by D. P. Prior
“Why, you shogging little runt!” Jaym shook his hammer. “You castrated twerp. You c-c-cun—”
“Don’t you dare!” the woman warned. “Or have you forgotten what happened last time you used that word?”
Jaym lowered his hammer and dropped his chin to his chest. “Sorry, Cordy,” he mumbled. “I’m just riled, is all.”
“Here,” said a skinny dwarf with a straggly beard. He slung Jaym a wineskin. “Drink this, big fellah. Take the edge off the rage.”
Jaym upended the skin and drained the contents, belching and grunting his approval. “Owe you, Weasel. That’s some shogging good mead you’ve got there.”
Weasel slapped him on the back. “You know me, Jaym. Only the best for my mates.”
“So.” Cordy frowned at Nils. “You’re the Butcher’s boy, are you?”
“Go easy on him, Cordy,” Cairn said from the ground. “Lad saved my life.”
Jaym scowled. “Wouldn’t have needed saving, if you hadn’t screwed up. Told you scouting was a waste of time. If it was down to me—”
“Well it’s not,” Cordy said. “And if it were, you’d be dead, same as the rest of us.”
“Who says?” Jaym flexed his huge muscles. “Could have had that shogger before, and he ain’t even as powerful now.”
“So, why didn’t you?” Cordy stared him straight in the eye. “Where were you when he hacked his way through Arx Gravis? When he killed my baby? When he… when he put my Thumil’s head on… on a…”
The blood left Jaym’s face, and he lowered his eyes. “Don’t say it, Cordy. Don’t say it. Thought of it makes my blood boil.”
“You know what you’ve done?” Cordy turned back to Nils. “Leading that evil shogger out here after us?”
Nils licked his lips. “Look, I weren’t there, right. But I was at New Londdyr when your lot came and started blowing holes in the walls, and you don’t see me going on about it.”
“That wasn’t our—”
“Weren’t your fault,” Nils finished for her. “Course not. Just like it weren’t his fault, what happened to you. It was the axe, way I heard it.”
Cordy turned away from him and let out a sharp hiss. “Ignorant scut!” She spun round to face him again, tears pouring from her eyes. “You weren’t there, right enough!” She jabbed him in the chest, forcing him to step back. “You didn’t see what he did!” Jab. “To my husband!” Jab. “To my baby girl!” She raised both fists, like she meant to pound him into the earth.
Nils stumbled away from her, tripped, and nearly fell. He was crying himself, though he wasn’t sure why. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t find any words.
Jaym was striding toward him again, and this time, no one did anything to stop him. Cairn was watching with wide, mournful eyes, and Cordy’s weeping grew into wails of despair.
“I—” Nils said.
A frenzied splashing from the direction of the lake cut him off. Someone was crying out, “Shog, shog, shog!”
Nameless!
And then it hit Nils harder than a blow from Jaym’s hammer: “He can’t swim!”
“Who can’t—?” Jaym started, but Nils didn’t wait to answer. He was off through the trees with not so much as a backward glance.
His boots churned up the loamy ground, great clods of earth flying away behind him. He broke through the tree line and paused long enough to take in the scene.
Nameless was thrashing about in the water twenty yards from shore. Ilesa swam clear of him, kicking for the bank like all the sharks in Aethir were on her tail. And that’s when Nils realized: her legs had vanished. In their place was a long scaly fish’s tail that propelled her through the water with the speed of a dolphin.
The dwarf’s head went under, but Nils already had one boot off and was undoing the other, wincing at the fiery needles stabbing into his shoulder. He unbuckled his sword belt, let it fall to the ground.
By the time he made the water’s edge, Ilesa had pulled herself out. The tail shimmered and turned back into legs. He caught sight of her eyes—bloodshot and puffy—as she pushed past him and sprinted along the shore.
Nameless bobbed up again, slapping the water in an effort to stay afloat. He was spluttering and coughing, and a vast dark shape burgeoned beneath his kicking legs.
Without another thought, Nils dived in and swam toward the drowning dwarf.
NAMELESS
The muscles in Nameless’s arms were burning with the effort of keeping his head above water. It was a losing battle, one that was rapidly drawing to a close.
