Tome of the Undergates - Sam Sykes

Rashodd inclined his head respectfully. ‘You seem to be the most decent lad amongst this merry band of rabble we’ve had the pleasure to treat with.’ He hefted one of his axes over a broad shoulder. ‘I can’t say I don’t admire your — if you’ll pardon the comparison — cockroach-like tenacity. I’ve scarce known a man to display such resilience in the face of common sense.’ He lofted a great, grey brow. ‘Mercenary?’

‘Adventurer.’

‘That would explain it, wouldn’t it? I’ve no inherent disrespect for the profession, mind you, though it’s always seemed to me that an adventurer is naught more than a pirate who couldn’t bring himself to admit he’s scum.’

‘We’re all entitled to our opinions.’

‘Regardless, I feel compelled to ask you,’ he shifted his glance to Argaol, ‘both of you. . why put up such a fight? While I wouldn’t list it as a fault in polite company, are you blind, good man? Can you not see the merry company we keep?’ He gestured over his shoulder to the pale invaders, sliding up to reinforce their pirate allies. ‘Be frank with me — how many mere pirates do you know that command such beasts?’

‘I’ve met more than a few beasts in my time,’ Lenk grunted, standing as straight as he could. ‘I’m not impressed. ’

‘A pity.’ Rashodd shook his head sadly and turned to Argaol. ‘Then I appeal to your reason, good Captain. Is it too late to call for a cessation that we might converse as proper gents? Must it always come to violence?’

‘It came to violence ages ago,’ Argaol snarled, ‘when you started slaughtering my men.’

‘The merry boys of the Linkmaster are nothing if not famed for their bravado.’

‘What you’re famed for is rape, murder and slavery.’

‘You do me no honour with flattery, kind sir. Nor have I the patience to continue such an argument. Simply give us what we wish and we can spare you any more tidying-up.’

Argaol regarded the man hesitantly. ‘And what, pray, is it you wish?’

‘I had come intent on taking away some cargo, but I think it a bit rude,’ the Cragsman cleared his throat, ‘given that you’ll be requiring most of your merchandise to hire on crew to replace the men you’ve so unfortunately lost.’

‘Your hacking them to pieces was a bit unfortunate.’

‘Details. At any rate, we’ll simply search your cabins and take two of your gentle lady passengers.’ He held up a pair of fingers. ‘One of our choosing, one of yours.’

Argaol hummed; the sound was faint and distant in Lenk’s ears, slurred by the thunder pounding through his head. Even through blurring vision, however, he could see the captain’s gaze drifting upwards to the crow’s nest. Kataria and Quillian had both vanished from the mast; perhaps for the better, Lenk thought.

The captain’s thoughts were just as audible. He could see Argaol questioning himself, posing any number of logical scenarios in the tilt of his head. Why not, Lenk asked himself, why not abandon a savage for the sake of the crew? Please the pirates and please the Gods by ridding himself of a heathen adventurer.

Lenk clutched the hilt of his sword, unsure as to who he should turn it on once enough feeling returned to his arm to heft it.

‘As well as the priest below.’

Argaol’s neck went rigid. ‘Absolutely not! Murder is one thing, Rashodd, but I’ll not let you blaspheme this ship.’

‘Had I any manner of hat not made of iron, I would doff it in reverence of your godliness, kind sir.’ The Cragsman paused to pantomime this. ‘But I must attempt to skewer you with logic for a moment: consider the fate of your men. Resist us and the priest comes along with us, cooperate and the priest comes along with us. The only difference that remains is how big a charnel heap you’re left with.’

‘Zamanthras guides this ship,’ Argaol countered hotly, displaying the Goddess’s symbol hanging around his neck. ‘I will not risk the generosity She’s shown me by acquiescing to your logic, no matter how skewering.’ He reached for the cutlass at his hip. ‘You offer me a quick death by your own hand or a slow one by the Gods’ disfavour. I will accept neither.’

‘We aren’t giving up any woman or man, either,’ Lenk attempted to say without vomiting as the breath returned to him fiercely. ‘Heathen or faithful, adventurer or otherwise. ’ He hefted his sword and turned an icy glare upon the captain. ‘No one dies here without taking someone else with him.’

Rashodd was impassive as Lenk charged towards him, the tiny gnat levelling his tiny silver stinger against the massive, iron-clad frog. The pirate twirled an axe casually in one hand, testing its weight as he might a butchering knife in the face of a particularly choice piece of meat. As he lowered his visored stare upon Lenk’s head, he undoubtedly figured that his weapon would split a melon just as well.

The axe swung, bit only a few stray strands of silver as Lenk ducked low and thrust his blade upwards with a triumphant cackle, aiming for the small gap in his foe’s armour. Such mirth was drowned in the clamour of steel, however, as Rashodd’s second axe came up with an unfair deftness, grinding against the young man’s sword.

Undaunted, Lenk pressed the attack. The pirate might have had leverage and strength, but the young man had two hands firmly on the sword’s hilt and its tip poised tantalisingly close to the Cragsman’s intestines. Just a little farther, he thought, a good push and it’s all over. He saw his grin widen in the blade’s reflection, brimming with malicious hope.

It was then that he remembered that Rashodd had two hands.

