The Dragon Engine

by Andy Remic

  Skalg appeared, twisted, face showing pain. He stared at the Vagandrak warriors one by one by one, then smiled, and said, “In here.”

  They followed.

  They walked down a black aisle, towards a black altar. The silence was awesome. As if the gods, and the mountain, and the Great Dwarf Lords had nothing left to say. Great hollow peace surrounded them. To Dake, it sounded like the end of worlds. To Beetrax, it sounded like the end of war. To Lillith, it sounded like the end of all civilisation, and made tears stream down her cheeks.

  Skalg moved to a small black iron door beside the altar filled with religious iconography, and produced yet another key. He fumbled for a moment, unlocked the door, and led them down two hundred narrow spiral stone steps into the bowels of the church, into the tomb of the mountain.

  They emerged in a surprisingly bright room. Fires burned in fire-bowls connected to the pipes of the Dragon Engine. Beetrax gasped, and Talon pursed his lips. Lillith sighed and Sakora made a grunting sound, not unlike pleasure.

  They were in an armoury. A secret armoury.

  “Take what you require,” said Skalg, gesturing.

  Beetrax strode forward, hoisting down a massive, double-headed battle-axe. He swept it with pendulum strokes, then glared at Skalg, his confidence returning a little. “What is this place, cripple?”

  Skalg’s eyes bulged for a moment. “Cripple? Really?”

  “You have a crushed, twisted, hunched back. You are crippled, are you not?”

  “One deems it impolite to mention such things,” said Skalg, words soft.

  “I’m done with fucking pleasantries in the world of my enemies,” growled Beetrax, knuckles whitening.

  Danda took a step forward, but Skalg held up a hand.

  “It’s all right, Danda.”

  “Yes,” mimicked Beetrax, “it’s all right, Danda. Stay back there, lest I split you from stupid fucking skull to your woman’s cunt. Straight through the middle. Slit. Like a hot knife through pig lard.”

  “Beetrax!” snapped Dake, and punched Beetrax in the chest. He came in close. “Shut the fuck up and let’s get the job done. Right?”

  “Sorry, Dake,” mumbled Beetrax, then looked over Dake’s shoulder to Danda. “Sorry, mate! Didn’t mean you, like, had a cunt, nor nuffink. Or you were a cunt. Nor were soft as a cunt. You get what I’m saying?”

  Danda growled.

  “Stand down… in fact, get the fuck out,” snapped Skalg, and gestured to all the Educators, who made a wary retreat. Skalg was left alone with the men and women of the south. The men and women who had been tortured by the dwarves without provocation.

  Beetrax breathed slowly through his nose.

  Talon surveyed the lightly armed cardinal.

  Sakora opened her eyes and licked wet lips.

  “This is the deal, this is the mission, this is the concept which will not only keep you alive, but which will see you free of this city. That’s what you want more than anything, right? To be free of the Five Havens? To never see another fucking dwarf as long as you live?”

  “I’ll second that,” said Talon.

  “Although I’d like to decapitate a few thousand,” growled Beetrax.

  “Take what you need,” said Skalg, unperturbed. “King Irlax resides in the Palace of Iron. He has his guards, but they will not be suspecting an attack of any sort now. He has great hounds, half-blind, and they love the scent of non-dwarf meat. Have been bred for it, in fact. Raised on it. Human blood, your blood, runs in their teeth and in their veins. They yelp for it.” Skalg seemed to take control of himself. “Danda will take you to the gates. Then you’re on your own. You will know Irlax. He will be enthroned and bitter and screaming. When you have done the deed, return to Danda – I will have delivered maps and special keys to him. The keys will provide you access to various special places that in turn will allow you to leave this city. Forever.”

  They stared at him.

  “Do we still have a deal?”

  “Why do you want Irlax dead?” said Jonti, a strange look on her face.

  “Tax rebates? Religious differences? Because I want to fuck his niece? Does it matter? One death and you have the means to escape your little group version of hell. I think that’s a pretty good deal. I think that’s a once-in-a-fucking-lifetime chance for a group of stupid blundering fortune-seeking bastards who were about to be fed to the Dragon Engine, minus teeth and knee joints.”

  They stared at him some more.

