The Dragon Engine (21 page)

Beetrax felt his soul turn cold, as Tallazok moved forward and knelt before Beetrax, one hand on each of the axeman's knees.

“I feel like you need a more practical demonstration,” he said, taking hold of one of the handles.

“No!” said Beetrax, eyes suddenly wide.

Knuckles clenched white on steel. The handle turned. And Beetrax began to scream a scream that was barely human.

L
illith backed into the chamber
, followed by Val, who closed the door behind himself. They stood there, staring at one another, and Val's narrow, pointed face broke into a smile.

“There's no need to be nervous,” he said.

“Not for me, no. But for you, maybe.”

“You are Lillith. I have been watching you for a long time.”

“I know. I have seen your eyes on me. But you have nothing to worry about, I am a gentle person; I abhor violence of all kind. I will be no threat to your little mining operation, or indeed, to obeying whatever instructions you give.”

Val considered this. “I think you are a threat.” He moved a little closer, hand on a sheathed dagger at his waist.

“Why?” She frowned, moving her arms. Charms jangled amidst the chains as she observed the dwarf before her. “You will not need that weapon, so do not even think of drawing it.”

“Because of the big one. The Axeman. Beetrax, you call him.”

“He may be a threat, but I am not.”

“And yet I see in you a controlling mechanism. He listens to
you,
like he listens to no other.”

Lillith considered this. “I will help you control him,” she said, at last, feeling a bite of shame for her words; as if she were betraying her lover.

“I know you will. Come here. I have the key for those shackles.”

“Why would I need to remove the shackles?”

“Because I am going to fuck you.”

Lillith stared at the dwarf in disbelief, and noted the sudden bulge in his trews.

“Over my dead body.”

“I can do it that way, if you like.” He drew his dagger. The blade gleamed. “I have before.”

She stared at him then, aghast as to what to say. Suddenly, she felt like a child again, immobile, helpless, at the whim of some greater power, some god-like effigy which had total control over her naivety. She forced her mouth into a grim line and shook her head, in a shower of dark hair.
You are not a child,
she recited to herself.
You are not helpless. You were put on this world to help people less fortunate than yourself, you were put here to study medicine, herbs, the curing of cancers. You are a good person, and because of this, the Seven Sisters and the Holy Mother will protect you.

Suddenly, spells filtered through her mind. They were good spells, white spells, magick used for healing and cures. But there, lurking in the back, were the dark spells, the evil spells, the tangled tails of Equiem magick which she had sworn she would never use; could never use, because to use this dark magick would make her no longer human; it would be to give up to a lifelong battle for purity and self-worth. To use the dark magick would be to twist her into another person. Non-human. A demon…

Val leapt forward, suddenly, striking her a blow to the nose. With a cry, Lillith stumbled back, stunned. He came after her, and through confusion she was unsure of what was happening; until the shackles were off, and he was there, his mouth on hers, his stink invading her nostrils, blotting out her own exotic aroma.

“Get off me!” she cried, and slapped him across the face. And then she stopped, as the dagger point under her chin nicked up, drawing blood,
like so
. His hand slid up her leg, under her skirt, and stroked the velvet flesh of her thigh.

“Don't do this,” she said, tears flowing down her cheeks. “You don't have to do this.”

“But I want to do this. And I promise you, you will like it, medicine woman. I will give you a cure for your loneliness…”

Lillith panted, like a cornered animal. Her lips were wet with fear. Her eyes looked hunted. Inside her, dark smoke swirled and she knew, if she could summon enough hate, she could unleash a spell that would rip this bastard apart…

and be lost

lost to the dark arts...

Equiem magick, the magick of the furnace, the magick of the chaos halls…

Suddenly, a noise went up. It was a terrible high screaming, and Val lifted his pointed face, like a ferret sniffing the air. He grinned then, and when his head came down he stared hard at Lillith, eyes shining.

“What is it?” she said, voice filled with horror. “What is that sound?”

“That is Beetrax being tortured,” said Val, with obvious enjoyment.

“No!”

