Geas of the Black Axe (Legends of the Nameless Dwarf Book 2)

by D. P. Prior

  More homunculi stepped away from the walls to drag him deeper into the room, which is when Nameless saw there was quite a pile of dead soldiers.

  “Step this way,” Mephesch said. “Once you are all beneath the arch, we will fire up the…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Portal maker. You must be alert. The transition will be disorienting. You will be as close to the cavern of the Cynocephalus as I can get you without waking him. Make haste, for the portal will not be stable. Grab the Shield of Warding and don’t look back. If the Cynocephalus wakes, run, and don’t stop running. Any questions?”

  “How do I know this isn’t a trap?” Nameless said. “Another deception?”

  “It’s a bit late to back out now,” Mephesch said. “And besides, I’m a homunculus. Any answer I give is likely to be tinged with trickery. Isn’t that what they say in Arx Gravis?”

  Nameless turned the eye-slit of his helm on Shadrak. “Laddie?”

  Shadrak shrugged.

  “I say we go,” Galen said. “If not for us, for His Eminence. Let his death not be in vain.”

  That was enough for Nameless. Ludo hadn’t deserved his fate. His only crime had been to hope, to believe even a monster like Blightey could find forgiveness. Even a monster like the Ravine Butcher.

  He stepped beneath the arch, and his two remaining companions came with him.

  “Now,” Mephesch said into a vambrace on his wrist.

  The drone of a thousand insects ripped through Nameless’s eardrums. White light strobed all about him, and then he was falling.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Son of the Demiurgos

  SON OF THE DEMIURGOS

  Nameless groaned as he came to. There was a rhythmic growl, a reverberating rumble. He was hot. Too hot to sleep. And what was that smell? Something was burning.

  He sat bolt upright. Only he didn’t. He was already standing, and the act of trying to sit threw him off balance. He stumbled and almost fell.

  There. Ahead of him: the orange glow of flames. Sulfur was thick in his nostrils, and smoke heavy in the air, so dense he could barely see through the eye-slit. He coughed on instinct, and he heard Galen and Shadrak cough in response.

  At his feet there were nubs and gnarls of coal. Behind them was the stark blaze of the portal. It formed a cavity of blinding brilliance in the dark rock of a wall.

  And then he remembered. He’d not been sleeping. It must have been the disorientation Mephesch had warned them about. They had passed through the portal. They were in the Abyss. And the portal was already flickering, as if ready to fail.

  A heavier pooling of the shadows told him Shadrak was beside him, wrapped in his cloak.

  Galen was turning on the spot, gawping at the fiery glow behind the smog.

  They were atop a promontory that looked down upon a smoke-wreathed river.

  Nameless squinted against the stinging fog, saw that the river oozed rather than flowed; that it was tar rather than water. It gave off an odor that was overwhelming. He drew in a breath, trying to identify the mephitic stench, but was rewarded with dizziness and the urge to jump in.

  Galen put a hand on Nameless’s arm, pulled him back. “That noise,” he said. “The rumbling. What is it?”

  “Ain’t it obvious?” Shadrak said. “It’s snoring.”

  “The Cynocephalus?” Nameless asked.

  “Come on,” Galen said, heading toward the source of the rumbling. He sounded grim as death.

  A harrowing wail echoed along the tunnel through which the black waters sludged. It was followed by a maniacal cackle, and what sounded like the chatter of a thousand gibunas, the flesh-eating primates that infested the foot of the ravine that housed Arx Gravis.

  With as much haste as they dared make over the uneven surface of the promontory, Shadrak and Nameless caught up with Galen.

  He had stopped before rough-cut steps that led down to the level of the river. The rumbling snores were louder here, and they merged with the slop, slop, slurp of the black waters pouring over the lip of a chasm in a parody of a waterfall.

  A narrow bridge that appeared to have been woven out of dried strands of tar spanned the river, and on the far side there was an immense opening in the wall. It was at least thirty feet tall and half as wide. Two obsidian megaliths flanked the opening, and atop them sat a capstone inscribed with glyphs and sigils in cobalt, the same hue as Aethir’s sky.

