by Andy Remic
What’s he doing in my mine?
What the hell does the First Cardinal want?
Val felt something die inside him. This did not look promising.
“Lower your weapons. All of you.” Skalg’s voice was low and commanding, his narrowed eyes sweeping over the group of dwarves. On his journey, miraculously, Skalg had managed to find three of his Educators who now stood at his back, in their church garb, bearing Peace Makers in their weighty fists. They were the kind of Educators Skalg really liked – big, meaty dwarves with emotionless eyes like a dead pig and a lack of imagination which made for good killers.
“But… but we have prisoners! They killed Krakka, the Slave Warden! I have stood in his very great boots and taken over, and I have commanded that they be killed! We are going to feed them to the Dragon Engine. After we’ve knocked out their teeth and pulped their bones, of course.” He gave a half smile, but Skalg was unreadable, a trick he’d picked up after decades of dealing with politicians.
“Hmm. Well, Val, that may be a possible outcome, of course, after I have carried out a full investigation–” began Skalg, but was cut off mid-sentence.
“But… I’m in fucking charge now!” howled Val, face red with rage, fists clenching his helve, his knuckles white.
Skalg looked at him, and gave a narrow smile. “Danda?”
“Yeah, First Cardinal Skalg?”
“If this… dwarf… interrupts me again, I would like you to use a Slim and bash his fucking skull. Is that clear, Danda?”
“Is very clear, your Cardinalness,” rumbled Danda.
Skalg gave another tight-lipped smile, and gestured with a hand, his fingers opening like the petals of a flower. He smiled and looked sideways at Val, as if daring the dwarf to see how far the First Cardinal of the Church of Hate could actually be pushed.
Val bowed his head and shut his mouth.
“Good. Thank you. Now, as I was saying before being rudely interrupted, I will be carrying out a full investigation. If the crime is serious enough – which I suspect it might be, because Krakka, my Slave Warden,” he put a massive amount of emphasis on my, “was a most trusted and loyal servant of the Church of Hate, and trusted in our realm – then I will be taking the prisoners into my custody. For, ha ha, re-education.” Many of the dwarves present bowed their heads. They had heard many backstreet rumours, dark gossip, about the re-education meted out by the church.
“Now then. You! Big fella! What’s your name?”
“Galog, Cardinal Skalg.” He bowed his head respectfully.
Skalg shifted for a moment, his hump uncomfortable, then continued, “You look like a handy fellow with a hammer. I’d like you to help us accompany the prisoners to a room for interrogation. Er. I think that building over there would do nicely.”
“That’s Krakka’s personal quarters,” said Val, almost sulkily.
“As I said. It will do nicely. Galog?”
“Yes, First Cardinal.” He bowed and mumbled for a few moments, apparently overcome by the power of the moment.
Skalg gave a little smile. “Galog, I like you. And of course, the church is always looking for honest soldiers to serve the Great Dwarf Lords. Do you understand?” Galog nodded, and blushed at the compliment. “Now then! Prisoners? Can you hear me? Can you get up? Galog here will persuade you with a club, if necessary.”
Beetrax stood first, blood drying in his beard, his eyes hard. This is where it gets real bad, he thought, and readied himself for more beatings; certainly more killing. He was ready for it. Ready to die for it. He was sick of this shit, and wanted out, one way or another.
The prisoners were gathered together, and Skalg turned and pointed at Lillith. “What about her? Why is she chained to a fence?”
Val stared at Skalg, his mouth opening and closing a little. “She is, er, mine.”
“She is yours?”
“Yes, she is mine. Er. Cardinal Skalg.”
“In what way is she yours?”
Val squirmed for a few moments. “She, er, is my favourite slave, so to speak.” He lowered his eyes and would not meet Skalg’s gaze.
“Hmm,” said Skalg. “You, dwarf, yes, you there with the keys. Unlock her shackles.”
“But!” squeaked Val, and Skalg sighed, and nodded, and Danda stepped up behind the dwarf overseer. The Slim cracked down on the back of his head. Val hit the rocky ground like a sack of hardened horse shit.