“Ilesa,” he wanted to scream. “Ilesa!” But what would be the point? The panic that had him thrashing his way to a watery grave was the same thing that made her leave him and strike out for the shore. Couldn’t say he blamed her, not with that thing somewhere below.
He went under again, arms too numb to paddle. He shot a look between his dangling feet, expecting to see the serpent’s fangs rushing up at him from the depths. The thought of it taking his legs off at the knees, or biting him in half at the waist, made him sick to the guts.
He flapped and thrashed his way to the surface again, desperately trying to will himself toward land. Maybe it would grow shallower the nearer he got to the shore. He stretched down with his legs, pointing the toes of his boots, but found nothing but water. Times like this, he couldn’t think of anything worse than being a dwarf.
Something flashed golden way down on the bed of the lake—the axe, lost forever. He spluttered as water got in his mouth. Perhaps if he calmed himself, held out his hand…
A shadow passed beneath him.
Nameless literally tried to throw himself back to get to the shore, but he knew the effort was in vain. Water went up his nose, down his throat. He launched himself onto his back, kicking wildly as the dark form of the serpent corkscrewed up at his legs.
A hand grabbed him by the hair and pulled him clear, just as the serpent’s head broke the surface and reared above him on its sinuous neck.
Thank, shog, Nameless thought. Ilesa. He craned his head to see, pleased to be such a good judge of—
“Nils!”
“Hold on and kick like crazy!” Nils said, releasing Nameless’s hair and rolling to his front.
The serpent roared and darted toward them.
Nameless clung to Nils’s legs as the lad attacked the lake with powerful churning strokes. Just before the fangs struck, Nameless twisted aside, and the serpent bit water, sending white spray high into the air. It recoiled and gathered for another attack. In spite of the strength of Nils’s strokes, the shore didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Nameless was about to let go, give the boy a chance, when Nils suddenly stood.
“Shallows,” he shouted. “You can stand!”
Nameless put his boots on solid ground. The water still came up to his neck.
“We made it,” he said, but knowing it was too late.
On instinct, he held out his hand, and gold hurtled up from the depths, but the serpent’s jaws were already plummeting toward him, fangs slick with moisture.
Nils screamed, and Nameless tried to roll away, but it had anticipated the move. He winced and raised his arms in vain, but then a ball of flame streaked over his head, straight into the serpent’s open jaws, and detonated with a deafening boom.
A spray of gore shot into the sky, and hunks of pinkish meat came raining down with a thwat, thwat, thwat as they struck the water. Gold arced through the grisly downpour as the Axe of the Dwarf Lords shot out of the lake like a meteorite and returned to Nameless’s hand.
“Oh my shog, oh my shog,” Nils was saying over and over again. “Was that… Did you—?”
“No,” Nameless said, turning to face the shore.
Gaunt as a consumptive, hair lank and starting to gray, black coat wrapped around him, was Silas, book in one hand, smoke billowing from the other.
Nameless forced his legs through the water and strode up the bank. “Am I glad to see you, laddie.” He
went to grasp Silas’s hand but recoiled. The wizard looked frail and feverish, but his eyes blazed with the intensity of a madman’s.
“No time,” Silas rasped, as if his throat were clogged with dust. “I need you. Need you to come with me.”
Nils splashed out of the water, clutching his shoulder. “Thank shog,” he said. “Silas, you saw, didn’t you? Saw what the bitch done?”
Silas didn’t even acknowledge Nils, instead keeping his crazed eyes fixed on Nameless. “I’ve found what I was looking for. We must go together and claim it.”
“What?” Nameless glanced at the grimoire, and Silas snapped it shut. “What is it you seek? More of that shogger’s magic? I know what that book is, laddie. Shog it, I even fought against the Lich Lord once. Whatever it is you’ve found, I want no part of…”
Nameless’s voice trailed off as a woman emerged from the trees. A dwarven woman, golden-bearded and wearing a simple blue smock and sandals. She held a dagger in one hand. He caught the flash of a ring on her finger: the marcasite ring Thumil had married her with.
