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

by D. P. Prior

  Shadrak scanned the tree-line through the sight of his rifle till he got the mule in the crosshairs. The beast was nervous. It dipped its head into a grain sack and swished its tail against the persistent flies. Every now and again, it threw back its ears and flared its nostrils.

  Nameless stopped singing, swiveled his helmed head, and then resumed, louder than before.

  Ludo began to read to an imaginary congregation in Ancient Urddynoorian.

  Galen closed his book, muttered something beneath his mustache, and stood, stamping the dirt from his boots.

  Ludo looked up from the page.

  Galen pocketed his book and crossed to the mule. His hand rested on the hilt of his saber, and his eyes kept turning to the trees, no matter how nonchalant he tried to look.

  Useless scut.

  Shadrak followed him with the crosshairs, looked beyond, deeper into the forest; strained to listen. No mean feat, as Nameless was now in full flow above the chirping of the cicadas and the crackling of the fire.

  “My shogging fat wife with her head full of gin…”

  Rabbit fat sizzled as it hit the flames.

  Ludo chanted a prayer in a sonorous tone.

  The mule nickered and stomped its hooves.

  Leaves rustled to the right.

  Shadrak swung the rifle round.

  Ekyls.

  The savage was crouched at the end of a branch. His yellow eyes flashed Shadrak’s way.

  “Come open the bar to us, let us come in,” Nameless sang.

  Ludo’s droning was as insistent as the cicadas.

  An owl hooted.

  Ekyls pointed below.

  Black fingers curled around the edge of a trunk. A head peeked out, long ears twitching, slitty eyes burning into Ludo’s back.

  Another crept into view behind Nameless, small, naked, its dusky skin scabby and blistered.

  Albert shaved off a sliver of meat with his cheese-cutter.

  Nameless kept singing as he closed his fingers around the haft of his axe.

  Shadrak held his breath. A mephitic stench rose from beneath his branch. There was a whispering of leaves, the squelch of mud.

  Goblins tiptoed from the forest, jagged flints raised. Shadrak almost sniggered. For a moment, he could have been back in the theater, ogling Dame Consilia’s tits and yelling, “He’s behind you!”

  Two of the goblins screeched and started hopping and holding their feet. A thorny branch snapped back across another’s face.

  In one fluid motion, Nameless came to his feet, spun, and swept down his axe. A look of shock froze on the goblin’s face as entrails and green blood slopped to the forest floor.

  More goblins poured from the trees, howling like wolves.

  Galen slashed with his saber. Blood the color of snot spattered the blade.

  Another hurled itself at Ludo, still seated, still praying.

  Shadrak fired. The goblin dropped with a hole in its chest.

  The two hopping goblins suddenly stiffened and toppled over. The one struck by the branch clawed gouges out of its own face. Purpling veins spread from the puncture marks left by the thorns. The goblin spasmed and crumpled to the ground.

  A dark shape sprang at Albert. The poisoner stepped nimbly aside, wrapped the cheese-cutter around his attacker’s throat, and yanked with practiced efficiency. The goblin’s feet lifted from the ground. It kicked feebly, and then went limp.

  Shadrak fired into the trees, hitting a goblin between the eyes.

  Half a dozen more charged at Ludo.

  Galen surged into them, hacked the legs from beneath the first, and skewered the second. Before he could free his blade, the others were upon him.

  Ekyls dropped from his branch, rolled, came up, and brought his hatchet down, spilling brains.

  Nameless seemed to glide as he felled first one, then another.

  Galen let go his saber and delivered a fierce jab to the face of the last goblin. Its head snapped back, then it snarled and leapt for his throat. Galen’s right caught it on the chin, lifting it into the air and dumping it on its back.

  Ekyls was on it in a flash, chopping at its neck over and over until the head came away. He lifted it proudly, letting the green blood stain his face and lips.

  “There was no need for that!” Galen roared. “Bloody savage!”

  Ekyls leered at him, and licked the blood from his lips.

  Galen thumped his fist into his palm and cracked his neck.

  Shadrak focused in on them with the rifle’s sight. This was going to be worth a laugh.

  Ludo got to his feet, brushed the dirt off, and was about to say something, when a tremor rippled across the clearing.

