by D. P. Prior
“You too, laddie. You too.”
Silas pulled the grimoire from his satchel. It felt as heavy as stone. He crouched down beside Ilesa and thumbed through the pages. As he found the right one, Ilesa choked, and then her breath began to rattle.
“Hurry,” Nils said. “She ain’t gonna make it.”
“She will, laddie,” Nameless said with quiet confidence. “She will. Isn’t that right, Silas?”
Silas was too focused to respond. He pored over the text with frenzied haste, located the incantation, and began to mouth it.
Dark energy washed through his veins like sludge from a sewer. He gagged, and would have stopped, had he been given the choice. There was a rush of cold air, a sigh from Ilesa, and a resonant, self-satisfied hiss that echoed around Silas’s skull.
He slammed the book shut and returned it to his satchel.
“Shog, you look like shit, Silas,” Ilesa said, rising to her feet. “And where the Abyss did you come from?” she asked the dwarf.
“That, lassie, you may never believe. Suffice it to say that I have not been idle. Indeed, if our good wizard here could magic us up some grub first, I’d like to be on our way.”
“Not a chance,” Silas said, slumping to the floor. “I’m spent.”
“Nonsense,” Nameless said. “Quick leg of ham and a dram of mead, and you’ll be your old self in no time.”
Silas wished that were true. He’d experienced physical exhaustion before, and knew Nameless had a point, but this was something different. This was something that went much, much deeper.
“What I don’t get,” Nils said, scratching his head, “is how we’re ever going to find them dwarves in this place.”
“My thoughts, too,” Ilesa said. “Brau said there were no maps here because hardly anything stays the same for long. Apart from the village where we…Hey, that’s a point. How come you’re not ill? You were bitten, same as us.”
“Felt like dung for a while back there,” Nameless said, fingers drumming on the haft of his new axe, “but seem to have shrugged it off. Dwarven constitution, lassie.”
Silas forced himself to sit, and did his best to give Ilesa his most sardonic smile. “Don’t know what we need a map for, not when we’ve got a tracker with your skills. I mean, after all, wasn’t it you that led us straight into the thick of the zombies in the first place, not to mention that blasted crone?”
Nameless laughed, a deep rolling belly laugh. “Yes, laddie, I’d quite forgotten. Had yourself a real good time there now, didn’t you?”
Silas felt his cheeks burning and glared.
“I can track anything over any distance,” Ilesa said, hands on hips. “Which is a damned sight more useful than your lame party tricks.”
“He turned into a bird once,” Nils said, sounding like he was actually on Silas’s side for a change.
“Do it now, then,” Ilesa challenged.
“Too tired,” Silas said.
“Hah!”
“Give me a day or two, and I’ll show you what I can do,” Silas said. “In the meantime, why don’t you track, Missy Tracker?”
Nameless started up the steps and then turned back to them, infuriatingly full of energy and obviously raring to go. “No need,” he said. “I’ve been doing a spot of tracking myself.”
“You?” Ilesa said. “So, what do you need me for?”
Nameless blushed and gave a little cough. “Remember that thing you did with the height? Perhaps if you add a growth of beard… But seriously, I’ve stumbled across a trail. Well, it was a bit more than a trail. The mud just over the other side of this ridge was so churned up, I’d hazard a guess a small army passed through there not more than a few days ago.”
“Yeah,” Nils said, “but an army of what? Don’t reckon I want to go following none of these nightmare creatures. Certainly not an army of them.”
Nameless grinned. “Ah, but what would you say if I told you I found this?”
He produced an earthenware jug from his pocket and unstoppered it. “Urbs Sapientii mead.” He took a glug.
“Urbs what?” Silas said.
Nameless wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Old name of Arx Gravis. This stuff is legendary. Thought there was none left. I would offer to share it, but I’m afraid there’s only a sip remaining.” As if to demonstrate, he upended the jug and took another glug, glug, glug for what seemed an eternity, before flinging it against the wall, where it shattered. “Bit more than a sip, then, but you understand. It’s been a hard day.”