“Bring them to Krakka’s quarters,” said Skalg, quietly, his eyes gleaming, and with chains and shackles clanking, the Vagandrak heroes, one-time treasure hunters, and now miserable slaves who had fallen on bad times, shuffled their way towards the iron and wood building.
Beetrax, Dake, Jonti, Talon, Lillith and Sakora knelt on the wooden floorboards, heads bowed, half-expecting execution by short sword. A swift decapitation. Skalg stared around at the dwarfs present, then said, “Everybody out. Except Danda. Danda, wait here with me.”
The dwarves looked at one another.
“I really do not like issuing orders more than once.” The hunchback smiled a nasty little smile, and raised his eyebrows. “And trust me when I say that they are orders that, for disobeying, carry a death penalty.”
The room quickly cleared, and Cardinal Skalg moved forward, and slowly sat down on a chair which had been placed before the Vagandrak heroes.
“You may look up, now, slaves,” he said. They did so, with a clanking of chains. Beetrax and Dake glared at him. Talon’s eyes were filled with despair. Lillith looked cool, relaxed, and Sakora held a neutral expression on her recently scarred face. But her stance said something different. Here was a woman ready to kill.
Danda moved up close behind Skalg, a hulking Educator, his broken nose and scarred features grim and evidence of many a battle. He looked across the slaves, appraising them, eyes lingering on Beetrax.
Beetrax sighed. “All right, lad. Let’s get it done. Take off these chains and let’s get to it. How many of these shit dwarf fighters are you going to put my way before you realise I’ll break open all your melon skulls? Hmm?”
“I have a proposition,” said Skalg, his voice quiet, his eyes bright.
“What do you mean?” Jonti tilted her head. Beetrax opened his mouth, but she tutted him into silence. “What kind of proposition?”
“I know some of your names,” said Cardinal Skalg. “I have my contacts in Vagandrak; in Vagan, Drakerath, Rokroth, Timanta. I know what goes on in the world of men, although I confess, I care little for your feeble politics. Even when the mud-orcs of Orlana rolled over your land, her splice tearing your people apart, I cared little.”
“Get to the point, hunchback, lest I break your spine in another three places,” rumbled Beetrax, eyes showing anger.
“You hate it here. You hate being slaves. You are heroes, free men and women of Vagandrak! Is this not so?”
“We hate it here,” said Lillith, nodding her head. “But it’s not like you will let us go, is it, Cardinal Skalg?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“You require your freedom. I am in a position to offer you this. In exchange for one simple act.”
“An act?” said Talon, his eyes coming alive for the first time in weeks. “An act of violence?”
“An act of assassination,” said Skalg, and licked his lips.
“Who’s the target?” said Jonti. “I am expecting somebody of power, with efficient guards? Killers?”
“You expect right,” said Skalg, eyes narrowing. “This is the plan. We get the carriage back up to my city. You come to one of my personal armouries – whatever you need. My Educators escort you through the city to the, shall we say, start point of your mission. You go into the Palace of Iron, and you assassinate King Irlax.”
There came a long, stony silence.
“You want us to kill the King of the Harborym Dwarves?” said Dake, face a scowl.
“Yes.”
“And in return we get our freedom?”
> “Your freedom, the weapons you carry, and as many diamonds that will fill your pockets.”
Again, a long silence as this proposition was processed.
“I’m game,” said Beetrax, with a cough. “I’m ready to die to get out of this fucking dump. And killing dwarves? Even king dwarves? Well, that’s just a fucking bonus in my book.”
“Traps? Guards?” said Jonti.
“We have an unfortunate situation in Zvolga at the moment,” said Skalg, quietly. “We have a situation which is bordering on civil war. There is much community unrest. Much… violence in the streets. Normally, you would have no chance of getting close to the king. But the guards and wardens are… stretched. All that is my problem, however. All you have to do is kill one dwarf.”
“Is he dangerous?” asked Talon.
