Carnifex (Legends of the Nameless Dwarf Book 1) (16 page)

Carnifex turned around, seeking out Thumil and his assailant, and fearing the worst. What he saw, though, was Cordy stepping away from the pair, and leaving Carnifex’s axe buried in the back of the baresark’s skull. The wild dwarf still delivered a few weak punches, as if his brain hadn’t yet worked out he was dead, but then he toppled to one side, and the axe tore free as it hit the ground.

A dark shape separated out from the shadows of the Aorta and ran down the steps toward the next level. Carnifex started after it.

“Nobody move!” a Red Cloak yelled. And then, “Oh my shog, Carn!”

“Kal?” Carnifex said. “What kept you?”

The dwarf with Kal—Gruffick Darn?—went to help Thumil up.

Thumil’s face was a mess, but he still managed to steady himself on his feet.
 
“Thank you, Harby.”

Carnifex could have sworn it was Darn. It must have been the poor light. Either that, or the grog corroding his brain.

Within moments, a dozen Red Cloaks surrounded them, and more were still coming.

“Clean up here, Kal,” Thumil said. “And burn the bodies. Last thing we want’s a blood feud with more of the shoggers.”

“Marshal,” Kal said, thumping his chest in salute.

Carnifex went to check on One-arm. He’d intended only to knock him senseless, but the baresark was dead from loss of blood.

“You need a surgeon,” Kal said to Thumil.

“Nonsense. Just a few cuts and bruises. You all right?” he asked Cordy.

She rubbed her throat. Already, a purplish bruise was blooming there. “Never better,” she said, but her voice came out a croak.

“Finish up here,” Thumil told Kal, “then bring me your report come morning. I’ll take what’s happened to the Council, see if we need to give the baresarks a reminder to stay where they belong.”

“You’re not coming in to work, surely?” Kal said.

Thumil ignored him and instead drew Cordy into an embrace. “Grab your axe, Carn, and let’s get back to mine for a nightcap.”

As Carnifex stooped to pick the axe up, someone started clapping from the mouth of an alley. He peered into the dark but couldn’t see more than a shadowy outline.

“Carnifex Thane, what’s in a name?” a lilting voice half-sang.

“What’s that?” Carnifex started toward the alley, but Thumil called him back.

“Don’t worry about him. That’s just Stupid.”

“Stupid?”

“The local idiot,” Thumil said. “Surprised you haven’t run into him. Some of the patrols catch him scavenging for food from time to time. The Voice must have taken pity on him, because I’ve been told to leave him well alone. Dythin Rala’s even invited him to the odd function for light entertainment, you know, juggling, clowning about, that sort of thing.”

A dwarf emerged into the ailing light of the glowstones. He was dressed in a patchwork jacket and britches, a tall, crooked hat perched atop his head. His eyes held an unnatural sparkle as they studied Carnifex.

“Some names are best forgotten,” Stupid said. “Carnifex Thane, go down the drain.”

“That’s enough, Stupid,” Thumil said. “None of us is in the mood.”

“Now, now, Marshal,” Stupid said. “Won’t be no moods, if you lose your head.” He turned his eyes on Cordy. “Look who’s going places: Cordana Kilderkin. No head, no voice, makes you the choice.”

“You heard the marshal,” Carnifex said.

“And I’m going, I’m going. See how I go.” Stupid backed into the alley. Just before the dark swallowed him, he said, “You must forget in order to find the truth of who you are, Carnifex Thane. Beware the wiles of the Demiurgos.”

And then he was gone.

“You think he’s involved?” Kal said.

“Wouldn’t matter if he was,” Thumil grumbled. “No one’s to touch him, or it’s my head on a plate, which I guess is what he meant. Don’t forget that report now.” He clapped Kal on the shoulder and started up the steps.

“What did he mean?” Carnifex said more or less to himself. “The Demiurgos? What’s that old demon got to do with anything?”

“Don’t go there,” Thumil said. “I’ve heard more sense from a goat’s arse than Stupid’s mouth. Nothing but riddles and paradoxes. Don’t waste your time trying to fathom anything he says.”

You must forget in order to find the truth of who you are…
Just thinking about it hurt Carnifex’s brain. Maybe Thumil was right, but that didn’t stop the vague sense of worry scratching away at the base of his skull. Forget what? Who he was? Something he knew?
 

Cordy brushed the back of Carnifex’s hands with her fingertips. “You see that Black Cloak fleeing the scene?”

