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

by D. P. Prior

  Sartis flicked him back inside like an annoying insect. Ekyls hit the far wall with a thud.

  With slow deliberation, the giant turned his blazing eyes on Albert, as if he’d decided upon the choicest delicacy.

  Albert inched away, until he tripped over the mule and fell on his arse. He scrabbled up quicker than a fat man should have been able to move. His chin quivered as he tried to speak, but the words refused him.

  Fear did that to a man. Nameless had seen it time and again. He started to step between Albert and the giant; raised his axe.

  “You are a cook, you say, fat one?” Sartis said.

  Nameless stayed his hand.

  Albert gave a delicate cough into his fist and seemed to reset himself. It was a masterful switch, almost as if he sensed an opening and instantly changed modes to take advantage of it.

  “Not just a cook, Lord Sartis: a chef. The greatest who has ever lived.” When Sartis didn’t respond, he added, “This,”—he indicated the chamber—“won’t do. It’s an oven, yes?”

  Sartis gave the barest of nods, and steam plumed from the corner of his mouth.

  “Won’t do at all,” Albert said. “Cooking isn’t just about setting things on fire, you know. It’s an art, a vocation. Now,” he went on, as if he were no longer on the menu, “might I suggest a starter, one at which I excel.” He gestured toward the dead mule, and Nameless had the feeling this was about revenge for Quintus kicking him in the knee. “Once your palate is primed, I will prepare the entrée”—he indicated everyone else—“in a most exquisite sauce.”

  Nameless knew he shouldn’t have been surprised by that, but it hit him like a punch between the eyes. The conniving shogger would kill his own mother, if it benefited him in some way. Probably already had. And to think, Nameless had been about to step in and face the giant to protect him.

  Sartis’s forked tongue flicked around his lips, sizzling like sautéed beef. He reached into the chamber and picked up the mule.

  Nameless had half a mind to wipe the self-satisfied smirk from Albert’s face. Ekyls looked to be considering something even worse.

  Albert followed the giant’s hand out of the oven, and the door clanged shut behind him.

  Nameless expected to be plunged back into darkness, but Bird’s fireflies continued to do their work. The homunculus seemed to have escaped in Quintus’s ear. It was scant comfort knowing that, of the three companions who weren’t locked in the oven, one was a self-serving poisoner, and the other two were spawn of the Demiurgos.

  A bolt squeaked and snapped back in place.

  “The ruddy scoundrel!” Galen said. His face was black with soot, whiskers singed and smoldering.

  “Sartis thinks Gandaw’s still alive,” Nameless said.

  Ludo peered over the top of his glasses. “What do you suppose he’ll do if he finds it’s safe to emerge from the volcano?”

  Nameless snorted at that. “If it’s speculation you’re after, laddie, you’re asking the wrong person.” He sat down and inspected the damage to his axe. The blade that had struck Sartis was cooling but looked like melted wax. The other was fine, just needed honing.

  He rolled his head as far as the helm would allow. His traps were tighter than Rugbeard’s clutch on a wineskin—gods of Arnoch rest his soul.

  Setting the axe on the floor, he tried to shrug out of his hauberk, but it wasn’t happening. Ludo came up behind him and helped him off with it.

  “You must be sweltering,” the adeptus said. “I’m half-inclined to remove my cassock, but Galen would probably report me. Mind you, if Sartis took one look at my cachexic torso, I’d probably be off the menu.”

  Nameless gave a wry chuckle. “Aye. Either that, or he’d toss you in the stock as giblets.”

  The chainmail sloughed onto the floor with the sound of heavy rain on a tin roof. He dumped the linen gambeson on top of it. He rubbed the sweat from his skin and stretched his aching muscles.

  Ludo’s knees cracked as he crouched down beside Nameless. This close, the adeptus’s cheeks looked sunken, slightly jaundiced.

  “Thanks, laddie,” Nameless said, “for helping with the armor.”

  “When I was chaplain, it wasn’t all prayers and homilies, you know.” For a moment, Ludo stared off into some imaginary distance. With a barely suppressed shudder, he said, “Not out on the battlefield.”

