Geas of the Black Axe (Legends of the Nameless Dwarf Book 2)

by D. P. Prior

  “You don’t care about that,” the Archon said. “This is about freeing yourself from the Abyss.”

  Aristodeus dipped his head and sighed. “You think I shouldn’t fight? You think I should just give up and throw myself to the flames for all eternity? Ask yourself this: who would there be to oppose the Demiurgos, if not for me?”

  “The Templum on Urddynoor—” the Archon started.

  “Yes, yes, your hands and feet. Remind me again why it is you need them to act on your behalf. Fear, wasn’t it? Fear the Demiurgos might be freed from his icy tomb by any direct action of yours. What is that, some kind of Supernal justice?”

  “We fought before, and I won,” the Archon said, as if he were reassuring himself.

  Shadrak scarcely dared to breathe. They’d forgotten about him, and he intended to take full advantage. All he had to do was listen, and everything they revealed, every flaw, every weakness, would be filed away until he found a way to use it.

  “Hardly a victory,” Aristodeus said. “The Demiurgos survived in the Void. He threw up the Abyss to preserve his essence by an act of pure will. I’d like to see you do that. Or me, for that matter.”

  “And he has grown stronger in the intervening aeons,” the Archon said. “I am not proud. I know I could not stand against him, should he once be released. But he has no way to free himself, unless I break the rules.”

  “By actually doing something?”

  Flames erupted from the Archon’s cowl. “The laws of the Supernal Realm are as far above this cosmos as Gandaw’s science is above primitive superstition.”

  “Is that so?” Aristodeus said. “Explain. I’m not as stupid as I look.”

  “We Supernals are linked. We cannot ever act truly independently. We are all one in the Supernal Father.”

  “So, everything you do cedes ground to the Demiurgos? Presumably why you both use intermediaries. You’re fighting a war by proxy.”

  The Archon made a slow, predatory circle of Aristodeus. “Which your blundering about in the dark has only made worse.” He came to a stop facing Shadrak.

  So, he hadn’t forgotten, after all.

  “What I want to know,” the Archon said, floating toward him, “is why your contract remains unfulfilled.”

  Aristodeus slipped in between them. “Contract? You’re working for him?”

  Shadrak hawked up phlegm and spat at the Archon’s feet.

  “One more kill, Shadrak,” the Archon said. “Remember?”

  “Like I could forget.”

  “Let me guess,” Aristodeus said. “Nameless?”

  Shadrak sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “It ain’t right. I mean—”

  “An assassin with a conscience?” the Archon said. “How novel. A conscience, however, can be malformed.”

  “No, it isn’t right,” Aristodeus said. “Thank you, Shadrak. Thank you for confirming that I am not the only one left alive with a modicum of common sense. You kill Nameless, and the Demiurgos wins another piece. A big piece, even if he’s just a dwarf.”

  Hushed words were exchanged by several of the homunculi. The others, though, maintained a stony silence, eyes fixed on the Archon with either awe or loathing.

  “It is not a game,” the Archon said.

  “Oh, but it is,” Aristodeus said. “A game of wits; of reading the signs, spotting the threats creeping from the shadows; of discerning allies and identifying foes; of grasping opportunities when they present themselves. Shader couldn’t have succeeded against Sektis Gandaw without Nameless. You’re not proud, you claim, but neither am I. Shader was my plan. My masterpiece, but he would have failed without a missing element that came from without. You might think of me as a control freak, but at least I have the humility to admit I don’t have all the answers. What I do have are the eyes to see patterns in the game, and the ability to turn a weapon in the hands of the Demiurgos to our advantage.”

  The Archon loomed over Aristodeus. “Unless you are deceived.”

  The philosopher held up a finger, a smug grin splitting his face in two. “There is something about this dwarf; something that not even I suspected. Mephesch…” He looked about the room then rolled his eyes. “Silly me. Sent him off to feed Nameless. The thing is, Mephesch informed me—”

  The homunculus with the grisly-looking beard dropped his slate on the floor, and it shattered in a spray of sparks. Subtler than the handshake Bird and Mephesch had exchanged outside, he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.

  Aristodeus’s mouth hung open, but then a light went on in his eyes.