  “Do we have a deal?” Cardinal Skalg was looking far from healthy, happy or personable.

  “We have a deal,” said Lillith, stepping forward. “But do not get in our way afterwards, Cardinal, because your corruption is more sickening than a ten-week corpse being eaten by rancid worms.”

  Skalg gave a narrow smile, eyes hooded. “Take what you need. I will wait outside.”

  They wandered around the armoury. It was an amazing place, fully stocked and more so, and wanting for nothing. There were weapons for dwarves, weapons from Vagandrak, elf rat curved swords from Zalazar, spears from The Drakka, even sabres and tulwars from Zakora, the desert people so abused by Orlana the Horse Lady in recent years.

  They stocked up well. Swords. Axes. Knives. Talon was in bow-and-arrow heaven, and he packed three sheaves containing a hundred and fifty beautifully made shafts.

  They pulled on a motley array of chainmail, greaves, and Dake even chose a helmet. Much of it was just a little too small, but to the vulnerable-feeling recent slaves it was more than big enough. They felt like they were taking back some form of control. They felt like they were taking back their lives. They felt human again. Ready to fight, and die, for their own fucking freedom.

  They climbed the stone staircase from the armoury and stood before Skalg, who eyed them up and down, face neutral, eyes unreadable. He was the perfect politician, the perfect churchman. He had been conditioned by lies and immorality for decades.

  “Danda will take you now,” he said, voice almost a whisper.

  “Don’t betray us,” growled Beetrax. “Or we’ll come back for you. You know we will.”

  “I have much greater enemies than you.” Skalg smiled, and there was no sarcasm, and no humour. “Just kill this fucking thorn in my side, and I will be able to return my world to some semblance of normality. I will owe you. Which is why you can trust me.”

  Beetrax scowled, but said nothing.

  Danda led them out of the church, towards the cobbled road.

  Skalg sat down on an iron pew, and stared up at the massive crystal depictions showing scenes from the Scriptures of the Church of Hate. He put his head in his hands, pain from his tortured spine sending waves of nausea and agony and confusion wracking through his rocking, drooling frame. “May the Great Dwarf Lords watch over you,” he whispered, and began to cry great tears like molten silver.

  Danda stood, and looked Beetrax up and down. He gave a nasty grin, and rubbed his beard, and then glanced at the rest of the Vagandrak heroes. Then he looked up, and around, at the black cobbles and the streets made from black stone mined from underneath the mountain. There came a distant roar of fire, and several screams. It was a soundtrack of misery from an interpretation of the Chaos Halls.

  “Hope you’re up for this, you lanky outworld bastards.”

  Beetrax blinked slowly, and lifted his axe just a little. He smiled then, and pointed with the twin blades. “Just show us the way, lad, and stop trying to think. That way lies decapitation for your sort.”

  Danda shrugged, and set off down the street, one hand on the head of his war hammer which was lodged into his broad leather belt. Houses flowed past as they set a fast pace, most with shutters or curtains closed; the good dwarves of Zvolga obviously waiting for the violence and insurrection to pass whilst thugs and troublemakers roamed the streets. The street curved in an arc, narrowing, and as they came round the bend there were seven heavily armed dwarves standing in the street, their unsheathed weapons bloodstained, their eyes wide with b
attle lust.

  “I’ll handle this,” said Danda, trusting to his church colours. He stopped, and lifted his hand. “Friends, we are on church business! You must allow us to pass in the name of the Church of Hate!”

  “Fuck the church,” hissed one, and the seven dwarves charged, brandishing axes and short black iron swords.

  Beetrax strode forward as Danda unhooked his war hammer, and even before they struck, Talon had touched a fletch to his cheek and there was a hiss, an arrow flashing between Beetrax and Danda and punching into a dwarf’s eye, slamming him backwards with force so that he sat on the cobbles for a moment, stunned, both hands coming up to grab the shaft. Then he toppled sideways and blood leaked from the puncture wound to his brain.

