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

by D. P. Prior

  Silas’s eyes lit up. “So, we go on? Find my staff?”

  Nameless eyed him for a long moment then turned his gaze on Nils. “How’d you want the tale to end, laddie?”

  Nils rubbed his chin. “Well, we can’t go back the way we came. If the dwarves get hold of us, we’re dead. Or at least you are.”

  Nameless nodded. “Can’t disagree with you there, laddie.”

  “I say we carry on the way we was heading, see if they follow. If they don’t, we could loop back, find some way out of here. I don’t care about no heroic ending. I just wanna get home.”

  Silas sneered. “Well, that’s going to make for an enthralling read.”

  “Don’t expect you to agree, Silas,” Nils said. “But I reckon you’re not right in the head. That book’s bad news, if you ask me. The sooner we get back to New Londdyr, the better for all of us.”

  “Well, that’s settled, then,” Nameless said. He wasn’t any more thrilled than Silas sounded about it, but he was plain out of ideas of his own. The gloominess was settling upon him once more, but maybe if he had a purpose—to get Nils home—it would be enough to keep him going. Any more than that would be too much to ask for.

  “Now wait a minute,” Silas said.

  Nameless clapped Nils on the back. “Lead the way, laddie. This is your journey now.”

  Nils looked into the distance. “There,” he said, pointing to a red patch of sky in the north-east. “Always wanted to see a volcano.”

  “As good a suggestion as any,” Nameless said.

  A sly look passed across Silas’s face, but he said nothing. Nameless watched him out of the corner of his eye as Nils set off toward the distant peak.

  “I see I’m going to have to keep an eye on you, laddie.”

  Silas snorted and lengthened his stride to take the lead.

  “He’s keen,” Nils said, as Nameless caught up. “Must’ve got a third wind.”

  Nameless watched the wizard’s back, black coat flapping behind him, one hand atop the satchel containing Blightey’s grimoire.

  There was something playing out here that was too complex for him to fully fathom. The vision of the staff in the forest of tar sat uncomfortably at the back of his mind. Silas was on a very slippery slope, that was for sure. Nothing good could come of anything related to the Lich Lord. The Blightey he’d faced in Verusia was no more than a skull that wore other people’s bodies like clothes.

  Either Silas was obsessed to the point of recklessness, or he was being used. In any case, he needed watching. The first sign of treachery, and he’d get an axe through his skull.

  Nameless let out a long sigh. It was all getting too complicated, and he was bone weary. His limbs were growing heavy, whether from the fighting or the returning depression he couldn’t say, and he had a lump on his arse the size of an egg from where the wasp had stung him.

  Maybe Nils was right. Maybe they all just needed to get back to New Londdyr. Show him a comfy chair by the hearth in an ale house, and he’d be one happy dwarf. At least as long as his tankard was full.

  NILS

  A thick blanket of ash covered the scree slope skirting the base of the volcano. The air was heavy with sulfurous smoke that fell languidly through the clouds obscuring the summit.

  Nils was more than a little disappointed. “Thought there’d be fiery stuff, you know, oozing down the sides.”

  Silas picked up a nugget of dark rock, sniffed, and tossed it over his shoulder. “Rivers of lava?”

  “Yeah, lava. Thought there’d be lava.”

  “She’s settling down, laddie,” Nameless said, squinting up into the cloud cover. “A day sooner, and we’d have got nowhere near. See how the surface is all ridged.” He pointed to the raised veins of blackness that ran down the mountain.

  “Looks like it’s melted,” Nils said.

  “Oh, spare me.” Silas shook his head.

  That got Nils’s goat and had him fuming. “Well, I don’t know, do I? I ain’t never seen no volcano before.”

  “Please speak correctly,” Silas said, throwing his hands into the air and rolling his eyes. “At least do me the honor of applying what I teach you, otherwise you can start paying for your lessons, and I sincerely doubt a lowlife vagabond like you could afford that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Nils thrust his fists into his hips and stuck his chin out.

  “And stop the posturing, you microcephalic moron. You’re fooling no one.”