  “You make plans based on the word of a homunculus?” the Archon said. “A creature of deception?”

  Aristodeus puffed out his cheeks and looked momentarily flummoxed. As an actor, he was in a league way above Dame Consilia. “You’re probably right. Never believe a thing they say, eh?”

  Many of the homunculi in the room smiled at that, like they’d been paid the highest compliment.

  “You are growing complacent,” the Archon said. There was an ominous churning of the flames beneath his cowl.

  Aristodeus wagged his pipe, as if he were speaking to some dimwit pupil. “One step ahead, is what I am. Always.”

  “Desperate, is what you are,” the Archon said.

  Aristodeus ignored him. “Three quests. Three artifacts: Gauntlets of incomparable strength with which to break the axe; invulnerable armor, to withstand the resultant discharge of energy; and the Shield of Warding, to soak up any magical defense the axe might muster. If it fails, fine. Shadrak can take Nameless out. Agreed?”

  The Archon shimmered in and out of reality. “And if it is not possible? The dwarf is no helpless victim. What if he should grow suspicious, or more powerful with each artifact found? The risk is too great. He must be killed now.” He ended by turning the blaze beneath his cowl on Shadrak.

  “What is it Nousians have?” Shadrak said. “The Eleven Admonishments? Is that right?”

  Aristodeus scoffed and shook his head.

  Shadrak went on. “One reason I could never be a Nousian.” One among many. “Isn’t there an Admonishment against killing?” Least that’s what he thought the preacher Bovis Rayn had said, minutes before Shadrak had put a bullet through his skull.

  “Figuratively speaking,” Aristodeus said. “Try not to take it too literally, or you’ll start sounding like Shader.”

  “Yeah, that’s a point,” Shadrak said. “Always meant to ask him about that. For a man of peace, he killed more than most assassins I’ve met.”

  “The Admonishment is correct,” the Archon said. “It is the Supernal Father’s will that we do not take life, unless it is truly necessary.”

  “Spoken like a Sicarii,” Shadrak said. “Though it’s a bit different. We only take life when it’s truly profitable.”

  The scarolite arch began to flash red. The attendant homunculi skipped back, rectangular slates held up in front of their eyes.

  “Well, if you’ve quite finished,” Aristodeus said, “that’ll be Londdyr signaling they’re ready.”

  “Adeptus Ludo?” the Archon said. “The Ipsissimus is harsh to punish him thus.”

  “Then replace him,” Aristodeus said. “I, for one, preferred the last Ipsissimus. Granted me access to the best wine cellar in Aeterna. Oh, I forgot. You can’t replace him. That would require direct action. You’d get along with the dwarves of Arx Gravis like a house on fire.”

  “Remember this, philosopher,” the Archon said, though his gaze was on Shadrak. “I too have free will. The day may be approaching when I decide that acting without intermediaries is less of a risk than allowing matters to proceed down the wrong path. Think on this, both of you: I have been patient, but my patience is not without limits.”

  With that, he vanished.

  “Was that a threat?” Aristodeus said with a look of mock horror. He turned to the homunculi for a reaction, but their attention was firmly on the arch.

  “Yeah, it was a threat,” Shadrak said
. It was also a sign of frustration. Frustration born out of fear. More information to file away for when the time was right.

  The air beneath the arch turned black and rippled like water. A head poked through—a mule’s head. Its ears twitched, and its nostrils flared. It brayed and plodded forward.

  With a sigh, Aristodeus strode over, took hold of the rope looped around the mule’s neck, and pulled. The beast resisted, and Aristodeus reddened with effort as he heaved. More of the animal emerged. Books poked out of the satchels slung over its back, and the ends of knotted prayer cords dangled from bulging sacks. The mule brayed again and darted forward, sending Aristodeus flying back to land on his arse.

  Jezeel, the silver-garbed woman, sniggered. The red-bearded homunculus flashed her a look, and she put a hand over her mouth.

  Next through the portal was an old man in a cassock. He was extremely tall, with ears like sails, and spectacles perched atop a bulbous nose. His eyes bulged above them as he took in the room. There was a brief moment of indecision, then he lurched forward and helped the philosopher up.

