Tome of the Undergates (6 page)

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Authors: Sam Sykes

BOOK: Tome of the Undergates
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Hard eyes stared out from a hard face, set deep in her skull and framed by meticulously short-trimmed black hair. Her right eyelid twitched at the sight of them all huddled together, the row of red-inked letters upon her cheek dancing like some crimson serpent that matched her very visible ire as she swept towards the companions, heedless of the puddles of blood splashing her greaves.
‘Quillian Guisarne-Garrelle Yanates,’ Asper said pleasantly as she stepped forwards unopposed, she being generally considered the person best suited to speak with people bearing more than two names. ‘We are pleased to see you well.’
‘
Serrant
Quillian Guisarne-Garrelle Yanates,’ the woman corrected. ‘Your praise is undeserved, I fear.’ She cast a glimpse at the human litter and sneered. ‘I should have been here much sooner.’
‘Yes, scampering in a bit late today, aren’t we, Squiggy?’ Denaos levelled his snide smirk at her like a spear. ‘The battle was over before you even strapped that fancy armour on.’
‘I was guarding the Lord Emissary,’ the Serrant replied coldly. ‘You might recall it being your duty, as well, if you could but keep your mind from gold and carnage.’
‘Carnage?’ Kataria laughed unpleasantly. ‘It was a slaughter.’
Quillian’s eyes sharpened, focusing a narrow glare of bladed hatred upon the shict.
‘You would know, savage.’ She forced her stare away with no small amount of effort. ‘I had hoped to arrive to see at least some modicum of rite was being followed. Instead, I find . . .’ she forced the word through her teeth as though it were poison, ‘
adventurers
.’ She spared a cursory nod to Asper. ‘Excluding those of decent faith.’
‘Oh,’ the woman blinked, ‘well, thank you, but—’
‘
She’s
with us,’ Denaos interjected, stepping up beside the priestess with a scummy grin. ‘How’s that stick in your craw, Squiggy? One of your beloved, pious temple friends embroiled in our world of sin and sell-swording, eh?’ He swept an arm about Asper, drawing her in close and rubbing his stubble-laden cheek against her face. ‘Doesn’t sit too well, does it?
Does it?
I can smell your disgust from here!’
Lenk caught the movement, subtle as it was, as the rogue gingerly tried to ease his blanching captive towards the escape vessel. Dreadaeleon, too, looked shocked enough that he’d never see Kataria coming to grab him. He readied his sword, eyeing the ropes.
‘That would be me,’ Asper snarled, driving an ungentle elbow into his ribs and ruining his plans. ‘Get
off
.’
‘The hallowed dead litter the deck,’ the Serrant said, sweeping her scorn across the scene, then focusing it on Lenk. ‘Innocent men alongside the impure. All sloppily killed.’
‘What?’ Dreadaeleon asked, pointing to his impaled victim. ‘
That
is, by far, the cleanest kill in this whole mess!’
‘Incredibly enough,’ Lenk added with a sigh, ‘killing is a sloppy business.’
‘These vagrants should have been routed before
one
of Argaol’s men could be driven below,’ she snapped. ‘
You
allowed this to happen.’
‘Me?’ Lenk said.
‘
All
of you.’
‘What?’ Kataria looked offended as she gestured to Denaos. ‘
He
didn’t even do anything!’
‘Yeah,’ Lenk said, nodding. ‘How do you figure we’re at fault?’
‘Because of the horrid blasphemies that continually spew from your bile-holes. You
anger
the Gods with your disregard for the sacred rites of combat! Your crude tactics, your consorting with heathens,’ her stare levelled at Kataria again, ‘as well as inhuman savages.’
Her eyes were decidedly warier when she swept the deck again.
‘And where
is
your other monster?’
‘Elsewhere,’ Lenk replied. ‘Look, we have a plan, but it doesn’t need you around. Is this really—’
‘Respect for the Gods is
very
necessary,’ Quillian said sharply. ‘Yes.
Really.
