Revenge of the Lich (Legends of the Nameless Dwarf Book 3)

by D. P. Prior

  Exciting weren’t exactly the word Nils would’ve chosen. He’d been packed up and ready to flee with the rest of the guild. Thankfully, the siege had been broken, and the dwarves had been cut to pieces by the legions.

  Nils didn’t know a lot about the causes of the war, only that it began when an upstart dictator overthrew the Council of Twelve in the ravine city, butchered his opponents, and then fanned the flames of hatred against the Senate and people of New Londdyr.

  No one had seen hide nor hair of the underground dwellers for centuries, until they spilled forth from the earth like an army of ants whose nest had been disturbed. Within days, they’d taken the lands around New Londdyr and set their sappers to work on the Cyclopean Walls.

  There was a rumor going about that Shadrak the Unseen had a hand in taking down the despot. Soon after, the dwarves were seen leaving Arx Gravis, those who’d survived. That was kind of the point of Nils’s mission.

  “My client,” he said with the sort of seriousness Crapstan the Money reserved for negotiating guild contracts, “is looking for the survivors of Arx Gravis.”

  Brau sat up and clasped his fingers before him on the table.

  “Really? And who is this client of yours?”

  Nils was a little embarrassed about that. He didn’t rightly know. He shrugged. “Don’t know his name. Said he didn’t have one. Just said he needed to find the dwarves.”

  Brau’s eyes narrowed. “Did he now?”

  Nils didn’t like his tone of voice. Felt like he was taking the piss. “Paid my dad a lot of money for information.” Actually, it was scarolite mining tools and some high quality mead, all of which would fetch a ton of denarii if you knew where to sell them. “Our snitches said they’d been seen heading toward Malfen.”

  Nils suppressed a shudder. Malfen was the last outpost of Malkuth, a border-town of cutthroats ruled over by the notorious Shent, said by some to be a leftover from the experiments of Sektis Gandaw. Nils didn’t know about that and didn’t really care. Dad had been quite clear in his instructions: lead the dwarf to The Grinning Skull among the bandit dwellings outlying Malfen, introduce him to Brau, and then head straight back home.

  Brau apparently knew everybody’s business in this neck of the woods. All traffic passing through Malfen came to his attention. He most likely had some sort of arrangement with Shent, maybe even warned him of pending visitors. It weren’t a lot of traffic, mind, for what sane, self-respecting person would have business in such a den of scum? Besides which, there weren’t nothing beyond Malfen save for the nightmare lands of Qlippoth. No one would go there. Least no one without a death wish.

  Brau was leaning toward Nils now. “So, where is he, then?”

  “Outside.” Nils cocked a thumb at the door. “Said he didn’t want to draw attention.”

  “Attention to what?”

  “Fact he’s a dwarf.” Actually, Nils thought the dwarf had mumbled something about avoiding temptation, not drawing attention, but his version seemed to make more sense. After the attack on New Londdyr, dwarves weren’t likely to be welcome anywhere in Malkuth.

  Brau sat back in his chair and made swirling patterns on the table with the flat of his hand. “A dwarf looking for dwarves in the vicinity of Malfen,” he mused out loud.

  Nils nodded.

  “Funny that,” Brau said to the grunted agreement of his thugs. “Whole bunch of dwarves passed through here not so long ago. Hundreds of them, I’d say. Said they were heading for Qlippoth. Good luck to you, I said, but…” Brau rocked suddenly forward and fixed Nils with his two-toned eyes. “… no one gets into Qlippoth without paying a toll to the Ant-Man.”

  Nils swallowed. “Ant-man? You mean Shent?”

  “He’ll want a tribute,” Brau said. “As do I.” He held out his hand.

  Nils shook his head. “I’m sorry?”

  The three heavies pushed back their chairs and stood.

  Nils cast a look around. He thought he saw Ilesa among the spectators gathered around the musician, but no one even batted an eyelid in his direction. He may as well have been alone with Brau and his goons.

  Reluctantly, Nils opened his purse and began to count out some coins. “How much?” he asked in as manly a voice as he could muster.

  Brau snatched the purse from him. “More than you’ve got there, boy.”

