Tome of the Undergates - Sam Sykes

‘Don’t do it, Denaos,’ Lenk ordered, ‘she just struck Gariath dead.’

‘The lizard’s still breathing,’ Denaos noted. ‘I’d be hard pressed not to release her had she actually killed him.’ He tugged her closer, bringing his knife a little further up. ‘As it stands-’

‘STOP!’ Dreadaeleon shrieked again. ‘She hasn’t hurt them. Kataria and Gariath will both be fine!’

‘Here’s a funny fact,’ the rogue spat. ‘Even if you say something a heap of times, it doesn’t actually make it come true.’ He levelled a murderous scowl upon his captive. ‘We should kill her before she has a chance to do to us what she did to them.’

‘She won’t!’ the wizard protested.

‘Well, of course she won’t if I stick her now.’

‘I mean she won’t at all,’ the boy added hotly, ‘not if you let her go. Otherwise, she might-’

‘Not if I jam a six-finger piece of steel in her face,’ the rogue interrupted. ‘Sweet Silf, man, try to keep up.’

Dreadaeleon made a motion to protest further, but instead turned two big, brown, puppy-like eyes to Lenk, pleading.

‘Lenk, she means us no harm. You’ve got to believe me.’

‘Oh, that’s fair,’ Denaos sneered, ‘go to Lenk for aid.’ He turned to the young man. ‘The boy might have been bewitched by her. Who says his words are his own?’

‘I say that you might be an imbecile but it’s far more likely that you’re a bloodthirsty moron! She was only defending herself!’

‘She attacked us first!’

‘Gariath attacked her first!’ The boy gritted his teeth. ‘Gariath always attacks first!’ He looked to Lenk once more, eyes going so wide they might roll out of his head. ‘Lenk, please. .’

The young man remained unmoving, silent for a long moment. He glanced from the unconscious dragonman to the curled-up shict, to the creature with green hair who looked remarkably calm for a woman-fish-thing that had a knife to her throat. He only spoke when the stand-off was joined by a red-faced Asper rushing up to meet them.

‘Asper,’ he gestured with his chin, ‘have a look at Kat and Gariath. See if they’re well.’

‘What?’ she asked, breathless. ‘Who’s well? What’s happening? ’ She glanced over at the strange captive. ‘Who’s she?’

‘We’re a little busy here, Asper.’

The priestess seemed to want to argue, but had no breath for it. With a muttered curse and a wave of her hand, she stalked towards her prone companions.

‘Release her, Denaos,’ Lenk commanded. ‘Keep your knife ready, though. Gut her if she moves funny.’

‘She’s going to move funny eventually,’ the rogue grunted. ‘It’d be easier to gut her now.’

‘Just do as I say.’

With a grudging snarl, Denaos took a cautious step away, releasing the woman. Both he and Lenk kept their weapons at the ready as the young man approached the creature with a grim look in his eyes.

‘If you’ve injured anyone here,’ he uttered, ‘I’ll take your head before he has a chance to gut you.’ He flashed a threatening gaze at Dreadaeleon. ‘And if you try to stop me, Denaos will take yours.’

He let that threat hang in the air as all parties exchanged wary glances. All save the female, who merely smiled as she opened her mouth and spoke in a lyrical, reverberating tune.

‘If all death threats have been finished, I should like to solicit your aid.’

Nineteen

LOUD AND NEEDY

While all men can lie through their mouths, and a select few have a talent for lying through their eyes, no man can disguise intent evident in his buttocks.

Lenk’s grandfather had said that, or so the young man thought, and while it seemed almost insulting that he would ever find cause to recall such a morsel of wisdom, there was no denying that it was applicable.

Buttocks were firmly entrenched, steeped in tiny sand pits carved of hatred and suspicion. Only Lenk’s glare, perpetually flitting between his companions, kept them seated.

It had taken no small effort to get them there in the first place. After discerning that Kataria and Gariath were well enough, it took the strength of all mortal creatures and the possibility of an impending execution to bring their buttocks to the earth in a circle.

Ensconced between them, like a wiry silver battle line, Lenk kept his sword naked in his lap, eyes darting between his companions and the pale creature across from him.

She was a sight that demanded attention. Her features were human enough, in principle: a face filled with discernible angles, five fingers and toes, though webbed, and a long river of hair, though bright green. Her feathery gills, vaguely blue skin and the crest that occasionally rose upon the crown of her head, however, left the young man’s buttocks clenched with caution.

Yet whenever she spoke, they became uncomfortably loose.

‘I am once again asking for forgiveness.’ Her voice was audible liquid, slithering on ripples into his head and reverberating throughout. ‘Had I known you meant no harm, I would not have used my voice.’

Lenk frowned at that; before now, he hadn’t thought of a voice as a weapon. Before now, he wouldn’t have believed it could be used as one.

‘WHAT’D SHE SAY?’

He cringed at the sound of Kataria as she leaned over and yelled at him.

‘SHE APOLOGISED,’ he shouted back.

