Carnifex (Legends of the Nameless Dwarf Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

in Grago’s eyes, and they flicked between Thumil and Carnifex, as if he were waiting for one of them to give him a reason to unleash his Black Cloaks.
    Garnil coughed and whimpered. Castail leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. Maybe he’d caught Carnifex’s thought about it collapsing. The lummox—Cony?—fiddled with the iron beads on his beard, as if he were taken with the idea of going into the realm of the homunculi, maybe even bringing along an axe and giving them something to think about.
    But any hint that the Council might actually do something was quashed when Dythin Rala sucked at the stem of his pipe and said, “No. And it is impudent of you to suggest such a thing.” He turned one rheumy eye on Carnifex, then let the lid droop shut, as if that concluded the matter.
    No one said anything for a long moment, until Grago leaned in and whispered in the Voice’s ear. They exchanged words only they were party to, and then Grago straightened in his chair and said, “This sort of thing mustn’t be allowed to happen again, Marshal.”
    Thumil stiffened and said, “What—?”
    Grago silenced him with the raise of a finger. “You are marshal of the Ravine Guard, are you not? And it is the mandate of the Ravine Guard to prevent incursions into the ravine, is it not? Among other things,” he added, as if he didn’t want to lose the right to fling them at Thumil at some later date.
    “Jarfy,” Thumil said. His voice was shaking with suppressed rage. “My man…”
    “Arrange a pyre. Honor him, or whatever it is you do. But let’s just be clear, Marshal, this is a black mark against—”
    “No, Council Grago,” Dythin Rala said. He tapped out his pipe on the table, apparently fascinated by the little pile of ash it left. “No, it is not.”
    Grago’s cheek twitch went up a notch. It went up another when Old Moary said, “Hear, hear.”
    “You have both done well,” the Voice said. “And you have our thanks. You may go.”
    Carnifex gave Thumil a “That’s it?” look, but already a Black Cloak was muttering into a vambrace, and the doors began to grind open.
    Carnifex gestured for Thumil to go first, but the Voice suddenly looked up.
    “Not you, Marshal.”  
    Thumil’s eyes widened in surprise.
    “And, Councilors,” Dythin Rala said. “Let us call it a day. Marshal Thumil and I have things to discuss in private.”
    “Thumil?” Carnifex said.
    The marshal raised a hand, waved him off with a wag of his fingers. “Finish your shift, son. You’ve earned it. Get yourself home.”

BLACK DOGS AND BOOZE

    As Carnifex left the Dodecagon, the thrill of the chase, the tension of being summoned before the Council still fired his blood, and he knew, if he headed straight home, he’d never sleep. Nevertheless, he descended, rather than ascended the steps spiraling around the Aorta. There was no point drinking in some priggish upper-tier tavern and then tumbling all the way back down to his sixteenth-level home. He’d already done that once. Twice, even. The bruises had lasted for weeks. A third time would be as stupid as stepping into the circle with a baresark.
    The silver glow of Raphoe still possessed the sky, but it was slowly rising, and a thin smile of black now separated the moon from the top of the ravine. As the darkness widened beneath it, amber glowstones would brighten to compensate, and the evening crowds would start to make their way home as the stallholders packed up for the night.
    Dozens of dwarves passed Carnifex on their way to the upper levels. The Aorta’s steps were broad enough for three abreast, and despite there being no hand rail, no one had ever heard of a dwarf falling to their death. The people of Arx Gravis were as sure-footed as the goats that pulled their carts up and down the zigzagging paths scoring the walls of the chasm.
    The further he got from the Dodecagon, the more the sounds and smells grew to his liking. Incensed braziers and the incessant