Carnifex (Legends of the Nameless Dwarf Book 1) (7 page)

Thumil coughed and opened the satchel hanging beneath his cloak. “I thought, Droom, you might allow me to read a little something from this.”

He handed Droom a book in a soft leather cover. Droom squinted at the title embossed in gold leaf on the front, shrugged, and passed it to Lucius.

“
Liber Via
?” Lucius said. He looked at Aristodeus, who was leaning over his shoulder. “Isn’t that…?”

“Maldark the Fallen’s scriptures,” Aristodeus said. “And not just his, either.”

“The Book of the Way,” Lucius explained, holding it out for Thumil to take back. “Thought it was out of circulation. Every last copy was burned after the Betrayal.”

“All but this,” Thumil said. “And one other.”

“So, where’d you get it, laddie?” Carnifex said. “Surely not the Scriptorium.”

“Don’t be a shogger,” Lucius said. “They don’t keep fiction in the Scriptorium.”

Thumil sighed and shook his head. “It isn’t fiction.”

Cordy wrinkled her nose, but then she leapt up from the kilderkin and thumped Thumil on the shoulder, sending him stumbling across the room.

“Just you read it. It’s a good passage, fitting for the occasion.”

“How do you know?” Carnifex said.

Thumil flicked her a look before answering. “I read it to her on the way here. I stopped by to pick her up, help her carry the beer.”

“That the new beer?” Droom said.

Cordy grinned with unabashed pride. “From the first batch. Thought I should test it among friends before the official launch at the end of the week.”

“In that case,” Droom said, “we should press on.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something, father dear?” Lucius said, whipping off his eyeglasses and breathing on the lenses before giving them a totally unnecessary wipe.

“Probably,” Droom said.

“You’re supposed to be working.”

Droom eyed the cask longingly. “That’s not fair.”

“Don’t worry, Pa,” Carnifex said. “We’ll save you some.”

“You will?”

“Same as you saved me that
Urbs Sapientii
mead.”

“Oh, laddie,” Droom moaned. “How did I raise such a heartless son?”

Thumil riffled through the pages of his book till he found what he was looking for. “With you permission, Droom…”

Droom’s expression changed to one of sober seriousness in an instant, and his massive shoulders slumped. “Aye, laddie. It’s kind of you to offer.”

“Well,” Thumil said, “it’s just a short passage I found the other day, but it reminds me of Yyalla.”

Droom closed his eyes and clasped his hands before him. Lucius nodded at Carnifex and did the same, but Carnifex found his mood dipping deeper and deeper into the pit. He let his eyes rove the things on the table: all that remained of Yyalla, the mother he’d never known. The walls closed in on him; the ceiling pressed him toward the floor. The narrowest of channels kept him fixed on the great helm that seemed to hold all her memories.

“‘Strength and dignity are her raiment,’” Thumil read, “‘and she laughs at the time to come.’”

Droom let out a tortured sound that may have been a chuckle.

 
“‘She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.’”

Lucius grunted. Carnifex wrenched his eyes away from the helm to look at him. Lucius was shaking his head and smiling softly, remembering.

 
“‘She looks well to the ways of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her.’”

“Aye,” Droom said, opening his eyes. “Aye, I do.”

Thumil coughed. “There were other lines, too, scattered throughout, things about mighty warriors smiting their foes, that sort of thing, but I thought this was most befitting today.”

“That it was, laddie,” Droom said. “And I thank you. Though a bit of smiting wouldn’t have been out of place, not if I knew my Yyalla.” He turned to Cordy. “Wish you could have met her, lassie. She’d have liked you. You’d have had a lot in common.”

“She was a strong woman,” Thumil said.

“Indomitable,” Droom said. Then to Aristodeus, “That word big enough for you, laddie?”

“No, no,” Aristodeus said. “I mean, yes. Indomitable. She certainly was that, what I saw of her. Irrepressible, too. Makes you wonder if there was any truth to the stories of the Dwarf Lords.” He took in Carnifex and Lucius with a sweep of his gaze. “Because she certainly fit the description.”

“Aye, she was a Dwarf Lord, right enough,” Droom said. “And I’ll nut anyone who says otherwise.”