The flat of the second axe came crashing down and slammed against his ribs. His sword clattered to the ground, hands contorting as muscles locked against the blow. Paralysed, he was barely able to let out a pained squawk, let alone squirm away from Rashodd’s massive hand.

‘Kindly use your reason, gentlemen.’ The ire boiling in Rashodd’s voice was reflected in the fingers tightening around the young man’s neck as he hefted Lenk from the deck. ‘Perhaps it has been your woe to have dealt with considerably less couth men than myself, but I can most benevolently assure you that my terms would be considered most generous by anyone slightly less deranged.’

‘There can be no negotiation where blasphemy is involved, ’ Argaol snarled in reply.

‘Ah, my dear Captain, there can be no victory where Rashodd is involved.’ He gestured out over the deck. ‘Amongst his allies are counted men who ply the waters like frogs and fight like devils. Look upon them, Captain, embrace the wisdom of our terms and we can begin the long and arduous process of restraining ourselves from the mutilation of fruits, stones and other synonyms for manhood, ’ he brought his axe up, let the blade graze Lenk’s trousers, ‘starting with this ardent young lad.’

Being strangled by a giant hand and with an axe brushing his genitalia, Lenk began to see the wisdom in surrender. He hoped between what meagre breaths he could muster that Argaol, too, had enough sympathy for his situation, if not his profession.

While he couldn’t twist his neck to see Argaol’s reaction, the captain’s derisive laughter assured the young man that godliness was, in his eyes, well above concern for an adventurer’s dangling bits.

‘And what then, Rashodd? Do we see how many more sacks are slashed before you get your men under control?’ He chuckled blackly. ‘Besides, if you want to negotiate, I suggest you find a more valuable hostage.’

‘Truly, good Captain, it is rare that I find myself in a position where callousness overwhelms me.’ The Cragsman shook his head. ‘I trust the honour isn’t lost on you.’ He looked Lenk over appraisingly like a particularly gristly piece of beef. ‘This upstanding young gent has spilled much blood for your well-being and you would cast him off so crudely?’

‘There are always more adventurers. They’re like cockroaches, as you say.’

The surprise in Rashodd’s voice was genuine. ‘It is with no great glee that I admit I hadn’t expected this of you.’ He twirled the axe in his hands, raising it a little. ‘And it is with even less glee that I make this example.’

‘You ought to listen to the captain,’ someone hissed from behind.

Rashodd turned laboriously with two heavy feet, not nearly deft enough to avoid the arrow that shrieked from the steps and angrily bit at his wrist as it grazed his flesh. His grunt was more of surprise than of pain as he dropped Lenk to the deck, his scowl more of annoyance than anger as he turned to the woman already nocking another arrow.

‘Cockroaches are everywhere.’ Kataria smiled behind her bow, flashing broad canines. ‘Back away from him,’ she gestured to Lenk with her chin, ‘that one belongs to me.’

‘Shicts, is it?’ Rashodd’s thick lips twisted into a grin that was undoubtedly supposed to be coy. ‘My good Captain, you can hardly retain your claims to godliness while consorting with heathen savages.’ He raised his hands, taking a step away from Lenk. ‘By all means, keep the dear lad if you think it will do you any good.’

Her arrow followed him as he took another two steps backwards. It wasn’t until a moment passed that Argaol glanced from the shict to the fallen young man and coughed.

‘Shouldn’t you. . help him?’

Kataria blinked suddenly, glanced down at her companion and sighed.

‘Yeah. . I guess.’

Rashodd seemed less than worried, even though Kataria kept her bow aimed at him while she came to Lenk’s side. The pirate, rather, let out a great sigh, as though a potential arrow through the eyeball was all one tremendous inconvenience. He plucked up his stray axe and twirled it.

‘And how do we solve this, then?’ He shook his head. ‘Kill me, my men will fight harder and, while they weren’t particularly restrained boys to begin with, they’ll have much less restraint if I’m not here to control them.’

‘Every last heathen aboard this blessed vessel will be cleansed by steel, scum.’ Quillian’s approach was heralded by the hiss of a sword leaping from its scabbard. Though she levelled her blade at the pirate, her scowl was for Kataria. ‘Every. Last. One.’

‘She looks mad,’ Lenk noted through a strained gulp.

‘She always looks mad,’ Kataria replied.

‘In the interim,’ the Serrant said, turning her attention back to Rashodd, ‘it is only logical that we begin with the biggest.’

Lenk held his breath as the woman took a menacing step. Rashodd was right, he knew — the Cragsmen wouldn’t even notice that their captain had been killed until well after every last man was dead. Such an occurrence, however, rested on the idea that a sword would be enough to stop him.

An idea, he thought grimly, that seemed more ludicrous with every step the Cragsman took to meet the Serrant.

She growled and Lenk winced, though the sound of steel carving flesh never came. Rather, there was the sound of bronze clattering to the floor as a great, clawed hand reached up, seized Quillian by the head and shoved her aside.

Despite having no breath to chuckle, Lenk felt rather satisfied seeing Rashodd leap backwards at the sight clambering up the stairs. If the Cragsman strode with insulting casualness, Gariath stalked with infuriated ease. The leathery skin of his face was twisted angrily, bared teeth as red as every other part of his body. Cuts and gashes criss-crossed his body like so much decoration, which seemed to be all the credit he gave his wounds.