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

by D. P. Prior

“There,” Blightey said. He spread Ludo’s thighs wider with his palms. “You see the sphincter? Bring the top of the stake here. That’s it. A little to the right.”

  Shadrak’s hands shook with the effort to pull away. His guts twisted and writhed, and pressure built within his head.

  “Nothing is beyond Ain’s mercy,” Ludo said. His voice had gone up in pitch and betrayed the slightest quaver. “No one.”

  “Ain and I no longer speak,” Blightey said distractedly. “My own view on mercy is somewhat at odds with His. Experience has taught me that people are seldom merciful, and so they must either be indulged or utterly destroyed. If you offend them, they do not forgive; they retaliate. It therefore stands to reason that you must injure them greatly, then they can do nothing in return. Now, I need you to remain quiet for a second. Ready?” he asked Shadrak.

  Shadrak growled and tried to resist. He cried out to Kadee in his mind; to the Archon, but there was still no response. There was just him, and Ludo, and Blightey. And only one of them had the volition to act.

  “Gentle now,” Blightey said. “Easy as she goes. Don’t want to rupture the bowel.”

  The manacles holding Ludo’s ankles rattled and shook. His breathing quickened into staccato gasps that swelled into labored heaves. The tip of the spike touched puckered flesh, started to enter, and Ludo screamed.

  THE LION’S MAW

  The last thing Nameless saw was Galen’s hand reaching for him but not quite getting there. He pitched backward and dropped like a stone toward the water. He bellowed, a cry too primal to be a word; tensed against the pending splash, the snap of vicious jaws—

  —and then talons gripped his shoulders; hoisted him aloft. The beating of enormous wings, the sound of their thwop, thwop, thwop was a balm for his stuttering heart.

  The talons dumped him on the snowy ground at Galen’s feet. There was a violent flutter, cries of relief from his companions, and then Nameless found himself on his back, looking up into the gnarled face of Bird.

  “Laddie?” he croaked. “Was that…”

  Bird pulled his cloak of feathers tight. “Hazards abound,” he said, with a flick of his head toward the bridge. “And the next is before us.”

  Nameless rolled to his knees, followed Bird’s gaze to the door.

  “You all right?” Galen said, stooping to offer him a hand.

  Nameless took it and climbed to his feet. “Better now, laddie.” Then to Bird he said, “The door is trapped, too?”

  Albert was already running his hands over the stony surface. “No lock. No mechanism. If it’s trapped, it’s nothing I’ve come across before.”

  Ekyls approached the embossed lion’s head on the door, growling softly in the back of his throat.

  “Don’t touch,” Bird said, sweeping past Nameless to come before the savage and the door.

  “I say we look for another way in,” Galen said, eyeing the battlements atop the keep, as if he planned on climbing.

  “Here,” Bird said, indicating the lion’s gaping maw. “Optical illusion. See.” He placed his hand in the mouth. The darkness beyond was so complete, the hand disappeared, as if it had been amputated at the wrist. When Bird withdrew it with all his fingers intact, Nameless breathed a sigh of relief.

  “An old homunculus trick,” Bird said. The lion’s mouth was so large, it could have swallowed him whole. Any of them. “It is a portal. Probably, the walls are impregnable, and there are bound to be more traps atop the battlements. I could fly up and check.”

  “No,” Galen said. “No time. We need to find His Eminence.” He didn’t need to add, “Before it’s too late.” Everyone seemed to get that.

  “Fine,” Nameless said, striding toward the door. “Me first.” It wasn’t what he wanted, but there seemed no other choice. Either he faced his fears head on, or he remained outside, cringing like a child afraid of the dark. It was galling to admit. He’d never been so scared in his life.

  “Wait,” Bird said.

  Nameless suppressed the urge to punch him. He needed to do this now: get inside, confront Blightey, before he was reduced to a quivering jelly.

  “In Gehenna,” Bird said, “portals such as this lead to one of two places: where you expect them to go, or into oblivion. My people leave clues as to which, but sometimes the clues themselves are traps.”

  “Shogging homunculi,” Nameless grumbled. This was all he needed.

  “This is not one of ours,” Bird said, running his hand around the edge of the lion’s mouth. “But it is similar. The Lich Lord is known to our people. We have both aided and opposed him, as is our way.”

