The Nameless Dwarf Omnibus

by D. P. Prior

  If you are not of the bloodline of the Immortals, the Pax Nanorum will reject you.

  Nameless kicked the axe.

  Well maybe it should have, the voice of the darkness welled up from beneath the surface of his mind. Remember what happened before?

  Don’t, the last threads of resistance replied. Don’t even go there. Why would the axe accept me if it believed I was nothing but a butcher? What if I truly carry the blood of the Immortals?

  The darkness replied, Tell yourself that if it helps, but did you not feel something similar when you found the black axe in the depths of Gehenna?

  “No,” Nameless said out loud, and then muttered into his beard, “I will not succumb. I will not.”

  “What?” Ilesa said, pressing her face up close, eyes burning and indignant. “What did you say?”

  “Hmm? Nothing. I was just…”

  Her face softened, her scowl giving way to a frown of concern. “You getting morose again? Shutting down?”

  It was an effort to lift his chin, but he managed to give her a weak smile.

  “Well you can forget it. I’m not doing that dwarf thing, OK? I’m not in the mood.”

  Nameless sighed and tried to push himself upright. Heaviness had seeped into his limbs and he sank back down. He was aware of splashing nearby, knew the serpent was still out there. He shook his head. He’d been useless against it. Even with the mighty Axe of the Dwarf Lords he’d been like a child throwing stones at a dragon, or one of the irritating roaches that plagued the miners in the hills outside Arx Gravis.

  Ilesa’s hand fell to his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  It was a simple statement, but Nameless heard the sincerity. He felt her shudder, knew tears were running down her face, but couldn’t bring himself to look. She leaned into him, brought her face close to his.

  “Maybe this will help.”

  Her lips touched his, warm and wet. He was too shocked to respond, but then she pulled his mouth roughly against hers, her kissing fierce and urgent. Her hands fumbled at his belt, found a way inside his breeches. A brand of fire lit up the darkness, set his heart pounding.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Ilesa pulled away and stood. “I just can’t.”

  “Is it the beard? I can always sha—”

  With a roar and a great splash, the serpent’s head burst from the water and swung towards Ilesa. It snapped at her feet, but she skipped back just in time.

  Nameless was up in a flash, the axe finding his hand rather than the other way round. He thrust Ilesa behind him and took a swing, but the serpent recoiled and plunged once more into the lake.

  “Persistent shogger, isn’t he?” Still, the excitement had roused him from his depression. Or had it been Ilesa’s touch?

  “Look,” she said. “Let’s start again. Promise me you won’t mention what happened with the wolf-men.”

  Nameless looked at her, then back at the roiling surface of the lake.

  “Promise me.”

  “You have my word, lassie.”

  She visibly relaxed and then smiled. “Thank you. I know you’re trying to be kind, but believe me, it doesn’t help.”

  What happened to you? he wanted to say, then thought better of it. “Well, if there’s anything—”

  “There isn’t.” It was like a door closing on that topic of conversation. She bolted it by slamming her sword into its sheathe. Her shoulders were drawn back, her chin raised, her demeanour suddenly haughty, as if she’d never shed a tear in her life. It reminded Nameless of himself. “So, dwarfy, fancy a swim?”

  Nameless laughed, a deep rumbling belly-laugh. Nothing he liked more than a good joke. All they needed was a couple of flagons of ale and he’d be happy as a pig in—

  “I’m serious,” Ilesa said. “That thing isn’t going to hang around the island forever. Sooner or later it’ll need to go eat if it can’t take a bite out of one of us.”

  Nameless grunted, his guts already cramping like a giant fist had given them a good squeeze.

  “All we need do,” Ilesa carried on, “is watch it for a while. If it’s anything like a normal snake, it’s got a brain the size of a pea. There’s got to be a pattern to its movements. We wait till we know what that is, then choose the best moment to swim for …”

  Cold worked its way through Nameless’ guts.

  “Except you can’t swim.” Ilesa thrust her fists into her hips and glared out over the water. “Shit. Maybe Nils can build us a raft or something.”