“Listen, and listen good. You know I do not lie.”

“Please make them stop,” she wailed.

“Well then, you know what you have to do.”

And Beetrax's song of agony hung in the air like the high, piercing note from a tortured animal.

D
ake Tillamandil Mandasar
, former Sword Champion of King Yoon's Royal Guard, hero of the Second Mud-Orc War, and heir to the Lordship of the House of Emeralds, Vagandrak's largest ruling family, paced up and down in the dark room of the mine barracks, his shackles jingling, his face contorted with suppressed rage and a need to do something, anything, but without any capacity to help. They had tossed him in, like a useless sack of horse shit, and the iron-reinforced door had slammed shut. He heard thick bolts thrown, scraping, and shouted to be released. He stood, with his mouth to the edge of the crack, and screamed, “Do you know who I am? Do you
fucking
know who I am? I am Dake Tillamandil Mandasar, heir to the Lordship of the House of Emeralds, and when my father hears about this outrage he will send a thousand skilled warriors to murder you and all your families! He will grind your fucking bones into dust for all eternity!”

He sank to the floor, panting, exhausted, filled with a quiet terror.

Have you heard yourself?
whispered a little demon in the back of his mind.
Daddy's fucking boy. Hasn't got the bollocks to sort out his own problems, ooh no, he needs the Lord of the House of Emeralds to turn up rattling his sabre hilt on the door of the dwarf mines, threatening to burn down the cities of the Harborym Dwarves if they don't let his little squeaky clean bastard free... because that's what you are, Dake, you're a bastard, and the day you inherit the title of the Lordship of the House of Emeralds will be the day the Furnace opens its gates and invites all the
good
people of Vagandrak in for a little tea party, including cakes, with the flaming demons...

“Shut up, shut up,” he muttered, and climbed to his feet, banging on the solid portal once more. “Let me out, please, or at least, let me speak to my friends…”

Everything during the entirety of your life has been handed to you on a silver fucking platter. Hero of the Second Mud-Orc War
?
Don't make me puke down my scaled skin. Brought up on a distant estate with an army of nannies – each one being fucked by your father, I might add – looking out for your every pointless little whim, endless summer days playing in rich estates, climbing trees, entertaining your diseased little friends, eating with a silver fork and silver knife and silver spoon. In fact, there, I've done it, puked into my very fucking boots, you spoilt little fucking syphilis-riddled prick…

“No, no, it wasn't like that…”

Only the very best schools for Daddy's little bastard, with strict warnings to the teachers that if anybody so much as laid a finger on your pretty little head, Daddy would withdraw the funding and Vagandrak's second largest family would turn the school into a social wasteland, into an abandoned place. Ah, the privileges of power and wealth to fuck over those without any.

Dake slid down the door, and exhaustion swept through him, and he put his head down between his knees, and grasped his hair with both hands; he could still smell remnants of the expensive oils he used to run through with his fingers.

What the hell had they been thinking, cocksure and dumb as donkeys, heading out into the Karamakkos on some foolish pointless fucking treasure hunt?

But… it had been more serious than that, hadn't it? A cure, for Jonti. A miracle to help save her life!

Or was it for your own benefit?
sneered his private mocking demon.
Of course it was! Because you knew, deep down in your soul, that the little rich bastard was about to be cut off from the family fortune, that's what Daddy said to you, for marrying a common solider like Jonti; he said she was common scum, and deserved her cancer, that it was the punishment of the Holy Mother for being a soldier and a whore... and you held that knife to his throat and it felt so sweet, didn't it, little bastard? And that's why you're here, nothing about a noble fucking cure for your wife, oh no, but to secure your own personal wealth for after she's dead and fucking buried with the fucking wriggling worms...

“No!” screamed Dake, clawing his own face, and he suddenly stopped as a wail rent the air and tears coursed down his cheeks, for the sound was animal and yet human, and filled with a terrible pain. “That's Beetrax,” he panted, climbing to his feet. “Must help him, must help my friends…”

He crawled to the door, clawed his way up it, started to bellow through the crack – and was stunned into backward footsteps as the bolts were thrown wide, the door swung open, and a dwarf stood there, looking at him. He was neatly dressed, without armour of chainmail; just simple dark shirt, woollen trews and boots. Behind, were three wide shadows, but this dwarf was smiling and pleasant.

