Carnifex (Legends of the Nameless Dwarf Book 1) (11 page)

Then the philosopher Aristodeus emerged, stooping as he exited the front carriage. His bald head glistened orange, and in one hand he held a rod of black metal, the length of his forearm. Beside him, causing the breath to catch in Carnifex’s throat, was Lucius.

Thumil’s golden helm bobbed its way back through the phalanx as he went to meet the philosopher.

Hurried words were exchanged between the two. Lucius joined in, and showed Thumil an open book, which looked like one of the
Annals.
Rugbeard stepped down from the driver’s seat and immediately tried to snatch the book from Lucius.
 

The creature stooped to grab a fleeing dwarf by the cloak. Carnifex roared and charged, and Kal came with him. The monster started to turn, but Carnifex hit it with a thunderous blow of the pickaxe. Stone sprayed, and the dwarf broke free.

Kal’s hammer crashed into a leg and took off a chink below the knee. A fist slammed down at him, but Carnifex barged him out of the way. Kal flew into the Red Cloak; his hammer went clattering away across the floor. The dwarf steadied him, and started to drag him away.

“Go!” Carnifex cried.

Kal hesitated, but Carnifex bellowed again, and this time the two fled toward the phalanx.

A granite foot came down. Carnifex rolled beneath it. The ground shook as it struck, and a shock wave rolled through the cavern. The other foot narrowly missed his head, and then he was up, weaving in between kicks and stamps. He took a swing at its torso, chipped off rock, but the creature barely seemed to notice. Stony fingers reached for him. They were quick, far quicker than they should have been. Carnifex ducked, and spun, and hit out with the pickaxe, but this time he may as well have struck water. The monster poured itself into the ground and vanished. Clearly, the scarolite lacked density here.

His breaths came in rapid gasps. His eyes roamed the floor, waiting for the barest hint of movement. A deathly hush fell over the cavern. He looked back toward the platform.
 

Aristodeus was watching him intently, his metal rod aimed out in front. Lucius was tucked in behind the philosopher, glancing between his book and the cavern. Rugbeard was huffing and puffing, wiping sweat from his forehead and uttering curses. Thumil scanned the scene through narrowed eyes, and beneath him, at the foot of the ramp coming off the platform, upwards of a hundred Ravine Guard were locked in their tightly-packed phalanx. A wall of shields faced the cavern, speartips bristling between the gaps.

Footsteps behind made Carnifex turn back toward the housing at the base of the headframe. A dozen Black Cloaks came through the doorways and headed for the shadows of the cavern’s walls. One of them muttered into a vambrace, either summoning more help, or reporting on the situation to his masters, maybe even to Councilor Grago himself.

Kal and the Red Cloak made it to the phalanx, and the front ranks parted to admit them.
 

Warily, Carnifex started to cross the cavern floor toward them, heart clamoring at every step, lest the floor should erupt beneath his boots. It didn’t help knowing the creature could be anywhere: in the walls, above the ceiling, under his feet. The ever-shifting eyes of the dwarves in the front rank of the phalanx showed that they felt it, too: the terror of being stalked by a foe that could pick and choose where it struck from, and when.

The shield wall parted for him as he drew near, but he remained where he was. Instead, Thumil, Aristodeus, Rugbeard, and Lucius came down from the platform and worked their way to the front of the phalanx.
 

Aristodeus’s eyes were glittering and unblinking as they continuously panned the cavern, his slender metal rod following in their wake. Its end was bulbous and tipped with crystal or glass. To all intents and purposes, it looked like a wand from the tales of sorcery beyond the Farfall Mountains.

Thumil clamped a hand on Carnifex’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. He gave a single, curt nod that conveyed a hundred things: he was proud, scared, determined, relieved, and in among it all, he’d be planning, strategizing, making the most of his resources. Is that why the philosopher was here? Had Thumil realized the danger early on and sought every avenue of help?

“It’s a golem from Gehenna,” Aristodeus said. He meant it for Carnifex, though his eyes never strayed from the cavern.

Lucius confirmed it with a tap of the page he had open. “The same section that mentions the Axe of the Dwarf Lords. When the city was founded, hundreds of these creatures attacked our people, and without the axe, we likely wouldn’t be here today.”

“Axe my arse!” Rugbeard said. “There ain’t no axe in the
Annals
, save for the golden one floating above King Arios’s throne in Arnoch, and everyone knows that’s just a legend.”

