Carnifex (Legends of the Nameless Dwarf Book 1) (33 page)
Read Carnifex (Legends of the Nameless Dwarf Book 1) Online
Authors: D.P. Prior
And he knew: he knew Aristodeus had been right, and that he was destined for better things.
Then sleep finally claimed him.
EPILOGUE
The cell door closed behind Deacon Shader. A trio of clunks sounded from the lock. Three bolts were slammed home, and then, with the finality of interment, the last desperate hope of the worlds came to an end.
Dim, lime-colored light suppurated from shadow-wreathed walls. Emerald motes spiraled in the agitated air caused by the opening and closing of the door.
Shader should never have come to Arx Gravis. Should never have come to Aethir. And what was he thinking bringing Shadrak the Unseen with him? The assassin had already stabbed him in the back once—literally; and now, when Rhiannon and Shader could have done with his help, he’d lived up to his name and vanished.
They were trapped, and further from the Technocrat’s mountain than they’d been when they started. And there was nothing Shader could do about it. Not with his sword taken from him. Even if he had it, what good would it have been? Like any other blade, the mythical Sword of the Archon needed hands to hold it, and his were shackled, held tightly together in manacles of stone.
Since his arrival on Aethir, it had been one series of misdirections after another. Manipulation heaped upon deception. Like it always was. Like it had been since Aristodeus had come to mentor him on the morning of his seventh birthday.
And yet the philosopher couldn’t be to blame this time. He wanted the Unweaving of Creation stopped more than anyone. He was the grand architect of opposition to all that the Technocrat stood for, all that he aimed to destroy.
No, the false trails and bad advice came from another source entirely: the seed of evil that infected everything with its insidious whisperings. It was the strategy of the Abyss that had led them to the dwarves. The cunning of the Demiurgos.
Shader’s eyes began to adjust to the gloom. Cobwebs hung in thick drapes from the ceiling. The walls, he saw, were concave. He turned in place to follow their curve. It was a circular cell they’d dragged him to. Judging by the heaped dust on the floor, it was one seldom used. A hemisphere of shadow defined the area furthest from the door. Flecks of green phosphorescence glimmered in a dense cluster from within it.
He turned back to the door, thought about calling out, but what would be the point? The dwarves had said they would question him, when they were good and ready. The way they’d argued, conferred, and prevaricated on the walkway where they’d captured Shader and Rhiannon, it didn’t look like they’d be coming anytime soon.
Where the dwarves had taken Rhiannon was anyone’s guess. She and Shader had been separated the moment the soldiers brought them inside the huge stone tower that ran down the center of the ravine.
Rhiannon: the farmer’s daughter from Oakendale; as out of place in this dream world of Aethir as Shader was himself. He shouldn’t have agreed to her coming, but then, she wasn’t someone given to taking no for an answer.
And yet, what choice had they had? On Urddynoor, the battle against Sektis Gandaw had gone from bad to worse. And just when the tide seemed to have turned, when Shader had an opening to take down the Technocrat and save the worlds from oblivion, he’d frozen up. It didn’t matter the reason—even if it was mercy born from faith; he’d made a mistake.
One he’d not live long to regret, and there would soon be no one left to condemn him.
He strained against the manacles holding his wrists. Stone chafed skin, but there was no give in them. He raised them to bash them against the door, but what would that achieve, save pain he didn’t really relish? What he needed was patience—an attribute he was hardly known for.
In spite of the hours unpicking knots on the prayer cord, the study of scriptures, and the relentless pull of the contemplative life, he was accustomed to getting his way with the sword. He was a paradox, he got that; but more and more, he was coming to realize he was a paradox of Aristodeus’s making.
He followed the curve of the cell and crossed the center line into shadow. The flecks of lucent green drew him like a moth to the flame. He had to see what it was. A few steps closer, and he picked out a deepening of the darkness below the phosphorescence. Another step, and he saw it was a figure seated upon a stone bench.
Warning prickles crawled beneath his skin. His first instinct was to step back, but what if it was alive? What if it was a danger to him?
He edged ever nearer, until he could see it was the statue of a dwarf, arms chained to the bench. It was helmed and armored in a chainmail hauberk, both skillfully carved from stone.
Or were they?