  A shriek sounded from somewhere behind them, and then came the crunching steps of an army, or the banging of a hundred drums.

  “Keep going,” Shadrak said. “In and out, remember?”

  Galen led the way down the steps to the bridge and started to cross. When he reached halfway, a figure materialized in front of him. Galen stumbled back and drew his saber.

  “Blightey!” he yelled in horror as the figure took on more clarity.

  He lunged, swung for the head, but before the blade connected, the Lich Lord turned to smoke and dispersed amid the smog coming off the river.

  Ludo appeared in his place, as he had been before Verusia: tall, kindly, ungainly. He peered at Galen over his glasses, smiled. And then blood erupted from his mouth as the spike came through, and Galen moaned.

  Nameless felt it, too, though his dismay was washed away by a new wave of anger. He breathed deeply of the noxious fumes from the river, and watched as Galen made it the rest of the way over the bridge.

  On Shadrak’s turn, an ancient crone appeared, floating in the air before him. Her hair was bound in dreadlocks, beaded with crystals. Her rheumy eyes had been taken over by her pupils. She was naked, all wrinkles and sags, with flaccid breasts like empty wineskins. Bones showed through her paper-thin skin, and she was disfigured by weeping sores.

  “Kadee!”

  Shadrak reached for her.

  She smiled—the loving smile of a parent for a child. And then she, too, was gone.

  When Nameless reached halfway, the surface of the river broke in five places. Dragon heads atop sinuous necks streamed into the air, belching fire, lightning, fluid, gas, and rock-dust. Most of it struck the Lich Lord’s armor and the scarolite helm and did no harm. Nameless swung his axe, but the monster vanished, as if it had never been there. He hurried across to the other side.

  It had been like this before, when he’d entered Gehenna to go after Lucius. When he’d found the black axe. Illusions, visions, tricks and traps at every juncture. Here, where the Abyss and Gehenna met, it was bound to be worse.

  “Courage, laddies,” he said. “The Demiurgos is playing with us.”

  “Bullshit, is what it is,” Shadrak said. “My opinion: ignore the crap out of everything, and just get the job done.”

  “I’m with you there, laddie,” Nameless said.

  Galen started toward the looming entrance.

  Nameless glanced at the symbols on the lintel, and tingles of warning crept beneath his scalp.

  “Laddie, wait!” he cried.

  Galen stopped dead.

  “This reminds me of something. In Arx Gravis. Remember, Shadrak?”

  “The archway old Baldy primed so it would raise the alarm if anything from the Abyss passed through.”

  “Exactly. We are on the threshold, at the meeting place between Gehenna and the realm of the Demiurgos.”

  “And we’re on the shit side, I suppose,” Shadrak said.

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” Nameless said. “To the Cynocephalus on the other side of the entrance, we are no more than demons of the Abyss, a threat, a nightmare.”

  “So, what happens if we just walk through?” Galen said, even as he did so.

  The thunderous approach of drums or marching feet increased tenfold. The tunnel walls began to judder, and chunks of black rock fell from the ceiling into the river, sending up splashes of viscous sludge.

  “Twat!” Shadrak said, but he still followed Galen through the maw of the entrance.

  Nameless saw no choice but to do the same.

  The din from outside
grew faint, muffled, as they entered a smooth tunnel veined with scarolite. From up ahead, though, the fitful growl of the Cynocephalus’s snoring rolled toward them like a landslide. Blasts of hot air slammed into them, made them work for every step, every inch of progress.

  Shadrak was a shadow against the left wall. Galen’s saber reflected green phosphorescence. Nameless dipped his head and took the brunt of the expulsions of breath.

  Purplish light splashed the scarolite floor in front of them, where the passage opened up onto a vast cavern. As Nameless reached the entrance, Shadrak stepped away from the wall.

