by Andy Remic
“We must explore further in,” said Skathos. “Let us proceed.”
They followed a gold cobbled road which led to the river of molten platinum, and then turned to follow the river’s banks. It moved, a sluggish snake of silver, and a pathway along its banks was fashioned from crushed obsidian.
After a while, in the hazy distance, they saw three massive towers. They loomed above all other buildings, and for once, and in contrast to this place, they were black. As the dwarves grew closer, they saw each tower was a simple, smooth, vertical cylinder, but at the top the cylinders arched into one another, in a curiously organic-looking flow, almost like the great tentacles of some vast sea creature. The towers sported no doors or windows, no precious gems, no markings of any kind, and as Skathos finally led the way to the foot of these vast monoliths, they stopped and stood and stared upwards.
“This feels like something of importance,” said Skathos.
“I’m beginning to find this whole place creepy,” said Yugorosk. He gave a little shiver. “It’s the silence. It’s unnatural in a place so big.”
At the base of the three towers, there were no doors, but massive archways leading to vast, dark interiors. Skathos moved and stood at one entrance, reaching out, his hand pressing against the gentle curve of smooth black. He ducked his head inside a little, and stared upwards.
“What’s inside?”
“They’re hollow, like chimneys,” said Skathos. He turned back to his engineers, each one looking nervous in the golden light of this underground place. “There are iron ladders fixed to the walls.”
The engineers stared at him, then crossed and stood under the massive archway, also gazing up.
“That’s a long way up,” rumbled Yugorosk.
“I can go alone, if you like,” said Skathos, his voice low. “But I have a feeling, an intuition, in here,” he pounded his breast with his fist, “that up there, at that summit, will be the answers to many, many of our questions. We will learn the secrets of Wyrmblood, my friends. We will be the most famous and celebrated Harborym Dwarves who ever lived – do you understand? And not only that,” his eyes were shining now, his lips wet, “I also believe we will discover the magick for imprisoning the dragons, our dragons, Moraxx, Kranesh and Volak – for I believe this was their home. This is where the Great Dwarf Lords found them, and bound them in magick, and created our Dragon Engine. Do you understand?” He grabbed Yugorosk, his hand crushing the powerful dwarf engineer’s bicep, shaking him a little. “Do you fucking understand? Up there lie the secrets of the Dragon Engine – the secrets of the Great Dwarf Lords. We could change history, my friends. Damn, we are creating history!”
The engineers stared at him. More than one licked nervous lips.
“Now isn’t that worth some risk?” growled Chief Engineer Skathos.
“I’m coming with, you,” said Hiathosk.
“Me too,” said Kew.
The others agreed, and they stood there, like a small band bound by blood and honour and an oath deeper than anything they had ever before experienced.
Skathos led them deep into the darkness, and grasping the rungs of the nearest ladder, which was warm under his touch, he placed his first boot on the lowest rung with a metallic scrape, and began to climb.
I shift and swirl, swimming in oil, trapped and patient and weeping for my lost children and my lost family, for my sisters, for my life. And yet I felt it. I felt them break the seal. And this is good. For it means I am close to my memories, or rather, closer to regaining my mind, my body, my soul… all in a unity capable of beautiful destruction. I can feel their petty souls, like tiny specks seen from leagues above the land, where once I rode the warm currents and looked down on those who filled their hearts with so much hate.
I feel like it is raining in my mind, diagonal sheets of icy drops, slanting down, each one a shining memory returning, and I realise that I need these intruders, I need the connection to bring it all back, to make it work.
And so I reach out, and I can feel their tiny minds, feel the wavering in their fragile shells, feel their weakness, their lust for wealth and power and fame, and yet they are ruled by the core lode of cowardice that runs through every fucking creature on the planet. So I conjure an image I remember from my past: cheering crowds lining streets and castle battlements for heroes. I inject these fragile shells with strength, courage, and a need to find out the truth about their history.
You will be famous, I breathe.