  “But—”

  One of the heavies reached over the table and dragged Nils out of his chair by the collar. Nils knew he should do something, knew he should draw his sword, but it was all he could do to stop his bladder from leaking.

  “The choice is simple—” Brau was saying as the door flew open, and a gust of wind sprayed them with sleet.

  The thug released his grip on Nils’s collar, and everyone in the tavern turned to look at the figure in the doorway.

  The dwarf stood there, sodden and miserable. His beard and hair were plastered to his face. His eyes were like pools of mud. He was motionless, the rain dripping from his dour clothes and forming a puddle on the floorboards. The axe was in his hand, unwrapped, twin blades gleaming orange in the glow from the fire.

  He sniffed the air and nodded in the direction of the bar, then casually leaned the axe against a table, unshouldered his pack and dropped it on the floor. Raising a curling eyebrow at Nils, he took a step into the tavern.

  “You all right, laddie?” his voice rolled out across the room.

  Nils swallowed and smiled lamely at the man who’d been holding him. “Uhm,” was the only thing he could manage to say.

  The dwarf grinned and waved to the gawping crowd. “Carry on, people, carry on. Madam.” He winked at Ilesa and gave a little bow. “A tavern is a place for making merry. Play on, sir bard, and if you’re half decent, I’ll stand you a drink.”

  Nils slipped back down in his chair and watched as the dwarf strode up to the bar. He couldn’t quite see over the top but he reached up with a meaty fist and rapped hard on it.

  “Bar-wench,” he called. “A flagon of stout and the same again for my friend.”

  The dwarf then turned to Jankson Brau with a big toothy smile gaping beneath his mustache. “Toss that over here, laddie.” He indicated Nils’s purse, and then patted his own pockets to show they were empty. “Unless this round’s on the house.”

  Brau looked like he was about to comply, but then took a hold of himself.

  “Who the shog do you think you are to talk to me like that? Why, you shogging little stunted—”

  The dwarf reached up and took the two flagons from the bar then sauntered over to the table and plonked himself in the chair next to Nils.

  “That’s a lot of wasted words, laddie. I don’t mind an insult in a tavern, but two is taking it a bit far. Now ‘little’ and ‘stunted’ mean pretty much the same thing, so I’ll grant you that as one. ‘Shogging’ has an altogether different meaning, making it two. If you stop there, you’ll be all right. Three, though, would be no trifling matter.”

  Brau’s jaw hung slack as the dwarf took a deep draft of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Froth clung to his beard like the scum hemming the coast of the Chalice Sea.

  The three thugs didn’t seem to know what to do with themselves. Their eyes flicked between Brau and the dwarf. Finally, one of them spoke.

  “Do you want us to sort him, guv?”

  The other two drifted into position behind the dwarf’s chair.

  Brau’s eyes lingered on them for a long moment, and then he turned his gaze on the dwarf. “Your friend says you are looking for the dwarves of Arx Gravis.”

  “True, true,” the dwarf said, taking another gulp of stout and raising his empty tankard. “More!” he bellowed across the room.

  “What happened?” Brau asked with a sneer. “They leave you behind?”

  The dwarf glowered at that, and all his good humor seemed to dissipate. “Not exactly,” he mumbled into his beard. “It’s more a case of them fleeing and me following.”

  Brau’s eyes wi
dened. “It’s you,” he said at last. “You’re the one who made them march on New Londdyr. You’re the one who slaughtered them if they refused.”

  A lump suddenly formed in Nils’s gut. His mind was whirling with the possibilities of what might have happened on the journey from New Londdyr—what still could happen. The Ravine Butcher! Here. Right next to him.

  Nils inched his chair back but stopped dead when it scraped against the floor. He ground his teeth and cringed as a nervy tingle crept across his skin. It was the same feeling he used to get whenever Magistra Archyr raked her fingernails across the chalkboard to silence the class.

  The dwarf stared into his empty tankard. “Then you know I must find them.”

  Brau laughed and clapped his hands. “Why? So you can finish what you started? No wonder they’re willing to risk the horrors of Qlippoth.”

  “No.” The dwarf looked up from under craggy brows. “I need to show them there’s nothing left to fear.” He spoke almost to himself. “I need to bring them back from Qlippoth before it’s too late; before they are lost forever.”