  Then another man stepped through. This one was clearly a soldier. He wore a brocaded red jacket, buttoned tightly over a slight paunch that threatened to burst it wide open. His hand rested on the hilt of a saber hanging at his hip. Unkempt graying hair stuck up either side of a bald patch, but he more than made up for that with muttonchop whiskers.

  “Are you all right?” the man in the cassock asked as Aristodeus got to his feet and brushed himself down.

  “Fine, Ludo,” Aristodeus said. “Though why you felt the need to bring a mule is beyond me.”

  The soldier stiffened and took a step forward. “It’s Adeptus Ludo to you.”

  Ludo silenced him with a raised hand. “My fault. I pictured us arriving in the middle of a barren wasteland. I even entertained a fantasy of evangelizing hordes of unwashed barbarians. It hadn’t occurred to me we might step through into…” He trailed off, taking in the dark walls of the room, the still-glowing archway.

  “Wasn’t it obvious?” Aristodeus said. “Or did you think the Templum’s archway was an open-ticket to just anywhere?”

  “I hadn’t given it much thought, which I suppose I should have done. You see, Galen,” Ludo said to the soldier, “it’s basically a corridor.”

  Galen snorted.

  “But a corridor between what?” Ludo said. “Not points in space, surely.”

  Aristodeus grinned and raised his eyebrows. “Very good, Adeptus. I can see you’re going to make the most of your exile.”

  Galen clipped his boot-heels together and stuck out his chest. “The Adeptus is here to proselytize, and I’ll thump anyone who says otherwise.” His eyes roved the room, taking in the homunculi, who were all fixated on their slates, as if nothing out of the ordinary were going on.

  “Who’s this?” Galen said, with a curt nod Shadrak’s way.

  “This,” Aristodeus said, “is possibly the most crucial member of your team.”

  “What?” Shadrak said.

  Aristodeus went on talking right over him. “Unless you want to wing it, just cast yourself on Nous’s mercy, and head out into the Dead Lands?”

  “Dead Lands?” Ludo said. “That doesn’t sound—”

  “And the Sour Marsh beyond,” Aristodeus said. “Shadrak here’s been there and lived to tell the tale, haven’t you, Shadrak?”

  “Shithole,” Shadrak said.

  Galen bristled at that, and he clasped the hilt of his saber.

  “Full of giant maggots and the like,” Shadrak said. “You’d last all of two minutes.”

  “You survived,” Galen said.

  “Always do.”

  “Now,” Aristodeus said, “His Divinity the Ipsissimus gave me the impression you were to be exiled. He told me to make whatever use of you I wished, and seeing as you have arrived at rather an opportune moment, what I wish is for you to assist me with a matter of some importance.”

  Galen harrumphed, but Ludo let out a gentle sigh.

  “We were told something different,” Ludo said. “That we were to bring the light of Nous to new lands, but I always knew it was a punishment. I overstepped the mark with—”

  “Shader,” Aristodeus said. “And I’m grateful for you getting him away from the torturers. The Judiciary might have failed to bring him into the Templum’s war with Sahul, but I still have hopes for him.”

  “Oh?” Ludo said. “I think he’s left all that behind. It was a difficult road you sent him down. I trust it was worth your while.”

  Aristodeus rubbed his beard and bit down on his lip.

  “Well, I don’t know,” Ludo said. “Whatever it is you have in mind, I take it the Ipsissimus approves.”

  “He has a rudimentary outline of what I’m trying to do,” Aristodeus said. “Shadrak and the others are going to need all the help they can get.”

  “Hold on,” Shadrak said. “I ain’t agreed to nothing yet.”

  Aristodeus rolled his eyes. “If all goes to plan, Nameless will be free, and—”

  “I’ll be up shit creek,” Shadrak said. “One chance is all I’ve got to be done with this bastard pact.”

  And to find Kadee.

  The door slid open, and Mephesch entered, followed by Nameless, Albert, and Ekyls. Albert’s cheeks had a rosy glow, and he stumbled slightly as he walked.

  “Ah, good,” Aristodeus said. “Come, let’s go to my quarters. You can introduce yourselves there, and we’ll be able to talk in more comfort. Not the mule, though. Last thing I need’s a carpet of manure.”

