straight Road that had been built by the dwarves centuries ago as a sort of penance following the Technocrat, Sektis Gandaw’s first attempt at unweaving all of creation. After fording the Origo River and cutting west through Clarus Wood, they’d crossed the inland Chalice Sea to Lowright. There had followed an arduous trek beneath the Gramble Range and then over the great plains of the Outlands until they’d spotted the scattered settlements of what were effectively tribes of brigands.
No one came out here unless they were desperate. Either that, or they had dealings with the proprietor of the only tavern for miles around. The dwarf, Nils figured, was the former, whereas Nils himself, being a professional, was most definitely the latter. He might never have been in a tavern before, might never have snogged a woman, and might have only had his first shave a week ago, but at this moment, Nils Fargin was someone important.
Since Shadrak the Unseen had fled New Jerusalem following the assassination of the newly elected mayor, Mal Vatés, Nils’s dad had been the top dog in the underworld. Anyone who wanted a job doing came to Buck Fargin and his Night Hawks. It was a guild to be feared, and Nils was rightly proud of that. Mind you, back home, Nils was a little fish in a big pond; out here in the borderlands it was a different story. Big fish, little pond, Nils nodded to himself. No—more than that—he was a bloody shark.
And so, with a final look at the stoic dwarf and a last minute straightening of his collar, Nils puffed out his chest, sucked in a deep breath, and pushed open the door of The Grinning Skull.
The pelting on the tin roof gave way to the hum of voices, the clatter of spoons in bowls, the jingle of change and peals of barking laughter. The place was heaving and thick with smoke. Hops were strong in the air, blending with the scent of ripe apples. Nils took a step into the throng and found his face pressed against something soft and warm. Sweet musk inflamed his nostrils, sending a delicate thrill along his spine.
“Steady there,” said a husky voice.
Nils drew his head out of a mountain of cleavage, barely able to take his eyes off the milky flesh pressed up high above a black leather bodice.
The woman was looking at him with her head cocked and one eyebrow slightly raised. Nils pretended to peer over her shoulder as if he were searching for someone in the crowd, but he still managed to notice her cat-like eyes and the scar running down one tanned, high-boned cheek. Her hair was glossy and black, tumbling loosely over her shoulders.
Nils squeezed past, mumbling apologetically. He glanced at her arse as he went, noting its lift and the way it pressed against her leather breeches. He also registered the length of steel strapped to her hip, and the bone hilt of a dagger sheathed on the opposite side.
Nils had never set foot in a tavern before and wasn’t quite sure what to do next; but he was a quick learner, so his dad always said. Back in New Jerusalem he’d picked a few pockets as the drunks spilled out of the bars, and they’d been good pickings. Those were city-folk, though, all dolled up and dandified; nothing like this crowd. These were hard folk—bandits, thieves and assassins. These were his kind of people.
Nils took another big breath and fingered the pommel of his sword, peering through the milling bodies. He knew Jankson Brau was a mage of some sort but it seemed unlikely he’d be decked out in a pointy hat and silken robes. Best place to ask was at the bar, he supposed, and so he squirmed through the drinkers and leaned over the counter, first crossing his arms one way and then the other.
He caught the barmaid’s eye and opened his mouth to order. He wasn’t sure what to ask for but everyone else seemed to be downing frothing flagons of beer.
“Ale—”
The word was swept away in the hubbub and the barmaid turned to a swarthy no-neck with a head like a leathery egg. Nils was about to protest but thought better of it when the bloke shot him a smile that resembled a gaping wound. His forehead was deeply lined and protruding like tiers of trellises; close-set hard eyes studied Nils coldly. The man’s great bulk was at least as much muscle as fat. Nils winked his approval that the bloke was welcome to be served first.
Someone roughly pushed past him to get to the bar and Nils found himself straining on tiptoe in an attempt to attract the barmaid’s attention.
“Buy you a drink?”
It was the black-clad woman again, her mouth pressed close to his ear. Nils hadn’t seen her approach; he’d heard nothing either above the din. He was starting to feel exposed and vulnerable, but nevertheless, he couldn’t resist breathing in her scent.