You will have endless wealth, honour, female slaves, nobility for your families. You will live forever in the history books. You will be the heroes of your people, the saviour of the dwarves, for you will discover the truth about the Great Dwarf Lords and you will change the hierarchy of your world, of the Five Havens under the Karamakkos; and for this you will become the greatest heroes the dwarves have ever known.
Climb, heroes!
Climb…
The answer to your questions lies above.
Hiathosk paused, curling his arm over an iron rung and hanging there, sweat in his eyes from his lank hair, and sweat dripping from his beard. By all the Gods, by the Seven Sisters, this is fucking stupidly high. If we fall, we’ll be flat dwarf bread!
“Don’t stop now!” growled Chief Engineer Skathos from above. “We’re nearly there! And you’ll see, we will be the greatest heroes the dwarves have ever known!”
Hiathosk did not reply, he saved his breath, and grasping a rung made slippery with sweat, lost his grip. For a moment he felt himself falling and a great panic swept through him like a tidal wave of blood.
Yugorosk reached over, grabbing his jerkin and yanking him forward. Hiathosk’s hands clattered against rungs and he pulled himself tight, panting, licking dry lips with a dry tongue. He glanced at Yugorosk.
“Thanks, brother.”
“My pleasure, brother.” He grinned.
“Will you two stop fucking about down there!” snapped Chief Engineer Skathos from above. “Do you fucking know how important this is?” It was not like Skathos to swear, nor to become short-tempered. He was renowned throughout Zvolga for his positive qualities. The Chief Engineer was a consummate professional. He had to be; he dealt constantly with both Cardinal Skalg and the King of the Dwarves. It was not an easy role.
“Coming, Chief Engineer,” said Hiathosk, and glancing at one another, the two dwarves continued to climb.
I am feeling stronger with every passing second. My mind is feeling clear, but still I realise most of my memories are missing; along with control. But as the climbing dwarves approach, I realise, I realise that I am feeding off them now, extracting energy from them, the closer they move towards my mind.
And with a shudder, I remember my name.
I am Volak.
I am the Queen of Wyrmblood.
And I need to be free.
Chief Engineer Skathos reached the top of the ladder, and slumped onto a flat section of tunnel where the top of the tower arched above him. The floor was smooth and warm, almost organic under his fingers, and Skathos lay panting for a few moments, completely drenched in sweat. His head started to hurt, a pounding that crashed through his skull, obscuring his thoughts. He could taste something metallic in his mouth, and it made him think of insects.
One by one the other engineers came over the top of the iron ladders, and lay in various states of distress. Several had dumped mail vests and weapons during the climb, tossing them unceremoniously down into the vast empty tower beneath them in order to make the horrendous climb just that little bit easier. Now, as they all slowly recovered, Skathos realised that Hiathosk, also, was complaining of a headache.
“Come on,” growled Skathos, for it felt like his self-imposed quest in Wyrmblood was nearing a necessary end. Never had he felt so motivated. Never had he truly believed in something so much.
Without complaint, the engineers climbed to their feet and followed Skathos. They walked along a flowing, rising pathway that formed the inside of the curved
tower summit, and then came to a junction where all three towers met. The great chamber was circular and open to the air. Glancing up, high above, Skathos could make out the distant, dark jagged ceiling of the vast chamber in which Wyrmblood lived.
Skathos focussed. At the centre of the circular area there were three great plinths, fashioned from some smooth, black rock, the surface polished and reflective. Above each plinth there was a small black orb, suspended, without wires or stands or anything to keep them hanging there.
Skathos breathed deeply through his nose as the hammer pounded inside his skull. He walked forward, and staggered a little, the metallic taste in his mouth getting worse. This was it. This was the answer…
“Skathos,” said Hiathosk, suddenly, some intuition warning him.
Skathos turned, but waved his hand, turning back and moving towards the first orb. A cool breeze blew, oozing across the archway towers’ summit. Skathos observed the orb, head tilting a little, and then he reached out and took it.
Under his fingers, it crumbled to dust… to less than dust, for the powder that fell never reached the surface of the plinth.