  Aristodeus put his arm around Nameless’s shoulders and led the way back through the conical chamber.

  “We should feed you before you go. Just thank your lucky stars Shadrak has agreed to help. I don’t think we could do this without a plane ship.”

  A confusion of emotions battled inside Shadrak as he followed them. He was already second and third-guessing himself.

  Could the Archon be trusted? Could Aristodeus? Could he really kill Nameless? Would he? He felt himself dragged along by the current of Aristodeus’s persuasion. There were choices, to be sure, but none of them good. Obey the Archon, and kill the only person he had any sort of respect for; or betray him and side with the philosopher. One scheming git or the other, and he still didn’t know enough about either of them to make a move.

  Kadee’s face sat like a warm glow behind his eyes. She smiled, let him know this was the right thing to do.

  As she faded away, Shadrak’s heart started to gallop.

  He was on the cusp of finding her again, or losing her forever.

  “So,” Nameless said, a hint of trepidation in his voice. “Where do we start?”

  “Mount Sartis,” Aristodeus said.

  “The fire giant’s volcano?”

  Aristodeus nodded. “The same.”

  Galen turned a quizzical look on Ludo and mouthed “Giant?”

  “Last time dwarves set foot there,” Nameless said, “it was like kicking a hornet’s nest. Whole place was teeming with goblins.”

  Ekyls snarled. “Mamba tribe hate goblins. Ekyls kill.”

  “Good boy,” Albert said. “And I’m sure I can come up with something to even the odds.”

  “There,” Aristodeus said. “Nothing to worry about. And now you have a veteran of the Templum Dragoons among you, it will be a walk in the park.”

  Galen gave a double cough and puffed out his chest.

  “In my experience,” Shadrak said, “the more people involved, the bigger the shog up.”

  GOBLINS

  Shadrak set down the plane ship a mile or so from the volcano. Bird said landing inside Mount Sartis was too risky: the heat could play havoc with the instruments, and they didn’t want to chance exiting into a pool of magma.

  Only problem was, goblins must have picked up their scent as they entered the forest skirting the foothills. Ekyls scented them on the wind. Either they could keep on going to the volcano, and hope they weren’t
being driven into a trap, or they could stay put and flush the shoggers out.

  They’d decided on the latter.

  Shadrak shifted his position on the high branch. A gust of wind sent up smoke from the cook fire on the ground. He waited for it to clear, then raised his rifle.

  Nameless sat beneath a yew, tapping out a rhythm on his axe haft. Tongues of flame from the fire danced over his armor, set the green flecks in his helm aglow. He was bellowing some bawdy song about strumpets and shogwits.

  Albert was crouched over the spit, sniffing the roasting rabbit meat, dipping his fingers into bags of spices, and touching them to his lips. He’d turned Adeptus Ludo’s mule into a walking kitchen, laden it with pots and pans, black bread, dried fruit, and jerky. Galen had thrown a fit when Albert had dumped all the holy books and prayer cords in the plane ship.

  Every now and again, Albert would pause in his cooking to glance at the notes he’d scrawled on a scrap of paper, snippets of information they’d been given by Aristodeus pertaining to their mission.

  Bird had left the minute Ekyls returned with the rabbit. He’d not been seen since.

  The savage was somewhere about—he stank like a moldering carcass.

  A blast went up from the volcano, singeing the treetops and swathing the sky in red.

  Ludo shivered and clutched at the sleeves of his cassock.

  Galen stroked his muttonchops, looking pleased with himself. “Your turn, Eminence.”

  He took up his clay pipe and plucked a brand from the fire to light it. The breeze dislodged some thin strands of hair that had only just been meticulously wetted and combed over.

  Ludo touched a finger to his lips and studied the twigs that were laid out in patterns between them. After a moment’s consideration, he moved a one.

  “I believe that is game to me.”

  Galen’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Blimey. Caught me napping there, wot.”

  Ludo opened the leather-bound book in his lap. “Well, it’s been most enjoyable, but the Demiurgos loves an idler.”

  Apparently, Galen got his point. “Yes, yes. Quite. Upon the hour, every hour, wot.” He produced his own book and started to thumb through it.