“Isn’t that what her ma claimed?” Lucius said. “Our grandma. A long line of descent, going all the way back to Arnoch?” He furtively looked at Carnifex with a barely suppressed smirk on his face.

“That’s what she said.” A low growl ended Droom’s words, and Lucius seemed to realize it was time to drop the subject.

“Well, Thane is a noble name, whatever the case,” Aristodeus said.

Droom ignored him, and picked up the scroll from the table. Stern as a herald announcing the outcome of one of the Council’s interminable debates—which was always no outcome—he unfurled the scroll and started to read the names of every dwarf of House Thane all the way back to the founding of Arx Gravis, which is where records began, more than a millennia ago. The list started with Carnifex, the youngest, then Lucius, then Yyalla herself. And then commenced the endless litany of names, occasionally interspersed with another Yyalla: one for each generation. Lucius had examined the scroll a long time ago and deduced that the firstborn girl in every branch of the family was always named Yyalla.

The sonorous drone of Droom’s voice whittled away at the heavy dark threatening to engulf Carnifex. Little by little, the black-dog mood retreated to the edges of his mind, and the room was gradually bathed in light, not only from the twin candles on the table, but from the shimmering daylight coming through the window, reflected from the walls and walkways of the ravine.

By the time Droom reached the end of the list, where he pronounced the name of Lord Cranek Thane with slow deliberation, Carnifex was back to his old self. Anticipation of the memorial was always worse than the reality, and now it was over, he was starting to wonder why he dreaded it so much. But he swiftly quelled the question, because he already knew the answer. It was a visceral knot he felt deep within his chest that tightened and twisted the more he tried to unravel it. Why a knot, he could never fathom. It should have been an empty space, a void left from never having known his mother.

“Good old Lord Cranek,” Lucius said with evident relief Droom had finished. “It would be nice to think he really was a Dwarf Lord.”

“Your ma thought so,” Droom said.

Lucius shook his head. “Whatever. The important thing is, you loved her, I loved her, and Carn… Well, you know what I think, brother. I tell you every year. She would have wiped the floor with you and beaten your ass raw with the flat of her axe.” He softened it with a genuine smile, and his eyes were brimming with tears. “I wish you’d known her, Carn, but at least she knew you. She used to tell me she could feel you kicking inside her.”

Carnifex knew he meant well, though it hurt like a knife through the heart. “Thank you, laddie. And thank you, Thumil and Cordy.”

They both nodded, faces fixed in masks of seriousness, as if the merest expression of emotion would bring the house down around them.

“And thanks for my present,” Carnifex said, shoving Cordy off the barrel and hefting it into his arms.

Cordy rolled to her feet, as he knew should would. She was the best of them at the
Ephebe
. She could fall as well as she could take a punch—

Carnifex’s head exploded in splinters of white. Pain lanced through his jaw, and he bit his tongue, tasting blood. He dropped the kilderkin on his foot and yelped as it bounced onto its side and rolled across the room.

… And she could give a punch that would crack a baresark’s skull.

“Sorry, Carn,” Cordy said. “Was that too hard for you?”

Carnifex rubbed his jaw and shook the grogginess from his head. Hoary spangles swirled in a giddying maelstrom then started to disperse. “Not at all, lassie; it can never be too hard. A woman of your experience should know that.”

She raised her fist again, but there was a big stupid grin on her face. She cocked her head, as if to say, “You ready for the next thump?”

“So,” Thumil said, marching over to the kilderkin and lifting it. “An early morning taste of beer, then off to Grimark’s pie shop for a spot of breakfast?”

“Oh, yes,” Lucius said.

Aristodeus gave Thumil a tight smile, then said to Lucius, “We really should get started. I haven’t got all day, and I need you to get me access to the Scriptorium.”

“Let’s stay for a quick birthday beer, at least,” Lucius said. “And we can pick up a pie or two on the way.”

Cordy lowered her fist and smothered Carnifex in a hug. “Happy birthday, Carn.” Her eyes filled with damp sincerity. “I love you… as if you were my brother.”

She smelled of musk and something sweet, some kind of flower scent. The softness of her breasts crushed against him made him feel suddenly awkward, and he held her out at arm’s length.

“As long as you don’t love me like I love my brother.”

“Hate you, too,” Lucius said.