  Those on the ground pitched to their arses, and Shadrak yelped as he fell out of the tree. He hit hard. Pain shot up his arm. The rifle bounced, discharged, and clattered against a trunk. Tears stung his eyes. It felt like someone had rammed a dagger through his armpit. He struggled to his knees, left arm hanging useless.

  A shadow fell over him as a looming figure stepped from the forest. How could he not have seen it before? Either he was getting careless, or there was more skill here than met the eye.

  Or magic.

  A large goblin glowered at him before reaching down and picking up the rifle. It was missing an ear, and a black patch covered one eye. The other was like a speck of blood in a pool of piss.

  Shadrak struggled to his feet and started to back away. The goblin clutched at the air, and he froze. Movement behind told Shadrak his companions were getting up, but the goblin made a sweeping gesture, and silence fell in an instant.

  A cold clump of panic formed in Shadrak’s stomach, rose through his chest, and lodged in his throat. He began to wheeze and shudder, fighting for every breath.

  He saw something out of the corner of his eye. It was Nameless, barely a step behind, frozen in mid-stride.

  With a grunt of effort, Nameless pivoted the great helm till the eye-slit glared at the goblin. He inched one foot in front of the other, leaning forward, as if he were resisting a hurricane.

  “Ku-na-ga,” the dwarf growled. Then louder, “Kunaga!”

  Something invisible snapped, and Nameless catapulted forward, swinging his axe.

  The goblin’s hand came up sparking, and Nameless flew back across the clearing. There was a thud and a clang, the whuff of air leaving his lungs.

  Shadrak couldn’t turn his head to see if the dwarf was all right—or the others, for that matter.

  The goblin leveled the rifle at him and fumbled with the trigger.

  Sweat poured into Shadrak’s eyes as he fought the paralysis, but he was dead in the water.

  “Oi… scut-breath!” It was Nameless again, every word gasped with pain or effort. “Pick on someone… your own size. No, on second thoughts… just pick on someone… bigger than him.”

  The goblin swung its aim toward Nameless, but the rifle was suddenly wrenched from its grip.

  The goblin gawped, looked up. The rifle was amid the branches of a tree, suspended from a creeper wound around its barrel.

  The crack of a twig caused the goblin to turn, but there was nothing there. It let out a whimper, then made a fist. Sparks danced across the knuckles, started to grow into dark flames.

  Flies swarmed from the trees and smothered them. The goblin squealed and stumbled back, shaking its hand until the flies streamed away to a single point in the air and vanished.

  Shadrak’s eyes were rooted to that spot. So were the goblin’s. It even flicked a look at him, as if they now faced a common foe.

  Bark, leaves, sky all melded into a cloak of feathers.

  Bird walked from the forest, holding a mole in one hand, stroking it with the other.

  The goblin grunted guttural words Shadrak didn’t recognize. It raised a palm swirling with violet fire.

  Bird hissed. Creepers lashed down to entangle the goblin’s limbs and lift it spread-eagled into the air.

  Ignoring his captive, Bird moved among the
companions, clicking and growling at the back of his throat.

  Shadrak’s muscles twitched, and a thousand needles pricked at his veins. With a sigh, he sagged to the ground.

  Groans, coughs, and murmurs came from the others as whatever spell held them was broken.

  Shadrak tried to stand, but his limp arm overbalanced him. He shifted his weight and tried again, this time reaching his knees.

  Ekyls glared up at the goblin and spat.

  Ludo knelt beside Shadrak and examined his arm. “That was quite a fall. May I?”

  Shadrak winced as the adeptus gingerly took hold of his arm.

  “Can you grip my hand?”

  Shadrak could, but weakly.

  “What about raising it?”

  Dead as shog. All he got for his efforts was cold, stabbing agony.

  “Galen, some assistance please,” Ludo said. He adjusted his spectacles on his nose. “Just support him, will you?”

  Strong hands gripped Shadrak from behind.

  “Don’t worry, old chap. The adeptus used to be a field chaplain. He’s done this a thousand times.”

  “Done what?”

  Crunch!

  Shadrak screamed. The ground lurched, but Galen held him firm. Nausea smothered him like a blanket, and he swallowed down bile.