  “Eh?” Nils said. He had no idea what Silas had just called him, but he was sure it weren’t nice.

  “Means about the same as ‘bird brain’ in my reckoning,” Nameless said. “Though, I’m just a stupid grunt compared to his magisterial omniscience here. You boys carry on slugging it out. I’m going to have a nose around.”

  He kicked his way through the scree and disappeared behind an outcrop of rock.

  “Bird brain?”

  “Not technically correct,” Silas said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But it’s an apposite image.”

  That was it. Silas was taking the piss, and it weren’t right. Same thing had happened with Magistra Archyr: all that talk about how he needed educating, and then the knocks when he weren’t as clever as her. Bitch.

  “If there’s something wrong with my learning, maybe it’s because I’ve got a crap teacher.”

  That took the grin off Silas’s face. He frowned and looked at Nils the way he might study a tricky passage in that shogging book of his. “Forgive me. I’m just tetchy.”

  Nils was about to spit an angry retort, and then it sank in, what he’d just heard. “You’re sorry?”

  Silas nodded, drew in a deep breath, and sighed. “It’s driving me, Nils. I know that now.” He patted his satchel. As if in response, fingers poked out of his coat pocket, twitched, and then withdrew.

  “The book?” Nils seated himself on the scree, and Silas did the same.

  “The book, the staff. It’s all pretty much the same. And if I don’t heed either of them, this blasted hand goads me on.” He thumped his pocket, setting off squirming and wriggling from within.

  “So, ditch them,” Nils said. “Leave them here and come back with us to New Londdyr.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Course you can,” Nils said. “Just think, you could teach me good enough to get me into the…” He broke off, feeling suddenly stupid.

  “The Academy?”

  He looked Silas in the eye, studied his face for any sign of mockery. “Yeah, well.” He picked up a pockmarked rock and ran it around his fingers. “I thought maybe if I practiced hard…”

  “Yes,” Silas said. “Yes. I didn’t want to say before, in case it went to your head, but you have an aptitude, Nils.”

  “Attitude? I ain’t got no attitude.” That’s exactly what Magistra Archyr used to say. It weren’t fair. He hadn’t done nothing to deserve—

  Silas reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Aptitude, Nils. It means you have ability. You’re good at study. I’ve never seen anyone learn so fast.”

  Nils dropped the rock and rummaged about for another. “Then, why do you make me feel so thick? I don’t even know what you’re saying half the time.”

  “But you will.” Silas gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Keep going the way you are, and I could get you through the entrance exams in a couple of years.”

  “You could?” Nils’s excitement died before it was fully given birth. Something had shifted in Silas’s demeanor. His eyes seemed to have sunken deeper into their sockets, their focus suddenly far away. “You don’t think you’ve got a couple of years, do you?”

  Silas coughed, as if to emphasize the point. “I don’t know, Nils. Sometimes, I think I’m only still alive because of this quest.”

  “Nameless?”

  “No, not him. Not that business with the dwarves. My quest. The book was already leading me out here before I met him. Chance slung us together. Chance or fate, though
I don’t really believe in the latter. I thought we could help each other. I’m not a strong man, and I don’t think I’d have gotten this far without him. Without both of you.”

  “And Ilesa.” Nils couldn’t believe he said that, but when all’s said and done, he did sort of miss her. He still carried her scent in his nostrils from that first time he’d bumped into her in The Grinning Skull. Just the thought of her sent his blood tingling.

  Silas sucked his lips in. “I suppose.”

  “Come back with us,” Nils said. “Give up this staff business. No good can come of it.”

  “It’s the only thing that keeps me going.” Silas dropped his gaze to his palms. “It’s all or nothing, as far as I can see. Kill or cure.”

  “Kill, most likely,” Nils said. “What if it’s all some sort of trap? What if you’re being used?”

  “No,” Silas said. He shuddered and stiffened, and the fire returned to his eyes. Pushing himself to his feet, he turned to face the north. “I refuse to believe it. The book’s already given me so much, but the staff promises even more. Do you know who once wielded it?”