  The barmaid approached the table and set a full tankard in front of the dwarf. He gripped the handle and studied the froth.

  Brau glanced at his thugs and, with the slightest of gestures, sent them over to the bar. They took up their perches on stools and made a show of watching the musician, but Nils could tell they were still keeping an eye on the table.

  The dwarf tilted his head back and drained the tankard in one long pull. He belched loudly, wiped his mouth, and then shook the tankard at the barmaid for another refill.

  “I told you, laddie,” he let out a rancid burp in Nils’s face, “it’d be too much of a temptation coming in here.”

  Nils grimaced and coughed as far back in his throat as he could manage. He was starting to see what he meant. He was also getting worried that the dwarf was playing right into Brau’s hands. The wizard was watching him drink with a slightly bemused but self-satisfied grin. He caught Nils’s glance, and the grin turned into a smirk.

  “Tell me,” Brau said to the dwarf, “why is it you have no name? I’d understand if the shame of your recent activities led to your being stripped of it, but I heard you had no name when you usurped power from the Council of Twelve.”

  “Nothing wrong with your hearing, then.” The dwarf accepted another drink from the barmaid, who’d had the foresight to bring a huge pitcher to the table. She glanced at Brau, and he nodded.

  “You’ve heard of the Pax Nanorum?” the dwarf said.

  “The Axe of the Dwarf Lords?” Brau made a steeple of his fingertips. “I heard that was the source of your power. Funny, though, I’d always thought it was just part of the foundation myth of Arx Gravis.”

  “It is and it isn’t.” The dwarf sloshed some more ale into his tankard from the pitcher. His eyes were glazing over, and he was starting to slur his speech. “There was an axe all right, but it wasn’t the Pax Nanorum. It was black. Forged from shadows. It was my brother that discovered its whereabouts in Gehenna. Shoggers killed him, fed him to the seethers. I found the axe. It wasn’t what it seemed.”

  Nils was starting to lose interest. Either the dwarf was talking nonsense because he was drunk, or he was mad. He suspected it was a bit of both. Brau, however, was listening intently. Perhaps he was just humoring him.

  The dwarf swilled the beer in his tankard. “Such power,” he said as if he were speaking about a lost lover. “Such strength. Could have ushered in a new age of glory for my people, if it really had been the Pax Nanorum.”

  Brau leaned forward, keeping his voice soft. “But they took it from you; didn’t trust you with all that might. They wanted it for themselves, am I right?”

  The dwarf continued to stare into the depths of his flagon. “No. They didn’t want it at all. But I brought it among them. I thought they were demons.” He glanced at Brau, as if he might understand. “And I killed them in their hundreds.”

  He indicated his pack by the door with a jab of his thumb. “Shogging philosopher came up with a plan to stop me. It’s in the bag: my ma’s helm. Broke the link with the axe. Stole my name. Ripped it from time.”

  The dwarf turned back to his drink and took another gulp.

  “Couldn’t remove the helm, and the shogger had to feed me with magic. Told me there was a way to free me from the geas of the black axe. Stupid shogger got it wrong. I grew too strong. I did… such things. Terrible things.” He looked up, and there were tears in his eyes. “That’s why they’re running, my people. So few left. So few.”

  Jankson Brau poured him another drink from the pitcher. “So, the helm stole your name, eh? That would make you a curse among the dwarves, wouldn’t it?”

  The dwarf nodded, a trail of drool rolling down his chin. “That’s right. Without a name you’re no one. Can’t be a dwarf with no name.”

  “So, what do we call you?” Brau said.

  “Shadrak used to call me Nameless. A good friend. Good, good friend.” His head thumped onto the table.

  Nils winced. That had to hurt. Or at least it would when the dwarf came round. But Shadrak… That was a name to put the frighteners on you. Shadrak the Unseen, former lord of the unified guilds of New Londdyr. Till he’d gone and murdered the newly elected First Senator, Mal Vatès, then fled the city, leaving Nils’s dad in charge.

  Brau rubbed his hands together with glee. “I’ve heard of this helm,” he said, clicking his fingers and pointing to the dwarf’s pack. “A relic from the age of the Founders, so my contacts in Arx Gravis tell me. I was going to send a crew to acquire it but never got the job organized. So many fingers in so many pies. But I’m glad I never bothered. It’s so much easier to have it delivered to my door.”