  “It will be sore for a while, and you may have some weakness,” Ludo said, “but, Nous willing, it will heal.”

  Albert dabbed at the blood on his hands with a handkerchief.

  Nameless belched loudly, rubbed his guts, and strode from the clearing, axe over one shoulder.

  Ekyls nodded after the dwarf. “He strong, that one. Beat magic.”

  Bird looked up from stroking the mole, pebbly eyes moist and mournful.

  Shadrak felt the urge to question him.

  There is something about this dwarf; something that not even I expected, Aristodeus had said. He’d almost let that something slip, but the homunculus with the crimson beard had stopped him.

  Albert left the fire and hunted about on the ground until he found one of his caltrops. He cleaned it with a rag and dropped it into a pouch of boiled leather.

  “Best to keep your distance until I’ve found them all.” He beamed as he scooped up another. “Enough poison on them to fell a horse.”

  Albert lifted the thorny branch that had struck the goblin out of the way with his thumb and forefinger. “Now that was rather nifty.” He looked around with a self-congratulatory smile.

  Nameless emerged from the trees, fastening his britches. He took a long look at the goblin. “No sign of any more. Think we got the lot of them.”

  “Moths to the flame, my dear,” Albert said. “Just like when I was a boy with my first love of lepidoptery.”

  Bird’s voice cracked out. “No, Ekyls of the Mamba!”

  Ekyls’ hatchet came down. The entangled goblin screamed. Green blood sprayed. It was dead in an instant, but the savage continued to hack away at it, over and over and over. Gore stained his arms to the elbows, spattered his face.

  Ludo took a half step toward Ekyls, but Galen pulled him back by the shoulder.

  “You think that’s bad,” Shadrak said, “you should see what we do in the guilds.”

  Ludo’s mouth dropped open, as if he couldn’t comprehend such brutality. Galen clenched his fists, then strode off to reclaim his saber.

  “Laddie,” Nameless said to Ekyls. “I think you killed it with the first blow.”

  Ekyls cursed and spat and hacked repeatedly at the goblin’s neck.

  “Laddie, enough,” Nameless said.

  With a triumphant howl, Ekyls ripped the goblin’s head away from the last shreds of sinew holding it in place. Green ichor spattered his body. He gave a wide, jagged grin.

  Nameless turned away, as if he were ashamed. As if he’d been the one to do it.

  Albert jingled his pouch of caltrops and held up a glass vial to Shadrak. “Out of the two, this was the more effective. Scorpion venom blended with the poison of a jellyfish from Portis.”

  Shadrak accepted the vial and squinted at the contents.

  “Better than the mamba stuff?” He swirled the liquid inside.

  “Oh, no. Good grief, no.” Albert pulled another vial from his pocket. “Still holds its place as the philosopher’s stone of toxins.” He kissed the glass and tucked it back away. “Aggressive little buggers, mambas, and cunning the way they await their prey in concealed pits. The scouts hunting them for me fell into the nest and all died. Apart from Ekyls, and then only because I tested my antivenin on him.

  “Do you know the thanks I got for saving his life and lugging him back to the tribe? The chief banished us both. Accused me of being a necromancer. Ekyls thinks he’s a dead man walking, with me holding the strings.”

  Shadrak handed back the vial.

  Already, the pain in his shoulder was no more than a dull ache. He was a quick healer, Kadee used to say.

  Bird was studying him with furrowed brows, the hint of a smile curling his lip.

  “Come,” Ekyls said. “Too much talk. We go kill Sartis.”

  Maybe, Shadrak thought. That was the part of Aristodeus’s plan he liked least. His way of doing business was to know his target inside out. None of them had ever seen a giant, let alone fought one. It was leaving too much to chance.

  “Hang on,” Albert said, bustling off to untie the mule. “Don’t forget Quintus.”

  Shadrak waited for him as the others set off after Ekyls. “Quintus?”

  “As in the poet. Met him once. Sold him a rare book that had come into my possession. Always thought he was a bit of an ass.”

  Shadrak groaned and then looked over the camp. Where was Bird?

