Sam Sykes - Tome of the Undergates

‘Wait a moment, how many did you say that last one was worth?’

‘What?’ Hate vanished in a moment of puzzlement in Quillian’s eyes.

‘When the ships collided,’ Kataria repeated, ‘how many was that worth? How many did I kill?’

‘I don’t know,’ the Serrant snarled, ‘I was a bit busy nearly falling to my death .’

‘Just take a guess.’

‘I don’t know. .’ She drew in a breath through her teeth. ‘You killed. . perhaps eight heathens.’

‘ EIGHT? ’

Quillian’s shriek was short and brief as the shict released her. She came to a sudden, jerking halt, her bronze fingers digging deeper into the wood to suspend herself. A staggering gasp that sounded as though the woman’s stomach was on the verge of spilling out of her mouth went unheeded by Kataria.

‘That had to be fifteen,’ Kataria protested sharply, ‘ at least twelve.’

‘You’re delusional,’ Quillian growled in response. ‘Eight is being generous. You didn’t do more than shoot one man and send a few others into the sea.’

‘In a chunky jam I sent them! Give me a better number!’

‘Lying is a sin in the eyes of all Gods.’

‘Then you’d better cut it out before I send you to meet them.’

Until that moment, it hadn’t truly occurred to Kataria that she was prepared to send the woman to her death for refusing to concede a few extra Kou’ru when she hadn’t been willing to condemn her for supposedly killing her own tribesmen. It bothered her little; whether by righteous vengeance or petty numbers, still one less human.

If , Kataria told herself, she continues to act in such a human manner.

‘Do you concede?’

‘Not a chance,’ Quillian snapped back.

‘Lovely.’ The shict put on a self-satisfied smirk. ‘Bid your smelly Gods good day on behalf of Riffid for me.’

She turned about, folding her arms over her chest. She could resume shooting in a moment, when this particular distraction was over. Absently, she scratched her flank as she waited for the sound of bronze grinding against wood, gulls crying above the inevitable shriek, a pompous melon exploding in a barrel.

Either that or a plea for mercy. They’d be equally satisfying.

‘Shict,’ Quillian gasped.

So soon? Kataria resolved not to turn just yet; that would be too easy.

‘Shict!’

She can hold on for a few more moments. . or not.

‘Damn it, you long-eared vagrant! Something’s happening below!’

Kataria’s ears twitched. The Serrant’s concerns were confirmed in a cry of pain from a familiar voice. She whirled about, leaning over the dangling woman to peer at what was occurring below.

What had begun as a melee had degenerated into a matter of swaths: swaths fleeing before Gariath as he tore through the ranks of the pirates, swaths collapsing before Dreadaeleon’s fiery hands as his arcane chant went unchallenged.

‘That hardly counts as a “happening”,’ the shict sneered. ‘I’ve already killed as many as they have.’

‘Not that, you imbecile!’ Quillian pointed a bronze finger across the deck.

Kataria’s eyes widened immediately, ears pricking up in alarm at the sight. The greatest swath of all lay at the Riptide ’s helm, the sailors who had been guarding it now cast to the timbers like scythed wheat. The figure of Rashodd was immense amidst the carnage, wading unhurriedly up the steps towards the sole figure, short and wiry, standing in his way.

‘Lenk,’ she whispered.

Her arrow was up and nestled in the bowstring in an instant, aimed squarely for Rashodd’s massive back. The pirate, however, seemed less than interested in standing still and suddenly twisted, drawing up beside Lenk, uncomfortably close. Even as wiry as he was, as skilled as she was, and as massive as the Cragsman was, her fingers quivered.

No , she resolved at that moment. She would not add Lenk to her score. Besides, she reasoned, a shot from such a distance into a man of Rashodd’s girth had no guarantee to kill. To waste arrows on a single Kou’ru , no matter how big, simply wasn’t acceptable.

Her arrow was back in her quiver, bow in hand, leg over the crow’s nest’s railing as she prepared to climb down the rigging. Only a sudden shriek gave her pause.

‘Hey! HEY! ’

‘Oh, right.’ She glanced over the quaking bronze digits and stared down at Quillian. ‘I almost forgot.’ She smiled. ‘Now, we’re agreeing that the collision caused at least twelve in my favour, yes?’

‘Yes, sure, whatever!’ The Serrant nodded fervently. ‘Just-’

‘Mind yourself, I have to count.’ The shict made a show of wiggling her digits. ‘Fourteen from arrows alone plus, if we’re frugal, another twelve makes. .’ She smiled morbidly down at Squiggy, tapping her nose with a finger. ‘An even twenty-seven. Lucky number!’

The total dawned on Quillian the moment Kataria leapt from the nest and deftly seized the rigging. Squeals of fury followed her down, but she ignored them. There were more pressing concerns.

A flash of sparks at the helm drew her attention; Lenk was hard pressed against Rashodd’s twin axes, his sword nothing more than a weak stinger in the hands of a tiny wasp. Kataria gritted her teeth, splayed her legs against the ropes of the rigging and slid down, ignoring the burn of the hemp that bit through her gloves. She had no time for pain.

The game was not yet over.

Lenk felt a hammer explode against his belly.

The wind left him, the earth left him as he flew up into the air, sailing blissfully across currents carried by fast-fading screams in the distance. This , he thought, must be what it is to ascend to the heavens.

The Gods proved not so kind.

He struck the timbers with a crash, sliding like a limp, breathless fish. He collided with the base of the ship’s wheel with the meagrest of bumps, giving him the opportunity to lament that the blow hadn’t killed him.

‘Khetashe,’ he gasped breathlessly, ‘that didn’t work.’

‘You thought it would?’ Argaol was quick to kneel beside the young man, helping him to a sitting position. ‘Rashodd’s twice your size if you stand up straight, boy!’

‘I thought,’ he paused to breathe, ‘I could. . strike quickly. Use size to my advantage. . gnats and frogs, right?’

‘What?’

‘Something my grandfather told me.’ Lenk rubbed his stomach, grimacing; the indentations of Rashodd’s knuckles were all too fresh in his skin. ‘The frogs are big, slow and lumbering. . the gnats are small and quick, they can escape.’

‘No gnat ever managed to beat down a frog, runt.’

‘Well, I know that now . When he told it to me, it sounded like good advice.’

Any further conversation went silent against the sound of distant thunder, the sound of heavy boots. The timbers shook beneath them, the ship trembling with Rashodd’s stride. They glanced up as the pirate cleared the last step to the helm.

Rashodd stalked towards them with almost insulting casualness, heedless of the dead beneath his boots, the red flecking his beard, the glistening of his axes. His gaze was unreadable behind his helmet, his voice a metallic ringing.

‘It is with no undue fondness that I recall a time when this was a respectable business. It is with nostalgia that I remember when two captains could do business without bloodshed and drinks were always proffered to guests.’ He sighed. ‘Where is my drink, Argaol? Where is the courtesy extended to a man of my particular prestige? I would give you all the mercy I could spare had you merely displayed a bit of the propriety I am inarguably due.’

Using his sword as a makeshift crutch, Lenk staggered to his feet, steadying himself with the ship’s wheel.

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.’