The Ant-Man of Malfen

by Derek Prior; C. S. Marks

  Shent stiffened.

  One of the giant ants took a chunk of flesh from Nameless’ thigh. He screamed and thrashed about on the rope.

  “How do ants procreate anyway?” Nameless gave a maniacal laugh as he swung towards Silas.“Because I’m buggered if I know. Maybe they dropped a ton of eggs inside her. Shog, maybe they just shat in her womb! Funny thing is Shent, you shogging freak, I don’t suppose you’ll be making baby ant-men. Old daddy Gandaw forgot to stick a cock and balls to the front of your carapace!”

  Shent roared and leapt at the dwarf.

  Silas scrabbled about at the back of his mind for the threads of magic that would weave his cantrip. The dark essence seeped into his veins and raced towards his wrists which grew hot, the cords holding them starting to smoulder. He was about to direct the current to the dwarf but then gaped as Nameless wrenched against his bonds, tearing chunks of earth from the ceiling and dropping to his feet with the grace of a cat—or a lion.

  A meaty fist smashed into Shent’s stomach, doubling him up. Nameless pressed in, pounding the insect-head with resounding blows. Shent fell back, stunned, his army of ants surging forward to protect him. Silas blinked as Shent’s body seemed to split open, and then he saw that it was the unfurling of two huge wings from the Ant-Man’s back. Shent soared towards the ceiling clacking out commands with his mandibles.

  Silas yelped as the magic burned through his bonds and he fell awkwardly, twisting his ankle. An ant thrust its head towards him but Nameless clubbed it with a right cross that sent it veering away.

  Hook-nose charged, hurling his net. Nameless ducked under it and rolled, coming up in a fluid motion, his fist cracking into the thug’s jaw and knocking him from his feet.

  The lean one pounced, twin daggers stabbing towards the dwarf’s flank. Nameless stepped aside and hammered him in the back, pitching him into a cluster of giant ants. Shrill screams cut across the din of combat as the ants tore into his flesh. The other ants rushed to the feeding frenzy, clearing a space through which Nameless ran to snatch up his axe, lift it above his head and bellow at Shent.

  Silas hobbled for the gap, casting this way and that for his bag. He saw it deposited in an alcove a mere twenty feet away and hopped towards it like a demented stork. Something mushy hit him from behind and he turned to see the thin man’s chewed up head rolling away across the floor.

  A shadow fell across the cavern as Shent swooped down, claws extended towards Nameless’ face. The dwarf swung and Shent backed up clacking loudly to his minions who discarded their meal and bore down upon their master’s assailant.

  Nameless’ axe split through a thorax and reversed to embed itself in a head. The others pressed in around him nipping and groping, their clacking rising to a deafening cacophony. The dwarf hacked to right and left, his axe falling in sweeping arcs that sheered through carapace and limbs, but still the ants came on, crawling over each other to get at him.

  Silas reached the alcove and shouldered his bag, but at the same instant something grabbed the back of his shirt and hoisted him into the air. He thrashed about with his arms but could find no purchase. Spiny legs wrapped around his waist holding him firm. Fingers crept from his shirt to his neck and closed around it in a death-choke. He spluttered and kicked out in a futile attempt to break free. His vision swam and blackness descended. Silas tried to dredge up a strand of dark magic but it slipped from his mind like water through a sieve.

  ***

  Nameless was bleeding from a score of deep bites, the strength seeping from his limbs as the weight of ants threatened to overwhelm him. He’d lost count of how many he’d killed but they showed no sign of letting up. What he’d have given for his old armour! Shog, he’d have even risked taking up the black axe again in a scrape like this. It was all very well having a death-wish, but when it came to it the idea wasn’t so appealing.

  Mandibles fixed on his forearm and the axe tumbled from his grasp. He wrapped his arms around the ant’s head and planted his feet, twisting from the waist until he heard a popping, tearing sound. The ant went limp and sagged to the floor, its legs still twitching. He kicked another in the abdomen and followed up with an upper-cut that threw the creature’s head back. Spinning in a crouch he whipped up the axe once more and drove the ants back with a series of scything swings.