Thumil carried the barrel into the kitchen, and while Cordy tapped it, Carnifex saw Droom to the front door and waved him off to work.
 

When he came back to the kitchen, and the beer started to flow, he found Aristodeus leaning against the door jamb. At first, Carnifex thought it was a show of petulance, because Lucius hadn’t immediately jumped when he’d said so, but then he realized the philosopher’s expression was more pensive than impatient. Aristodeus caught him looking, and tried to disguise his anxiety with a smile.

“Laddie?” Carnifex said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Aristodeus closed his eyes and let out a long trickle of breath through his nostrils.

“Do you ever wish you could change things in some way, Carnifex?”

Carnifex opened his mouth to say he did, every year: He wished he could avoid the roll call of Thane family names, and the reminders of the mother he’d never been held by, but Aristodeus speared him with a look that cut right to the bone.

“I mean, what is to come,” Aristodeus said.

Prickles of ice formed all the way up Carnifex’s spine. His voice came out in a faltering quaver. “You know what that is?”

Aristodeus looked at him long and hard. Something like sadness drifted across his eyes. In the background, Thumil and Lucius were hazy blurs, raising their tankards in Carnifex’s direction. Cordy stepped in close, clear as day, and handed him a beer. He took it in numb fingers.

And then he realized Aristodeus wasn’t going to answer his question. Instead, the philosopher stepped back into the hallway, as if he wanted to be alone. But as Carnifex took his first swig of beer, and felt the lifting of whatever innominate dread had come over him, he heard Aristodeus mutter to himself:
 

“The future isn’t set in stone.”
 

It sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

THE MINES

As night fell the next day, Carnifex led his platoon from the barracks on the top tier of the city. They split into twelve groups of two and dispersed across the walkways and plazas for an hour’s roaming patrol. On every level, all the way to the bottom of the ravine, other troops of Red Cloaks would be doing the same.
 

Levels were assigned by lots to keep things fresh, and tonight, Carnifex had won the jackpot. There was nothing like being beneath the stars and the moons with no walkways overhead to obscure the view. It fired his imagination. One short climb up the zigzagging pathway cut into the chasm wall, and an entire world awaited: Aethir, so full of untapped mysteries, like the nightmare realm of Qlippoth across the Farfall Mountains, and the civilization of humans that dominated the lands of Malkuth above the ravine. And up there somewhere, inside his artificial mountain made from scarolite, was the Technocrat, Sektis Gandaw, the cause of Maldark’s fall from grace, and the real reason for the dwarves’ self-imposed exile. Maldark had been led astray, and his betrayal had brought Aethir to the brink of destruction. And not just Aethir, too, the way Rugbeard used to tell it when he read the youngsters history from the
Annals
: all the worlds. All of Creation. Everything there was.

Carnifex strolled with Kal toward where the walkway connected with the chasm wall, a mere few hundred feet from the lands above. His heart raced with the thought of all the things that awaited him, should he make a frantic dash to the lip of the ravine and flee across Malkuth. It was the same childish fantasy he’d indulged every time he’d patrolled the first tier, and as on every other occasion, he quelled the thought with a sobering dose of reality. A dwarf leaving Arx Gravis was about the only thing that would incite the Council to action, these days. It was a transgression punishable by death.

When they reached the wall, they began a circuit of the ledge that ran about the perimeter. It had been craftily built by the Founders to blend in with the natural rock, and spanned the chasm at two ends with the narrowest of bridges. Water fountained from an artesian well bored into an overhang, and joined the flow atop a sprawling aqueduct. As they passed beneath the arches, bulges shifted at intervals against the walls: the Krypteia’s assassins blending with the stone in their concealer cloaks. Those that were assigned the task had a job for life, tucked away in the shadows and recesses of the upper level, ready to raise the alarm, ready to do by stealth what the Ravine Guard couldn’t achieve by force.

“Evening,” Carnifex said as he passed one.

There was no response. There never was. It was a point either of pride or duty, but the shoggers never spoke, least not to anyone outside their shifty outfit.

Kal said nothing, either, until they reached the mouth of the tunnel that led to the scarolite mines.

“Gives me the creeps every time I come up here, Carn. It’s too open. Too exposed.”