  Nameless rolled to his front and pumped out some press-ups, hoping Ludo would take the hint and leave him alone.

  He didn’t.

  “Used to be athletic myself,” Ludo said. “Trained with the troops, when I could. Don’t have the energy these days.”

  Ekyls started to prowl around the oven.

  Nameless put one arm behind his back and continued to press out reps, muscles straining, sweat pouring off him. The effort was the next best thing to pain, which was what it took to drive his inner darkness back into the corners.

  “No point dwelling on what’s past, laddie, as my brother Lucius used to say. The moment’s all we have.” If only it were that easy.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Ludo said. “Although, I wonder what the present would be like, had one acted differently in the past.”

  “Regrets?” Nameless grunted as he shifted hands, the repetitions growing slow and hard.

  “Oh no, not really.” Ludo was whimsical. “But it would be dishonest to say I didn’t miss the old days. It all gets so much duller with each promotion. The life of an adeptus is a far cry from that of a simple priest. Promotion, power: it’s all the same, if you want it. Not saying that I did. These things just come to you in the Templum. You put your head down and get on with it. Always felt a bit of a fraud as an adeptus, like I should know things I didn’t, have more faith, be a bolder preacher.”

  “Pretty bold thing you did that got us exiled,” Galen said. “Bold but ruddy scandalous.”

  Ludo sighed, as if he’d heard the accusation a thousand times.

  Nameless stood and pulled on his gambeson. “So, laddie, Aethir is your punishment?”

  “Galen is perhaps a bit negative in his assessment,” Ludo said. “But he’s also mostly right.”

  “His Eminence pulled rank with the Judiciary; got one of his seminarians released.”

  “Shader,” Ludo said, helping Nameless on with the chainmail. “He was studying to become a priest. He mentioned you, by the way.”

  Nameless started to ask what Shader had said about him, but he stopped himself. He wasn’t proud of how he’d acted in those last moments of the struggle with Sektis Gandaw. Shader had praised his efforts, but Nameless knew when someone was just being kind. He knew what he was, what he’d done, and what he’d failed to do.

  Instead, he asked, “He is well?”

  “Very much changed from the man you would have known,” Ludo said. “Not everyone approves, least of all the Ipsissimus. The Templum Judiciary had him tortured…”

  A succession of clangs came from outside.

  Ekyls dropped to a crouch and hissed.

  Something rattled; something scraped, and then there was the telltale screeching and grinding of the bolt being drawn back.

  Nameless picked up his axe.

  Galen’s hand went to his saber, partially drawing it. He cast a look at Nameless, nodded that he was ready. “Give him ruddy murder, eh?”

  Ekyls bared his teeth and raised his hatchet.

  Ludo touched his forehead and backed away to the side.

  The door rattled and shook but didn’t open.

  Galen took a step forward, and his saber rasped as it came all the way out of the scabbard.

  A fizzing noise sounded from outside. Greenish gas spilled through the hairline gap surrounding the door.

  Nameless held his breath. If he gripped his axe any tighter, he’d have snapped it in two.

  The fizzing petered out, and the gas dispersed.

  Galen took another step—

  There was a flash and a bang and the stench of sulfur.

 
; Ekyls shrieked and scampered to the rear of the oven.

  A hole the size of a fist smoldered midway up the door. Nameless glimpsed movement through it, and a pink eye pressed up close.

  “Are you scuts gonna just stand there gawping,” Shadrak said, “or are you gonna help me get this shogging door open?”

  THE FIRST SHADOW

  Shadrak lay face down at the opening of a lava vent, the aroma of spiced meat thick in his nostrils. His finger rested lightly on the rifle’s trigger. Any more, and it would be too much.

  Twenty feet below, Albert’s fat face was quartered like a pie in the crosshairs. The poisoner stood atop a natural table of rock, stirring a stone cauldron that steamed and bubbled.

  The shogger had it coming, any way you looked at it. Call it paranoia. Call it intuition, but there was something about the way Albert looked at him; something not quite right about the things he said; a shift in the nuance of his tone.

  Whatever it was, Albert was no mug. He’d bide his time, wait for the opportunity.