  Something dropped from above and Nameless dived out of the way as Silas Thrall’s limp body crashed into a huddle of ants. Nameless ran, bounded onto the back of an ant and launched himself high into the air. His axe followed in a vicious sweep, meeting flesh, crunching bone, and eliciting a gurgling scream from Shent. Nameless hit the ground hard, rolled and came to his feet, searching for something to hit, but when he looked up, the Ant-Man was nowhere to be seen.

  Silas coughed and shuddered, drawing the attention of the monstrous ants. Nameless charged amongst them hacking wildly, his axe whirling about in a lethal circle that forced them back from Silas’ prone body. There was the faintest rushing sound, the barest hint of a buzz, and then something punched into Nameless’ back, knocking the axe out of his hands. Talons tore into his shoulders and bore him towards the ceiling, gossamer wings fanning furiously about him. Brackish blood spilled over his head and face; he twisted his neck and saw it came from an ugly gash in the Ant-Man’s belly.

  Shent lurched suddenly and the two started to plummet like rocks. At the last instant he pulled up, letting go of Nameless who slammed into the ground. Before he could rise, Shent was on him again, dragging him into the air by the seat of his pants and speeding towards the wall. Nameless cracked his head backwards, striking something hard. Shent veered sharply and almost lost his grip. Not giving him time to recover, Nameless backhanded him in the face, slapping repeatedly until he felt something snap and fall away. Shent screamed his fury and ditched Nameless to the floor.

  No sooner had his feet touched the ground than Nameless was confronted with the sight of the Ant-Man landing in front of him, wings snapping in place on his back like a mechanical cloak, and a new pair of arms bursting from his flesh—thin black appendages more akin to an ant’s than a man’s.

  Shent leapt, wrapping Nameless in a bear-hug with his powerful human arms, the ant-arms stabbing at his sides. Shent’s face punched towards Nameless, the one remaining mandible quivering as it sought out flesh. Nameless arched his back and strained but the Ant-Man’s grip only tightened. A giant ant reared up beside him, bit at his face and started to bear him to the ground with its weight. Others surrounded him, pulling him down whilst Shent still crushed the air from his lungs.

  Knowing the end was near, Nameless sought only to give a good account of himself before he perished. He took hold of Shent’s remaining mandible in both hands and yanked it as hard as he could. Shent roared as flesh tore and cartilage snapped. Ripping the mandible free, Nameless held it like a dagger and plunged it into a big red eye. Gore splashed over his face, and Shent’s grip slackened enough for Nameless to twist and stab the other eye. The Ant-Man shrieked and writhed, his limbs wracked with violent spasms.

  “We are the same,” Shent gurgled, foul fluids bubbling from his maw. “You don’t have to kill me!”

  The giant ants fell away from Nameless, rolling to their backs and shuddering. He forced himself to his feet and cast about for his axe.

  Shent let out a pitiful wail, human hands covering his blind eyes.

  “Don’t blame me for what I am!” he pleaded in a voice like a child’s. “He did this to me. He made me—just as he made your people.”

  Nameless’ hand closed around the haft of the axe.

  “Sektis Gandaw,” Shent gasped. “He’s the one, not me!”

  “I know,” said Nameless, raising the axe. “But he’s already dead.”

  The axe swept down and Shent was still.

  An urgent rattling rose to a crescendo and then fell with the flaccid limbs of the ants—the last of Gandaw’s aberrations, Nameless realised. The last of their kind.

  “Bravely done, my frie
nd.”

  Nameless spun to face Silas Thrall limping towards him, willowy and gaunt, looking just as dead as Shent.

  “You survived, then,” said Nameless.

  “Barely, and thanks to you, it seems. Here, let me tend your wounds.”

  Silas held his palms towards Nameless and greenish light effused from the finger-tips. Nameless snarled and stepped back.

  “Trust me,” said Silas. “It’ll close the wounds and prevent the rot from setting in.”

  Nameless forced himself to relax as the green light touched him and he felt his skin tighten and close where it had been broken. A warm tingle passed through his bones and then Silas took his hands away.

  “There’ll still be scarring,” he said, “but I’m sure you can live with that. What will you do now?”

  Nameless hadn’t thought that far ahead.