  The others screamed a dwarven war cry, as they met Danda and Beetrax at a charge. Trax side-stepped a downward sweep, rammed his left fist into the dwarf’s nose, then hacked his axe one-handed into the dwarf’s neck between chain-mail shoulder guard and helmet. Blood fountained. The dwarf went down on one knee. The other’s sword slammed for Danda, who blocked the blow clumsily with his war hammer and staggered back. The blade came down for a second – killing – blow, but was caught on the butterfly curve of Beetrax’s axe, which he turned into an immensely powerful overhead sweep, an axe blade crashing through the dwarf’s steel helmet and into the skull below. The dwarf screamed, and gurgled, and Beetrax tugged free his axe with grim face and murderous eyes and charged the four remaining attackers, who had stopped, shocked by the sudden carnage.

  “There he goes again,” said Dake, almost bored.

  “Just like on the Walls of Desekra,” nodded Jonti.

  “There’s no stopping some killers,” said Sakora, smiling for the first time in weeks.

  “Not when you get their hackles up,” agreed Lillith, face a haunted petal of sadness.

  Beetrax’s axe slammed left, where an arm was raised with a sword. The arm was severed at bicep, dropping to the ground with a slap, sword clattering on cobbles, as blood fountained out and the dwarf stared in disbelief. Trax ducked a double-headed axe sweep, and stamped out, breaking the dwarf’s knee, folding his leg sideways with a crunch. His axe jabbed forward, slamming into the eyes of the third dwarf and making him scream, dropping his sword, and the fourth had backed away, hefting a heavy war hammer, his eyes focussed now, the battle lust gone, a need for survival kicking in.

  Beetrax grinned at him through his beard.

  “Come on, lad, let’s have it then.”

  The dwarf charged at the same time as Beetrax, and they clashed, Trax deflecting a blow, axe slamming round to be blocked, shaft on shaft, by the hammer. Both strained at one another, coming close, growling, and the dwarf was immensely powerful, if short, and Beetrax suddenly twisted to the side. The pushing dwarf staggered forward and Beetrax hit his fist on the helmet. The dwarf fell to his knees, and Beetrax’s axe swept round, cutting his head free.

  It rolled down the street, helmet clattering, blood spewing from the neck where tendons trailed, along with a short section of wriggling spine segment.

  Beetrax moved to the two injured dwarves. He stamped on the skull of the one with the broken leg, and the one with the severed arm held up his remaining hand, pleading, whimpering, weeping, tears streaming down his broad swarthy face and into his sodden beard.

  “Don’t! Don’t kill me! I support the Church of Hate, truly I do!”

  “Well I fucking don’t,” snapped Beetrax, and embedded his axe in the dwarf’s neck. The dwarf gurgled for a while, twitching, an upright marionette, and then he died. Beetrax kicked his corpse from his axe with contempt, spitting, and turned on Danda.

  “You!” He pointed with his axe. “If you’re going to be so fucking useless, just keep away to one side, will you?”

  Danda was staring at Beetrax, eyes wide. “Now I know why Skalg wanted you to do this,” he said, in a low, awed rumble.

  “Yeah, well, that’s just a bit of what I can give. Now take us to the palace so we can do our job.”

  Dake moved forward, and slapped Beetrax on the shoulder. “You just killed the seven dwarves!” he grinned, and found it hard to keep the joy out of his voice.

  “Good,” said Beetrax. “They stink as bad as a ten fucking day skunk corpse.”

  “Actually, technically, I killed one of them,” scowled Talon.

  “Well, we ain’t keeping scores, lad. Unless you want a thrashing?” Talon’s scowl deepened. “A bit more of that archery skill wouldn’t have gone amiss. You left me with six of them to murder, you miserable, man-loving bastard!”

  “Ha! I believed that one with an ego such as yours wouldn’t have thought it too many.”

  Dake looked sideways at Talon, and without a single ounce of sarcasm, said, “He didn’t think it too many.”

  “Time to move,” said Jonti, pointing back down the street from where they had just travelled. A rumbling sound was coming, as of many disjointed, angry voices. It was some kind of gathering, a mob of armed civilians. Flames flickered and there were several shouts.

  “This way,” said Danda, and cut down a narrow side-street, so constricted that Beetrax and Dake struggled to squeeze between the two high walls of smooth stone. They emerged into a large square, surrounded by trees of sculpted iron which made all the southerners blink at this emulation of the outside world; the real world.

  “Too weird,” said Sakora.

