The Dragon Engine (2 page)

Here, now, in the hushed and ale-spent tavern, stood Talon, tall, elegant, with long ash-blond hair so fine it was almost white; high cheekbones enhancing a somewhat haughty appearance, and his well-balanced athleticism speaking volumes of his legend – that of skilled archer, perhaps ranked third in Vagandrak, perhaps first, depending where you placed your bets. As well as his skill with any target a warrior could present, the narrow-hipped archer was also a languages expert, being a graduate from Drakerath University, and had been known, on special occasions, to be hired as Chief Protector for the Queen; he was also notorious for his outspoken views on his love for men, which got him into occasional spots of bother, but enamoured him to King Yoon as a man to be trusted with the King's young bride.

Talon gave a single nod of his head, then pushed back an errant wisp of drifting hair, smoothing it behind one ear, his eyes fixed not on Beetrax or Dake, but on Jonti Tal. Her eyes posed a question but Talon blinked slowly, lips pursing into a narrow smile.
You'll find out soon enough
, that smile said, and Jonti returned his good humour with shining eyes and a curt nod. By some trick of the light, her eyes almost appeared full of tears.

Beside Talon stood Lillith, a self-proclaimed witch specialising in the positive magick of healing, her studies forcing her to take a path of celibacy, and her work in the Great Library of Vagandrak notoriously invaluable over the years, translating ancient texts from foreign tongues and contributing immensely to the Great Library's body of knowledge. She was a much-studied healer, her skin olive dark, her hair a cascade of thick woven strands which ran down her back to her hips. She abhorred violence of any kind, and yet found herself drawn to warriors for it was here she could practise her healing skills with regularity. Now, her dark sultry eyes appraised the gathered group and she bared her teeth in a welcoming smile, her scent, that of the exotic, reaching Beetrax's nostrils and making him think of older, better times.

“Beetrax,” she nodded, voice husky and deep, and for a moment Beetrax's cheeks flushed red.

“It's been a while, Lillith,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “I am so glad you could come.”

“My pleasure, my love,” said Lillith, almost shyly.

Dake slapped Beetrax's leg. “Stop fawning, you dick; you're like a love-struck fool!” he laughed.

“Sorry,” rumbled Beetrax. “But you know how it is.”

“Yeah, mate. I do.”

Lillith pulled up a stool and sat, arranging her white skirts. Around her throat and wrists were silver charms that caught the light of candles and fire, and glinted with a supernatural eeriness.

Finally, from the shadows, came Sakora. She was tall, and slim, and moved with an incredible grace, a natural elegance. She wore a mixture of silks and hazy gauze fabrics which swirled around her. Her hair was long and brown, tied back in a loose tail, and her feet were bare, nails painted a shocking red, each toe circled by rings of gold. She appeared more a dancer than a member of this group of warriors, and yet they all knew, were painfully aware, that in the realm of unarmed combat the beautiful Sakora was more deadly than any person they had ever met.

“Welcome, Sakora,” said Jonti, with a broad smile.

Sakora nodded, moving to one side, leaning against the wall, one hand stroking down a section of flowing silk. “It's been a while,” she said. “When he,” she nodded towards Beetrax, “sent the invitation, I was immediately suspicious.”

“Har har! You know my reputation far too well!” boomed Beetrax.

“Indeed I do,” purred Sakora, eyes fixed on the huge warrior, “and sometimes the words
sex
, and
pest
, enter the same timeline within the frame of my mind.”

“Ha! Sex pest? You'd be so lucky.”

Sakora shrugged. “You have indeed pestered me before.”

“I don't remember that,” said Beetrax.

“You do. I broke your thumb.”

“Oh,
that
little misunderstanding!”

“I believe you dribbled a good pint of saliva down my breasts before I had to resort to the physical.”

“Love, you can resort to the physical with me any time!” beamed Beetrax.

“You wish me to break your other thumb?” she said.

“Ladies, brothers, let's get to the point.” Dake waved his hands suddenly, attracting their attention. “I –
we –
are completely flattered, and honoured, that you all came. Brother Beetrax here is resplendent in his willingness to go that extra league in making our anniversary something special. However, the hour is late, and without meaning to sound crass in any way, it really is time me and my lovely wife relived our wedding night from all those moons ago. I assume you are all staying in the locality, and thus we should meet again tomorrow noon, and perchance seek joy in food, drink, lively banter and one another's happy reminisces.” Dake beamed, as if proud he'd managed to utter the words through an ale-fug which clouded his brain.