Ilesa and Nils joined him at the top of the steps, both fully recovered by the looks of them.
Silas groaned and dragged himself upright. He thought for a moment he was going to fall. Blasted grimoire weighed him down like an anchor. He was going to ask Nameless to carry it for him, but a niggling voice warned him against that. Only a wizard of his aptitude had the knowledge and the willpower to master the book. It was a heavy burden, but it was his to bear. In the end, it would all be worth it. Just think of the secrets it would reveal, the places it would lead him to in this undiscovered land of nightmares.
“Go on,” Nameless was saying to Ilesa. “Just take off a few inches and stick them on your rump. Do it for ol’ Nameless’s sake.”
Ilesa looked away, scowling like she wanted to kill someone, but then she turned back and draped her arm around the dwarf’s shoulders.
“For you, anything,” she said in a husky voice as the pair of them went on ahead.
“Splendid,” Nameless’s voice rumbled through the cavern. “I think this calls for a song.”
“Need a hand?” Nils asked as Silas struggled up the steps.
“No… thank you. You go on ahead. I’ll catch up. Oh, and Nils, let’s crack on with your reading in the next few days. You got anything to practice with till I recover?”
Nils swung his pack over his shoulder and gave it a pat. “Book Nameless gave me. Should keep me busy for a while.”
“Good,” Silas said. “Off you go now. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be right behind.”
Nils gave him one last lingering look full of concern, shrugged, and then hurried after the others.
Silas could barely put one foot in front of the other. He was sorely tempted to leave the grimoire behind, take another path while he still had the chance, but he didn’t.
Like a lightning struck tower, his ill mood passed in an instant, and he was suddenly brimming with his old confidence.
He skipped up the steps to join his companions, the grimoire, like an old familiar friend, banging gently against his side, light as a feather.
PART THREE
THE SCOUT AND THE SERPENT
“I don't believe there is a single person I loved that I didn't eventually betray.”
(Albert Camus, The Fall)
ILESA
Ilesa’s lungs were burning up, her breaths no more than ragged gasps. It was only the howls from the dark spaces between the trees that forced her on. One false step now and she’d be ripped to shreds. It was just like before, back home in Portis, when the wolf-men had changed her life forever. She couldn’t give a damn about the dreams of a deranged god at the heart of Aethir. This was more like a nightmare of her own.
Nameless turned back to wait for her, axe gripped tight in white-knuckled hands, deep-set eyes scanning the forest behind her. The dwarf was tireless, and his stumpy legs could move faster than Ilesa would have imagined.
She summoned energy from a fast-emptying well and surged toward him. Only, it wasn’t a surge, really; it was more of a lurch. Her knees buckled and sent her crumpling to the dirt. She couldn’t go on. Her strength had fled, her fear along with it.
She was only dimly aware of the howls piercing the chill night air, the ghostly glow of Raphoe, largest of the three moons. She could feel the closeness of the trees, smell the scent of the pines. The loamy earth might just as well have been a soft bed. She was numb with exhaustion. What did it matter if the beasts fell upon her, ripped her
throat out, and devoured her flesh? Everyone had to die some time, and right now, dying felt so much easier than—
“Up, lassie. Come on, up now.”
A strong hand clamped about her forearm, pulled her to her feet like a father might lift a child that had fallen and grazed its knee. At least any normal father.
“Please…” She trembled with the effort of speaking. “I can’t go on. Too hard. It’s just too hard.” She slipped from his grip and lay back down.
She could hear them crashing through the undergrowth, growling, roaring, panting. They were close. Too close.
“Go,” she said. “Leave me.”
“Change.” Nameless stepped over her to face the oncoming threat. “Make yourself smaller.”
“What?” It was hardly the time for—
“The dwarf thing,” Nameless growled. “So I can carry you.”
Her mind swam with images that rose to the surface like ink in water and then faded away. Davy. She saw her little brother, Davy, bruised and beaten, eyes aghast at what the bastard had done to him—what she’d failed to protect him from.
