The Dragon Engine (27 page)

The dwarf overseers were tough bastards. But they were more used to whimpering slaves cowering under whips, no matter what background they'd originally crawled from. And each of the Vagandrak heroes had spent the last twenty years as soldiers, bred and honed and experienced in battle.

Dake fought with a mechanical precision, almost dancing between the enemy, his sword the master of the sneaky cut, the swift stab, the backhand cut from nowhere. Jonti moved as her reputation described. She was
The Ghost
once more. Dwarves wondered how the fuck they died. Talon, like Dake, was accurate, a machine killer, but out of his comfort zone with a blade. What he really desired was a good yew bow and fifty straight arrows…

Lillith, ever the pacifist, stayed to the rear, helping where she could, defending where she could. But she had developed a new coldness, and on two occasions plunged a dagger through a dwarf overseer's eye and stepped aside as he puked blood onto the rough stone ground.

Sakora danced, beautiful moves, a knife in each hand becoming an extension of her athletic blows; an exotic dance of death, her movements underlined with a new hate.

And Beetrax led the battle, his sheer brute power, his massive hate, his raging fury like an unstoppable machine, an insane lion enraged with hunger, ready to kill, embracing the slaughter.

Beetrax's adopted axe cut left, slicing a dwarf from clavicle to hip, despite his chainmail. Rings popped and pinged. The blade's point opened his flesh like a crazy zip and his insides unfolded slowly onto the rocky ground like so much butcher's offal. His scream was cut short by the stamp of a boot.

The return backhand strike opened another enemy's throat, so that blood spewed from this impromptu tracheotomy. The dwarf fell to his knees, lips working noiselessly as his newly formed second mouth made bloody hissing sounds.

Swords rose and fell. Blood and body parts hit the ground with wet thumps. The Vagandrak soldiers, high on a drug of frustration and hate, worked in perfect harmony; an efficient, oiled machine, tighter than they had ever been. They covered one another. Watched one another's backs. Killed for each other. Defended each other. Sparks flew. Swords clashed. Blood spattered the rocky ground like crimson rain. Blades cut through arms and legs. Dwarf skulls were crushed. Eyes sliced. Throats cut. Bowels opened, allowing intestines to slop to the ground.

And then it was over.

They stood, panting, barely a scratch upon them, spattered with blood globules, a shocked look on all their faces which appeared after any sudden encounter, after any battle; the glances around, searching for loved ones, searching for brothers and sisters, to check they were good, and alive, and whole; to check the whole party hadn't descended into rat shit. Into blood, and dark death.

“Lillith?”

“Beetrax.”

“Check the bodies.”

“Yes.”

Beetrax whirled around, could see the rest of the slaves still cowering. His eyes roved over his friends. All were standing. Nobody was on their back puking blood. All had looks on faces that suggested… life. Then his gaze shifted to…

Krakka.

The Slave Warden.

He was rooted to the spot, frozen suddenly, as if caught in an embarrassing position from which he could not escape.

“YOU!” bellowed Beetrax, pointing across the open space between the barracks, and Krakka stared at him. “I want YOU, you fucking cunt. Right here, right now.”

Suddenly, from the surrounding tunnels which led to the mine came a great commotion. It was a stomping of boots, the clanking of chainmail, many boots, many chainmail coats, and from the tunnels emerged an army of armed and armoured dwarves. They carried loaded crossbows, quarrels gleaming, stocks oiled, hands steady as these soldiers streamed from the tunnels and spread out…. Ten, twenty, forty, sixty, a hundred fucking dwarves, heavily armed, crossbows targeted on the Vagandrak slaves.

Beetrax, Jonti, Talon, they looked around, spun around, watching in horror as so many enemies emerged, all with projectile weapons. With military precision, boots stomped and crossbows levelled. Beards bristled. Fists clenched. Fingers tightened on triggers as eyes sighted and they took aim.

Silence fell. The silence of a child's funeral. The silence of a mass burial. The silence of the tombworld.

Krakka was almost bouncing. “Throw down your fucking weapons!” he screeched. “Throw them down, or we'll cut you down! Do it! Do it FUCKING NOW!”

Dake tossed down his sword, which clattered on the stone. He eyed the dwarves coolly, but he knew impossible odds when he saw them. Jonti followed, tossing down her own blade, followed by Sakora, and Lillith and Talon, who gave a twisted grimace of despair.
We were so close. So close… where did these bastards come from? How did they know?