  “He got this idea from you?” Galen said. “So what do we do?”

  Bird shook his head. “With no clues, it is a gamble.”

  “Fifty-fifty,” Albert said. “Seems reasonable. Ekyls.” He gestured to the opening, but the savage hissed and glared venom at him.

  “No,” Galen said. “His Eminence was my responsibility.” He twisted the end of his mustache and set his jaw. “Duty demands that I…”

  He trailed off as Bird pulled himself over the lion’s bottom lip and disappeared into the void of its jaws.

  Nameless counted the beats of his heart, willing the homunculus to reappear.

  One, two.

  Galen turned a worried look on him.

  Three, four.

  Ekyls snarled and backed away a step.

  Five.

  “Oh, well,” Albert said. “Can’t win them all.”

  Six.

  Bird’s head poked out of the darkness, and he said, “Come.”

  He ducked out of view again, and one by one, the companions climbed in after him.

  Nameless was the last to go. He hesitated longer than he knew he should. Voices whispered at him to turn back, find another way across the moat. He could live with the great helm. Being fed through tubes wasn’t so bad. And it wasn’t like any of them were really his friends, was it? He barely even knew them.

  He immediately cursed himself for a spineless shogger. Self-doubt was for the beardless. And as for fear, it was a simple enough trick to turn it to anger. He’d been doing it most of his life. He just had to think about what the Krypteia had done to Lucius.

  Livid, and with a new resolve, he clambered over the lion’s lower jaw and rolled into the pitiless dark of the opening.

  Dizziness swamped him, and his guts lurched into his mouth. For an instant, a new terror overcame him: the thought that he might once again vomit in the great helm. But then he was standing on solid ground, the pounding of his heart keeping time with a steady drip, drip, drip.

  It was still dark, but not the absolute blackness of the lion’s maw. Here, it was murky, gray, sepulchral.

  Galen was already pacing the floor, searching for some hint of which way to go. Albert and Ekyls were looking about with hushed awe. Bird seemed more intent on Nameless than on their new surroundings. Was it concern or something else?

  They were in some kind of mausoleum. Ancient sarcophagi were nestled in crumbling alcoves behind spiderweb veils. The ceiling was high and vaulted. A single chandelier as big as a boat hung like a threat above them. It shed no light. Its candles had long since burned to nothing. Three steps stretched from wall to wall across the opposite side of the tomb. Galen had already climbed them. He turned, silhouetted in the flickering glow coming from the hallway at the top, and gestured for the others to follow.

  Nameless looked warily about, eyeing the stone-carved coffins as if they might open at any moment.

  The others made their way to the steps, but their tension was palpable. Nameless didn’t linger any longer. He felt exposed on his own. Vulnerable.

  They followed Galen along a hallway flanked with burning braziers. The cloying scent of incense was heavy in the air, and beneath it lay the odor of dankness and mold.

  Albert began to hum to himself, and quickened his pace. Galen frowned at him, but then slowed and let him take the lead.

  Almost immediately,
Albert stopped and held up a hand. He whipped out a handkerchief and mopped his brow, even though the stale air in the hall was as cold as the grave.

  “What is it?” Galen asked.

  Ekyls turned to keep watch behind them.

  Bird was cocooned in his cloak. He merely looked on through bead-black eyes and nodded knowingly.

  Nameless made his way alongside Galen as Albert crouched down to inspect the floor. Nameless saw it in an instant. He was a dwarf: stonework was in his blood.

  “The flagstones,” he said. It was an old trick the Ravine Guard employed for defense, should the city ever be invaded.

  “I spotted it first,” Albert said. He stood and addressed the group. “One foot on it, and you’ll likely feel nothing. Two, and it collapses. If the fall doesn’t break your neck, there’s bound to be something else down there that’ll get the job done. Spikes is most usual, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Aye,” Nameless said. “Though sometimes snakes or scorpions. But this is the Lich Lord’s castle, so I’ll go with spikes.”

  “Poison tipped, no doubt,” Albert said. “I wonder what he uses.”

  “So, what now?” Galen said, his haste apparently curbed.