Nameless groaned. His knees buckled and pitched him to the earth.
“Cordana,” he said, averting his eyes. “Cordy, I’m… I’m…”
Other dwarves stepped from the trees behind her, hard-faced and pointing crossbows. At the back, two more dragged a crude travois bearing an injured dwarf.
“Cairn,” Nils cried, and ran toward him. The lad drew up sharp when half a dozen crossbows were leveled at his chest. The rest were aimed at Nameless.
Silas turned on the newcomers. “We haven’t time for this.”
A barrel-chested dwarf with wild red hair and a massive hammer pushed past Cordy. Nameless looked up. He’d seen this baresark before, at the fighting circles. Jaym, that was his name. The survivors of Arx Gravis must have been more desperate than he’d imagined, if they were teaming up with baresarks.
“No?” Jaym said. “Then what about this?” He charged straight up to the wizard and punched him full in the face.
Silas hit the ground hard.
Nameless roared and surged to his feet, the Axe of the Dwarf Lords raised high.
The baresark turned to meet him, swinging his hammer overhead.
“Jaym!” Cordy cried.
The baresark pulled up sharp. “Not this time, Cordy. Told you what I was gonna do to this piece of shit if our paths crossed.” He glared at Nameless and spat.
Nameless took a step toward him, face tightening into a snarl. Every muscle in his body felt swollen, fit to burst. The axe trembled in his grip, he held it so tight. He was going to break this ugly shogger’s face. He was going to cleave his thick skull, hack his stinking head right from his…
Nameless reeled away from Jaym, the axe dropping from his grasp.
No more, his mind screamed at him. Hadn’t he already killed enough of his kin? Had nothing changed? Maybe the black axe had left its indelible mark on his soul. Perhaps he’d been wrong to think its evil had left him when it was destroyed.
“See,” Jaym roared. “Told you I had him beat. Shogger’s too scared to face me.”
Nameless’s eyes locked on Cordy’s.
She stared with utter hatred, as if she were contemplating taking her dagger and stabbing him in the face before carving the names of her husband and her daughter—her beautiful baby daughter, Marla—into his skin. And she wouldn’t stop there. He could see it in her face. She’d stab and slash, slice and dice, until he was a steaming pile of offal for the crows to pick at. She’d do it, he had no doubt. Only, she was a dwarf, bound by a law as restraining as any chains. She couldn’t take it upon herself to make such a decision without the deliberation of the Council of Twelve, of whom her husband had been Voice. Until the Corrector had come.
No, only a baresark would do anything as rash as killing another dwarf.
He felt the rush of air, saw a blur of movement, felt the crunch of Jaym’s massive fist against his jaw, and then knew no more.
NILS
Get a grip, Nils, he told himself as he lunged for his scabbard, while all eyes were on Nameless’s crumpled body. Don’t do anything stupid.
He drew the blade with a rasping ching.
Don’t…
The red-bearded bastard, Jaym, grunted and turned to face him.
Ah, shog it!
Nils put everything he had into the swing, followed the blade’s sheering arc with his eyes, winced at the moment of impact, saw it slice the shogger’s torso right off of his stumpy legs. He felt the thrill of gore splattering his face, felt… a right stupid plonker as Jaym somehow sidestepped and caught hold of his wrist, forcing him to drop the sword. Before he’d fully registered what had happened, Nils’s arm was up behind his back, and pain shot all the way to his good shoulder as he was forced face-first to the dirt. He twisted his neck to see the baresark raise his hammer with his free hand.
“Gonna pulp his brains,” Jaym growled. “Gonna smash him up for good.”
“No, you are not!” Cairn’s voice cracked out from the travois.
“Yeah?” Jaym said. “What you gonna do about it, cripple?”
“It’s not him you want to worry about,” Cordy said, indicating the crossbows now aimed at Jaym’s chest.
“Shog it, Cordy, he’s got it coming.” The baresark released Nils and kicked him in the rump. “Bastard, shitting, pissing, cun… Ah, arse-end of Arnoch, give me something to kill.”
Nils was up in a flash and went face to face with the dwarf. “Spineless shogger,” he said. “You sucker-punched Nameless!”