“Aye, lassie, I saw the shogger.” Eyes and ears everywhere, like they wanted you to believe. But fleeing like that… You had to wonder.

Cordy cast a worried look after Thumil. “What’s going on, Carn?”

He shook his head. If he knew that, maybe he wouldn’t have felt the creep of impending dread. Why had Stupid singled him out? How had he known his name? And then there was the recent slurry of incidents: first the break-in, then the golem, and now this. Arx Gravis wasn’t exactly known for excitement, and yet, these past few days there had been one thing after another. What he was certain of, though, was that there was more to this than just a chance brawl with a disgruntled baresark and his mates.

“Come on,” he said, starting after Thumil. “I could use that nightcap he mentioned.”

The three barely spoke a word as they made the arduous climb up the Aorta’s stairwell. Carnifex found himself counting, just so he could remind himself there was a finite number of steps. Cordy was panting and wheezing, every now and again pausing to clutch at her throat. It could be the baresark had damaged her windpipe. If he hadn’t already done it, Carnifex would have killed the shogger for hurting her. He’d kill the whole damned lot of them, every last baresark stinking up the foot of the ravine, if they dared touch her or Thumil again. He didn’t like thinking like that, but he tried not to be too hard on himself. The drink was still doing its work, in spite of his battle lust burning off the alcohol. Its numbing effects might have left his limbs, but the downward tilt it had on his mood would linger a while yet.

It was gusting up a storm by the time they reached Thumil’s home on the fourteenth level. The neighboring houses were squat blocks of deeper darkness against what was left of the night. The glowstones on the walkway shed just enough light to pick out their outlines.

Thumil opened the front door and ushered Cordy and Carnifex in first.

“Give me a moment,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

He fumbled about in the dark of the entrance hall, muttered a curse as he dropped something, but finally managed to get a spark to take in his tinderbox. He transferred the flame to an oil lamp using a taper, and soon the hallway was bathed in flickering light and long shadows.

“Come through to the hearth room, and I’ll get a blaze going.” He went in ahead of them and froze in the doorway.

Carnifex peered over his shoulder. “What is it? Oh, shog.”

The furniture had been overturned, and Thumil’s belongings had been scattered all over the floor.

Cordy pushed past them into the room. She let out a long whistle. “Always said you were a messy bastard, Thumil.”

He glanced at her, and their eyes locked. Something was shared between them, but Cordy turned away and set about picking things off the floor.

“Leave it, Cordy,” Thumil said. “I’ll do it in the morning.”

“Check the rest of the house?” Carnifex said.

Thumil nodded, and together they went from room to room. It was the same everywhere: complete and utter carnage.

“They take anything?” Cordy asked when they returned to the hearth room.

Thumil shrugged. He seemed too stunned to care.

“Want to come back to mine, Thumil?” Carnifex said.

Again, that shared look with Cordy.

“No, son. Thank you, but no. I’ll be all right here. I doubt whoever it is will come back.”

“Well, I’m staying with you,” Carnifex said.

Cordy righted a divan and sank down onto it. “Me, too. You still good for that drink?”

Thumil retrieved a cask and some tankards from the mess in the kitchen. “You have to think it’s a warning,” he said, coming back in and handing out drinks. “I mean, all my tokens are still there, in the bedroom chest; my weapons, my golden helm. It’s a piss poor burglar that would miss all that.”

“Who would want to warn you?” Carnifex said. “And why?”

“One of your disgruntled whores?” Cordy said, taking a sip. “What is this? It’s helping my throat.”

“
Urbs Sapientii
mead,” Thumil said. “That’ll be the honey.”

Carnifex gave an impressed look at the tankard he’d been clutching, half-forgotten. “Might as well see what I missed out on for my birthday.” He wet his lips and ran his tongue over his palate. It was sweet and bitter at the same time. He took a swig. And it had a kick like a ravine goat. No wonder Droom had kept it for himself.

“Just for the record,” Thumil said. “I don’t have whores.”

“Whore’s the pity,” Carnifex said, plonking himself down beside Cordy.

“No,” Thumil went on, “this has the feel of the Krypteia about it.”

“The Black Cloaks?” Cordy looked at Carnifex, and his mouth dropped open.

“You didn’t see the figure in the shadows of the Aorta, did you, Thumil?” Carnifex said.

Thumil frowned. “Figure?”

“A Black Cloak. Ran down the steps as soon as Kal and the others showed up.”