“Wait,” said Jonti, looking around. “There's something else, isn't there?”

Lillith nodded, as did Talon.

“You've not told them?” Sakora gave a sideways glance at Beetrax, and made a clucking sound of annoyance.

“Told us what?” said Dake, frowning.

“Hey, hey, I wanted it to be a surprise, right? I wanted the old gang back together before I spilled the beans and got Dake and Jonti here all excited and buzzing about a good idea and our future adventures.”

Jonti gave a narrow smile. “What future adventures would these be, my ambitious little Trax? Seems like you have it all worked out ahead of us... without actually bothering to find out if we'd be interested in the first place.”

“No no, don't get like that,” said Beetrax, pleading with his hands. “Don't be getting pissed about it before you've even given me a chance to speak. Because when I speak, trust me,” he pointed with a stubby index finger sporting a blackened nail, “
trust me,
you'll want to be in on it.” He lifted his hand and gave a little wave. One of the few remaining serving maids brought over a large wooden tray containing several flagons and bottles.

Sakora waved away a glass – she did not drink – but the others helped themselves.

“Go on, have some,” muttered Beetrax, looming close.

“It is not the way of the Kaaleesh. It affects judgement, timing, power, speed, all of those things you believe you possess.” She looked up from those dark eyes and Beetrax gave a little groan.

“Gods,” he mumbled, “it's going to be a long night.”

“Right,” said Dake, standing suddenly. “Jonti, come on, it's time we called it a night. As I said, we're all pleased you came, but the time for drinking is now gone, and we can discuss Beetrax's ‘future adventures' tomorrow over a proper full fried breakfast... Mrs Mangan's down the street does a wonderful fried black pudding, and when you crack an egg yolk it all soaks in, and–”

“Sit down,” said Beetrax.

Despite his voice being low, almost unheard, Dake caught a tone he'd not heard in a decade. He looked at Beetrax again, and saw something in the big axeman's eyes that made him give a little shiver. He felt goose bumps run up his arms and tickle his spine.

“Hear him out,” said Talon, settling down on a stool and folding his arms. The slim archer had a cool, detached smile on his lips.

Dake laughed it off with a boom, tilted his head, and then gave Beetrax a single nod, sitting himself back down and crossing one high, gleaming black boot across the opposite knee. “Go on then. Explain, Axeman.”

“I've spent the last week in the Rokroth Marshes,” said Beetrax.

“Doing what?” asked Jonti.

“I was helping an old friend escape from... his enemies. You may know him. His name is Fanakor Greeves.”

“That old rogue!” grinned Talon, showing perfect white teeth.

“Old rogue my boot,” said Dake, eyes heavy-lidded. “He's wanted by Yoon and the King's Guard for High Treason; smuggling dark magick texts, blood sacrifice... you name it. Beetrax, you mad bastard, Yoon will have you hanged if you're caught aiding Greeves. Worse, he'll have you tortured for a month prior, and have you squealing like a kitten in a bear trap. Have you lost all your senses?”

“Would
you
help
me
if I was in trouble?” countered Beetrax.

“Yes, but that's different. You're a brother. Despite the bad beard.”

“I owed him, Dake. I owed him my life. But that's a different story for a different day. The point is, I helped him evade capture; I smuggled him out. And I used my... less than salubrious contacts to fashion Greeves with a new identity.”

“Well, I still think you've taken a dangerous, unnecessary risk, my friend.”

“In return, Fanakor Greeves gave me his greatest possession, acquired after fifty years of study and grave-robbing; earned after a lifetime's obsessive investigation into the dark arts, into Equiem magick; into the Harborym Dwarves.”

“Go on,” said Dake, and the room was deathly quiet. The fire crackled, coals occasionally popping in the glowing hearth. Talon took a gentle sip of some fine white wine sprinkled with crystals.

Beetrax looked about, as if suddenly frightened of being overheard. He lowered his voice.