  Nils followed his gaze. A dark smudge was visible on the far side of the volcano, perhaps two or three miles away. “The Lich Lord of Verusia, wherever that is. You’ve told me a hundred times. Is that it?” He pointed to the smudge. “The forest of tar?”

  “That’s it. See how close we are.”

  “Nameless says this Blightey bloke is bad news.”

  Silas scoffed. “He would say that, but like he just said, he’s a barely educated grunt.”

  “He reads Ancient Urddynoorian better than I do.”

  “Parroting his so-called scholarly brother, no doubt. My point is, he’s just as ignorant of who Blightey really was as everyone else.”

  “Thought he said he met him,” Nils said. “Didn’t they once fight?”

  “Believe what you like, but if Blightey’s so powerful and so evil, how come Mr. Stumpy is still alive?”

  Nils hadn’t really thought about that. “Maybe Nameless is tougher than him. What about that Ravine Butcher business?”

  Silas flicked the hair out of his face. “That book you carry, the Liber Via, it says in my grimoire that Blightey used to follow it assiduously.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Apparently,” Silas said, “he was once a holy man.”

  “Get away.”

  Silas’s eyes were once more feverish and bloodshot. “Later, he abandoned the original text. He claims he took threads from all the disparate religions and philosophies and formed an amalgam that would—”

  Nameless emerged from behind the outcrop, whistling a jaunty tune. He began to amble back down to them but suddenly stopped and glared. With a violent curse, he raised his axe, and hurled it straight at Silas.

  “No!” Nils screamed as he tackled the wizard to the ground.

  The axe streaked past, missing them both by a hair’s breath. There was a splat, a heavy thud, and the scrunch of scree sliding down the bank.

  Nils lay atop Silas, making himself a shield. He craned his neck to look behind and gasped. A gray-garbed body took two stumbling steps, gouts of blood pumping from its neck. It crumpled onto the slope amid a rapidly spreading pool of crimson. The head bounced and rolled downhill, leaving a grisly trail in its wake.

  “Shog, it’s a dwarf,” he said.

  Silas shoved him off and sat up. “What the blazing—”

  “Run, lads!” Nameless bellowed, catching his returning axe and pounding down the bank toward them.

  Nils spun round but couldn’t see nothing to run from. Then, a few hundred yards back the way they’d come, a cluster of boulders shifted. He blinked and shook his head. Five stony-colored dwarves separated from the rocks, their clothes perfectly merging with the terrain as they flowed over the scree.

  “Assassins,” Nameless said, panting as he came up to them. “Run, and don’t stop until I tell you.”

  Silas was already slipping and sliding down the slope, coughing and moaning.

  “Help him,” Nameless said, a grim set to his jaw as he hefted the axe and looked for a target.

  Only there wasn’t one. The dwarves had vanished.

  “Don’t be fooled, laddie. They’re still coming. Now get out of here.”

  Nils didn’t need telling again. He ran, linking arms with Silas and dragging him along. The hand flopped out of the wizard’s pocket and sped ahead, leading them toward the black smudge in the north.

  To Nils’s surprise, Nameless was powering after them. It was the first time he’d seen the dwarf look scared. Well, second, maybe, if you counted the serpent back at the lake. Third, if you considered the water—

  A gray shape rose to intercept them, as if it had formed from the rocky earth. Nameless’s axe sheered through a shoulder, deep into the chest. The assassin dropped, gore spilling from the wound.

  “Who sent you?” Nameless demanded, gripping him by the collar. “The Council?”

  “Don’t… be… stu…”

  “Who?” Nameless roared. He was shaking with rage, and veins were popping up on his neck and arms.

  “Grago. Council… too weak. Hunted must become… hunter.” The assassin coughed up blood and went limp.

  Nameless let go in disgust. “I knew it. Knew something was wrong.”

  He hovered for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to go back.

  The five pursuing assassins shifted in and out of vision. Another minute, and there’d be no choice but to stand and fight.

  Nils drew his sword.

  “Don’t be foolish,” Nameless said. “There’s nothing you can do. Nothing any of us can. Luck bagged me two of them, but the rest won’t be taking chances.”