“What… what did you just do?” asked Hiathosk.
Quickly, without speaking, Skathos hurried to the second orb, touching this and watching it disintegrate. Then to the third, which vanished, leaving nothing but a cool breeze easing across the summit platform.
Skathos suddenly sat down, and looked at his hands. He looked up at Hiathosk, a question in his eyes, a frown on his face, and then back down at his hands which he turned over, and over, again, and again, and again. At first Hiathosk wondered what Skathos was staring at, and he moved closer by several paces as the breeze increased. Then he saw the veins on the back of Skathos’ hands were turning black, black lines running across their surfaces and up his arms.
“What is it?” cried Skathos, suddenly, in panic.
The black veins disappeared beneath the arms of his tunic, and then reappeared at his neck, racing up his throat and across his cheeks, up his face, across his temples where the other shocked engineers could see the pulsing beat, only now highlighted in black.
“What’s happening, Chief Engineer?” shouted Hiathosk, stepping back, loath to touch his superior. Now Skathos’ skin started to blacken, as if licked by fire, and Skathos screamed, dragging himself to his feet.
“It’s burning! Help me, it’s burning!”
Now, it seemed his whole body was infected, and his hands clawed at his face, drawing blood with his nails, which wept from the wounds like tar. He staggered towards the other engineers, who backed away in a circle, holding hands before them to ward off the screaming dwarf, as his beard and hair suddenly ignited, going up in flames.
Screaming, Skathos ran, back down the path they had travelled, his clothing now on fire, head engulfed in flames, his screams high-pitched like some kind of tortured animal. He reached the edge of the tower where the tops of iron ladders poked above the rim, and without breaking stride, sailed out over the black abyss, and fell…
Fell.
The other engineers rushed to the edge, dropping to their bellies and peering over. They saw the glowing flames drop, but then extinguish in a sudden uprush of cold air. They waited, but there was no crashing impact, no thud, as of a body hitting hard earth; no sound of Skathos hitting the ground at all.
The engineers looked at one another uneasily. Each face was lined with panic, even terror, and they fought to not meet one another’s gaze.
Eventually, Hiathosk said, “What just happened here?” He was clutching his head, which felt like it was being pounded by a rock.
“I don’t know,” said Lellander, “but I think we should leave. Right now.”
“That’s a hell of a climb back down,” said Kew, eyes wide in trepidation, finger curling nervously through the strands of his beard.
“Well, the only other way is to follow Chief Engineer Skathos. Care to try it?” Yugorosk’s lips were curled back in a snarl. Kew shook his head vigorously, and peered over the edge, at the long, long drop into oblivion.
Skathos fell, swirling through the cool tower air. The burning stopped, and his eyes closed as he waited for impact and death. Instead, his fingers started to stream away from him, and he watched in horror as it progressed to his hands, and arms, and he realised his feet and legs were flowing off above him, like streamers of black sand…
What have I done?
You have absorbed us.
Why?
To free us from the towers. They were our prison.
I will die?
Yes.
And then?
Then we will be free.
Killing Time
BEETRAX, DAKE, JONTI, Talon and Sakora had been forced down to their knees, hands now shackled behind them, their faces showing fresh bruises from the fists of Val, Galog and a few others. Lillith had been chained to a fence nearby – her face ashen, long dark hair matted and limp in its thick strands. Jael stood to one side, nervously, but was no longer associated with the Vagandrak group. Krakka had seen to that. But now Krakka was gone. Who would give Jael special treatment now?
Val, holding a thick helve, was walking up and down in front of the group, the helve smacking the palm of his right hand rhythmically.
“This is what’s going to happen, you murdering bastards. We’re going to load you into a cart and go on a little journey. We’re going to pass through some very special gates and arrive at the Dragon Shafts, where our three feeble-minded pet wyrms are imprisoned. The wyrms need feeding, and have a very good smell for blood. So I’ll cut you a little – that will be one of the fun parts – and then we toss you one by one into the shaft of whichever dragon looks the hungriest, and take bets on how long you survive. The dragons toy with their food sometimes, they only bite off an arm or a leg and chew it for a while. We’ve seen some stunning spectacles, I can assure you.”
