The Dragon Engine

by Andy Remic

  That was all gone, now.

  Dead and gone.

  Simple dreams, killed by ex-soldiers abusing the weak.

  Dragging him through the woods, twigs tangled in his hair, punches to his face, his head, his ribs.

  Tied to a tree.

  Rescued!

  Travel. Then hunted by a terrible beast, and now here, imprisoned, listening for hours to others screaming; to Beetrax, his hero, screaming, screaming, and then finally it was over, and Jael sat up and listened, shivering.

  He shuddered, feeling as if he was going to vomit. Beetrax screaming. That was not a sound he’d ever thought he would hear in his darkest nightmares.

  Now the sounds of pain had stopped, and there were just the ambient sounds of the mine, something he’d noticed but quickly become accustomed to during his few short hours there. There were chipping sounds, metal on rock. Heavier thuds, of sledgehammers. The clink of chains. The occasional crack of a whip.

  What will they do with me?

  Will they come, with their knives and torture equipment?

  They want to break us, don’t they?

  They want us to be good prisoners; to behave and not cause any trouble.

  What will they do to me?

  He heard boots thudding the stone outside. They stopped. A bunch of keys jangled, a key slid noisily into the lock and a heavy mechanism went click. The door opened and Jael cowered back on his low bed, head lowered, presenting a truly submissive figure. He could see his own fingers. They were trembling violently, and he felt ashamed. Images flickered in his mind. Memories from back in the forest, tied to the tree, waiting to die…

  “I bet you thought we’d forgotten you, eh lad?” boomed a voice, and it was Krakka, squat and powerful, flashing a smile filled with black and gold teeth. He stomped in, and another dwarf came in behind, carrying a chair that was placed in the middle of the floor with a thump.

  They’re going to torture me on that, thought Jael, and tears came to his eyes. They’re going to tie me to the chair, and cut me open with blades, burn me with fire. He shuddered as images flashed through his mind. What can I do to convince them? How can I get out of this situation alive?

  Krakka moved over, sat on the chair, and looked down at Jael.

  “You know what we have here, lad?”

  “What?”

  “Dragons.”

  Jael stared at the dwarf, who grinned at him from a position of superiority. “Now then, you’ve been listening to the others screaming, right? And you’re wondering when it’s your turn, and what we’ve got in store for you, yes?”

  Jael nodded.

  Krakka shuffled a little closer, chair legs clacking. “Well, I’m going to let you in on a little secret, boy. On the way here, in the donkey-pulled cart, we was listening to you lot, all the time. And it soon became obvious you, little Jael, are not part of these money-grabbing bastards who were intent on robbing the Great Dwarf Mines for everything they could get their grubby hands on. We heard how you got picked up on the way, and had no other option but to join their little band or perish out in the wastelands. Yes?”

  Again, Jael nodded.

  “Well I have a proposition for you.” Krakka sat back, putting his hands on his knees and beaming, as if he’d already made Jael an offer he could never refuse.

  “Yes?” Wary.

  “Most slaves end up in the mines doing hard labour. But we have a small, select group who tend to the wyrms. It’s very basic needs, like clearing away bones from the Dragon Pits after they’ve been fed, making sure their fresh meat has been cleared of beaks and claws, that sort of donkey shit. But still, considered a privileged position down here in the mines.” His eyes gleamed. “Something to which the other slaves aspire, because it keeps you out of the whipping and beating.”

  Jael nodded. “Your offer sounds… interesting. But why me? Just because I’m not part of the Vagandrak group proper?”

  “No. In return for a lack of torture, and a lack of backbreaking manual labour, I expect you to listen and watch the others. You will be barracked together. If there is any talk of escape, you tell me. If there is any talk of insubordination, any plans whatsoever, you tell me.”

  “That would be hard. They saved me! I don’t know if I could speak about them behind their backs like that,” said Jael, voice gentle. His head had lowered, like a beaten dog in submission.