  The cave was roughly bell-shaped, and stretched as far as the eye could see. The ceiling was domed, awash with rainbow hues, a misty dweomer that rippled as one color replaced another in soothing succession. The walls were furred with velvet moss in shades of mauve and crimson. Patterns of intertwining snakes wound about them in yellow and orange, and a sibilant hissing seemed to come from them. The air was fragrant with lavender. At the center of the cavern, curled up beneath a massive black shield, was a gigantic baboon with slick black hair and patches of green-tinged scales that gave it the appearance of organic scarolite. Its snaggletoothed snout protruded from the edge of the shield, purplish tongue lolling, lips curled back in a grimace that could have been pain, could have been a different kind of torment. It must have been close to thirty feet tall when standing, with limbs as big as tree trunks, and teeth that could rend boulders.

  Oddly, the snoring seemed softer here, dampened by the velveteen coating on the walls.

  Nameless took a step into the cavern.

  Shadrak passed him and circled the Cynocephalus, silent on the balls of his feet.

  Galen drew alongside Nameless. He spoke in a half-whisper.

  “How are we going to move that shield, let alone carry it?”

  It was big enough to fill a small room.

  “The gauntlets and armor shrank, remember?” Nameless said.

  Galen shrugged, and took a step forward.

  “No, laddie, I won’t risk it,” Nameless said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Won’t risk losing anyone else. If that thing wakes up—”

  “It will,” Shadrak said, gliding back toward them, having completed his circuit. “One eye’s half-open, and its breathing changed subtly when we entered.”

  “So, what do you suggest?” Galen asked. He meant the question for Shadrak, but it was Nameless that answered.

  “Head back to the portal. I’ll grab the shield, and then run as fast as these stumpy legs can carry me.” Nameless held up a gauntleted hand. “These should give me the strength to move it. And let’s hope I’m right: if it’s anything like the other artifacts this beastie made, it’ll shrink the instant it’s away from him and in my grasp.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” Shadrak said.

  “Then I guess you’ll all be going home, and I won’t.”

  “Then we all stay,” Galen said.

  Shadrak nodded. “We’ve come this far together. And if there’s any chance this is going to get that bucket off your head—”

  “I don’t think there is,” Nameless said. The deeper they got into Aristodeus’s master plan, the more anxious he grew. “But it’s too late me worrying about that now. Let me do this alone.”

  “We stay,” Galen said.

  “And I’ll punch you on the nose if you say otherwise,” Shadrak said. He almost smiled.

  Nameless studied each of them in turn. “Thank you. It means a lot to me. But the plan remains the same. I grab, we run. Agreed?”

  “Meticulous,” Shadrak said.

  Galen merely saluted.

  “Right, then,” Nameless said. “Would you?” He passed his axe to Galen, then strode with a purpose to the sleeping form of the Demiurgos’s son.

  As he neared the the gigantic form of the dog-head, his heart began a fierce pounding that seemed to resonate around the inside the helm. The shield hung above him, too high for him to reach. He looked back at Shadrak and Galen and spread his hands. He was going to have to climb.

  He took a grip on the hair of the Cynocephalus’s back and started to pull himself up, hand over hand. It was effortless, with the strength the gauntlets fed him, and thankfully, the Cynocephalus didn’t so much as move. Nameless climbed under the shield and then pushed his back into it.

  Slowly, he straightened up, one vertebra at a time, and the shield began to rise. It wobbled at first, but then he threw his arms out to steady it, shifted his legs for for balance. He pressed his palms to the underside and jerked the shield above his head, and instantly it began to shrink, until it was small enough for him to thrust his arm through the straps.

  The Cynocephalus tossed and turned.

  Nameless started to fall, but he got his legs under him and bounded, like he’d done in the fire giant’s cavern. He landed in a crouch on the floor and broke into a run.

  The Cynocephalus roared, and the cavern shook. A huge fist slammed down, sending a shockwave across the cavern floor.

  Nameless flipped into the air, landed hard, flat on his back.

  The Cynocephalus found its knees, then its feet, and reared up to its full height.

  And Galen charged.

  The monster reached for Nameless with enormous fingers, but Galen got there first, hacking with Nameless’s axe, slashing with his saber. The blows bounced off, and in a flash, the hand grabbed Galen and hoisted him into the air.

  Nameless got up, just in time to catch the axe as it fell from Galen’s grasp.

