Tome of the Undergates - Sam Sykes

‘This is what it’s all about, then?’ she snarled. ‘Pay? Gold? Good Gods, Dread, you impaled a man.’

‘That hardly seems fair,’ he replied meekly. ‘Lenk and the others have killed far more than me. Kataria even made a game out of it.’

‘And she’s a shict!’ Asper clenched her pendant violently. ‘Bad enough that I should have to tolerate their blasphemies without you also taking pleasure in killing.’

‘I wasn’t-’

‘Oh, shut up. You were staring at that corpse like you wanted to mount it on a wall. Would you have taken the same pride if you had killed that man instead of just burning him?’

‘Well. .’ His common sense had fled him, his words came on a torrent of shamelessness. ‘I mean, if the spell had gone off as it was supposed to, I suppose I could have appreciated the artistry of it.’ He looked up with sudden terror, holding his hands out in front of him. ‘But no, no! I wouldn’t have taken pride in it! I never take pride in making more work for you!’

‘It’s not work to do Talanas’s will, you snivelling heathen!’ Her face screwed up in ways that he had thought possible only on gargoyles. ‘You sound like. . like one of them, Dread!’

‘Who?’

‘Us.’

Lenk met the boy’s whirling gaze without blinking, even as Dreadaeleon frowned.

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘you.’

‘You sound disappointed.’

‘Well, the comparison was rather unfavourable,’ the wizard said, shrugging. ‘Not that I’m not thrilled you’re still alive.’

He still sounded disappointed, but Lenk made no mention of it. His eyes went over the boy’s head of stringy black hair, past Asper’s concerned glare, through the mass of wounded sailors to the object of his desire.

The smaller escape vessel dangled seductively from its davits, displaying its oars so brazenly, its benches so invitingly. It called to him with firm, wooden logic, told him he would not survive without it. He believed it, he wanted to go to it.

There was the modest problem of the tall priestess before him, though, arms crossed over her chest to form a wall of moral indignation.

‘What happened at the railings?’ she asked. ‘Did you win?’

‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’

‘In a manner of. .’ She furrowed her brow. ‘It’s not a hard question, you know. Did you push the pirates back?’

‘Obviously, we were triumphant,’ chimed a darker voice from behind him. Denaos stalked forwards, placing a hand on Lenk’s shoulder. ‘If we hadn’t, you’d like have at least a dozen tattooed hands up your skirt by now.’

‘Robes,’ she corrected sharply. ‘I wear robes, brigand.’

‘How foolish of me. I should have known. After all, only proper ladies wear skirts.’ As she searched for a retort, he quickly leaned over and whispered in Lenk’s ear. ‘She’s never going to let us by and she certainly won’t come with us.’

Lenk nodded. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t have been a problem. He would just as soon leave her to die if she insisted. However, she could certainly call the sailors’ attentions to the fact that they were about to make off with the ship’s only escape vessel. Not to mention it would be exceedingly bad judgement to leave the healer behind.

‘So just shove her in,’ he muttered in reply. ‘On my signal, you rush her. I’ll cut the lines. We’ll be off.’

‘What are you two talking about?’ Asper’s eyebrows were so far up they were almost hidden beneath her bandana. ‘Are you plotting something?’

‘We are discussing stratagems, thank you,’ Denaos replied smoothly. ‘We are, after all, the brains of this band.’

‘I thought I was the brains,’ Dreadaeleon said.

‘You are the odd little boy we pay to shoot fire out of his ass,’ the rogue said.

‘I shoot fire out of my hands, thank you. And it requires an immense amount of brains.’ He pulled back his leather coat, revealing a massive book secured to his waist by a silver chain. ‘I memorised this whole thing! Look at it! It’s huge!’

‘He raises a good point,’ Denaos whispered to Lenk. ‘He might try to stop us.’

‘I can handle it,’ a third voice added to the conspiracy. Kataria appeared at Lenk’s side, ears twitching. ‘He weighs even less than me. I’ll just grab him on the way.’

‘I thought you didn’t like this idea,’ Lenk said, raising a brow.

‘I don’t,’ she replied, sparing him a grudging glare. ‘It’s completely unnecessary. But,’ she glanced sidelong at Lenk, ‘if you’re going to go. .’

The moment stretched uncomfortably long in Lenk’s head, her eyes focusing on him as if he were a target. In the span of one blink, she conveyed a hundred different messages to him: requests for him to stay, conveyance of her wish to fight, a solemn assurance that she would follow. At least, he thought she said that. All that echoed in his mind was one voice.

Stop staring at me.

‘Yes, good, lovely,’ Denaos grunted. ‘If we’re going to do this, let’s do it now.’

‘Do what?’ Asper asked, going tense as if sensing the sin before it developed.

‘Nothing,’ Denaos replied, taking a step forwards, ‘we’re just hoping to accomplish it before-’

‘By the Shining Six,’ the voice cut through the air like a blade, ‘who wrought this sin?’

‘Damn it,’ Lenk snarled, glancing over his shoulder at the approaching figure.

Despite rumours whispered in the mess, it was a woman, tall as Denaos and at least as muscular. Her body was choked in bronze, her breastplate yielding not a hint of femininity as it was further obscured by a white toga.

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.