Carnifex (Legends of the Nameless Dwarf Book 1) (9 page)

Suspended above the collar, accessible through the struts of the headframe, was a cage large enough to hold twenty dwarves, or half a dozen carts. It was attached to the braided steel cable that ran from the pulley at the top. To the side of the cage was a wedge of granite with a slot cut into the middle, and a single lever poking from it.

“You’ll have to take the cage down,” Rugbeard said. “Start at the bottom of the shaft and work your way up using the service ladders.”

“You’d better hope we find something,” Muckman said. “Or you’ll go from being a drunken sot with a shit job to just a drunken sot.”

“Mind your manners, son,” Rugbeard said. “And for your information, I ain’t touched a drop since—”

“Since we met you off the train five minutes ago,” Kal said. “You know the law about drinking on the job.”

“Laddie,” Carnifex said, “he was in a panic, and it was only a wee dram.”

“Yeah, but how much did he put away beforehand, when he was supposed to be on duty?” Ming Garnik said.

“Then tell the Council to fire me,” Rugbeard said. “See if I care. Things I hear, things I imagine, you couldn’t do the job sober.”

“And you’re sure, laddie,” Carnifex said, “what you heard wasn’t just the grog talking?”

Rugbeard narrowed his eyes and gave an irritated shake of his head.

“Here, you’ll need these.” He passed them each an iron lantern with a shutter at the front to control the spill of light. “There’s glowstones inside, left over from the time the city was built. The miners usually hang them along the galleries when they work a seam. It’ll be pitch black once you’re past the collar.”

He
 
opened the cage’s gate and ushered them inside, then took up a position by the granite wedge and used his entire body weight to move the lever.
 

Carnifex staggered as the cage lurched above the hole. Muckman cursed, and Kal was halfway to chastising him, when they were lowered into the mouth of the collar.

“Shog me,” Ming Garnik said as walls of scarolite encompassed them on all sides.

For a few seconds, the only light was from the phosphorescent veins of green running through the precious ore, and then they were beneath the collar and descending the mine’s central shaft in blackness.
 

Carnifex raised the shutter on his lantern, and dim light cut a dirty cone through the dark, reflected off the iron rungs of the twin service ladders that ran from top to bottom. Following his lead, the others did the same. Beyond the twilight glow of the lanterns, shadows pooled and wavered. If this was all the light the miners had to work by, they must have used a lot of lanterns, or maybe their eyes had adjusted to the gloom after so many years beneath ground.

Carnifex did his best to match what he was seeing with all that Droom had told him and Lucius about the mines over the years.

The cage rattled and creaked past the first level gallery and the drainage adit leading away to the left. Next, he glimpsed the hollowed-out ore stope at the end of the second and third galleries. Lower still, and the stopes were more varied: overhand and underhand, where the ore had been extracted from above or below in a series of steps. The only thing stopping the mine from caving in and filling the stopes with rubble was the strength of the surrounding rock, here and there supported by granite joists or rough-cut girders of scarolite.

 
When they passed the seventh level, a mephitic stench rose to greet them.

“That you, Carn?” Kal said.

“Laddie, it’s you that drinks Ironbelly’s.”

The closer to the floor of the mine they got, the worse the smell.

“That water down there?” Ming said. He directed the cone of his lantern’s light below, where it illuminated a murky pool. It had to be the source of the stench.

“That’ll be the sump,” Carnifex said. “Where liquid collects at the base of the mine. Looks like we’ve arrived.”

The sump was still a good twenty feet below, and they were just passing yet another gallery. The wall of the shaft suddenly blurred and shifted, then a huge chunk of it tore free and slammed into the cage. Carnifex fell against the side as the cage careened, and the others bundled into him. He clung onto a bar with one hand, his axe with the other. Whatever had struck them moved impossibly fast, and streaked away to the opposing wall of the shaft, blending with the rock like water cascading into a lake.

INCURSION

The cage dangled precariously above the sump, twirling at the end of its cable. A tortured, groaning sound came from above, and Kal glanced at Carnifex, eyes wide with dread. Ming and Muckman were staring open-mouthed at the ceiling of the cage, lanterns held aloft.

