Brothers of the Knife by Dan Rabarts

Author:Dan Rabarts [Rabarts, Dan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781949054026
Publisher: Omnium Gatherum
Published: 2019-01-20T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Akmenos was marched through the high, narrow streets of the fortress, between flat, squat buildings, beneath a hint of sky as crisp and blue as fresh folded napkins. Dark doorways and windows were barred with grimy steel shutters. The air was thick with smoke and dust. Dwarves scurried about, some hauling the wounded or the dead, others marshalling cartloads of munitions towards the fighting. This may have been a respite in the conflict, but the battle was by no means over. He was possibly the reason for this respite. That couldn’t be good.

The mesa gates appeared, one small iron doorway in its base cracking open at the warparty’s approach. Beyond the gate lay the desert and a waiting army, and questions, and thirst, and hunger. He really should’ve taken a hunk of dough to chew on. Maybe not as nice as when it was baked, but it would’ve filled a gap.

Something moved, a ghostly flicker in his periphery. A trick of the light, or maybe the shadow of a bird skimming past the sun. Then there was a grunt, an outraged cry, and the world dissolved. Akmenos tried to scream but had no voice. No body. He was dust and shadow, swept into a void, nothing but memory and terror torn away by the unknown.

When his body reformed, he was still screaming.

“Shut it!” A hand clipped his ear. “This is meant to be a stealthy rescue.”

Then he dispersed to shadow and mist once more. Where in the Pits had Hrodok appeared from? What was worse: being handed over to the army beyond the walls, or rescued by his nefarious sibling? When he reformed again, he bit his tongue. Then he looked down, saw the city streets far below the parapet where they had alit, and he yelled in alarm.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Hrodok cursed, as dwarves in the street pointed their way, shouting. The pair translocated once more, avoiding a shining metal net that snapped towards them. After several more jarring leaps, Akmenos dropped to his knees, solid stone a welcome change beneath his hooves. The thumping heat of the sun was gone. He took a moment to breathe and pat himself down, ensuring all his necessary anatomy had arrived with him.

“Come on,” Hrodok growled, hauling him to his feet and starting down the corridor.

Akmenos stumbled along, disoriented. They were heading down, but where to? There might have been an invading army at the fortress gates, but how could going deeper into the dwarven stronghold be any better? “Do you have a plan?” he asked, puffing.

“Do you still have the scroll case?”

Akmenos patted his pocket. “Yes.”

“Let me see it.”

“Hang on,” Akmenos stopped dead. “Did you actually come back to rescue me? Or is it only this thing you really want? Where did you go, anyway?”

Hrodok turned, scowling. “Do you want to get out of here, or are we going to waste what’s left of our short lives playing silly question and answer games? I came back, didn’t I?”

Reluctantly, Akmenos handed his brother the mystical rolling pin.

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