“For the last time,” Lucius said, “it’s the same axe. You’re just trying to save face because you hadn’t read the
Annals
as thoroughly as you like to think. You were just a pedagogue, for shog’s sake, not a scholar. There is a difference.”

“Yes, well, if you could both shut up,” Aristodeus said, “these are issues that can be settled later. If there is a later. Axe or no axe, there’s still a golem to be dealt with.”

“And you know how?” Carnifex asked. “I mean, scarolite can harm it, as well as hem it in, but—”

Thumil wagged a finger at him. “Is there a tool repository?” he asked Rugbeard.

“In the mines.”

Thumil rolled his eyes. “Fine, then I need volunteers to go down there. If we’re going to beat this thing—”

“I’ll go, sir,” a Red Cloak said from atop the platform. He had a shield that was as tall as he was, and in his other hand he carried a monstrous mace.

“Good man, Grimwart,” Thumil said. “Anyone el—?”

A pustule of rock erupted in the middle of the phalanx, scattering dwarves as it sprouted a head and arms, and finally came to stand upon two granite legs.

“
Emet
!” Aristodeus cried, bringing his wand to bear on the creature’s forehead, where violet flames defined the symbols: תמא

A beam of brilliant white light shone forth from the tip of the wand. The golem staggered back and raised its arms to protect its face.

“Aim for the letter on the right,” Aristodeus said. “Hit it with everything you’ve got. It’s the only way.”

Spears were hurled from the phalanx, all glancing from the golem’s stony flesh. A Red Cloak ran in, jabbed up at the head, but his shaft snapped. Black Cloaks stepped away from the walls, taking aim with their crossbows. Bolts struck stone and ricocheted harmlessly away.

The golem ducked its head out of the light and barreled into the dwarves in front of it. Screams went up, bones crunched under foot, weapons skittered away. The rest of the dispersed phalanx closed in all around, dwarves hacking and hammering with everything they had, but it was never going to be enough.

Carnifex forced his way through them, fighting for every step. “Make way!” he yelled, “Make way!”

With every inch of progress, magma streamed through his veins. His thews swelled, his skin tightened, same as it did when training with weights. A chasm opened within him, and from it welled up springs of courage such as he’d never known. The words of a tavern song roared forth from his lips.

“I once knew a girl with a hairy chest, a hogshead keg instead of breasts.”

The boom of his voice threw the dwarves in his way into confusion, and he surged past them.

“She tapped me a drink, and I gagged at the stink—”

The golem saw him coming and lunged.

Carnifex swayed past its hand and sprang for its knee. The instant his boot touched stone, he bounded and brought the pickaxe down, smack through the center of the א symbol on its forehead. The spike bit deep. Granite fractured, and as Carnifex fell, a chunk was ripped away. He hit the ground hard, flat on his back. His helm clanged against rock, and his vision swam. His pickaxe slammed against the floor and shot away, and the chunk of dislodged granite clattered to a halt beside his head. Looming over him, the golem was a wavering blur. He blinked rapidly to bring it into focus. It teetered, and he rolled aside as it toppled to the ground and shattered into a thousand pieces.

WHAT’S IN A NAME?

Cheers went up from the dwarves, but all Carnifex could do was close his eyes and lie back, trying to catch his breath.

“You did it, Carn!”—Kal.

“Brother? Are you all right?” Lucius said.

“Splendid,” he heard Aristodeus say. “There’s always a grain of truth in legends.”

“Just don’t forget who found the story,” Lucius said.

Fingers curled around Carnifex’s wrist and pulled him into a sitting position. Another tug, and he was on his feet, shaking the grogginess from his head. The first thing that came into focus was the glint of gold from Thumil’s helm.

“You did well, son. I’m proud of you.”

Carnifex stared at him blankly. He felt suddenly numb, as if all the fire in his blood had been doused with cold water. His energy was ebbing away, and he felt the black dog pawing at the edges of his mind.

A shadow of worry flickered across Thumil’s face, and he did his best to stave off the depression he must have known was coming over his friend.

“You missed out my favorite line, Carn: the one that gives the reason for the stink coming off the lassie’s nipples.”

“Huh?” Carnifex said. “Oh, the song.”

“Her kegs were filled with Ironbelly’s, remember? Was it me or you that made that one up?”

“That was one of yours,” Carnifex said with a grin that threatened to crack the plaster setting over his face.

