Sam Sykes - Tome of the Undergates

• Название: Tome of the Undergates
• Автор: Sam Sykes
• Жанр: Фэнтези

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‘Whatever,’ Lenk interjected before Kataria could do more than scowl and open her mouth. ‘I need you both to climb up there and-’

‘I serve a higher calling than you, heathen,’ the Serrant interrupted with a sneering growl. ‘Do you suppose I am one of your raving lunatics to command like a hound?’

‘I suppose you’d be interested in preserving the life of your employer, as well as that of the priestess below,’ Lenk retorted sharply. ‘Listen to me and you can avoid earning yourself another red oath, Serrant.’

At that, the woman narrowed her eyes and shifted a stray lock of black hair from her rigid face. She didn’t make any other move and Lenk supposed that was as close to assent as she would come.

‘Right,’ he grunted. ‘If we put you up in the crow’s nest, you can shoot down whoever comes across.’

‘A shict can shoot down anything with round ears and two legs,’ Kataria said, casting a sidelong smirk at Quillian. ‘Squiggy here throws arrows away like flowers at a wedding. Perhaps she’d better stay down here and see if she can’t absorb some steel.’

‘Why, you barbaric, mule-eared little-’ Quillian began to snarl before Lenk’s hand went up.

‘Stop.’ He pointed a finger up to the rigging. ‘Go.’

With cold glares exchanged, the two females grudgingly skulked off towards the rigging together. Lenk watched as they nimbly scaled the ropes, if only to make certain they didn’t shove each other off, before turning to the others.

‘Dread,’ he glanced at the boy leaning against the mast, massaging his temples, ‘you’ve got the most important job.’

‘Naturally,’ the wizard muttered. ‘Somehow, having the talent to hurl fire from one’s palms always predisposes one to being given the “important” jobs.’

‘Yes, you’re incredibly sarcastic,’ Lenk sighed, ‘and if we had more time I’d eagerly indulge your staggering intellect. However,’ he gestured over the side towards the ever-growing Linkmaster, ‘the whole impending disembowelment aspect is a factor.’

‘Fine.’ The boy rose dramatically, coat sweeping about his feet, book banging against his hip. ‘What do you need?’

‘A fire. Nothing much, just make something go ablaze on their ship to keep a few of them busy.’

‘That’s it?’

‘Well, Khetashe, don’t let me stop you from making their captain eject his intestines out through his ears if you’ve got that trick up your sleeve.’

‘I’m not sure. .’ Dread scratched his chin. ‘I’ve done so much already. I can only cast so many spells in a day. If I don’t rest, I get headaches.’

‘A headache is slightly better than a sword in your bowels.’

‘Point.’ Dreadaeleon stalked to the railing. He slid his legs apart slightly, knotted his fingers together and drew in a deep breath. ‘It’ll take concentration. Whatever happens, make certain that I’m not disturbed or something could happen.’

‘Such as?’

‘Where massive fires are concerned, is further explanation really necessary?’

‘Point.’

‘Here they come,’ Gariath said with a bit more eagerness in his voice than seemed acceptable.

The black-timbered ship slid up beside them like a particularly long shadow laden with flesh and steel. The deck swarmed with pirates, their boarding chains and hooks ready in hand, their faces splitting with bloodthirsty grins. The ballista stood drawn and taut, the metal claw of its mother chain glistening menacingly in the sunlight.

No sign of the bell, Lenk noticed, or the black-shrouded man. Or were they simply standing behind the titanic amalgamation of tattoos and iron at the helm? Rashodd was ready to lead this second charge, if the hands that caressed the axes at his hips were any indication.

Young man’s hands, Lenk noted.

‘Dread,’ he grunted, elbowing the boy.

‘As I said,’ he hissed in reply, ‘no distractions.’

Dreadaeleon’s fingers knitted, his mouth muttered as he looked over the Linkmaster, seeking a flammable target.

Lenk turned to check the Riptide’s preparations. Heartened by their seniors’ orders, the sailors had formed themselves into a working defensive line. Their wooden weapons were as shoddy as ever, but they had done the job before. The only difference between this and the previous attack was that this time the men were prepared to face the Linkmaster’s crew.

That, Lenk thought, and the fact that there are about three times as many pirates as there were before. . all a degree more psychotic than the last lot.

His own company was as organised as it was going to be. He hefted his sword, raising it as the ranks of grinning, tattooed faces grew larger with the pirates’ approach. Any hope of outrunning the fight was dashed; now, Lenk knew, it was down to skin and teeth.