  Nameless hoped not. Boat or no boat, it still meant being on the water. It still meant entering that thing’s domain. It was already bad enough that they couldn’t hurt it on dry land. He caught sight of a red ooze seeping through the bandage he’d wrapped around Ilesa’s forearm. “That cut all right, lassie?”

  “Fine,” she said. “Stitches pulled when I used my sword.”

  Nameless grunted, and then a thought occurred to him. “Remember what happened with those zombies?” Right on cue, his cuts and bites started to itch.

  “This is different,” Ilesa said. “Lycanthrope bites don’t affect me. One of the boons of being the way I am, I guess.”

  “I see,” Nameless said, running his fingers along the haft of his axe.

  “How about you? No, let me guess. Dwarven constitution?”

  Nameless gave his toothiest grin. “How’d you know?” Of course, that hadn’t helped with the zombie bites, but the axe had taken care of the infection. He gripped it tighter, trusting it would do the same again. It might have been his imagination, but he could have sworn the handle shuddered, almost as if it had a pulse. The way he hated things unnatural and magical, it should have scared the life out of him, but instead he felt strangely reassured.

  “What the shog’s he doing?” Ilesa said. “Runt boy’s got his sword out.” She stretched up on tiptoes and visored her eyes.

  Nameless did the same. His eyes probably weren’t as keen as hers, what with spending half a lifetime at the bottom of a ravine, but he could just about make out Nils looking around frantically before creeping back into the forest.

  “Hope he’s all right,” Nameless grumbled. There was shog all he could do about it if the lad was in trouble. An idea suddenly sprang to mind. “Can’t you turn into a giant bird and fly us over there?”

  Ilesa was still intent on the shoreline, no doubt wondering what was up with Nils. Maybe Silas was out there calling. Nameless hadn’t seen the wizard since the wolf-men’s attack.

  “Never done wings,” Ilesa said. “But even assuming I could, I can only increase my size a little. Certainly nowhere near enough to carry that gut of yours any distance.”

  “Gut!” Nameless said. “It’s solid muscle.”

  “Whatever. I might be able to make a few changes so I can swim faster, though.”

  “Fat lot of good that’ll do me.”

  Ilesa let out a long sigh and shook her head at him. “You’d lie on your back and just float. I’ll pull you.”

  “I am not shogging getting in the water. Not with that thing swimming about.”

  As if to illustrate his point, the serpent broke the surface, glared at them a long moment, and then submerged again.

  “See that,” Nameless said. “It’s out there waiting for us.”

  “Big dwarf like you,” Ilesa gave him a mocking grin. “Scared of an over-sized worm.”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “Are.”

  “Not.” He folded his arms across his chest and made a show of tapping his foot.

  Ilesa gave a good-natured laugh. “Looks like we’re stuck here, then. At least until slave boy comes up with a plan.”

  “Slave boy?”

  “Yeah, you know, our illustrious guild-master, Nils Farting. Isn’t that why you brought him along? To carry your axe?”

  Well, that wasn’t the half of it, but he might have given that impression. “The lad’s all right. Give him time, and you’ll see.”

  “Seen just about all I want to, I
reckon. He’s probably found a way back to Malfen along with the wannabe dark lord.”

  Nameless chuckled. “Silas’ll be all right too. He’s just a bit obsessed.” Thinking about the wizard gave Nameless another idea, one that might make their sojourn on the island a little more palatable.

  “Say, you’re a magicker too, aren’t you? Can’t you conjure up some beer like he does?”

  “I don’t do magic,” Ilesa said, shaking her head. “It’s more personal than that.”

  “Oh,” Nameless said. “No harm in asking, I hope.”

  ***

  He weren’t jealous, and that was a fact. Nils grabbed his boots and started to put them on. It was just, every time Nameless and Ilesa sat down, he lost sight of them behind a rock. He was worried, that’s what he was. Just worried. It was bad enough being stuck in Qlippoth with his companions. Shog only knew what he’d do if anything happened to them.

  So, Nameless couldn’t swim! That was a laugh and a half. Made you wonder what they got up to in Arx Gravis. Weren’t they supposed to have their own docks at the foot of the ravine? Surely that meant they had water enough for swimming and the like. If you asked him—

  The cracking of a twig shattered the silence like a thunderclap. Least it sounded like a twig.