  “Suppose I’ll carry on into Qlippoth.”

  Silas’ eyes narrowed. “Qlippoth? But—”

  “That’s where they fled. My people.”

  “And you wish to find them?”

  Nameless sighed. “I wish to help them”—tell them there’s no need to run anymore—“They face only extinction in Qlippoth. Either I’ll persuade them to return to Arx Gravis,”—and stay in Qlippoth myself—“or I’ll cut down every last horror that stalks them.”—Make the Dark Side of Aethir into a sanctuary where the dwarves can flourish.

  “I see,” said Silas. “But the Cynocephalus dreams darkly. It may be a task to surpass even your talents with the axe. Perhaps we should journey together, as Qlippoth is where my studies have led me.”

  “You study the dark paths?” Nameless felt his hackles rising. His mind threw up scenes from the snow-dusted forests of Verusia—a sentient mist, probing, caressing, hunting; the docile citizens of Wolfmalen; and the looming evil of Blightey’s castle with its picket of impaled victims groaning upon their spikes.

  Nameless had seen his fair share of sorcery back in New Jerusalem at the hands of Magwitch the Meddler. He’d grown about as used to it as anyone could, but dark magic, that was something he couldn’t tolerate. Not after Verusia.

  “No, no!” protested Silas. “Indeed, no. I’m a student of antiquities. A collector, if you get my meaning.” Silas rubbed his thumb and forefinger together and winked. “If I’m not very much mistaken, our friend Shent here was a bit of a collector too.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that somewhere along these tunnels there must be a stash of treasure, otherwise what’s the point of being the underworld boss of the most corrupt town on Aethir?”

  Nameless nodded absent-mindedly. He felt weakened from the battle and defenceless against the stultifying darkness that was already settling upon his mind. “Think there’ll be any armour?”

  “Only one way to find out,” said Silas, checking his bag was fastened and giving it an affectionate pat. “Although it’s bound to be a bit on the large size as far as you’re concerned. Coming?”

  They started off along one of the tunnels, squeezing past the bodies of more gargantuan ants that seemed to have simply lain down and died.

  We are the same, Shent had said—both creatures of Sektis Gandaw. Nameless wondered if that’s why he’d killed the Ant-Man. Something had possessed him, and this time there was no black axe to blame. He might have been stripped of his memories; might have yearned to piece his identity back together, but there were some things it was better not to be reminded of.

  Nameless stopped and ran his eyes over the carcasses of the ants. At least they’d finally given up the ghost of their aberrant existence; and the dwarves wouldn’t be far behind if Nameless couldn’t bring them out of Qlippoth. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe—

  “Malfen’s a unique place,” said Silas. “It’s sort of where Gandaw’s Aethir ends and the Cynocephalus’s begins. The threshold between science and magic, I like to think. Two kinds of insanity—Gandaw’s monomania and the Cynocephalus’s paranoia. Just think, one step the other side of Malfen and we’re in another world.”

  Nameless ran a hand over his shaven head. No longer a dwarf. So why did he still want to help the survivors of Arx Gravis? Save them from themselves?

  The black mood was tightening its grip. If he didn’t do something soon the paralysis would set in and then he’d be no good to anyone. If there’s one thing Nameless knew about himself, really knew, deep down in the marrow, it was that he denied certain needs at his peril—needs that were written in his blood as surely as those that led the Ant-Man to feed on human flesh.

  “Do you reckon there are any good Taverns in Malfen?” Nameless asked, rubbing his clammy palms together.

  “Taverns?”

  “I’d give my right arm for a flagon of ale.”

  Silas nodded. “That’s the most welcome suggestion I’ve heard all morning. Can you hold on until we’ve finished off here?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Be strong, my friend,” said Silas clapping him on the shoulder. “And just think how much more you’ll enjoy it.”

  They roamed the network of tunnels for an hour or more but failed to find the treasure trove Silas had hoped for. Just as they despaired of coming away with anything of value, they happened upon the skeleton of a dwarf suspended by its feet from the ceiling of a cramped cell.

  “So they passed through here,” Nameless said in a hushed voice.