  As if on cue, the other five blurred into appearance, still some way off. They fanned out and then melded back into the scree.

  Silas pulled away from Nils and was off after the hand like a seasoned athlete. It had to be the book doing it. How much more could his ailing body stand?

  Nameless slapped Nils on the rump with the flat of his axe. “Go, laddie, and don’t look back.”

  The dwarf didn’t wait for a response. He sprinted after Silas as fast as his legs could carry him.

  Never one to take advice, Nils gave one last look behind and saw the air shimmer.

  “Wait for me!” he yelled, running like all the demons of the Abyss were jabbing his arse with red-hot pokers. He sucked in great gulps of acrid air and hoped against hope he was as good a runner as he always boasted.

  SILAS

  “Will you get a move on!” Silas said.

  He’d had quite enough of this. Nils was a damned sight younger than he was, and not only that, he was supposed to be a decent runner. Mind you, most things the lad said were a far cry from reality. They’d run for maybe a couple of miles, and already his tongue was lolling out like a dog’s. He was hunched over, gasping for air and dragging his feet in a staggered lurch. His running was clearly on a par with his fighting. Perhaps he was more suited to academia, after all. Silas would have guffawed at that, under any other circumstances, but not now, when the stakes were so high. Rough diamond, he told himself. With the right instruction, the lad might do well.

  Nameless brought up the rear, virtually walking backward. He clutched the axe tightly to his chest, and his head was constantly twisting this way and that. Silas had never seen him so nervous. An army of dwarves wouldn’t have even fazed him. A handful of assassins, though, had him behaving more like a petrified turkey than the most feared warrior of his generation. Maybe it was the threat of a knife from nowhere, the fear of foes he couldn’t see.

  “That’s me done,” Nils gasped, and threw himself to the ground. “Let them kill us. I ain’t taking another step.”

  “But we’re almost there.” Silas gestured to the tangled darkness that awaited them.

  Nothing else was visible beyond it, so vast was the slick of the forest of tar. Tortuous trunks of glistening blackness st
ooped beneath the weight of swollen clouds. Their limbs were intertwined, knotted overhead.

  Dread clamored at the edges of his mind, made its presence felt in his bowels. But more powerful was the pull of the staff. Somewhere within that dark jungle, he could feel it calling to him. He was the Worthy, the one it was destined for. A few more hours, and he’d have everything. Everything.

  “Almost is as good as it’s going to get,” Nameless said.

  “Well that’s just ridiculous.” Silas turned on him. He wasn’t about to let the stunted bastard stop him now, not when he was so close. “I didn’t come all this way just so some… some…”

  Nameless glared over his shoulder. “Ignorant grunt?”

  “Yes. Uh, no. What I mean is, we’ve come so far. It’s just a staff, for pity’s sake. A staff that may have the power to cure me and get us out of here.”

  “Oh, so that’s why you want it, is it? If you need something doing with that cough of yours, go see a healer.”

  Nils sat up. “It’s too late for that, Nameless. He’s dying.”

  “And because of that, we should turn to Blightey’s evil? This can only end one way, and I refuse to be a part of it.”

  Silas felt things shifting in his favor. If he kept pressing now, they’d keep going. They were so near. So near. “All I want is for you to help me get through the forest. Once we pass the guardians, you can go.”

  “I can go right now, laddie,” Nameless said. “I don’t need your permission.”

  Silas winced as the hand scuttled across the ground and tugged on the leg of Nameless’s britches.

  The dwarf swatted it off and swung his axe.

  “No!” Silas cried.

  The hand flipped through the air, blood spurting in its wake. Twitching by Nameless’s boot was its little finger. He ground it underfoot.

  The hand crawled to Silas and spasmed as he stooped down to scoop it up. He tried to summon fire, with which to cauterize the wound, but the well was still dry. Apparently, fueling his body with frenzied energy was as much as the book was prepared to give. He tore off a strip from his shirt, wrapped it around the stump, and then placed the hand in his pocket.