Many of the extra crossbow-toting guards summoned by Krakka had left, retreating to the city now the Vagandrak heroes were under control; there was talk of civil unrest, and how their weapons were needed in the fight against the Army of Purity rebels. Val hadn’t been listening. He was too enthralled in his own rhetoric; busy leering at the frightened figure of Lillith, cowering and pale by the fence. He had an erection just thinking about her.
Other friendly faces had emerged from the wardens’ barracks to watch the show.
Tallazok Mentir, the tattooed torturer was there, his intricately tattooed arms folded, a broad smile on his slender face. Nak the surgeon had also made an appearance, standing nonchalantly in his surgeon’s apron, a roll of tools held casually – but threateningly – in one hand; plus Talon’s array of grinning special friends.
Dake and Jonti were staring with open hostility, but it was Beetrax’s face when Tallazok moved towards the group that brought a tight smile both from Dake and Talon. “If you could get your hands on that bastard, eh Beetrax?”
“He wouldn’t be fucking chuckling,” muttered Beetrax.
“One day soon,” said Dake.
“Yeah, mate. After the dragons have finished eating us, eh lad?”
“Silence!” roared Val, whacking the helve with extra force and stopping his march. He pointed the helve at Beetrax. “I could always knock out all your teeth first. Right now. In fact, it’d probably entertain the crowd…” He gestured, and there came a low ripple of laughter from the watching dwarves, many of whom had personally asked to go three rounds with Beetrax after he’d killed Krakka, who had been a hero to numerous slave overseers.
Tallazok stepped forward then, and grinned down at Beetrax. “Val? I know you are now in charge, in, ah, Krakka’s absence, but I thought we might have a little fun? I promised Beetrax the Axeman here that if he stepped out of line, I had a further punishment for him.” Val looked down at the steel box he carried. The Ball Cracker. “Now, far be it for me to tell you how to run the slaves, but I’ve seen this kind of thing many times before. If we do not carry through w
ith our promises, then what are we? Weak? Here to be taken advantage of by fucking slaves? So I suggest a little demonstration.”
Suddenly Beetrax screamed, launching himself to his feet and towards Tallazok Mentir. Val tried to intervene, but was shoulder-charged aside as Beetrax head-butted Tallazok in the chest, knocking him back onto his rump, and landing atop him. “Castration, is it?” roared Beetrax, and slammed his head forward, breaking Tallazok’s nose in a spray of blood and stunning the slender torturer. “I’ll give you a facial castration, you bastard.” His teeth clamped over Tallazok’s nose, and the torturer suddenly started screaming, legs kicking, as Val and Galog grabbed Beetrax, ripping him backwards – along with Tallazok’s nose, which came away with a schlup and strings of skin that stretched, then snapped, to dangle against Beetrax’s beard.
Beetrax fell back atop Val and Galog, and everything was a sudden chaos. Beetrax chewed thoughtfully and swallowed, eyes shut, teeth clenched, then rolled off Val and landed on his knees, panting, blood in his beard.
“Where’s my nose, where’s my nose?” squealed Tallazok, both hands to his face in horror. And then realisation dawned. Beetrax had swallowed it so it could never be sewn back on. His face darkened, and he advanced on Beetrax who knelt there, roaring with laughter, as Val scrambled to his feet and hefted his helve, lifting it up in order to knock Beetrax’s teeth from his big, solid skull…
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” came a cold, calculating voice.
Val paused, face contorted in rage, and he turned to stare at…
“Cardinal Skalg? What the fuck are you doing down here?” Val blinked, eyes bulging, for the First Cardinal looked very different than during his last visit to the mines, where then, he’d been dressed in fancy black and purple church robes. Now, it was as if the hunchback was dressed for battle, ridiculous though that appeared to Val’s shocked face and wide eyes.