‘The captain sends his best to you, lads,’ came a gruff, guttural voice from behind. Lenk recognised the sailor by his bandaged, burned arm if not by name as he came clambering up. ‘We’ll do our part. The boys are ready to ravage. I hope yours can say the same.’ Exchanging a grim nod with Lenk, he swept a glance over the other adventurers. He grinned as he spied Dreadaeleon. ‘Look at this brave lad, here. Can’t be more than me own boy’s age. Good on ’im, even if he did set me on fire before.’ He raised a hand over the wizard’s shoulder, and Lenk’s eyes went wide. ‘No hard feelings, eh-’

‘STOP!’

By the time the word had escaped Lenk’s lips, the sailor’s hand had come down and clapped the boy on the shoulder. In one slow, painful blink of the eye, Dreadaeleon’s stare shot wide open, eyes burning with crimson energy. Lenk barely had time to turn away before his companion instinctively whirled around, bellowed a single, incomprehensible word and extended a palm.

The world erupted into flame, and as the flashing orange faded, screams arose. The sailor’s hands went to his head, trying to bat away the mane of lapping fire that had enveloped his hair. The line of sailors parted as he tore through their ranks, his shrieking following him as he hurtled towards the railing.

‘I TOLD YOU!’ Dreadaeleon barked, suddenly aware of what had happened. ‘NO distractions! I told you NOT to let anything break my concentration or THINGS could happen!’

‘Well, I didn’t know that THINGS involved setting people’s heads on FIRE, you crazy bastard!’ Lenk roared back.

‘What in Talanas’s name is going on?’ Asper appeared on the scene in a flutter of blue robes and a flash of hazel eyes. ‘What happened?’

‘Isn’t it obvious, you shrew?’ Denaos barked at the priestess. ‘We’re under attack!’

‘Get back below!’ Lenk ordered.

‘I should stay,’ she contested. ‘I. . I should fight!’

‘The next time we’re attacked by pirates who are deathly afraid of sermons, I’ll call you,’ he roared. ‘Until then, GET BACK BELOW, USELESS!’

‘No,’ the rogue countered, ‘stay up here and see if your God loves us.’

Before she could form a retort, her eyes were drawn to the railing. A cluster of sailors had formed, straining to keep their immolated companion from hurling himself overboard while more men poured water on his blazing head. Suddenly, her gaze flitted past Denaos and Lenk, towards the scrawny boy trying to hide behind them.

‘Dread! Good Gods, was it not enough to nearly incinerate him the last time?’ she snarled and turned towards the men at the railing. ‘Douse him and bring him below! I’ll tend to him!’

Lenk watched her go with a solemn stare. Her medicine, he reasoned, would do little good in the heat of battle. And she was in no mood to linger near Dreadaeleon.

‘I knew this was a bad idea.’ The wizard shook his head. ‘I knew it, I knew it. My master always said I’d face this someday.’ He began to skulk off, trembling. ‘Oh, Venarie help me, I’m so bad at this-’

‘Where the hell are you going?’ Lenk howled. ‘What about setting something on fire?’

‘I already DID that!’ Dreadaeleon shrieked. ‘Venarie help me. . Venarie help me. . why did I listen to idiots?’

‘No, no, no!’ He rushed to seize the boy by his collar, pulling him back to the railing. ‘Take a deep breath, mutter something, inhale the smell of your own fart, do whatever it is you do to get your concentration back.’ He pointed to the black ship. ‘Just do one more little poof.’

‘Wizards don’t poof.’

‘Well, you’ll be one if you don’t burn that ship down! Just fire it up! Any part of it! We can still outrun it and let it burn.’

‘Right. . right. .’ The wizard inhaled sharply, moving to knit his fingers together again. ‘I just need to. . to set it on fire.’ He licked his lips. ‘Then I’ll be the hero.’

‘Yes.’

‘No,’ a rumbling voice disagreed.

Before Lenk could cry out, before he even saw the flash of crimson, Gariath’s tail had lashed out to smash against the boy’s jaw. Dreadaeleon collapsed with a shriek, unmoving. Lenk stared up at the dragonman, eyes wide.

‘What was that for?’

‘Magic is weak. It didn’t work. It’s a sign.’

‘A sign of what? That you’re a complete lunatic?’ He began to glance desperately about the deck, searching for something, anything that might help. ‘All right, this isn’t lost. Someone just go up and tell Kataria to-’

‘No.’