“Greeves gave me a map; a page torn from the
Scriptures of the Church of Hate
, or at least, what fragments still remain.”

“That is one ancient, deadly, cursed tome,” said Lillith, her eyes narrowing a little, their cores flickering like dragon fire.

“It is indeed,” said Beetrax, face solemn.

“Legend has it that book belonged to the sorcerer, Morkagoth. The evil bastard who summoned the mud-orcs from the slime and attempted to kill every man, woman and child in Vagandrak.”

Beetrax nodded. “Apparently. Whatever its origin, Greeves acquired access to the book, and stole the map.”

“A map to what?” said Jonti.

“It's a map,” said Beetrax, licking his lips, looking shifty for a moment, “that leads to the Five Havens, the five dwarf cities under the Karamakkos Peaks. They were once ruled by the Great Dwarf Lords who mined untold wealth – I'm talking oceans of jewels, warehouses full of gold coin, lakes of molten silver! Enough to buy you a lifetime of whores, Falanor brandy and Hakeesh weed!”

“Wasn't there something about a dragon?” said Talon, eyes narrowed, rubbing his chin.

“Three dragons,” said Beetrax, his own eyes wide. He took a hefty swig from his ale tankard, warming to his subject, and smacked his lips. “By the gods, that's good. Yes. The three dragons were slaves to the Harborym, their minds hammered and broken, or so the legend goes. They were locked away in three huge cylindrical pits, where they were used to light the furnaces. Or something. Anyway, that's all academic bollocks. The point is, the Harborym are long gone, extinct for ten thousand years, the Five Havens lost to the knowledge and thoughts of us mere mortal men. But all that treasure is still there, waiting for some hardy adventurer types to trot along and fill their pockets, and maybe even a few wheelbarrows, with an orgy of sparkling loot.”

“I hate to piss on your fire, Beetrax,” said Dake, frowning, “but unless you hadn't noticed, we're all affluent to the point of decadence. That's what being Vagandrak's Best Kept War Heroes did for our pockets. Why then, in the name of the Holy Mother, would we want to risk life and limb climbing mountains, fighting rock demons, and delving into long forgotten underground pits probably better left to the psychopathically demented Rock Fairies and all their little golems? Hmm?”

“Because of the three Dragon Heads,” said Beetrax, eyes glinting. “Tell them, Lillith.”

“The Dragon Heads were colourless jewels found deep, deep beneath the mountains. It was discovered they had incredible healing powers – they could bring a man back from the brink of death; they could heal massive, open wounds, making flesh run together like molten wax; they could cure plagues and cancers and other diseases we couldn't even dream of. They are referred to in the
Scriptures of the Church of Hate
with reverence, as if they were bestowed on the Great Dwarf Lords by the Mountain Gods themselves. Indeed, it is the Dragon Heads that gave the Great Dwarf Lords their dominion and kingship.”

“They can heal?” said Dake, voice gentle. He did not look at Jonti, but he squeezed her hand.

“Better than heal, boy,” snapped Beetrax. “They promise immortality! The Great Dwarf Lords lived for a thousand years, ruling their underground realm with iron fists. That was because of these gems. Until...”

“Until what?” asked Jonti, almost breathless.

“There was a civil war. Between the Church and the Crown. The Harborym Dwarves murdered one another in their tens of thousands. Being a noble race, the survivors, borne down by terrible guilt at what they had done, cast themselves into the pits of Moraxx, Kranesh and Volak.”

“Who?”

“They were the dragons,” grinned Beetrax. “So the book reckons; so Greeves told me. Volak was the big dragon, apparently. The male.” He shrugged.

There followed a long silence, where everybody considered Beetrax's words. The big axeman took another generous swig, and looked around the group with as much subtlety as he could muster. Talon: well, he had the archer. He knew Talon was a restless soul, and no amount of money in the coffers under his bed would stop him going on a reckless adventure with his old war buddies. He was the easy one. Beetrax's gaze shifted. Lillith. He had Lillith, too, because to Lillith, her quest for knowledge and new abilities to heal would outweigh any personal risk or possibility of death. She was a good woman at heart; too good. Beetrax knew that well, for once, many years ago, they were betrothed. Before she found her good side. Before she pledged herself to the spirits, the gods, and the greater good; damn them all to the Furnace.