  A wave of heat scolded Shadrak’s face as Sartis passed beneath the vent, the top of his head a forest of flames. The giant had paced relentlessly since Albert started cooking. Likely, the poor bastard usually feasted on nothing but goblins he caught and tossed into his oven. Even Quintus the mule was bound to be an improvement on that.

  Perhaps this was it: the moment Albert showed his hand. However he’d managed it, he was in with the giant, at least for the time being.

  Albert offered Sartis a taste, but the spoon was too small. Instead, the giant bent down and tilted the cauldron. His lips sizzled as he pressed them to the rim, and he sighed like a parched man taking a cool drink.

  “Not too much, now,” Albert said. “Needs more spice.” He produced a glass vial from his jacket pocket, shook it vigorously, and poured the contents into the broth.

  That started Shadrak second-guessing himself. Was that the mamba venom Albert had shown him in the forest? If it was, it meant the poisoner was double-crossing Sartis. Or had Albert showed him the vial earlier as a misdirection. That was certainly more in keeping with his style. The only question was, what did he hope to gain from an allegiance with the fire giant? The plane ship? Run of the guilds? With Shadrak out of the way, there would be nothing stopping Albert from returning to New Londdyr and deposing Buck Fargin.

  “Ready now?” Sartis asked, licking the grease from his lips with his forked tongue. His tail snapped and coiled in anticipation.

  “One last stir,” Albert said, “a pinch more salt, and it’s all yours.” He stood aside with a flourish.

  “At last,” Sartis said, lifting the cauldron with ease and draining the contents in one gulp. “Good. Very good.”

  Albert scrutinized him for a long moment, then grinned. “Glad you like it.”

  “Now I’m really hungry.” The giant patted his stomach. “Let’s fire the oven.”

  “One should wait awhile between courses,” Albert said. “Allow the digestive juices to… Wait, I thought we’d agreed they were to be sautéed. Do you have a skillet? Other than that, I’d recommend—”

  “Now!” Sartis slammed the cauldron on the table, causing the cavern to tremble.

  Shadrak backed down the vent, paused at the opening to sling the rifle over his shoulder, then dropped over the lip to hang by his fingertips. He found a foothold and swiftly started to descend.

  “Laddie, what’s happening?” Nameless called up from below.

  “Quintus is halfway to being a giant-turd,” Shadrak said. He let go and dropped the last ten feet, landing lightly in a crouch.

  Nameless led them back down the slope into the mouth of the cathedral cavern.

  Ekyls was slouched sullenly beside the iron oven. Ludo hovered over him like a guilty mother not knowing how to comfort a homicidal child.

  Galen looked up expectantly as they approached.

  “Positions, everyone,” Shadrak said, then scrambled up a natural ramp and clambered onto a high shelf.

  “About ruddy time,” Galen said. He marched over to an enormous stalagmite and pressed his back into it. With a raise of his saber and a nod, he edged round the other side, out of view.

  Ludo took up his place the other side of the oven with all the enthusiasm of a man going to the gallows.

  Ekyls crouched down next to a natural plinth, twirling his hatchet.

  Nameless ambled to his position behind a boulder at the cavern’s entrance. He looked as calm and sure of himself as ever, but Shadrak doubted even he could prevail against Sartis.

  But what choice did they have? Even if they’d wanted to back out of the quest and leave empty-handed, the cathedral cavern was a dead-end. The only reachable vents all led to the cave with the table, and then on to the lava lake.

  He should have come alone. Least that way, he could have taken Sartis out while he slept, and thieved the shogging gauntlets just like he used to thieve everything else, back in the old days.

  Shadrak tested his sight by focusing in on Nameless’s half-melted axe. He shifted his aim to the eye-slit, and for the merest instant was almost tempted. Take the money and run, they used to say back in the Sicarii. Would that really have been so bad? It would get the Archon off his back and give him the chance of seeing Kadee again. But how could he face his foster mother after murdering a friend in cold blood? Shadrak had no doubt what Nameless would do if their situations were reversed.