  “The Iron Square,” said Danda, looking around warily. “We are not far from the palace of King Irlax.”

  “Can you get us inside? Past the guards?”

  “Possibly. They know me. But it will be a great risk.”

  “How many guards are there?” rumbled Beetrax.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Fat fucking use you are.”

  Danda glared at him, but said nothing. He’d now witnessed how lethal Beetrax’s weapon truly was. How deadly the axeman could be in battle. And he was deadly indeed.

  They crossed under the carved boughs of the iron trees, hearing the distant sounds of fighting, screaming; of terrible slaughter; dwarf killing dwarf.

  They moved down a paved avenue lined with trees. Rusting, metal trees. The ersatz branches wavered, and a cool breeze hissed through iron leaves, which were little more than iron shavings. Beetrax paused, glancing up, and scowled. There’s nothing natural about that, he thought. This place. It’s just plain wrong. Mimicking the real world above. Why not just live above, instead of burrowing down like moles under the earth? As if you’re afraid of everything, terrified of the real world above. Burrowing down down down, as if you’re searching for… what? Hell? The Furnace? Well, you found a version of hell all right. And you enjoy living in it, that’s for sure.

  “The Palace of Iron,” said Danda, voice soft, and pointed.

  High iron fences, complete with points. Dake squinted, could make out the gate. Ten guards outside a guard hut. Ten.

  “This is where I leave you,” said Danda.

  “Oh no,” said Dake.

  “Eh?”

  “There’s ten guards there, my friend. You wear church robes. You will be a good opening distraction.”

  “This cannot be linked to the church!” hissed Danda, eyes wide. Although he was less than bright, this was one thing which had been drummed into him. Drummed in with threats of iron and fire and death.

  “You would rather we fail before we begin?” said Beetrax, voice level. “You can get us inside. Without a fight. If we kick off now, at the gate, it will attract more guards and we’ll never find the fucking king.”

  “This was never part of the plan,” said Danda.

  “There was a plan?” laughed Beetrax. “The only plan I saw was a plan of fucking panic. Skalg is a headless chicken, mate, running around and hoping for the best. We’re making this up as we go along, but you can help us make Skalg’s dream a reality. In fact, I insist.” Beetrax grinned, and his knife pressed into Danda’s ribs.

  “That would work,” said Danda. He gav
e a narrow smile. “A hostage situation. If things go wrong.”

  “Good. Let’s do it.”

  They moved down the iron fence. Sounds of disturbance, fighting, rioting echoed from streets which led away. Beetrax watched the guards behind the gate as they approached. They looked on edge. Beetrax knew the signs. He’d spent enough years in the army waiting to die.

  Danda had Beetrax and Dake before him, now, no weapons displayed, and the guards eyed Danda warily.

  The group stopped. Nearby, flames roared into the sky as the roof of a house ignited. They could all smell burning. A mob could be seen, sticks smashing at one another. Dwarves went down, arms up to protect themselves.

  “What do you want?”

  “I am here on church business. You know me. You know I am in the employ of First Cardinal Skalg. We have been summoned by King Irlax. These prisoners have important information.”

  More screams went up, and more flames. Ten dwarves ran down the street and were trampled underfoot, screaming. The mob seemed to be on its way towards the gates; a huge gathering with burning brands.

  “Right, Danda. Get in. Quick.”

  The King’s Guard opened the gates, ushering in Danda, Beetrax, Dake and the others. The mob was accelerating towards them, and the guard slammed shut the gates, throwing thick bolts across. There were clicks and whines from a complex locking mechanism.

  “Move along,” said another guard, and gestured with a Peace Maker. A crusher.

  They moved along, and Danda caught up with them.

  “Don’t stop now,” muttered Beetrax.

  “This was never part of the plan,” hissed Danda. “I should not be here. I’m Church of Hate!”

  “We’ll get to a clear section, then you can fuck off,” snapped Beetrax. “Trust me on this, Danda, you will be no loss to our party.”

  “But you need me. Later. For maps. To let you escape from the Five Havens. I have to meet a certain dwarf, for an exchange. Then I meet you back here, outside the gates. You see the sequence? The things that need to happen for your escape to work?”

  Beetrax considered this.

  “Cut him free now,” said Jonti.