  One of the heavies fetched it for him. Brau unfastened the straps and pulled out a concave piece of black metal. Nils leaned closer. It was one half of a full-faced great helm. The black metal was veined with green, which sparkled even in the dim light of the tavern.

  “Scarolite,” Brau said as he pulled the other half out of the pack. “The puissant ore of the homunculi. Worth a bloody fortune. Gentlemen…” He raised the two halves of the helm so his thugs could see. “We’ve hit the jackpot.”

  The crowd around the musician broke away so that they could gawp at the helm, muttering to each other, nodding and pointing.

  Nils stood and tugged down the front of his shirt. “Well,” he said. “I guess that’s our business done. Introductions made and all that. I’ll be off, then.”

  Two beefy hands clamped down on his shoulders. He’d not even seen the heavies move, he’d been so focused on the dwarf—Nameless—and his helm.

  “There’s still the small matter of my consultation fee,” Brau said.

  “Everything I have is in that purse,” Nils said. “You can keep it.”

  Brau stuck out his lower lip and looked genuinely sad. “Not enough. Not by a long chalk.”

  “That’s right, boss,” one of the thugs said. “Reckon we should sell him to the Ant-Man.”

  Nils struggled to break free but both his wrists were deftly twisted into locks. The thug on his right tweaked the back of his hand, sending shooting pains all the way to his shoulder. Nils squealed and bent double, arms held up straight behind him, elbows extended almost to breaking point.

  “Ordinarily,” Brau said, “I’d demand a ransom, but knowing your father for the scumbag he is, I think it would be a waste of time. Tony’s right, I could sell you to Shent, but he doesn’t pay too well these days. Might be easier if we just slice and dice you ourselves, unless you’ve got a better idea.” He looked at Nils expectantly.

  “My dad will pay,” Nils insisted. “I know he will.”

  “My dear boy,” Brau said, “you really must get a grip on this emotional thinking. Your father would laugh in my face if I asked him for a ransom. Do you really think he prizes you above money? Clear thinking is what’s needed here, not idealistic fancy. What do you think, Danton?” He turned
to the third thug who was looming over the unconscious dwarf. “Is it worth the effort of taking him to Malfen for the sake of a few dupondii?”

  Danton rubbed his chin and then his eyes lit up. “There are two of them,” he said. “Double the takings.”

  “No, no, no,” Brau said. “The dwarf’s too dangerous. If any of the stories about him are true, we can’t risk him getting away from Shent and coming for revenge. Take him outside and kill him. No, on second thoughts take them both outside. I really can’t be bothered to think about this anymore.”

  Nils tried to kick out at the shins of the men holding him, but with his arms locked behind him, all he could manage was to prance about on tiptoe. With practiced coordination, the thugs bent his elbows, and ran his wrists through to the front of his body, gripping his hands by the thumbs. Then they leaned into the back of his shoulders and frogmarched him toward the door.

  “No,” Nils cried out. “I can get you the money!”

  Brau wasn’t listening. He was fitting the two halves of the black helm together and muttering to himself. Nils caught Ilesa’s eye, but she just blew him a kiss.

  His captors turned him around to face the table once more.

  “What about him?” one of them asked, indicating the dwarf.

  “I’ve got him,” Danton said, grabbing a fistful of beard and yanking the dwarf from his chair.

  Nameless hit the floor like a sack of potatoes, and Danton started to drag him along. The thugs were about to turn Nils around again, when Nameless’s hand shot out and grabbed Danton by the ankle. With a terrific surge of strength, the dwarf flipped Danton onto his back and clambered to his feet. Before Danton could recover, the dwarf’s booted foot came down on his neck with a sickening crack.

  The two thugs holding Nils dumped him on the floor and drew daggers.

  Nameless snatched up a chair and grinned. Nils was shocked to see the sparkle in his dark eyes—he was clearly enjoying himself and not showing the slightest sign of drunkenness. In fact, he looked fresher and more alert than he’d done before he started drinking. It was as if the thrill of violence had burned the alcohol from his blood.