  Nils craned his neck to look behind at the trees, heart dancing a stomping jig. Surely it couldn’t be the wolf-men. Last he’d seen of ’em was a lily-white arse disappearing into the forest. He spun round, half-expecting to stare straight into slavering jaws.

  Nothing. There was nothing there save the sullen-looking pine trees brooding over the edge of the lake. Didn’t seem possible he’d just legged it through there. The forest had taken on a creepy aspect now that had given Nils’s guts a life of their own. Nothing for it but to hold it in, he decided. Ain’t no way we was dropping his breeches anywhere near the lake. Not with that shogging great snake in the water.

  He let his eyes rove back and forth, searching the trees for signs of movement. It was like a graveyard now. Not even the flutter of birds nesting in the branches. Not even the sound of the breeze whistling through the pine needles. But he’d definitely heard that snapping sound. The back of his neck had gone all cold and goose-fleshed. Nils knew the feeling well from back in New Jerusalem’s underworld. Someone, or something, was watching him. He’d stake his hind teeth on it. And he weren’t having it, neither. Not after all he’d been through since they left Malfen. If some spineless shogger was spying on him, he was gonna give ’em what for. He didn’t care how big they were, or whether they had fangs, fur, or rotting flesh. Nameless would have kicked their arse if he weren’t marooned on that poxy island, so Nils was gonna have to do it instead.

  He drew his sword, the muscles in his arm taut, blue veins snaking beneath the skin. Whatever it was skulking in the trees had better watch out. Nils Fargin weren’t in no mood to take no shit from nobody.

  He glanced back at the island, saw Ilesa visoring her eyes and looking in his direction. Nameless stood and joined her. Fire burned in Nils’s guts, but he told himself it was anger at being watched. He strode for the tree line, but just as he passed beneath the first branches, he trod more warily. Maybe it was a trap, an inner voice told him. What would a seasoned Night Hawk do? What would his dad have done? For a fleeting moment he knew the dreadful truth that Buck Fargin would have screwed up same as he always did. The realisation was as hateful to him as what was probably happening on the island. What about someone really stealthy, like that little runt Shadrak the Unseen? He’d brought the guilds to heel almost singlehandedly. Weren’t a guildsman alive could sneak up on him.

  Nils pressed close to a trunk and rolled around it, slipping to the next tree like a phantom. He was the thief in the night. He was the silent stalker. He was—

  Well and truly shogged.

  A stocky figure stepped out of the shadows beneath an overhanging bough. Before Nils could raise his sword, cold steel was touching his throat and a thickly bearded face pressed up so close he could smell what the dwarf had for dinner. ’Cause it was most definitely a dwarf. No doubt about it.

  “Where is he?” The dwarf’s eyes flitted left and right as if he expected an attack at any moment.

  Nils’s brain felt like someone had just plunged it into an icy flow. His thoughts got away from him like stampeding cattle. “Rabbit stew,” he said, not intending the words to come out.

  The face pressed even closer, thick bristles scratching his skin, making him want to sneeze. “What?” the dwarf said.

  “I-I-I …’

  A meaty hand took hold of Nils’s collar, half strangled the life out of him. “I won’t ask again.”

  “Who’s he?” Nils squealed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You know,” the dwarf growled. “The Ravine Butcher. Shogger’s got you hunting us for him.”

  Nils flapped his arms about, nicked himself on the shin with his sword, and swore. “No, you’ve got it all wrong. Nameless ain’t no butcher. Not no more. He’s just trying to help.”

  “Yeah?” the dwarf said. “Well he can help by cutting off his own head, save us the trouble.” He stole a look behind, every muscle in his body tense. Sweat was beading on his forehead.

  “He’s not with me,” Nils said. “We got split up when we was attacked.”

  “Wolf-men?”

  Nils nodded.

  “We ran into them too,” the dwarf said. “Shoggers have up and left now the suns are in the sky.” He relaxed his grip a little and Nils sucked in a deep breath, tried to calm himself.