  The Cynocephalus roared again. Something cracked, and Galen screamed.

  Shadrak ran in, blasting away with both flintlocks.

  Nameless shook his axe, raised the Shield of Warding, and yelled, “I’m coming, laddie!”

  “No!” Galen cried. “Don’t you dare.” He arched his back to glare down at them. Blood bubbled from his mouth, stained his whiskers. “Go! Don’t let it be for nothing.”

  “He’s right, Nameless,” Shadrak yelled. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  He grabbed Nameless by a pauldron, spun him around, and propelled him toward the passage.

  Nameless faltered at the entrance, started to turn back, but Galen yelled, “Keep goi—”

  His voice was cut off by a sickening crunch.

  “No!” Nameless cried, but Shadrak hooked an arm under his and kept him moving.

  They tore along the passage with the roars of the Cynocephalus close behind. Its thunderous footfalls shook the walls.

  Hot breath blasted Nameless’s back. He felt rather than saw enormous fingers reaching for him.

  Shadrak shoved him forward. He heard the sharp retort of the assassin’s guns. The Cynocephalus howled with rage. Not because the bullets had injured it, he realized as he turned and saw they had passed back beneath the lintel, but because its prey had moved beyond its reach, and its precious shield, its last defense against evils real and imaginary, had been taken.

  The marching-drumming clamor they had heard before resumed even louder than when Galen had triggered the wards on the lintel.

  The dog-headed monster stood on the other side of the entrance, as if it feared to cross over into the Abyss. For an instant, its haunted eyes caught Nameless’s through the helm’s slit. He saw anger there, but more than that: he saw dread, and the forlornness of an abandoned child.

  “What are you waiting for?” Shadrak said.

  He was right, but before they’d gone halfway across the bridge, the Cynocephalus’s roars turned to sobs that echoed away down the black river.

  No illusions assailed them this time. Perhaps they were deterrents only to entry, but not egress.

  Shadrak flowed rather than ran up the steps. Nameless pounded up them. Armored head to foot, and bearing the obsidian shield, he felt more like a denizen of the Abyss now, than a dwarf.

  When he reached the top, Shadrak was already at the stuttering light of the portal. The assassin hesitated at the threshold, looking anxiously back toward Nameless.


  Further along the promontory, shadows were gathering, swelling toward them, and the beat of drums or feet rose to a deafening crescendo.

  Nameless’s legs were burning with exertion. Every breath drew fetid smog into his lungs. But he was almost there. Almost…

  “Nameless!” Shadrak yelled, waving him on frantically.

  “Go, laddie!”

  Shadrak slipped back into the flickering brightness and was gone.

  The tide of shadows was almost upon Nameless. He could see differentiated shapes within it: winged demons with ebon swords; armored corpses, all mottled bone and rust; and towering above them, goading them with flaming whips and eyes like lightning, pallid giants with fangs as long as daggers.

  Shadows lunged for him. He leapt straight through them, feeling Sartis’s gauntlets empowering his legs so that he soared through the air. He landed amid the swirls and howls of demons. Blue light flashed to his side, and he threw himself into it, just as the portal winked and died.

  THE ARCHON’S ASSASSIN

  The plane ship ride back from the Great West was silent. It was a wake for Galen.

  When they reached the Perfect Peak, Aristodeus seemed indifferent to the news, but he made a pretense of mourning.

  Two homunculi carried the block of crystal containing the black axe across the control chamber and set it on a table beside Aristodeus’s armchair.

  The philosopher sipped tea from a china cup, as if this were an everyday occurrence for him. As if he really didn’t care about the result. He’d done his part, hatched the plan, tried a new strategy. If it didn’t work, it was no skin off his nose. It was becoming clear Nameless was no more than a tool to him. A pawn. They all were.

  The dwarf stood rigid before the crystal, glowering at the axe that had ended his old life as assuredly as the lives of those who’d fallen beneath its twin blades.

  Shadrak remained on the disk they’d entered by, where he could keep everyone in sight, but he kept a special eye out for the philosopher. It was a shogging effort not to put a hole through that bald head right then and there.