  He swung the rifle toward the entrance instead. It still seemed suicidal, but they were committed now. Who knew, maybe they’d get lucky. Ekyls was a rabid dog, too crazed to know when he was beaten. Nameless had that air of invincibility about him, like a child, oblivious to its own mortality. Galen was a duty-driven ass, who’d sooner die than retreat. Ludo, on the other hand, was a waste of shogging space. They’d have been better off staking him out as bait.

  The ground began to shake with rhythmic thuds. Shadrak scanned the looming walls and reckoned he could reach a vent if the fight was going badly.

  The air above a ledge grew hazy for an instant, and Bird appeared. He nodded at Shadrak.

  So, the homunculus hadn’t abandoned them, after all.

  A shadow fell across the cavern as the giant stooped through the entrance. Albert scurried behind, puffing and perspiring, small as a mouse in comparison. Or a rat.

  Sartis’s nostrils puffed out black clouds of soot, and flames licked about his lips. Sweltering heat and acrid fumes rolled off his charred flesh. Red streams of magma pulsed in his veins.

  The fire giant crouched before the oven and peered at the hole in the door. With a roar of rage, he ripped the door from its hinges and thrust a hand inside.

  “Gone,” he said. “Gone, gone, gone!” He surged to his feet. Flames roared toward the ceiling.

  Shadrak rolled back from the edge. His lungs burned from the heat, and his beard was smoldering. He covered his mouth and nose against the fumes, and tried to find a part of the rifle stock that wasn’t too hot to touch.

  “With a hey, Nonny, Nonny!” Nameless bellowed.

  Sartis twisted at the sound, stooped to get a better look.

  “I’m feeling rather bonny!”

  The dwarf charged, smashing his axe into the giant’s ankle.

  Sartis kicked out, but Nameless danced around his foot and chopped down on a toe. The axe head bit deep.

  “With a hop and a hack, and a wench on her back…”

  The giant screamed, and the ceiling shook in response. A stalactite crashed to the floor in a shower of rubble.

  Ekyls pounced at the other foot, hatchet rising and falling, slinging blood in steaming arcs.

  Sartis stomped, splitting stone and sending a booming shockwave rolling across the cavern. Ekyls was flipped to his back, and Nameless bounced and clattered into the wall.

  As the giant went to stamp again, Bird unleashed a stream of hornets from beneath his feathered cloak. They swarmed around the giant’s head, fizzing and popping from the heat.

&n
bsp; Galen leapt beneath the giant’s foot, saber held high. Sartis howled as steel lanced through his heel. Molten blood rained down.

  Galen ripped the blade free as he leapt clear, but Sartis’s tail lashed out and sent him flying into the oven.

  Shadrak rose on one knee and took aim. It had better be a good shot, because he was about to give away his position. He started to squeeze the trigger, but Nameless roared and ran back in, swinging his axe in a glittering arc. It ripped across Sartis’s shin.

  Ekyls jumped up and hammered his hatchet into the giant’s calf. The impression was of a couple of manic loggers working a trunk from both sides.

  Rubble cascaded from the ceiling as Sartis roared and raged.

  Shadrak took a different tack, and got Albert in the crosshairs, but before he could fire, the giant’s tail undulated and coiled, leaving a hazy smog in its wake.

  Sartis bent down and grabbed at Ekyls with iron-clad fingers. The savage was too quick, though, and sprang out of the way. The giant crashed his fist into the ground over and over, forcing Ekyls to leap and roll between the craters he formed.

  The haze cleared, but Albert had ducked out of sight. Instead, Shadrak pointed the rifle at Sartis’s head.

  The tail lashed out again, wrapped around Nameless’s chest, burning and constricting. The links on the dwarf’s hauberk turned red, then white. Nameless grunted and dropped his axe, legs thrashing, fists punching desperately.

  Sartis rose to his full height and spun round—

  —to stare straight down the barrel of the rifle.

  Shadrak fired.

  A deafening crack resounded about the cavern, and a tiny hole appeared between the giant’s eyes.

  Sartis blinked and put a hand to his head. His tail went flaccid, pitching Nameless to the ground. The great helm struck rock with a thud and a clang.

  The giant rubbed a silvery smudge from his forehead—the molten remains of the bullet.