Another chorus of howls ripped through the night.
“Quickly,” Nameless snapped. “They’re here.”
She shut her eyes tight, the better to focus. The image was weak, but she’d grown familiar with the form of late. She felt a wave of nausea roll up from her stomach to her head; felt her limbs contracting, her face broadening. Itchy hair sprouted from her chin and cheeks.
Nameless grabbed her roughly, slung her over his shoulder, and then he was off, pounding the ground with his boots.
She looked up and saw the first of the wolf-men burst through into the clearing, a huge gray male with slobber drooling from its black lips. It roared when it saw them, nostrils flaring, curved fangs glinting in the silver light. She thumped Nameless’s back, and he whirled.
“Shog!” He lowered Ilesa to the ground and took a two-handed grip on his axe. “Crawl on, lassie. Let’s see if these mongrels like the taste of cold steel.”
Ilesa rolled to her back and forced herself to sit. Her fingers found the hilt of her sword, struggled to pull it free. She was tired. So tired.
More and more wolf-men loped into view. They bunched into a pack, jostling each other and growling. Then they spread out to either side, some disappearing back into the trees.
“Flanking us,” Nameless grumbled. “Have they no honor?”
Ilesa got to her feet and drew her sword and dagger. She stumbled, but steadied herself with a jolting lunge.
Nameless spared her a look, as if he were willing her to recover. His eyes were sparkling from the depths of their sockets, and she drew strength from them.
“Can you go on?” he asked.
Ilesa licked her lips and shook her head. She didn’t even have the energy to maintain the morphing, and winced as her limbs stretched back to normal and the skin of her face grew once more smooth and hairless. She saw the disappointment in Nameless’s eyes, but then she looked at him more carefully.
There was something about the dwarf that had been tugging away at the back of her mind. Something different. She stared at his gnomic face, and then she realized what it was. When she’d joined his quest in Malfen, he’d been bald as an egg and clean shaven. When he’d fallen from the cliff a few days ago, he’d got nothing more than a stubbly growth; but now—impossible as it seemed—he had a good few inches of beard and a thick head of hair. Was that usual for a—
The big gray wolf-man dropped to all fours and charged.
“Keep close, and mind the axe,” Nameless said. It sounded like there was a quiver of trepidation in his voice, but it may have been Ilesa’s hearing, for next thing, he started to sing in a booming bass.
“I once knew a girl with a red-bearded chin…”
Wolf-men tore from the trees either side, and more came from behind, yipping and howling. The forest was alive with their great loping bodies. There must have been half a hundred, if not more.
The big gray leapt, bared fangs coming straight for the dwarf’s throat.
At the last possible moment, Nameless swayed and swung, the double-bladed axe shearing clean through its neck. The head flew like a child’s ball, and the body crumpled into a spasming heap, spurting gouts of dark blood from the stump of its neck.
The pack faltered and began to circle them. A scarred male darted in and then turned back, keeping its distance. Another tried the same thing on the opposite side.
Ilesa’s heart was thumping strongly now, pumping blood to her muscles and preparing them for the fight. It was borrowed strength, she knew from experience, but at least she no longer felt like curling up and dying.
“That certainly showed them,” Nameless said, raising an eyebrow. “Always take out the pack leader first, I say. Nine times out of ten, the rest will turn tail and flee.”
“They don’t look much like fleeing,” Ilesa said. The wolf-men were inching closer, snarling and slashing the air with their claws. “Maybe that wasn’t the pack leader.”
Nameless rubbed his new growth of beard and narrowed his eyes as he looked about. “Perhaps it was the song that scared them.” He took in a great gulp of air and sang, “Her name was Red Tilda, her drink it was gin…”
The pack howled in unison and pressed in closer.
“She downed it in gallons that caused her to sing, with a ho humping diddly doo lecherous grin.”
A wolf-man stood on its hind legs, beat its chest, and ran at them.
“Forgot the words.” Nameless made a show of scratching his head. “Only seem to remember them when I’ve downed a couple of flagons.”