Bad enough that you bring your Godless savages here without questioning the divine mandate. ’
‘Savage arrows took three already.’ Kataria’s threat was cold and level. ‘I’ve got plenty more, Squiggy.’
‘Cease and repent, barbarian,’ the woman replied, just as harshly. Her gauntleted hand drifted dangerously close to the longsword at her hip. ‘The name of a Serrant is sacred.’
‘I’d disagree with that, Squiggy.’ Denaos chuckled.
‘Me too, Squiggy,’ Kataria agreed.
Stay calm
, Lenk told himself as he watched the Serrant fume.
This might be better. Neither Asper nor Dread is paying attention. We can still salvage this, we can still—
Kill.
The thought leapt, again, unbidden to his mind. He blinked, as though he had just taken a wrong turn.
Run
, he corrected himself.
Kill
, his mind insisted.
And, like a spark that heralds the disastrous fire to come, the sudden concern on his face sparked Quillian’s suspicion. Her glance was a whirlwind, carrying that fire and giving it horrific life as it swept from the companions, standing tensed and ready, to the escape vessel.
By the time it settled on Lenk, wide with shock and fury, he could see his plan consumed in that fire, precious ash on the wind.
‘She knows,’ Lenk whispered harshly to Kataria. ‘She
knows
.’
‘Who cares?’ the shict growled. ‘Stick to your plan.’
‘What? Shove her in, too?’
‘No, shove her
over
. She’ll sink like a stone in all that armour.’ She paused, ears flattening against her head. ‘It was my idea, though, so she counts as my kill.’
‘Deserters,’ Quillian hissed, ‘are the most grievous of sinners.’
Damn it, damn it, damn it
, Lenk cursed as he watched her sword begin to slide out of its scabbard.
This complicates things. But we can still—
Kill.
‘I suppose you would know,’ Denaos said with a thoughtful eye for the brand under her right eye, ‘wouldn’t you?’
Her shock was plain on her face, the kind of naked awe that came from the knowledge of a secret revealed. Her lip quivered, her spare hand going to the red ink.
‘You—’
‘Yes,’ he replied smoothly. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind scampering off to scrawl another oath on your forehead or something? We’ve got stratagems to—’
‘You . . .’ she hissed again, brimming with rage as she hoisted her sword, ‘you
dare
!’
There was a flash of steel, a blur of black. In the time it took to blink, the Serrant’s sword was out and trembling, its point quivering at Asper’s throat. The priestess’s eyes were wide and unmoving, barely aware of what had happened as two broad hands clenched her arms tightly.
Denaos peered out from behind her, grinning broadly and whistling sharply at the blade a hair’s width from the priestess’s throat.
‘Dear me.’ The rogue clicked his tongue chidingly. ‘You ought to be more careful, oughtn’t you? That was nearly another oath right there.’
Quillian’s eyes were wide, the bronze covering her knuckles rattling as she quivered horribly. Empty horror stared out from behind her gaze, as though her mind had fled at the very thought of what she had nearly done. It was an expression not entirely unfamiliar to Lenk, but it was usually plastered on the faces of the dying.
‘I . . . I didn’t mean . . .’ She looked at Asper pleadingly. ‘I would never . . .’
This is it
, Lenk thought,
she’s distracted. Denaos has a grip on Asper. Time to—
Kill.
No, time to run. We have to—
KILL!
WE HAVE TO RUN!
‘Now,’ he whispered.
‘What?’ Kataria asked.
‘
NOW, GENTLEMEN, NOW!
’
The voice of the Cragsman was accompanied by many others, boiling over the railings of the ship like a stew. The panicked cries of the sailors, mingled with Argaol’s shrieks for order, were hurled into the broth, creating a thick, savoury aroma that Lenk well recognised.
Battle.
Damn it.
Chapter Two
BLOOD AND SALT
I
n the span of a breath, colour and sound exploded.