“Hello,” he said. “My name is Nak. If you would follow me, please, I will take you to your wife, Jonti.”

“Really?” gasped Dake, breathing deep. “You will let me see my wife again?”

“Oh yes,” said Nak, frowning. “Just because we are dwarves does not make us some kind of barbarians!”

He backed away, and Dake stumbled from the room. Nak led the way and Dake followed, shackled hands before him, ankle-shackles making him stumble. Behind followed the three big, silent dwarves, their dark eyes fixed ahead, hands on sheathed swords, faces emotionless.

They walked to the far end of the barracks, and moved into a large, bright chamber, well lit by many firebrands. The floor was tiled, the walls lined with gleaming steel benches, and racks gleamed with a variety of tools.

“What is this place?” said Dake, confused.

“This is the hospital,” said Nak, smiling. “After all, prisoners, slaves, guards, all grow sick, or can be injured. So we have this facility here in order to deal with such eventualities.”

Suddenly, Dake realised that on the wooden bench at the centre of the chamber lay Jonti. He raced over to her, and grabbed her and she smiled, but her eyes were distant, as if drugs had been administered.

“Jonti! Jonti, it's me, Dake! Oh, it's so good to see you…”

“What's happening, Dake?” Her words were dreamy. “I had this terrible nightmare, that we had been captured. But now I am in the hospital, and the surgeon says he is able to operate…”

“Surgeon? Operate?” Dake was frowning, mind working like a clockwork engine, and he whirled to see Nak, still smiling, pulling on a grey gown. However, despite the smiles, his face was deadly serious.

“What are you doing?”

“I am Nak. They call me the Surgeon. I am about to perform an operation on your good lady wife…”

“What? No! No! She cannot be healed!”

“You wish me to allow her to die?” Nak looked confused.

“No, yes, what I mean is, the best doctors in Vagandrak have examined her, she has been cut open on three occasions and all are in concurrence; Jonti cannot be healed, not by surgery, not by medicine, not by magick!” He was weeping openly now, and took hold of Jonti's hands, squeezing them tight.

“You know what we want here, don't you?” said Nak, and the smile dropped and he turned, gesturing to the three big dwarves, who came over swiftly, grabbing Dake, dragging him back, restraining him in powerful grips.

“Yes, yes, you want us to work in the mines…”

“And we need your total obedience.”

“Yes, of course…”

Nak pulled back the sheet covering Jonti. She was naked. Her body was athletic, perfectly formed, and appeared in the best of health. And that was the irony; for despite outward appearances, she was disintegrating from the inside out.

“What are you doing?” screamed Dake, suddenly, as Nak moved to the edge of the room and the steel benches. He picked up a small iron table, bringing it back with him to stand beside Jonti. On it, Dake saw the gleam of saws, knives, and a host of other intricate steel equipment.

“No, no, what are you doing?” he screamed, again.

“We want your obedience,” said Nak quietly. “We overheard you. In the carts on the long journey here, to the Five Havens. We know that Jonti is ill. Seriously ill. We know you came here to find…” he smiled, “the Dragon Heads in order to save her, to heal her; to make her immortal? Possibly. I am simply offering to operate on your good lady wife.”

“But… the cancer is in her bones?”

Nak smiled. With a thin piece of charcoal, he drew a line across Jonti's left wrist, then a long line up the centre of her arm, forming a very long, extended T. “Precisely. I am offering to remove her bones.”

Dake started to struggle, but the solid dwarves pinned him back, securing him. “Don't you dare,” he snarled. “Don't you dare harm her, or I'll…”

“You'll what?”

“I will not be responsible for my actions.”

A silence followed, where Dake and Nak stared at one another, Dake with open animosity. Then Nak selected a scalpel from the small table, and placed the razor edge against the flesh of Jonti's arm.