  Krakka stood. His demeanour suddenly changed, any sense of friendliness evaporating like steam from a dragon’s nostrils. Now, he appeared very angry, and very threatening. “The alternative is this, young Jael. I get a few heavy dwarves in here; they’re rough types, been locked down here for a long time, only a hair’s breadth away from being slaves themselves. Trouble is, when you’re down here like that, you are denied the basics of living, like the soft touch of a quim, the joy of inserting your cock into that willing, quivering honey pot and enjoying a bit of baby-making. So instead, they’re willing to shove their cocks in any bit of young flesh, and you look so very young and sweet, Jael; your skin is soft, your hole will be tight and clench like a virgin when she’s first taken. And for dwarves like this, with very little pleasure, all they have to do is squint their eyes a little bit, and you’re the young female dwarf they could never have. They’ll split you so wide open we could drive a donkey-cart through. And if that doesn’t work, my dear young lad, well, we’ll start with the coffin hanger – it’s a metal box, a metal coffin, and you lie inside and there are various holes through which we can pour boiling oils, or bring in rats which will eat parts of you whilst you scream and thrash, unable to move your hands to ward off their gnawing teeth. Now you think about that. Think about being eaten alive by rats.” Krakka paused, panting a little. He licked his wet lips. Jael’s eyes were full of fear, hands trembling violently. “Or then, we have the Brazen Dragon. A hollow dragon made of brass it is, and we strap you inside and light a fire underneath. Get the coals nice and hot. You cook, Jael, you roast and scream, your fat bubbles, and eventually the skin falls from your flesh and your tender meat – oh what a fine smell it is – will be succulent and beautiful when it peels from the bone like the finest donkey steak.” Krakka moved forward, and squatted, and reaching out, took Jael’s chin, lifting his eyes to meet the brutal dwarf Slave Warden’s own burning coals. “Or if you really displease me, and won’t help me in times of… distress, then I can simply feed you to the wyrms. I confess, they have moderately delicate digestive systems… so first we use rock hammers to knock out your teeth, then pliers to remove your fingernails and toenails. Then we have to pulverise your hips and pelvis, your knees and elbows, so that they are smaller particles within the sack of your bruised flesh. Finally, we beat your skull until it’s cracked in multiple places. But you are still alive through all of this. Still alive, a sack of pulp, ready to be fed to Moraxx, Kranesh and Volak.” His voice had dropped to a husky whisper. “You have five minutes to decide, young Jael. I will come back then.”

  “Yes, yes I’ll do it,” said Jael, tears streaming down his cheeks, his head hung low in shame.

  Krakka’s boisterous laughter boomed through the mines.

  Internal Politics

  “PLEASE REPEAT THAT,” said Cardinal Skalg, his voice colder than a frozen corpse. He was sitting, naked, beside a pretty young female dwarf, who he was currently in the state of undressing. She looked bleary eyed, as if drugged, and by the side of the huge bed, with black satin sheets, stood a brass bowl of crushed gangga leaves in boiling water, the steam rising in tiny swirls.

  Razor looked Skalg coolly with that single eye, glass dark and unreadable, and gave a small cough, as if clearing her throat. “I said, in the last hour there have been three Church of Hate priests murdered – one at the altar – and now an angry mob is marching through the streets with burning brands, chanting abuse.”

  The young dwarf had just taken Skalg’s half-erect penis in her hand, and was lowering her head towards it, rouged lips puckered, eyes dreamy and half-closed. “N
ot now!” he snapped, pushing her away with a smack and standing. He hobbled awkwardly to the balcony, pushing open metal latticework doors, and stepping out into the cool breeze at the top of the Blood Tower. He scowled, hands slapping the smooth stone balcony, and endured a flickering flashback; Kajella, beautiful Kajella, mouth open in a long, silent scream as she fell to her death far below.

  That bitch deserved to die. And anyway, for a First Cardinal as powerful as I, there is always a long queue of willing entertainers.

  “Cardinal?” Razor followed him out onto the balcony. The city of Zvolga swept before her, and if she had been more naïve, she might have gasped, for this was the first time she had been allowed into Skalg’s apartments; promoted, one could say, after Granda took a crossbow bolt in the guts.