  “You some kind of assassin?”

  The dwarf glowered at that. “Wish I were. That would be too direct for the Council’s liking, though. No, I’m just a scout, watching to see you don’t get too close.”

  “But now we have,” Nils said. “So what happens next?”

  The dwarf’s face tightened into a grimace, like he was wrestling with some dark thought or other. “Maybe I should leave him a little warning.” He pressed harder with his dagger and Nils felt the skin of his neck pop. Blood trickled down inside his shirt.

  “What if I lead him away from you?” Nils said, realising he sounded just like his dad. “Tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

  The scout grinned. Nils didn’t like it one bit. For all his earlier bravado, the dwarf had seen right through him and revealed him for the spineless coward he really was. Nameless wouldn’t have backed down, and neither would Ilesa. Shog, even Silas had more balls than Nils.

  “Tell him we’ve doubled back. Say we’re heading for Malfen and plan to return to Arx Gravis. Do that, and you might just get out of this alive.”

  “But it’s all changed,” Nils protested. “The land keeps shifting. I don’t even know if we can find our way back.”

  “Not my problem,” the scout said. “Long as you keep that murderer away from my people I won’t have a reason to come looking for you. Chances are, you’ll not make it in any case. Place is full of death, and I doubt even the Ravine Butcher will last long out here.”

  Nils reckoned he was right, but hadn’t Nameless felt the same way about the survivors of Arx Gravis? Wasn’t that why he was looking for them out here in Qlippoth? “Nameless is only trying to let you know it’s all right to go back to Arx Gravis. Last thing he wants is something to happen to you. You’re the last of his people.”

  “We’re the last only because that bastard slaughtered the rest. Hundreds, thousands, cut down like they were just hunks of meat. Whole families. Those that weren’t killed by his hand perished in a war that he started. And you want to lead him to us? You want us to go back to Arx Gravis, after he drenched the entire city with the blood of our kin? My own wife, for mercy’s sake. My parents … Heads on spikes. Heads on shogging spikes!” The dwarf released him and stepped back, sheathing his dagger. “Do as I say and lead the shogger as far from us as possible. If I have to come back, you won’t get a chance to speak next time. Do I make myself clear?”
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  Nils’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t even swallow. He looked down at his boots, wishing he had the courage to say something about how it weren’t fair; how Nameless weren’t himself back then, least not the way Nils understood it. But all he could do was nod.

  “Good,” the scout said, and then slid away into the forest, leaving Nils panting with relief that he was still alive.

  On instinct, he checked the front of his breeches; they were still sodden from being in the lake, but they didn’t seem to have gotten any wetter. His heart was fluttering like crazy and he struggled to breathe. Finally, when he drew in a raggedy breath his eyes filled with tears and he dropped to his knees, trembling. Say one thing about Nils shogging Fargin, he thought through his sobs. Say he’s pathetic.

  A tortured creaking cut through his grief, the rustle of branches, a startled scream, and then a tremendous crash. Nils rushed in the direction of the noise, suddenly not afraid anymore. Something had happened. Something horrific by the sounds of it.

  He drew up sharp, gawping at the scene before him. A huge pine had fallen, the trees either side leaning precariously, branches bent and twisted. The roots were an exposed tangle sticking from a clump of earth. It looked to all intents and purposes as if the tree had just pulled itself from the ground and toppled. A shudder passed along Nils’s spine. He flicked his eyes about, half-expecting the forest to come alive and close in on him. It was still, but he couldn’t suppress the feeling the trees were waiting for him to blunder into a well-prepared trap.

  A moan broke his reverie and he stared closer at the fallen pine. The soles of two boots were just visible poking out from beneath the trunk. Nils worked his way around the roots to the other side of the tree and found the dwarf scout flat on his back, the trunk lying across both legs. Blood was oozing from the corner of his mouth. As Nils knelt beside him, the dwarf groaned and stared with dull eyes, face creased with pain.

  “Tree … Tree tried … tried to kill me.”

  Nils could quite believe that. Place was starting to give him the creeps. His bowels didn’t like it one churning bit.