  A quick scan revealed the mole burrowing back into the loamy soil, and above, perched on a branch, a raven watched. It rolled its head, studying him with beady eyes.

  Shadrak’s hand flicked out, and a razor star thudded into the bark beneath it. The raven hopped aside, and nearly fell out of the tree.

  “Don’t forget my shogging rifle,” Shadrak said. He nodded to where it still dangled from a vine.

  THE LAVA VENTS

  Nameless peered down the throat of a winding tunnel that had been burned into the mountain by lava. Its surfaces were blistered, dripping with rock. A lone stalactite twisted down from the ceiling. Misty vapor plumed from the floor, and the air was thick with sulfur.

  “Stupid white, with your stupid mustache,” Ekyls snarled as Galen pulled in vain on Quintus the mule’s rope. “Mule tell you this place no good.” He tapped his temples. “You no listen?”

  “Laddie,” Nameless said, “call a man a shogger, by all means, but it’s a step too far when you disparage his facial hair.”

  “Hear, hear,” Galen said. “And when I want the opinion of a savage, I’ll bloody well ask for it.”

  Ekyls hissed.

  Shadrak adjusted his baldrics, stroked the hilts of daggers, the grips of pistols. “You scuts pratting about like this reminds me why I prefer to work alone.”

  Pots and pans clashed and clanged as Albert took the rope from Galen and led Quintus into the tunnel with no resistance whatsoever.

  “How the Abyss did you do that?” Galen said.

  “You’ve either got it or you haven’t, darling,” the poisoner said. “Good boy, Quintus. Uncle Albert will have to find you a carrot once we’re away from here.”

  Nameless’s gambeson beneath his armor was damp with sweat. The air coming through the eye-slit of the great helm was dry, and prickled his face with heat.

  Ludo stooped to study some rocks just inside the entrance. “Fascinating.”

  Nameless stepped into the tunnel. “What is it?”

  There were patterns in blue and green across the surface of the stones. Higher up, bright pink shapes tattooed the wall with the intricacy of a spider’s web.

  “Mineral deposits, at a guess.” Ludo stood and straightened his cassock.

  Albert bent down and sniffed at the patt
erns, dabbed at one and tasted it. He smacked his lips and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Useless,” he muttered, “Utterly useless.”

  The flapping of wings echoed along the tunnel as a raven alighted on the rocks. It gave a long, drawn-out squawk, and the air shimmered about it. There, where the raven had perched, stood Bird, swathed in his cloak of feathers, black eyes glinting as he said, “Bug shit.”

  Ludo raised an eyebrow and let out a breathy “Ah!” He wagged his finger, as if commending a clever pupil.

  Albert puckered his face up and reached for one of the waterskins hanging from Quintus’s back.

  Bird’s clothes were already fading to reflect the gray of the tunnel walls, just like the concealer cloaks employed by the Krypteia in Arx Gravis.

  Nameless set off ahead of the group. He wanted this over and done with.

  The tunnel wound downward at a gentle gradient, its scabbed and noduled walls smoldering and glowing like dying coals. High above, there were broad shelves of sagging rock leading to tributary vents and natural steps.

  After a few hundred feet, the passage narrowed to a vertical cleft barely big enough for Albert to lead the mule through. They emerged into a chamber like a hollowed-out column. Its heights were peppered with holes of varying sizes.

  “Looks like the inside of a tree,” Ludo said.

  “It is.” Bird stroked the wall.

  Nameless could see it now: the perfect mold of an enormous tree, its wrinkled bark permanently pressed in stone. The holes were nothing more than the the mouths of channels left by its branches.

  “Magma surrounded the tree,” Bird said, “cooled at the edges, and burned away the wood and sap.”

  “Incredible,” Ludo said. “The outer layer forms a crust around it and preserves the shape.”

  Nameless scrambled down a gully made by the tree’s roots and entered a tunnel of reddish rock that snaked into the distance.

  Ludo clambered after him, coughing and spluttering.

  Shadrak was a flowing shadow as he passed them and went to take a look ahead.

  Nameless’s lungs burned from the acrid air. His breaths echoed around the great helm in rasping heaves.

  Albert led Quintus into the tunnel, mopping his brow with a handkerchief.