They came surging over the railings in numbers unfathomable, the twisting wire of their tattoos blending together to create some horrible skeleton of black and blue outside the tide of flesh they arrived on. Their zeal was loud, joyous, the song of impending slaughter joined by the humming of their upraised swords and the clinking harmony of the chains they came clambering across.
‘Now,
now
!’ Denaos cried, lunging at the rigging and pulling a knife out. ‘We can still make it!’
‘
What?
’ Asper’s expression drifted from incredulous to furious. ‘You
were
planning on deserting?’
‘Oh, come on,’ the rogue protested sharply, ‘like you weren’t expecting this!’
‘I knew it,’ Quillian snarled. She shoved herself in front of Asper, blade extended. ‘Stay behind me, Priestess. The danger is not yet great enough that I cannot deal with a deserter first.’
‘
I say, look lively, gentlemen!
’
In the sound of whistling metal, the Serrant was proven violently wrong. The hatchet came whirling over the sailors’ heads, a bird of iron and wood that struck the woman squarely in her chest. A human gong unhinged, she went collapsing to the deck, Asper quickly diving to catch her.
‘Well, there you are,’ Denaos said. ‘Providence. Now, let’s
go
!’
‘No!’ Kataria’s bow was already in her hand, arrow kissing the string. ‘Even if we get that thing off, we won’t get far.’
As if to reinforce her point, a flock of hatchets came flying over the railings. The bold and unlucky sailors who had rushed forth to intercept the boarders went down under the sound of crunching bone and splashing liquid. The first of the boarders came sweeping over the railing, yet more of the thirsty weapons in their hands.
‘Dread!’ Kataria snarled, seizing the boy by the arm and shoving him forwards. ‘Do something!’
‘Right . . . right . . .’ He stepped forwards hesitantly. ‘I can . . . do something.’ He cleared his throat, then glanced over his shoulder to see if Asper was watching. ‘Er . . . you like fire, don’t you?’
‘
NOW!
’ Kataria shrieked in unison with the wailing weapons.
The boy’s eyes snapped wide open, hand up instinctively as he whirled about to face the onslaught of metal wings. His lips twisted, bellowing a phrase that hurt to hear, crimson light sparking behind his eyes.
The air rippled before him, hatchets slowing in their twisting flight, before finally stopping and falling to the deck.
‘Well, hell,’ Denaos grunted, ‘we can just have him do that and we’ll be fine!’
‘We can’t leave!’ Asper protested. ‘Quillian is hurt.’
‘So she can stay behind and be a decoy!’ the rogue retorted. ‘Am I the
only
one who’s thinking here?’
‘We don’t have time for this,’ Kataria growled. Her eyes, along with everyone else’s, turned towards Lenk, who was watching the ensuing fight impassively. ‘What do we do?’
He did not hear them. He did not feel her hand on his shoulder. Everything seemed to die; the wind ceased to blow, the sky ceased to move, the sea ceased to churn. He felt his eyes closing of their own volition, as though something reached out with icy fingers and placed them on his eyelids.
And that something reached out, whispered on a breathless voice into his ear.
When he opened his eyes again, there were no more enemies. There were no Cragsmen, no pirates, no sailors rushing forth to meet them. All he could see before him were fields of wheat, swaying delicately in the wind he could not feel. All he could hear was the whisper of their insignificance.
All he could feel was the blade in his hand and his boots moving under his feet.
‘Lenk!
LENK!
’ Kataria shrieked after him as he tore away from them, rushing to the railing.
‘Well, fine,’ Denaos said, ‘see? He volunteered to be the decoy. It’s a non-issue.’
The others fell silent; she continued to shout. He still didn’t hear her. The timbers quaked under him as several pairs of feet added their rhythm to his charge. Emboldened by his actions, possibly, or spurred on by the wordless call to battle Argaol sent from the helm.
He didn’t care.
His eyes were for the pirates that just now set their feet upon the timbers. His ears were for the sound of their last hatchets flying past his ears and over his head as he ducked low. His blade was for the man that just now set a hand upon the railing.

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