“Nah, I’m okay, love.” Nils raised his purse and jingled it at the bar.
Silence fell around him in a small circle that swiftly spread like ripples across the surface of a lake. The only sound that remained was the striking of flint on steel as a grimy young girl tried to light the fire.
“Put it away,” the dark-haired woman took hold of his hand between hers and pressed it down.
She gave Nils a motherly smile, but he couldn’t help noticing how her lips glistened; how the tip of her tongue peeked through and wetted them. Nils dropped his gaze to her swollen breasts and then lowered it again until he was staring at her boots. He felt his cheeks burning and knew he’d gone bright red.
“Mina,” she broke the silence without raising her voice. “Ale for my young friend here.”
“Right you are, Ilesa,” the barmaid said with the sort of deference you’d expect from a courtier to a queen.
The moment she pulled on the pump and the amber liquid splashed into the tankard, the hubbub resumed and Nils no longer felt the entire tavern was looking daggers at him.
“All that money you’re carrying,” said Ilesa passing him the tankard. “You looking to hire someone?”
“Hardly,” said Nils, sipping the ale and doing his best not to wince at the bitter taste. “I’m up from New Jerusalem on a job.”
He watched her closely to gauge the reaction. Her pupils widened slightly but she remained stony-faced.
“What kind of job?”
Nils tapped the side of his nose with his finger.
“Oh, you know the sort of thing. Guild business.”
“Really?” said Ilesa, her eyebrows lifting. “Well I guess you must be someone. Not like this rabble, eh?”
Nils glanced around the room whilst pretending to drink the ale.
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Could say that. Mind you, you don’t exactly look like one of the local—” He leaned in close so that he could whisper. “—riff-raff. Reckon you must be someone too.”
Ilesa’s eyes flicked to Nils’s money pouch. When they returned to his gaze she looked bored and disinterested, as if he’d somehow failed a test.
“Listen, I’ve got things to do,” she said. “Enjoy your drink, and don’t go waving that money about anymore.”
“Sure,” said Nils, raising his tankard. “Oh,” he called to her back. “Do you know where I can find Jankson Brau?”
A corridor immediately opened up between the drinkers, leading to a long table beside the fire.
Three men sat one side of the table, all wearing studded leather and armed to the teeth. Opposite them sat a robed and turbaned man whom Nils took to be a merchant, judging by swell of his belly beneath his velvet robes, and the jewels dripping like sweat from gold chains beneath the rolls of his chin. He was flanked by a hunched over scribe and a lean bespectacled man whose hands clutched a bulging pouch as if it were a chicken’s neck. Between the two
groups, at the head of the table, sat a man in robes the colour of blood, and sporting a crooked pointy hat.
“I think he’s making it easy for you,” said Ilesa, indicating the wizardly looking man with a flick of her wrist. “Good luck,” she cast over her shoulder as she strutted away with a mesmerising roll of her hips.
Jankson Brau was studying Nils with the intensity of a rattle-snake about to strike. His eyes were unnaturally blue, like polished sapphire, and ringed with a disturbing corona of yellow. The tip of his sickle-shaped nose almost met the rising curve of his chin, and sandwiched between the two was a narrow slit of a mouth. It was an ancient face, bloodless and mask-like.
Nils’s heart seemed to flutter down to his stomach like a trapped bird. His mouth was dry so he took a swig of ale, coughed, and then tried to meet Brau’s gaze.
“Buy you a drink?” said Nils, doing his best to imitate the confidence Ilesa had exuded when making the same offer to him.
Roars of laughter went up around the tavern and the corridor began to close. Nils slipped through and stood at the edge of the table.
“Why would I need you to buy for me what is already mine?” Jankson Brau’s voice was thin and lisping.
“Point taken,” said Nils, wondering how to proceed. He wracked his brains thinking about what his dad would say next.
“Don’t bother,” said Brau without changing the expression on his face. “Your father’s an idiot who’d struggle to articulate a request for somewhere to shit.”
Nils’s mind reeled. He hadn’t expected that, and more to the point, how had Jankson Brau known what he was thinking? His eyes alighted on the pointy hat and that particular matter became much clearer.