  “Wait, wait, I’m thinking.” And then he saw them, far below in the dark stone streets. They carried burning brands, and were making quite some noise. Skalg’s eyes widened, his lips quivered, and a long umbilical of drool detached from the corner of his mouth, spooling like a strand of silver spider’s web, to connect him to the balustrade of the Blood Tower’s highest vantage point. “There are hundreds of them!” he squealed, suddenly, voice high-pitched, fists clenching and unclenching. “Look at them! The bastards! What are they doing? Where are the City Guards? Where are the Church Wardens? Where are my fucking Educators?”

  “Calm down, Cardinal.” Razor’s hard voice was like the crack of a whip, and she looked half ready to deliver a slap across the First Cardinal’s face, but managed to restrain herself at the last moment. “Please. You must remain calm. The City Guards are on their way, for this is a civil dispute, and I have instructed a hundred Educators to be at the ready.”

  “We cannot have this outrage in our city!” roared Skalg, red in the face, froth on his lips. “How dare they? Ungrateful dwarf bastards! How fucking dare they!” He paused, breathing fast, then his eyes became bright and connected with Razor’s appraising gaze. “What do they want?” he wheezed.

  “You remember the prisoner, the one suspected of burning down one of the churches? We, er, met him at the firehouse, and you instructed the Educators to carry out various unpleasant activities on his person until he… died.”

  “Yes yes, what of him?”

  “It would appear word leaked out concerning his innocence with regards his lack of any connection with the Army of Purity, and of his treatment in search of information at the hands of the Church of Hate.”

  Skalg stared at her. “Treatment? How could anybody possibly have found out?”

  “Fire Sergeant Takos, apparently, wrote to the king about the ‘disgrace he witnessed’; apologies, Cardinal, I am simply quoting what was told to me.”

  Skalg stared at her, eyes narrowed. “I thought you warned him, when you escorted him home?”

  “I did.” Razor gave a narrow smile. “I warned him with threats of retribution against him, his wife, and his children. Believe me, he was terrified. He pissed all down his leg. I had to step away from the puddle.”

  “Hmm,” growled Skalg. “I see. So… who are these people I see below me now, flouting city law? Flouting church law?”

  “That would be the family and friends of the man we killed during torture, Cardinal Skalg. Plus outraged hangers-on, judging by the numbers.”

  “How many?”

  “Three hundred, I believe.”

  Skalg swallowed. I simply do not believe this is happening! I do not believe that back-stabbing bastard Fire Sergeant Takos went above the church to Irlax. Does he not realise what the Church of Hate will do to him? To his wife, his children, his cousins, his aunts and uncles, his fucking dog?

  “Very well,” said Skalg, regaining a little of his composure. “I will dress, we will meet with the Educators, and we will formulate a plan to help get us out of this mess.”

  Razor stared at him. “I think it unwise you travel out. I have merely brought you the information, knowing you were otherwise engaged, and have instructed various Under-Chief Educators to manage the rest. I have come to stay with you here; to protect you.”

  Skalg felt himself go a little cold, remembering the recent events with the carriage and burning barrels and a certain notorious assassin.

  “I do not need protection,” he said.

  “At this moment in time, the mob will tear you apart if they get their hands on you.” There was something about the cool, detached way Razor said the words that left Skalg standing there, lips flapping, cock limp and useless. Cold reality sank in like molten iron poured into a mould – and then solidified, to create a permanent, solid fact. They would kill me. The people of Zvolga would kill me. ME! Their First Cardinal and leader of the Church of Hate. How DARE THEY?

  “I will not be imprisoned in my own chambers,” said Skalg, his voice a little strangled.

  Down below, a cheer went up. Something was burning. It was a Church Warden outpost, many of which dotted the city and afforded groups of up to twenty wardens a base from which to patrol.

  “You wish to be burned?” said Razor. “You wish to die without trial, like the dwarf you tortured to death? There has been writing on walls, houses, churches, bridges, appearing all across the city.”

  “What kind of writing?”

  “Five letters. HTCOH.”

  “What the fuck does that mean? HTCOH?”

  Razor gave a narrow smile. “Hate the Church of Hate. Army of Purity propaganda, but it is getting bigger. The Army of Purity’s message is gaining momentum.”