  Albert cocked an eyebrow at Nameless. “You take one side, I’ll take the other? The rest of you can follow in our footsteps.”

  Bird dissolved in a flutter of wings and flew ahead as a raven. When he resumed his own form at the far end of the hall, he pointed to three spots on the floor. “Pits there, there, and there.”

  “Or not,” Albert said, as Galen made a beeline for Bird.

  Nameless shrugged and went after him. Albert whistled as he followed, and and Ekyls brought up the rear.

  The hall terminated in a wall with a staircase in the left-hand corner spiraling upward, and a gigantic painting set dead center. The canvas was mottled with black mold, but Nameless could clearly make out any number of men seated at table sharing a meal.

  “There’s a door here,” Albert said from over on the right.

  It was small enough to be a dwarf’s door, oak paneled, and with a barred window.

  “There are steps beyond,” Albert said. “Twisting down.”

  Bird was studying the painting, as if it offered a third possibility for further progress into the keep.

  “It’s like the wedding feast of Nous and all His luminaries,” Galen said. He stepped toward it, reached out to touch the canvas, but snatched his hand back at the echoing sound of a scream from somewhere below.

  “Eminence!” Galen said.

  The poisoner was already working on the lock. “It came from down here,” he said. “Oh, look, I’m getting faster.” The lock clicked, and he pulled the door open.

  Galen shoved him aside and barreled down the stairs. As he rounded a corner out of sight, his saber rasped clear of its scabbard.

  Ekyls faltered for a moment, then went after him.

  “Don’t mention it,” Albert said.

  Nameless refused the fear gnawing at his nerves by taking a stranglehold on his axe. It wasn’t right. He used to look forward to the prospect of a good fight. Verusia had changed him. Or was it Mount Sartis and the fire giant’s gauntlets? Something had changed him, that was for sure, and he didn’t like it one little bit.

  Bird shrunk and morphed into a sparrow, then fluttered down into the dark.

  With a deep breath and a hammering heart, Nameless went next.

  Behind him, the door clicked shut, and when he cast a look back over his shoulder, there was no sign of Albert following.

  THE COST OF LIVING

  “Easy now,” Blightey said. His graveyard breath was an icy chill on Shadrak’s cheek. “Realign and push.”

  Shadrak’s hands shook with refusal, but it was wasted effort. He pushed anyway. He was compelled.

  Ludo’s screaming went up a notch. It didn’t seem possible. Every inch the spike went in was a whole new level of pain. Shadrak felt it just as much as Ludo did. His innards recoiled like disturbed vipers. Feverous sweat poured off him, as if he fought an infection. And maybe he did, though not of the physical kind.

  “Again,” Blightey said with a rasp of pleasure.

  Shadrak’s hands obeyed. Something ruptured. Blood and filth slopped over his forearms, and the stench made him gag.

  Ludo’s scream ripped apart into shreds of agonized wheezing. Crimson froth bubbled from his mouth.

  “Ah,” Blightey breathed. “Almost there. Three quick shoves now: One, two, three.”

  Ludo shuddered uncontrollably. His wheeze became a gurgling choke.

  “Steady,” Blightey said. “Steady. One last decisive drive on my mark. And… push!”

  Shadrak gave it more force than he wanted to. He tried to look away, but invisible hands held his head in place.

  The tip of the spike burst from Ludo’s mouth in a spray of gore.

  Blightey stepped in and closed his hands around it. Dark fire sprang up, then poured down Ludo’s throat. The adeptus screamed with his eyes, but the blood gushing from his mouth dried up almost instantly.

  “Cauterized all the way to the point of insertion,” Blightey said. “Prolongs the agony. You should thank me.” He patted Ludo on the shoulder. “Everything a Nousian could ever want to learn about suffering packed into two, maybe three short days. Now, we just need to arrange for you to be taken out—”

  Heavy footfalls cut him off—running steps, from beyond the door on the far side.

  Ludo let out a low moan from somewhere deep in his chest. His tormented eyes bored into Shadrak, imploring him.

  Something thudded into the door, once, twice, and then came the sound of muffled voices, clipped and urgent.