“Yeah?” Jaym said. “Wanna see me beat him in a fair fight? Fine by me. Wake the shogger up. Go on.”
“You’d crap your pants and die of fright,” Nils said.
Jaym’s muscles tensed, and it suddenly seemed he had no neck, his traps were so bunched up. His face looked like blood was about to burst from every pore. His mouth opened and shut, but nothing articulate came out. He shook with rage, and then threw his head back and roared like a cuckolded dragon.
The skinny dwarf Jaym had called Weasel tutted at Nils and wagged his finger. “Not very sensible, my old son. Never a good idea to rile a baresark.”
“Just telling it as it is,” Nils said, folding his arms across his chest.
Jaym roared again.
“Come on, big fellah,” Weasel said, leading him away by the arm. “Let’s go find you some of that special mead.”
“I could beat him anytime I want,” Jaym whined like a spoilt kid.
“Course you could, Jaym,” Weasel said. “Course you could.”
Cordy nodded, and a couple of dwarves slung their crossbows over their backs and dragged Nameless to his feet, still unconscious.
Nils grabbed one by the arm as they started to bind Nameless’s hands behind his back, but he was pulled away and held firm.
“Where he’s going, he has to go alone,” Cordy said. “This is dwarf business.”
“Thought you was trying to avoid him,” Nils said. “So why not bugger off and leave him here with me?”
Cordy flashed him a look that told Nils she wasn’t going to take much more of his insolence. “It’s too late for that. You got too close. Some of us on the Council—”
“You’re on the Council? The Council of Twelve?”
“Took my husband’s place. Guess they felt they owed me. Like I was saying, some of us wanted this, wanted to bring the Butcher to trial, get some sort of justice for what he did. There’s nothing like blood to atone for blood.”
“Don’t exactly sound like a fair trial to me,” Nils said.
“Oh, it’ll be fair,” Cordy said. “That’s the drawback with the Council. Nothing is ever simple. They… we have to deliberate over every single detail, just so we don’t make a mistake. Action makes us really uncomfortable, after what happened in the past. If I had my way—”
“Then thank shog you don’t,” Nils said. “So, what, you just gonna leave us here?” He nodded at Silas, who was starting to stir.
“If you don’t try to follow.”
“Otherwise, what the Council don’t see, it can’t do nothing about?” Nils said.
“Council? What Council?” Silas sat up and rubbed his jaw. The frenzy had gone from his eyes and, apart from the swelling that was already showing, he looked to be back to his normal self. Jaym must have knocked some sense into him.
“I think you understand what I’m saying,” Cordy said to Nils. She clicked her fingers, and the dwarves headed back into the forest, dragging Nameless with them.
Nils made to follow but found a crossbow cocked and pointing right between his eyes. He raised his hands and backed away, and the dwarf disappeared after the others.
Silas stood, dusting himself down. “Were they—?”
Nils nodded.
“Is Nameless—?”
“This ain’t good,” Nils said. “I mean, it ain’t fair.”
Silas glared in the direction the dwarves had taken. “Fair is for simpletons and peasants. What we need is a strategy.”
“Go after him?” Nils said. “I thought you didn’t care.”
Silas smiled and put a lanky arm around his shoulders, causing Nils to yelp in pain. “Oh, I care. Give me a chance, and I’ll show you just how much I care.”
“Good,” Nils said, though something about Silas’s tone made his skin crawl. “So, what do we do?”
Silas looked down at the axe Nameless had left on the ground. “Remember how he wanted you to carry his old axe out of Malfen?”
Nils felt his face flush at the memory. “Called me a pack mule.” He bent down and reached for the haft, but his fingers passed right through it, as if it were made of mist. “What the—?”
Silas pursed his lips. “Interesting. Well, at least it should be safe here, assuming no one else can pick it up.” He kicked it, but he may as well have kicked air. He suddenly snapped to attention.
“What?” Nils said, looking about.
“Shhh,” Silas said, holding up a finger and pointing off into the distance, along the edge of the forest.
A dark figure was standing beneath a tree. He knew who it was by the color of the hair, the dark set of the clothes, the curve of the hips.