“The cable’s frayi—” Ming started, but Carnifex barreled into him. The cage door went flying open, and momentum carried them both onto the floor of the gallery they’d stopped level with.

Kal was right behind, dragging Muckman with him. They leapt at the very moment the cable snapped and the cage went plummeting below. Kal landed sprawling on top of Muckman, and then a crash, clang, thud, and splash came from the shaft as the cage hit the sump pit.

“Shog, shog, shog,” Muckman muttered over and over.

Muckman had always boasted he’d seen action, Carnifex thought wryly, and now he really had, and there was no need chiseling his sword blade to prove it.

Carnifex rolled clear of Ming and got to his knees.

“What the shog—?” Ming started, but Carnifex shushed him with a raised hand.

A voice echoed down the shaft. By the time it reached them, it was hard to make out. It came again, this time louder: Rugbeard, calling to them. “You all right down there? What happened?”

Kal clambered to his feet and cupped his hands to his mouth to shout a reply, but Carnifex shook his head.

“No, laddie,” he whispered. “Not a sound.”

Whatever had struck the cage was still there, maybe closer than any of them realized. It had merged with the wall of the shaft.

“What in shog’s name was that?” Ming mouthed.

Carnifex held up a finger to forestall anymore questions, and, back against the wall of the gallery, inched toward the edge of the shaft. He strained to hear anything, but Rugbeard’s continued hollering from above was making it impossible.

At the foot of the mine, the cage was a mangled wreck, half-submerged in the sump. Its roof had been dislodged by the fall, and the side that had been struck by the creature was buckled as badly as if it had been hit by the train. Whatever it was, though, had been a mere blur of gray, as though the shaft wall itself had come alive and launched itself at the cage. Carnifex was familiar with the concealer cloaks the Krypteia used at the top of the ravine, but this was something else. Something bigger, better, more effective. There was no telltale bulge in the wall below where he stood, and yet he’d seen the thing end up there and merge with the rock. Either it had moved while they recovered, or it was still there, perfectly camouflaged, ready to pounce again at any moment.

He backed away from the edge and closed the shutter of his lantern, until only a sliver of light peeked through. Last thing they wanted was to draw attention to themselves, at least until they knew what they were facing. At his motion, the others did the same, and then he gestured for Kal to lead them further back into the gallery.

Muckman brought up the rear, flicking looks behind, shadows closing in on his heels. He drew his notched sword, then turned to walk backwards, lantern held in his other hand.
 

Carnifex took over the lead from Kal. If he was right, each gallery should lead onto its own stoop, some of which were virtual caverns, if Droom was to be believed. At least there, they should be able to keep further from the walls, in case of another surprise attack, and there would be more room to swing their weapons.

With his lantern casting its dim light on only the five feet in front of him, Carnifex almost walked straight into a ladder leading down from the ceiling. Its iron rungs were rusted with age, and one or two were missing. Holding the lantern aloft, he peered up and saw that the ladder disappeared into a narrow shaft that led to the next level. It may have been an early route to the ore deposits deeper down, or perhaps it was for emergency access. Whatever it was, it might be just what they needed, because there was no way he was going to pit his team of four against the thing that had smashed into the cage. They had to get to the surface, then return in force.

“We going up?” Kal said.

Carnifex didn’t answer, and instead walked past the ladder and held his lantern out in front. Still nothing but the rough-hewn passageway, reinforced with timber struts. He risked opening the shutter fully, but there was no sign of a stoop at the end of the gallery. On the levels above, the stoops had been closer to the shaft, easily visible from the cage. Just their luck to end up where the seams of ore were set back further, as if they were harder to find the deeper you went.

“Yes, we’re going up,” Ming said. His voice quavered with fear. He took hold of the ladder, lantern clattering against the rungs as he climbed.

“Just hurry it up,” Muckman said from the rear. He, too, opened his shutter to cast a broad cone of light back the way they’d come.
 

Carnifex couldn’t blame him: fear of what lurked in the shadows overrode the need for discretion. And besides, who was to say how this creature sensed? Chances are, it could see in the dark, so his precaution may have played in its favor.

The truth of the matter was, Carnifex was out of his depth. He was as panicked as the rest of them. The only difference was, he was doing his best not to show it, which presumably is why Thumil had picked him for command.