His breath erupted out of him, driven by a hard crimson fist in his belly. He fell to his knees, gasping. His eyes felt like they wanted to fall out of his skull and roll over the ship’s side as he looked up at Gariath, gasping.

‘What?’ he coughed. ‘Why?’

‘This battle was meant to happen. I was meant to fight it.’

‘We’ll. . die.’

‘If we’re lucky.’

‘This is. . insane! I had a. . a strategy!’

Gariath looked down at him coldly. ‘I can cave your face in. I make the strategies now.’

‘Damn. . damn. .’ Lenk cursed at his back as he stalked away He felt the shadow of Denaos behind him and snarled, ‘What now? What the hell do we do now?’

‘Well, you know my advice,’ Denaos offered.

‘No, what do you-’

He looked up and saw the empty space behind him.

‘Right.’

His ears twitched, hearing the sailors behind him take a collective step backwards as the Linkmaster loomed up before them, drawing level with the Riptide. As the first hooks were thrown, the first war cries bellowed, Lenk’s focus was on Rashodd. The great iron hulk’s helmet angled down upon him, over the bone-white arms that grasped the railing to pull up slender, hairless bodies.

‘Gentlemen,’ the hulking pirate boomed, ‘good day.’

Four

THE LORD EMISSARY

‘Useless?’

The rip of bandages being yanked from their roll echoed in the confines of the ship’s mess, just as Asper’s snarl did, sticking in the timbers like knives. The man struggled, but she didn’t pay him any mind. She kept pulling the bandages tight about his charred face, growling.

‘Sermons, indeed.’ She tied the bandage off with a jerk. ‘The stupid little savages could all use one, coupled with a few swift blows to the head.’ Her hands trembled as she pulled another roll from her bag. ‘Swift blows to the head with a dull, rusty piece of iron. .’ She ripped the cloth free, wrapping another layer about the man’s face. ‘With spikes. A few to the groin wouldn’t hurt, either. . well, it wouldn’t hurt Kat, anyway.’

‘No disrespect, Priestess,’ her patient meekly said, ‘but the bandages, they’re-’

‘Soaked in charbalm,’ she finished, wrapping them around his head. ‘I apparently have to keep a lot on hand when I’m dealing with heathens who can’t even control their oh-so-impressive fire. You know he gets the shakes after he casts that fire? Loses bladder control, sometimes, too. He’s probably pissing himself right now.’

Don’t piss yourself, don’t piss yourself, don’t piss yourself.

The boy should have been more worried about passing out, he knew. His body felt drained; the heat that coursed through him was all but spent; he’d already reduced two men to slow, smouldering pyres. His hands felt dull and senseless, the electricity that ran through them having been expended on dislodging a chain.

And still they kept coming. The sailors put up an admirable defence, even in the face of the new, pale-skinned invaders. But they couldn’t hold out for ever. Neither could he, and he knew it. Nothing was left of him but spit.

He narrowed his eyes as he spotted two of the pale creatures rushing towards the companionway.

He inhaled sharply, chanted a brief, breathless verse and blew. The ice raced from his lips across the deck between the two and formed a patch of frost in the doorway. His foot came down, hard, frigid spikes rising up to cage the passage off. The creatures turned black scowls upon his red-glowing eyes.

‘No one,’ he said through dry lips, ‘gets in.’

‘I cured that,’ Asper said to the charred man, ‘with a tea I learned after four years of study. I can cure the shakes, heal their little cuts and scratches and make sure they don’t all die of dysentery. That’s what I do. I’m the priestess of the feather-arsed HEALER, for His sake!’ She coughed. ‘Forgive the blasphemy.’

‘Of course, Priestess, but-’

‘But do they appreciate it? Of course not!’ She snarled and jerked the bandage tight. ‘The stupid little barbarians think that killing is the only thing in life. There’re other things in life. . like life. And who tends to that?’

Her patient said something, she wasn’t sure what.

‘Exactly! I’m the Gods-damned shepherd! I keep them alive! They should be following me! The only person on this whole stupid ship with more godly authority is-’

‘Pray, does there exist some turmoil amongst the good people in my employ?’

She froze, breathless, and turned.

The Lord Emissary spoke with no fury, no sadness, no genuine curiosity at the sight before him. He raised his voice no higher than he would were he consoling a wailing infant. His conviction was that of a mewling kitten.