  “Been picked dry,” Silas patted the skull and gave a curious look that made Nameless wonder if he’d had an idea and thought better of it.

  “Looks like you were wrong about the armour,” said Nameless stooping to examine a chainmail hauberk that had been dumped in the corner. As he hauled it up, a large rat scampered out and ran across his foot.

  “You going to wear that?”

  A dead man’s armour? A dead dwarf’s?

  Nameless stood before the dangling skeleton and reached in his pack for Shader’s Libram. Silas peered over his shoulder as he turned the pages.

  “Now there’s a surprise,” he muttered, nose wrinkling slightly with distaste.

  Nameless struggled to make sense of the Aeternam, seeking out the passage Shader had used to honour the dead. Giving up, he slammed the book shut and closed his eyes in silent prayer.

  When he’d finished, he buckled on the armour and strode from the room.

  Silas was first out of the grill, the giant, Arik, hauling him through by the collar and flinging him onto the flagstones.

  As Nameless reached the top rung Arik sneered down at him, huge head almost filling the opening, teeth all brown and misshapen.

  “Shent let you go, did he?”

  In reply, the head of Nameless’ axe smashed into Arik’s teeth. The giant grunted and spat them out in a shower that pattered against Nameless’ armour amidst a spray of crimson spittle.

  “You shogging little runt!” Arik roared, grabbing hold of the axe-haft and pulling Nameless from the hole.

  Nameless felt his nose break as the giant’s fist pounded into his face, the other hand wrenching away his axe and slinging it aside.

  “Get up!” Arik growled, flexing the slabs of muscle on his chest.

  Nameless made a show of clambering weakly to his feet and shaking the grogginess from his head. He held up a hand for time and wiped the blood from his nose. Arik put his hands on his hips and spat out another tooth.

  “That all you got—?”

  Nameless’ boot struck Arik’s knee, snapping it backwards with a sickening crack. Arik toppled straight into the path of a bludgeoning hook that turned his head and sent him reeling to the ground.

  “Pugnacious little fellow, aren’t you?” said Silas handing him his axe.

  Nameless snorted, wincing at the pain from his nose. Nevertheless, his black mood was starting to lift. It was as if someone had opened the curtains onto a bright new day. It wouldn’t last—he knew that from experience. He just had to grab these moments when they came.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet
,” he beamed at Silas. “Coming?” he called over his shoulder as he staggered ahead.

  “Eh?”

  “Tavern, remember? We’ve got us some serious drinking to do. By the mythical Dwarf Lords of Arnoch, I feel a song coming on!”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  “Then you shan’t!” Nameless declaimed before breaking into a booming shanty that sent Silas’ hands to his ears and the rats of Malfen scurrying for cover.

  ***

  Nils shuffled from foot to foot impatiently, glaring across the street at The Wheatsheaf. It must have been an hour now. Travid Yawl had pleaded for the extra time so he could call in a few debts. There had been a lot of hard-faced men in the tavern but none of them had lifted a finger to Nils, not even when he’d drawn his sword and stuck the point against Yawl’s throat. Oh, they were scared of the Ant-Man, no doubt about it, and now they were scared of him too.

  “Time’s up,” Nils growled, wrapping his fingers around his sword hilt. He was gonna enjoy this.

  Nils bounded up the wooden steps and reached for the door handle. No sooner had he touched it than the door swung open and knocked him on his arse. A dreadful din gushed out of the tavern as Nameless and Silas staggered onto the porch.

  “A salty slug and a harlot’s hug, then we won’t need booze no more, no more; then we won’t need boooooooze—no more!”

  Nils’s mind did a somersault as he stood and straightened his shirt.

  “Nameless,” he said. “Silas! Thank the gods you’re all right.”

  Nameless appeared to be holding Silas upright but he let go as his eyes fell upon Nils.

  “Ishn’t that the boy from the shitty?” he slurred.

  Silas toppled to one side but managed to thrust one foot out to keep his balance.

  “You back-shtabbing little bashtard!” He pointed a shaky finger at Nils.

  Nils waved his hands in front of him.“No, you don’t understand. I was coming back for you. Why d’you think I’m here? I was getting help.”

  Silas half staggered and craned his neck to look at the door.