“Go on, then,” he said to Muckman. “You next. Kal, watch behind, and I’ll keep an eye up front.”

Muckman sheathed his sword but kept his lantern on full glow, then took the first rung as Ming’s arse disappeared through the opening in the ceiling.

“You next, laddie,” Carnifex said to Kal, once Muckman’s head entered the shaft.

Before Kal could make a start, there was a sound like an avalanche. Muckman screamed and let go. He would have broken his neck had Carnifex not stepped in and snatched him away from the ladder. His lantern crashed to the floor and went out.

“Run!” Muckman cried, pushing Carnifex off and fleeing along the gallery. “It’s got Ming!”

“Go!” Carnifex hissed, and Kal took off after Muckman.

Carnifex risked a glance up the ladder. Nothing. Nothing but blackness. There was a sudden rush of movement from above, and then the clatter of metal on metal, which ended with a second lantern—Ming’s—bouncing as it hit the floor, as dead as Muckman’s.

Carnifex backed away, and when he’d cleared the ladder by ten feet, he turned and ran. Up ahead, Kal suddenly veered to one side as a fist of rock burst from the tunnel wall. Muckman turned, and started back toward him, but the fist withdrew, merging once more with the stone.

“Don’t stop!” Carnifex yelled, surging into a sprint.

Kal didn’t hesitate, and pressed on toward the greenish glow coming from the end of the gallery.
 

Muckman was shaking like a leaf. He made a grab for Carnifex as he passed, tried to hold him back.

“It’s in the walls, sir. It’s in the shogging—”

Carnifex kept on going, then turned as Muckman screamed.

Fingers of stone sprouted from the floor and wrapped around Muckman’s ankle. Carnifex charged in and swung his axe. The blade shattered, and the haft went flying. He grabbed Muckman’s wrist, pulled with all his might, but another rocky hand emerged and took Muckman round the waist. Kal ran back, held Carnifex’s arm, and added his weight. Muckman let out a gurgling yowl. Blood sprayed from his lips. Bones crunched.

“Let go!” Kal yelled.

Carnifex continued to pull for a second, too shocked to realize there was no point.

“Let go!” Kal said again, and this time Carnifex did.

The floor swelled into a mound around Muckman’s broken body. A boulder emerged between the two grasping hands, and then a torso of rubble started to rise beneath it.

Carnifex and Kal turned and ran toward the green glow. Another twenty yards, and the gallery opened onto a cavern. Here and there, clusters of rocks scabbed the walls and ceiling, but predominantly the cavern was black, and veined with luminescent green.

Behind them came the roar of an encroaching landslide, and without looking back, they crossed the threshold into the cavern. Almost immediately, the rumble and rush of pursuing rock ceased. Carnifex swung his lantern round, and two rocky arms came up to cover the boulder-like head atop a gargantuan body that seemed sculpted from granite. Violet light seeped between its fingers. Instantly, the monster turned, and then liquefied as it bled through the gallery wall and out of sight.

“It’s afraid of the light,” Kal said.

Carnifex shook his head. “Just not used to it, is all. We’re not out of this yet, laddie.”

“Why’d it stop?” Kal said. “Even before you turned the lantern on it, why’d it stop?”

Carnifex looked round at the cavern. Granite rubble was heaped into tidy piles, and there was a cart filled with tools. Score marks defined patterns in the scarolite lining the walls: rectangles and squares. Stacked to one side were panels of the precious ore that looked to have been extracted in one piece. That was the thing about scarolite: it was so tough, it didn’t break apart like most ore did if you cut it too big. The only thing that could scratch it, let alone quarry it, was more scarolite.
 

With that in mind, Carnifex went to examine the tools in the cart. They were all forged from scarolite: pickaxes, chisels, hammers. Kal whistled his disbelief, and Carnifex understood why. No one could work scarolite. The lore had been lost. The miners made no secret that they used scarolite tools to extract the ore, but that begged the question: who made the tools? The only thing that made sense was the Founders. The
Annals
reportedly said the first dwarves of Arx Gravis had benefited from the friendship of the homunculi, at least until the time of Maldark’s betrayal. Maybe together, they had found a way to work the ore. If that were the case, though, these tools, still used by the miners today, must have been hundreds of years old.