Skalg looked at him. “Not dangerous enough to dodge one of Talon’s shafts,” he smiled. “And yes. I do know how good you are, one-time Chief Protector of the Queen. So then?” His eyes scanned the group. “Do we have a deal? I will provide maps of the mines and the city. Before you set off. Just so you know I am not trying to dupe you.”
“One kill?” said Dake. “To get out of this hell? Count me in.”
“It is immoral,” said Lillith, voice gentle.
“Then immoral it is,” rumbled Beetrax. “Now take off these shackles.”
“When we leave the mines,” said Skalg, standing. “After all, one has to keep up appearances in front of the other slaves. We wouldn’t like a riot now, would we?”
The journey by chain-pulled carriage was a blur of junctions, intersections and scowling dwarves, all bearing axes and war hammers. They glared at the southerners, until one look from Skalg made them turn away. The Church of Hate was bad news for those who did not know their manners.
Beetrax nudged Talon, as they rattled along in the carriage. “You okay, Tal?”
“I’ve felt better.”
“But now there is hope.”
“A little.” He smiled, but it was without humour.
“Fuck me, your cup is always half empty, isn’t it?”
“Only since we arrived here, Axeman. Lillith? I beseech thee. Tell this oaf to leave me be. I have a lot to consider.”
Lillith smiled, and shuffled closer to Beetrax, then leaning sideways she put her head against his shoulder. “How are you, Trax?”
“Better, now we have a fighting chance.”
“In all honesty, my love, I wouldn’t say we have a fighting chance. One of the other slaves told me there are ninety thousand dwarves living down here. That’s a lot of killing to get through.”
“Providing Skalg doesn’t live up to his promise.”
“And you think he will?”
“He’d better, or I’ll skin the fucker.”
Lillith sighed. “Always so savage, Beetrax.” And tears ran down her face, and he held her, and he wanted to ask her, hey, what happened to you with that bastard dwarf Val? But he knew it was bad, and he knew it was sexual, and he did not have the heart to punish her further by making her live through it by recounting the tale. All he knew was that one day, even if it took a hundred years, he’d find Val and execute him. And so he sat there in the rumbling carriage, with the clanking chains and the smell of hot oil, watching jagged rock sliding past, and he could feel Lillith’s warmth and now, at this moment in time, he was simply glad they were alive, glad they were together, and happy they could share a little warmth, no matter how fleeting.
Sakora sat, her fingers still tracing the scars on her arms, breast and face where she’d felt the kiss of the torturer’s blade. She had fallen into a well of despondency but knew one thing – she still wanted to live. And if that meant executing one – ten – or ten thousand fucking dwarves, she would happily wield the blade. Fuck honour. Fuck the code of the Kaaleesh. She was done with honour, nobility, and everything else in the world. These bastards had carved her flesh, taken her looks, taken her face. She felt vanity bite her like a dark drug, and realised how pathetic she must sound; but she could not help herself.
Talon’s hand moved, and rested on hers. Chains clanked, and there was a jolt as they changed at a junction.
“I won’t ask you how you are, I’ll only point out that if things work out, I’ll always be there for you.”
Sakora glanced up at Talon, tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. And then, in a small voice, “But what I fear the most, and this is terrible, is I fear stepping out amongst the public again. People will stare at me, and people will laugh…”
“Laugh at what?”” said Talon, eyes filled with innocence.
“At my scars,” she said.
“We all carry scars,” said Talon. “Some on our flesh, some in our hearts. What matters is how we show strength in the face of adversity. Let them laugh! Because I fucking know how beautiful you are, with or without scars.”
“I cannot stand to be mocked,” she said, in a small voice. “I fear it will break me.”
“Anybody who mocks you will get a shaft in the throat. That, I promise you, my princess.”
“Princess?”
“Of course a princess, yes. Of the heart and the soul, but also of the flesh.”
“They cut up my face, Talon, or are you blind to that?”
Talon moved close, and smiled, and kissed her, a long lingering kiss on her badly scarred lips. “You are as beautiful to me now as you ever were,” he said.
Jonti Tal rode the carriage in silence for a long while, being jolted by the bumps and turns and joints in the track. Eventually, Dake took both her hands and looked into her eyes. “What are you thinking?”