“It was?” Thumil rubbed his wispy beard and frowned. “Perhaps we should keep it between ourselves.”

He clapped Carnifex on both shoulders, gave the cough he always gave when he was about to change hats, and then turned away to the Red Cloaks poking at the rubble that had once been the golem.

As Thumil moved off, barking orders, sending teams down into the mines to make sure they were secure, Aristodeus came to stand looming over Carnifex.

“Bravely done, Carnifex. Definitely your mother’s son.”

Carnifex didn’t need to hear that right now. He turned away toward Kal.

“You could be great,” Aristodeus said. “Truly great.” His tone was tinged with regret, as if he knew something; as if it were a shame Carnifex would never live up to his expectations.

“What do you mean ‘could be’?” Kal said, pulling Carnifex into a fierce embrace. “What could be greater than what he just did?”

Aristodeus closed his eyes and drew in a long, slow breath. “You’d be surprised.” When he opened his eyes, they had lost some of their blueness, as if hoarfrost rimed them. “We shall have to see what can be done.”

“About what?” Carnifex said.

Aristodeus made a fist, pressed it to his mouth. His brow crinkled with the effort of whatever he was thinking about. “I read patterns. Patterns in the past, in the present, both of which afford me glimpses of the future. With prudential judgement, it is possible to avert some things and foster others. In essence, it’s like a game—you have chess here? No? Well, that’s something we should remedy. The only real difference is in the complexity. More than that, I cannot say, not without unduly influencing events that may or may not play into the other side’s hands.”

“What other side?” Carnifex said.

“Who, don’t you mean?” Lucius said. “The same ‘who’ that led Maldark astray, and nearly brought about the Unweaving of all the worlds.”

“Sektis Gandaw?” Kal said.

“No, stupid,” Lucius said. “The Deceiver. The Lord of the Abyss. The Demiurgos.”

Carnifex snorted and shook his head. “Thank shog it’s not the queen of the fairies, then. Come on, Kal, there’s dead and injured dwarves to attend to, which has to take first place over theologizing.”
 

“I do not theologize,” Aristodeus said. “I find the suggestion insulting.”

“As you should,” Carnifex said. “Oh, and laddie, before I go, what was that with the symbols on the golem’s head? Letters, you called them.”

“A Supernal language,” Aristodeus said. “Same as your Old Dwarven. Different tongues and different scripts, but from a common source. We have them on Urddynoor, too, though they go by different names.”

“Supernal?” Kal said. “What’s that, then?”

Lucius rolled his eyes and sighed. “Beyond the Void. The Supernal Realm? Domain of the All-Father, the supreme ruler of the Gods of Arnoch?”

“Sounds like more theologizing to me,” Carnifex said.

Aristodeus gave him a venomous grin. “The homunculi of Gehenna are well-versed in both tongues. Their lore is rife with Supernal words and phrases, which is to be expected, if you remember that their father, the Demiurgos, was once a denizen of that realm.”

“He fell through the Void,” Lucius said, “with his sister and bro—”

“Yes, yes,” Aristodeus said. “But your brother has already made it clear he’s no time for metaphysics. Golems are creations of the homunculi, inanimate sculptures of clay that are given life through lore. The letters on the golem’s head spelled ‘Emet’, which means ‘truth’. The language is read from right to left, so if you knock off the first letter, aleph, you are left with ‘Met’, which means ‘death’. It’s a neat trick, and one that is prevalent in the legends of my world, which has had its fair share of influences from the homunculi over the centuries.”

“That’s a lot of power in such a small word,” Carnifex said.

“Precisely,” Aristodeus said. “And there’s even more in a name, which presumably is why you dwarves attach such importance to them, and recite those interminable lists of genealogy.”

Carnifex stiffened. It sounded like a slight on Droom, on his family.
 

Aristodeus must have seen something in his eyes and stepped back. “You misunderstand. Maybe interminable wasn’t the best word. Your ancestors thought a name was so important, they devised a means of stripping a dwarf of it. Totally. Absolutely. Irrevocably.”

The idea caused Carnifex to shudder. A dwarf’s name was sacred to him. It defined him, made him a person, and not just a bag of bones and blood. Because that’s what the Technocrat persuaded Maldark the Fallen they were: nothing but servants he’d shaped from raw, insentient matter. No better than the golems created by the homunculi. No wonder Maldark had despaired.