  “Your friends?” Blightey said. “I was so caught up in the impaling, I’d quite forgotten about them. And no cadavers watching the walls, too. I must be getting old.” He cupped a hand to his mouth and called, “Sorry, we’re not in.” Then to Shadrak, he said, “Idiots. They’ve as much chance of opening that door as—”

  An iron-clad fist smashed through the wood in a shower of splinters. It withdrew, and then the door flew apart as Nameless came crashing into the room.

  If he registered the horror on the rack, he didn’t let on. Instead, he slung his axe over one shoulder and said, “You must be Blightey.” There may have been a quaver in his voice. Next time he spoke, though, the words came out in a booming cadence, like he was on the verge of bursting into song. “Well, if you are, I’ve a bone to pick with you.”

  A sparrow flew between the dwarf’s legs and disappeared under a bench.

  Galen slipped through the wreckage of the door and circled away to the right, saber in hand. He took in Shadrak with a glance, but when his eyes found Ludo, all color left his face.

  The savage Ekyls came next, snarling like a rabid dog.

  Of Albert, there was no sign. Now there was a surprise.

  “Eminence!” Galen cried. He ran toward the rack.

  Blightey splayed his fingers. Purple motes swirled about their tips and shot toward Galen.

  At the same instant, the sparrow emerged from beneath the bench and swiftly grew into Bird. Even before the transformation was complete, a swarm of bees gushed from beneath his feathered cloak to intercept Blightey’s magic. There was a deafening drone, a succession of fizzes, and then the smoldering husks of insects carpeted the ground. Blightey’s sorcery died with them, though, and not a single mote touched Galen.

  Chains fell away from Shadrak’s mind. He slid both pistols from their holsters and let rip with a barrage of bullets. Each shot ricocheted from the back of Blightey’s armor. He aimed for the head, and was rewarded with a spurt of blood, but it may just as well have been a flea bite for all the effect it had.

  Blightey whirled on him, but before the Lich Lord could so much as raise a hand, Nameless barreled into him. Blightey flew across the room and crashed into a workbench, splitting it clean in two.

  Shadrak had a feeling that wouldn’t be enough. Swirling
his cloak about him, he slipped behind the open door of the iron maiden.

  Ekyls moved in on Blightey like a hyena come to feast. Bird waved him back as the Lich Lord got to his knees, but the savage leapt and brought his hatchet down.

  Blightey’s hand lashed out and caught him by the wrist. Ekyls screeched as black veins coursed along his arm. Blightey lunged to his feet, holding the savage aloft with ease. Ekyls writhed and kicked, as dark tendrils crept up his neck and across his face. He punched Blightey with his free hand, split open his nose.

  Nameless swung his axe in a murderous arc. The blades shrieked across the fluted plate armor without so much as a scratch, but the force made the Lich Lord reel and stumble.

  Ekyls dropped from his grasp. Half the savage’s body was webbed with black, and he seemed in excruciating pain. Nevertheless, he switched his hatchet to his good hand and hacked Blightey in the mouth. Blood sprayed, but the hatchet shattered against the Lich Lord’s teeth.

  Blightey grabbed Ekyls by the throat. The savage’s face turned to coal in an instant, and he crumbled into dust.

  Galen’s saber crashed into the back of Blightey’s head. A chunk of scalp splatted against the wall, exposing the unscathed bone of the skull.

  Nameless hit from the other side, putting the full strength of the giant’s gauntlets behind his axe. Blightey slammed into the wall and slumped to the floor. This time, he was at least winded, and struggled to rise.

  Shadrak took courage from that and opened fire.

  Blightey flung a bolt of darkness at him. Shadrak leapt aside, but another bolt came, then another. Shadrak tumbled and swayed, sprinted and dived just to stay alive.

  Nameless and Galen came at Blightey from either side. The saber sliced an ear off, and Nameless delivered a decapitating blow that was stopped by the gorget. This time, the force sent the Lich Lord skimming across the floor. He crashed into the greatsword he’d left leaning against the wall, sent it clattering.

  Galen charged, but the flanged blade came up in Blightey’s hand, and Galen’s saber went spinning through the air.

  Nameless’s axe swept down. Blightey blocked with the greatsword, but the dwarf had the strength of giants. Beneath its pauldron and vambrace, Blightey’s arm went limp, and the sword fell from his grasp.