“I am thinking we left Jael behind. He deserved more.”
“Better he stays there, I’m thinking. Me and Beetrax already had this conversation…”
“And the fat bastard thought it best to leave Jael behind, didn’t he? Oh what an amazing fucking surprise!”
“No. Actually. Trax said we were going into the jaws of death, and it would be very dangerous, with a possibility none of us would return. He said Jael was safer in the mines for now, and that when we were done, on our way out of this place, we would rescue him.”
Jonti considered this. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“He really said that, and you’re not just covering for him?”
Dake remembered Beetrax’s words. The spineless, useless little worm. Better he stays here, like a big fucking girl, and let us real men do the fucking killing, and get the killing done. And then I suppose we’ll have to swing back this way to pick up the little prick? Yeah. I know we will. Well, let’s hope nobody gets killed doing it, eh lad?
“Of course he said that. Beetrax is a man of honour! And I would never lie to you, never misrepresent him…”
“Hmm,” said Jonti, frowning.
“On another note, what do you think our chances are? Of killing this king? Of escaping? Of surviving?”
“Slim to none,” smiled Jonti, then squeezed Dake’s hand. “But if we die, I know I will be dying by your side. I know your love is strong and true. And in all honesty? I am proud to have been your wife. I will be proud to die with you.”
“Thank you, my love.”
“And you, my love, for all our years of joy. I never could have imagined a nobler partner. I never could have imagined a better man to spend my days with. You are my lodestone, my rock, my anchor. I am sure we will live together for an eternity in the afterlife.”
Dake hugged her, and they continued the rattling journey in silence.
The carriage station was dark, filled with low iron buildings, and dimly lit by a single flickering fire-bowl as first the Educators disembarked, then Skalg, and finally his still-shackled “prisoners”.
“This way,” Skalg said, wincing in pain as he limped forward, setting a slow pace. The Educators flanked him, an armour of flesh and iron.
The Vagandrak heroes followed, shackled, growing increasingly annoyed as they moved down a cobbled street,
until Beetrax bellowed, “Oy, cunt!” and everybody stopped. First Cardinal Skalg turned and stared at Beetrax, who grinned at him. “Yes, you, cunt. Unlock these shackles right fucking now. We’ll not walk through these streets as slaves. Understand, laddie?”
Skalg considered Beetrax. The Educators seemed to shrink back, their faces changing. After all – nobody spoke to the First Cardinal of the Church of Hate in such a way. To do so was to die. Horribly.
Skalg’s face remained beautifully neutral. Inside, however, watch cogs were spinning faster than fast. There is a bigger game here. A much bigger picture. His eyes narrowed a little. The humans must be used to maximum effect; here and now, I have no church rank, no church authority. Despite the years of struggle, despite my badges of rank, they count for nothing. For this is all about the final destination.
Skalg nodded to Danda, who moved amongst the prisoners, undoing shackles which clattered and rattled and slithered to the cold cobbles.
“Good,” breathed Beetrax, rubbing his injured wrists. “Now then. Take us to the weapons because we’ve got some killing to do.”
Skalg nodded, face still impassive, and they moved through dark streets, quiet streets. Distantly, the glow of burning buildings destroyed the image of peacefulness. Distantly, the occasional scream or clash of steel on steel disturbed the tranquillity of the night.
They moved on, the Educators looking over their shoulders often. Skalg, to his very great credit, did not look back once.
They saw nobody, although the sounds of battle and slaughter and fire grew ever closer, a symphony of clashes, screams, wails and gurgles; and they arrived at a church, a huge black towering grotesque thing, with iron spikes and spires and corrugated doors and windows more like prison shutters than the portals to a house of worship.
Skalg used a large iron key, and threw open the doors, striding forward.
“Oh, you are not allowed in here…” came an enfeebled, effeminate voice, which then spluttered into silence. Heated words. Skalg was not nice. A priest came running out, black and purple robes flapping around his sandaled feet as he sped down the cobbles, looking over his shoulder, beard flowing in the slipstream.