“I didn’t notice,” Thumil said. “Must have been too busy having my face broken at the time. Either that, or it was the concussion.”

“You been upsetting Grago?” Carnifex said.

“No more than usual. But I may have shown Baldar Kloon up a little the other day.”

“That scut?” Carnifex said. “Actually, you’re right. I don’t think me punching him helped matters much. But that little runt? He wouldn’t, would he?”

Thumil took a slug of mead. “You’d be surprised. Don’t you go doing anything stupid now, Carn. Let me handle it. Grago’s an arse, but he’s a lawful one. I’ll have a word with him, see what can be done.”

 
“You think this Kloon was behind the baresarks?” Cordy said.

“Let’s hope so,” Thumil said. “Otherwise, what happened tonight might just be the start of worse to come. Those shoggers get fired up again, and there will be blood.”

“Bah,” Carnifex said, “there’s hardly any baresarks left. They haven’t recovered from the last time they got cocky. They want blood, I’ll give them blood. If they’ve got an ounce of sense, they’ll learn from what happened tonight. Three of them, I put down. How’s that, then?”

“Actually,” Cordy said, “it was two. I got the last one.”

“True, lassie, true. But it was my axe.”

DROOM THANE, NÉE SCREEBANK

All that talk of blood led to Carnifex dreaming of blood: rivers of it pouring down the walls of the ravine, dripping from the walkways, and turning the waters of the
Sanguis Terrae
red. He woke with a start and reached for his axe. It was there beside him on the floor.

On the floor? Where the shog was he?

He blinked, eyes adjusting to the dawn light bleeding through the shutters. Of course: Thumil’s. The divan Cordy had slept on was empty, save for the blanket that had covered her.
 

Someone had tidied the room. Cordy, no doubt, but she’d done a good job not to wake him. Mind you, the amount he’d had to drink, he’d have slept through a dragons’ farting contest. Not that anyone had ever seen a dragon, and it wasn’t likely they ever would. Assuming such monstrous beasts even existed, they’d be confined to Qlippoth on the other side of the Farfall Mountains, along with all the other creatures of nightmare. But they still made for good yarns to frighten children with. Least, that’s what Droom had done to him and Lucius growing up.

He thought about making himself a kaffa, but when he passed Thumil’s bedroom door and found it shut, he decided not to risk waking him with the noise. The faint sound of snoring came from within. The marshal needed his rest after last night. Carnifex knew him of old: the instant he woke, Thumil would be off to the Dodecagon to report what had happened, and once in uniform, he’d stay working till the suns went down, and beyond.

No, Cordy had got it right when she’d done a bit of tidying up and left them to sleep. She was a good lass. Actually, the more he thought about it, there was no one better.

Carnifex let himself out and strolled back to the Aorta so he could make the descent to the Sward two levels below.

When he arrived home and set his axe down in the hallway, the house was empty, save for Aristodeus sitting at the kitchen table with Yyalla’s scarolite helm in front of him. He was so rapt examining it, that he didn’t even look up.

“Kaffa?” Carnifex said, crossing to the hearth and filling the kettle from a keg of water.

Aristodeus jumped out of his seat and touched a hand to his chest. “Don’t do that.” His blue eyes sparkled fiercely, but then dulled to gray in an instant. He let out a sigh and lowered himself back into his chair. “I’m so sorry, Carnifex.”

“No need to apologize. Lucius not up yet?” It would be a miracle if he was.

“I mean, I’m sorry about your pa.”

“What’s he done now?” Carnifex said. He started to make a joke, but he saw something in the way Aristodeus was looking at him. Icy fingers clutched his heart, and he backed up against the hearth.

Aristodeus stood and approached. His movements were awkward, as if he were out of his depth. “There’s been an accident… at the mines.”

“No,” Carnifex said. “No, no no.”

“The gallery he was working in collapsed. At least twenty were injured, but your pa…”

Carnifex sank down onto his haunches.

“I’m truly sorry, Carnifex,” Aristodeus said, crouching in front of him. “For this, and for what is to come. Believe me, I am working night and day. If I can find a way to…” He held a hand up, fingers quivering, as if he were trying to grasp something intangible.

Carnifex looked at him blankly. He was aware the philosopher was trying to tell him something, but he could think of nothing but Droom. A yawning chasm rose up to swallow him. Aristodeus was speaking again, but his words were muffled and barely comprehensible.