Finally, only Beetrax stood, clutching his butterfly axe in both hands, a great scowl on his face as he faced a hundred crossbow-armed dwarves. Rage passed across his features in various stages. Slowly, he mellowed, and seemed to relax. Despite their bravery, despite their killing, they were well and truly outnumbered.

“Wait.” Beetrax's voice was low, and deep, and unafraid. He looked up, and around. He stared at every man, and slave, and dwarf present. And he grinned, showing hate, showing his total defiance against the Harborym Dwarves. “You are a warrior race, right?” he bellowed, voice roaring out, words reverberating back from the jagged mine walls. “You are fighters, and you are killers! Well. So am I. And I challenge the dwarf cunt who has wronged me, I challenge Krakka, that cunt over there,” he pointed, “and I want to see if he needs to hide behind all these dwarf-scum soldiers, I need to see if he is a proud warrior, or just the type to hide behind women and children. Does Krakka hide behind his mother's poxed cunt? Does he hide behind his father's wart-riddled cock? Does he hide behind children, behind mewling babies, behind the living shit who inhabit this hole in the ground?” Beetrax turned, and spread his blood-speckled arms apart, axe in one great fist, broken chains dangling from his wrists, face uplifted in glory and joy and necessity and a need to do what he had to fucking do.

Slowly, his great head lowered, like the head of a lion, and he stared across the space at Krakka, Slave Warden.

Beetrax's words were low, but all heard them, like a pin dropping on frozen steel.

“Or is Krakka a coward?” he said.

A roar went up from the dwarves, a roar of warriors, and Krakka felt Val leave him, stepping away, and the rest of his overseers leave him, and he was alone. Alone amongst his peers. Alone amongst the crowd.

Krakka took a deep breath, and threw down his axe, and ripped off his chainmail vest, tossing it outside with a clatter and shower of sparks.

Silence fell. A natural fallout.

“I accept your challenge, Vagandrak scum. I will fucking break you. I will fucking kill you. This, I swear.”

Beetrax grinned, but his eyes were hard, fists clenched.

“Show me,” he said.

T
he dwarf soldiers closed in
, forming an arena ringed by aimed crossbows, containing the slaves and the remaining overseers, and the bubbling cauldron of rancid meat. Beetrax stood, staring, as Krakka approached.

“Throw down your axe.”

“Scared of fighting with proper weapons, you rancid little shit?”

“No. I want to beat you to death with my fists, you hulking ugly fat son of a bastard.”

Beetrax dropped the axe with a clatter, and leapt at Krakka with a snarl. But Krakka was already moving, and they clashed, a flurry of quick heavy blows raining down. Despite being much smaller than Beetrax, Krakka was broad, and powerful, and smashed a right straight to Beetrax's sternum, making him grunt; Beetrax returned with a left hook that caught Krakka in the side of the head, staggering the dwarf. Beetrax front-kicked Krakka in the chest, and the dwarf reeled back towards the bubbling cauldron, but as Beetrax advanced, Krakka dropped to one knee and punched Beetrax in the balls. Panting, red in the face, Beetrax launched himself forward, grappling for a moment and grabbing Krakka's head and dragging him towards the cauldron, where he suddenly stooped, one hand clamping between Krakka's legs making the dwarf cry out. Beetrax lifted him up, and launched the dwarf, who smashed against the cauldron, rocking it on its iron legs. Stew sloshed out, running down the sides like pus from an infected wound. Beetrax's boot came up to stomp Krakka's head, but the dwarf grabbed his boot, twisting Beetrax's knee and bringing the huge man crashing to the rocky ground. They wrestled for a few moments, scrabbling around trying to get a hold on one another, before Beetrax slammed an elbow into Krakka's nose, breaking it. He wriggled, and managed to get atop the Slave Warden. He smashed a punch into Krakka's face, then a second, and a third. “Treat us likes slaves, will you?” he screamed down into that bloody face. “Whip us and torture us and rape us?” He crashed three more punches, knocking out teeth, and Krakka groaned.

Beetrax stood, panting, chest out, eyes on fire. All around him, around the ring of aimed crossbows, there was silence. Beetrax glared at the dwarves, spinning around. “We could have been fucking comrades,” he snarled. “But you took us prisoner and tortured us. Why? WHY?”