Ilesa dropped into a fighting crouch, and the wolf-man broke off its attack. “Brave, aren’t they? Speaking of which, you see anything of Nils and Silas?”
Nameless looked back the way they’d come. “Not since the first attack. Reckon they cut us off deliberately, you know, divide and conquer. Gods of Arnoch, I hate wolves.”
“You reckon they’re dead?” She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Nils was an ass, but she’d rather he didn’t die. As for Silas, far as she was concerned—
“Boy’s tougher than he looks,” Nameless said. “Got a good heart, despite appearances. And Silas is a cockroach when it comes to survival.”
The wolf-men were circling them faster and faster, working their way up into a frenzy.
“So, what now, wait till they swamp us?”
“They won’t do that,” Nameless said. “They’ll dash in, take a bite, and withdraw. They’ll keep it up till we bleed out what’s left of our strength.”
“Well that won’t take long.” Already the new wind she’d got was dropping back down into the doldrums.
Nameless raised his axe with one arm and extended the other to sight with. “Ah, then prepare to be amazed.”
He hurled the axe with such force it knocked a wolf-man from its feet and buried deep in its guts.
“Not the brightest thing you’ve ever done,” Ilesa said. “Now you’ve got no—”
Her words died away as the axe wrenched itself clear of the wolf-man and flew gracefully back to Nameless’s hand. It had lost its dullness and started to glow golden.
“Now, what did I tell you?” He beamed. “That’ll see them off.”
“Uhm, Nameless…” Ilesa backed toward him.
“Hmm? Oh, shog.”
In a great chorus of barks and howls, the wolf-men surrounding them charged.
Ilesa’s heart jumped into her throat. She was afraid of no man, but a pack of rabid werewolves was another matter entirely.
Nameless shrugged and rolled his shoulders, hefting his axe and grinning like a mad man. His eyes, though, told another story. He knew what their chances were, same as she did.
A mangy beast leapt at Ilesa, jaws gaping wide. She spun out of the way, slashing it across the snout with her sword and following up with a dagger through the eye. The wolf-man yelped and dropped.
Nameless’s axe
was a glitter of gold, chopping with murderous precision. The dwarf was as planted as a rock, no give in him whatsoever. A flurry of fur stole him from Ilesa’s vision and she was suddenly fighting for her life, ducking and stabbing, tumbling, kicking, twisting. The world was a blur of fangs and claws, and she danced through it on pure instinct, making each move before she’d even had chance to think.
But perfection is ephemeral, Master Plaguewind had told her back in the guild. It comes only in fleeting moments, sublime patches on a canvas that is, after all, only human.
A claw took her across the back, and her sword went flying. She whirled with the dagger, but fangs cut into her wrist. She snatched it away, losing skin in a spray of blood, and kicked her attacker in his all-too-human balls, betting he wished that was one part of his anatomy that hadn’t survived the melding.
She heard Nameless bellowing out his stupid song above the roars of the wolves but took scant relief from the fact he was still alive. Not even he could last against such numbers, such ferocity.
A wolf-man sprang from either side. She stepped back, right into the path of another. Teeth snapped down, but somehow she twisted and rammed her dagger through its upper jaw. The wolf-man wrenched away from the blade, spraying Ilesa with its blood.
Another hit her hard, knocking the dagger from her hand and spinning her to the ground. She panicked, and in that instant fur began to form on her forearms, but then they were all over her, a stinking mass of mangy curs, ripping, scratching, baying for her blood. She shut her eyes and tensed, waiting for the killing bite, but then a terrific rumble rolled through the earth.
The sky rushed closer, and the trees at the edge of the clearing fell away, as if they’d been dropped into a chasm.
The wolf-men yelped and broke off, loping away downhill toward what could still be seen of the treetops. When they disappeared from view, Ilesa heard splashing and howling.
She clambered to her feet and reclaimed her weapons.
Nameless stood atop a pile of dead wolf-men. He was riddled with scratches and bites, but he still clutched his axe, the veins on his arms sticking up along the contours of his swollen thews.