The green glow he’d seen bled through cracks in the helm, but when he looked closer, he saw they were not cracks, but the patches of the helm not caked with dust. Same with the hauberk: it wasn’t stone; it was dust-covered. He brushed some away to reveal metal links, most of them dark-stained. He did the same with the helm. A streak of black flecked with green was revealed. It looked like malachite. He swept the dust from a forearm. Beneath, the skin and hairs were coated with what looked like tar. He picked away at a bit then recoiled in horror. It wasn’t tar: it was dried blood.
Heart hammering at a frantic pace, he backed away into the gloaming nearer the door.
What manner of people were these, to leave one of their own chained in a cell, covered in blood? Had they forgotten he was there, till the dust accumulated so much he looked like a fossil? How long had he been dead, left to rot? Because there had been no sign of life, of that he was sure. Was he a criminal, a captured enemy, or just a hapless fool, like Shader himself, who’d simply wandered into the ravine and paid the price?
Something about the tingling dread he’d experienced when he’d been close to the dwarf told him there might be another explanation. Shader was sensitive as a brick, but with all that blood, the subliminal stench of it, it would be hard not to be spooked. What if they’d locked him down here and left him because there was no other choice? What if he’d simply been too dangerous?
It was a moot point. The dwarf was long dead. But it did leave the lingering concern that a similar fate now awaited Shader. He reassured himself on that point, though: the chances of him starving to death and rotting away were slim to none, given that everything there was, everything there had ever been, would be unwoven and taken out of existence within days, if not hours.
A great pit opened up in his stomach, and his hope plunged into it. He groaned and whirled about, vainly seeking a window, a vent, the merest crack. A desperate cry began to well up within him, and he opened his mouth to let it out but then slapped himself in the face. He couldn’t give in to panic. One howl like that would be an admission of despair, and that would help no one.
He lowered himself to the cold floor and pulled the prayer cord from his pocket. As he picked away at the lesser mysteries, he ran through the litany of holy names in the vague hope that one of them might trigger a miracle.
Didn’t the dwarves realize how close the end of all things was? Did they even care? He grimaced as he unraveled one of the knots and started on the next, steering his mind back to the litany:
“Nous, glory of Ain, save your servant. Nous, light of the world, have mercy on me. Nous, eternal word, comfort me.”
He was ripping at the threads on the prayer cord, whispering the words against the back of his teeth.
“Nous, scourge of demons, rescue me.”
His face was on fire with pent-up rage and frustration; his shoulders bunched up around his ears.
“Nous, lord of the living,”—and then the dam burst—“Hear my prayer!”
The cry reverberated around the cell until it lost itself in the cobwebs, only to be replaced by a sepulchral silence.
But then there was a clink, the rattle of chains, and Shader spun round to face the figure on the bench.
The story continues in…
LEGENDS OF THE NAMELESS DWARF BOOK 2:
GEAS OF THE BLACK AXE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
CARNIFEX has been a long time coming, and may not have arrived at all if not for the encouragement and support of a band of height-challenged readers, friends, family, artists, and other professionals. Thank you especially to:
Amber Leigh, Anthony Prior, Barbara Prior, Chris Taylor, Conrad Bucsis, Dayve Walsh, Frederick Holbrook, Jared Johnson, Kenny Howell, Melinda LeBaron, Mitchell Hogan, M.R. Mathias, Paula Prior, Ray Nicholson, Roel Cisneros, Scott Morrison, Zak Reynolds, Bob Neufeld (“Voice of the Nameless Dwarf”), Anton Kokarev, Mike Nash, Patrick Stacey, Laurie McLean, and Valmore Daniels.
Cover art: Mike Nash:
https://mike-nash-art.squarespace.com
Cover Design: Valmore Daniels, using the series template developed by Alisha:
https://damonza.com
Editor: Paula@Quills2Keyboards Editing Services:
http://bit.ly/1MFsdR6
Literary Agent: Laurie McLean:
http://www.fuseliterary.com
ALSO BY D.P. PRIOR
LEGENDS OF THE NAMELESS DWARF
1. CARNIFEX
2. GEAS OF THE BLACK AXE
3. REVENGE OF THE LICH
4. RETURN OF THE DWARF LORDS
SHADER
ORIGINS 1. WARD OF THE PHILOSOPHER
ORIGINS 2. THE SEVENTH HORSE
1. SWORD OF THE ARCHON
2. BEST LAID PLANS
3. THE UNWEAVING
STANDALONES
HUSK
THE ATTIC (writing as Derek Prior)
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