He moved away from the cauldron, growled some curse in mud-orc, then shoulder-charged the huge iron pot. It rocked on its legs, and boiling stew poured out over Krakka, who suddenly screamed, thrashing. Beetrax charged it again, and the cauldron rocked off its legs, pouring rancid meat and boiling gravy over Krakka, who thrashed, as the cauldron rolled over the stricken dwarf, and went clanging down the slope towards the still, black, underground lake.

It didn't quite make the water's edge, and came to a rest, rocking, behind it a great slimy, steaming trail.

“Bastards,” said Beetrax, as Val and the hulking figure of Galog approached, swords in their fists, intentions obvious. Krakka was still on the ground, moaning, hands covering his burned face and beard full of gravy.

“Get down on your knees, fucker,” snarled Val, gesturing with his blade. “You've had your fun. You've had your little revenge. But now it's
our fucking turn…
somebody call for Tallazok Mentir, we have a man here who no longer requires his balls!”

“Wait.”

The voice was a low, hoarse whisper, and all eyes turned on Krakka. He was kneeling up, his eyes filled with rage, both fists clenched. He staggered to his boots, righted himself, and pointed at Beetrax.

“You're going nowhere, cunt. You stay until the job is done.”

Beetrax grinned, turning back towards the powerful dwarf. “I'm starting to like you, you plucky little bastard.”

With a scream Krakka charged, and Beetrax launched a flurry of punches but the dwarf charged through the blows, grabbing Beetrax around the waist and powering him to the ground, where his head cracked against rock, stunning him. Now Krakka sat atop Beetrax, pounding blows against the axeman's skull with great solid thuds. Stunned, almost at the point of unconsciousness, Beetrax groaned, rolling in confusion, hands coming up to his face as Krakka jacked himself backwards, up, and staggered away a few steps. His huge fists were bleeding and swollen, and he stared down at Beetrax with contempt, his own face red raw, skin peeling free where the stew had quite literally burned parts of his face off.

“Bastard.”

He ran at Beetrax, delivering a harsh blow that cracked a rib, and sent the axeman rolling partway down the slope towards the underground lake.

“You want to fuck with me?”

He ran again, delivering another kick that sent Beetrax rolling further, blood pooling from his mouth and nose, his hands waving weakly, trying to fend off the attack.

“Well, I'll fuck with you all right,” snarled Krakka, and ran, delivering one final, mighty kick that sent Beetrax rolling, splashing down into the calm edges of the lake.

“No!” hissed Jonti, and started forward. Five crossbows turned on her, and Dake grabbed her, holding her back.

“There's nothing we can do for him now,” said Dake.

Talon stared at the ground, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Krakka moved to the mumbling form of Beetrax, and grabbed the axeman's head between both hands, dropping to his knees, pulling Beetrax's face close. “I'm going to kill you now, you piece of Vagandrak shit. And then all your friends are going to die. Do you hear me, deep down in that thick skull of yours? Do you comprehend?”

He plunged Beetrax's face under the water, and Beetrax started struggling, legs kicking, as bubbles erupted.

Lillith ran forward with a cry of “No!”, unable to take any more. But Val sprinted forward to intercept her, grabbing her arm. She whirled on him, punching him in the face. He laughed, and backhanded her onto the slope where she rocked, cradling her bruised cheek and bloodied lips.

Krakka dragged Beetrax's head up, and the axeman spluttered, choking, and his eyes opened. The dwarf loomed close. “Good! You can see me for one last time! Me. Krakka. The dwarf who is going to end your miserable, worthless fucking life.”

Beetrax was staring up, his friends and the gathered dwarves looking on from the top of the slope. His hands were clawing weakly at Krakka's arms, but the dwarf was in his element, powerful, dominant. Beetrax was weak, dazed, beaten.

“I'll see you on the other side of the Furnace,” growled Krakka, and tensed to force Beetrax's head under the sloshing lake waters one last time. Instead, Beetrax's face jerked forward, mouth opening, and teeth grasping hold of Krakka's bottom lip. Krakka screamed, his fists beating at Beetrax, but Beetrax held on for his life, as Krakka's lip stretched away from his face in Beetrax's powerful bite and he screamed and screamed, his scream taking on a warped, distorted sound, rising in pitch, past that of any woman. Beetrax kept pulling, and the dwarf's lower lip seemed to stretch impossibly far, before finally, with sickening crunching sounds, detached from his face and he slumped forward, dropping under the splashing lake. Beetrax scrabbled for a moment, then rose above Krakka, and placing his knee on the dwarf's head, held the Slave Warden under the inky waters.