‘YEAH, SHE BETTER!’ the shict roared.

‘Apologies, again,’ the female said meekly, ‘the deafness should subside before too long.’

‘WHAT’D SHE SAY?’

‘It’s already been too long,’ Lenk muttered, waving down his companion. ‘For the moment, your apology is accepted.’ At a snort from Gariath, he added, ‘By everyone who matters, anyway.’

‘I suspect we might feel a degree more comfortable if we knew your name,’ Asper offered congenially.

‘As well as knowing whatever the hell you are,’ Denaos added, cocking his head at the female. ‘I mean, how are you even speaking right now?’

‘She has a mouth,’ Dreadaeleon muttered, rolling his eyes.

‘I mean speaking our language,’ the rogue retorted. ‘How does some kind of fish-woman-thing learn to speak the human tongue?’

‘Don’t be crude,’ Asper chastised, turning to the woman sympathetically. ‘You’re more woman than fish, aren’t you?’

‘I. .’ The female appeared to be straining to express befuddlement. ‘I am neither fish nor human, though I have spoken extensively with both in my time.’

‘So you only talk to fish.’ Denaos sighed. ‘This is going to be another of those conversations I’d rather not hear, I can tell.’

‘Then feel free to leave,’ Dreadaeleon snapped. ‘We can accomplish much more without you here.’

‘We could accomplish much more without all of you jabbering like apes.’ Lenk fixed a glower upon the female. ‘All right, then. . we know how you can speak our language, now tell us what you are.’

‘She’s a siren, obviously,’ the boy interrupted.

‘A what?’

‘Impossible,’ Denaos said with a sneer. ‘Sirens are a myth.’

‘Yesterday, so were demons,’ Dreadaeleon pointed out.

‘Demons are a force of pure destruction that want nothing more than to rip us open and eat our innards. It’s easy enough to believe such things could exist.’ The rogue shook his head. ‘Sirens are a legend to explain away navigational errors. Fish-women that lure men to their doom with deadly songs and promises of raucous, violent coitus? Unlikely.’

‘Listening to you,’ Asper sneered, ‘you’d think everything unexplained desired raucous, violent coitus.’

‘I have yet to be proven wrong.’ The rogue’s eyebrow raised appreciatively at the siren. ‘Or have I?’

‘The young lorekeeper refers to the name that humans are comfortable with calling my kind,’ the mysterious female replied fluidly. ‘I have never thought of myself as anything requiring a name, however. I am a child of the deep, born of the Sea Mother and charged to warden her waters and protect her children.’

‘Fine job you’re doing of that,’ Gariath growled, ‘what with the giant demons prowling about.’ He reared up, rising to his feet; buttocks were tensed immediately, but remained in their seats. ‘Why are we even having this conversation? If you weren’t all so stupid, you’d see what she is.’ He levelled a claw accusingly at the crest atop her head and snarled, ‘She’s one of them.’

Lenk supposed the resemblance to the Abysmyth ought to have occurred to him earlier, as did most of his companions. Tensions rose immediately, daggers were drawn, claws were bared, and even Kataria seemed to figure out the dragonman’s accusation accurately enough to nock an arrow. Asper glanced to Lenk, wide-eyed and baffled, but even she seemed to stiffen at the declaration.

Before he could make a move to join or restrain his companions, however, Dreadaeleon acted first.

‘She. . is. . not!’

With barely more than a flicker of his fingers, he was on his feet, propelled by a burst of unseen energy beneath him. And, apparently envisioning himself as a particularly underdeveloped gallant, stepped to intervene between the woman and the dragonman. Quite unlike the vision his stand conjured up, however, the finger he levelled at Gariath, crackling with blue electricity, delivered a much more decisive message.

‘And don’t think I won’t fry you where you stand if you take one more step forwards.’

‘The only thing I don’t think is that there’ll be enough of your treacherous little corpse left to paint the beach with after I’m done with you,’ Gariath snorted, apparently unimpressed.

‘You tried to kill me just today,’ the boy warned, his finger glowing an angry azure. ‘That didn’t pan out so well, did it?’

‘If I had tried to kill you, you’d be dead.’

‘Gentlemen.’ Asper sighed, exasperated. ‘Can we not do this in front of the siren?’ Met with only a snarl and the crackle of lightning brewing, she turned an incredulous gaze to Lenk. ‘Aren’t you going to do something?’

That sounded like a good idea; however much Gariath would like to believe differently, Dreadaeleon’s magic was more than capable of reducing things far larger than a dragonman to puddles.

Lenk’s attention, however, was less on the boy’s finger and more on the rest of him: on the way he stood so confident and poised, on the way his eyes were clear enough to reflect the blue sparks dancing across his hand.

‘You’re using magic again,’ he said, more for his own benefit than the wizard’s.

‘At least someone noticed,’ Dreadaeleon growled.

‘You could barely walk after the crash.’ Lenk leaned forwards, intent on his companion. ‘What happened?’

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