  Skalg stared again, mouth open, breathing fast, then turned and stared down at his city. The City Guards had arrived, and the noise from the mob died for a little while as words were exchanged. Then a roar went up and angry dwarves started punching their burning brands and fists into the air. With military precision Skalg watched the guards form into a wedge, drawing swords, and he could almost see the words trip from the sergeant’s lips as… the guards charged the mob, swords stabbing out, slashing down, and suddenly a vicious brawl ensued. The mob fought back, drawing their own weapons, beating down with burning brands and setting several City Guards on fire. Flames passed from dwarf to dwarf and Skalg could hear them screaming as they fought to get out of burning tunics pinned to them by heavy chainmail coats.

  Razor moved in close behind Skalg, careful not to touch his hairy buttocks. Almost in his ear, she whispered, “The Church of Hate is losing favour with the populace; the church is losing its grip on power. Instead of rushing out there and threatening fellow dwarves,” one could not escape the cynicism in her voice, “you must think long and hard, Cardinal Skalg, about what wins over the sweating, downtrodden mob. How do you win them back to your cause? Because the way it stands, you are giving King Irlax your head on a plate.”

  “King Irlax?” Skalg raised his eyebrows.

  “You think I am so foolish I cannot see the struggle for power between you two? You think, just because I am an Educator with black teeth, a ruined eye, and a penchant for cutting off the pricks of dirty dwarves who dare come near me, you think that means I have a lazy brain?” She gestured backwards into Skalg’s chamber. “You have spent too long with butter-brained idiots, Skalg. I believe in the Church of Hate. And I believe in Cardinal Skalg. It’s taken a long time for me to progress, to get this high in our… religious organisation. But trust me when I say the church saved my life; you saved my life, and I owe you a debt of gratitude, my undying loyalty, and a willingness to see this thing through to the end. With, or without, King Irlax’s blessing.”

  Skalg had turned. Razor was careful not to get too close to his flaccid cock.

  “An eloquent speech,” he said, thoughtful. In the background, more flames roared and more dwarves – both guards and the mob – burned, flames licking at flesh, scorching fat, and igniting beards. In such close proximity, the fire soon raged amongst the combatants. It was a grisly sight from even this great altitude; on the streets of Zvolga, the gutters ran with hot dwarf fat. Skalg looked Razor up and down, a
s if seeing his Educator for the first time. Truly, for the first time. “I think we need to talk.”

  “Come back inside, let’s get rid of your entertainment, because I have a plan you might be very interested in.”

  In the city, dwarves screamed and buildings burned. Guards charged, hacking limbs from bodies, and the mob retaliated, hurling cobbles and bottles, using their own swords and war hammers, and all the time chanting –

  “Justice, justice, justice…”

  And, “Hate, hate, hate…”

  Skalg lay in bed, restless, tortured. Faces flickered past his mind’s eyes, faces of those he’d murdered, or ordered murdered; the old, the young, male, female, children, babes, their faces flickered faster and faster as if on some distorted, glowing wheel, each presenting themselves with an open mouth like a black tunnel, screaming abuse, screaming at him, Cardinal Skalg, for providing them with death.

  He awoke confused, in pain, and angry. Angry with himself, angry with Irlax, horse shit, angry with the entire nation of the Harborym Dwarves. How can you all be so blind? How can you all be so stupid?

  He was about to get up, but didn’t, instead resting back, allowing the pulses of pain – of which he was so used – to flow through him, to settle through him like ash from a pyre of burning corpses. And he thought; he thought about the priests, and he thought about the church burnings; he thought about the Army of Purity and their ridiculous demands, and he thought about…

  Irlax.

  King Irlax.

  Of course! How could I have been so fucking blind and stupid and ignorant?

  It’s King Irlax. King Irlax is behind the Army of Purity. King Irlax is behind the goading of the mob. He knew all about the torture of the innocent man in the firehouse, even before it was reported to him; he knew that I was breaking the rules in a need to get to the bottom of the perceived insurrection. Irlax was tired of my interference, in his… in his fucking insubordination against the crown. What King Irlax really needed was a puppet cardinal; somebody weak-minded, who would do what they were told, and not be a challenge to Irlax’s plans…