Tome of the Undergates

smile to her purple rescuer, ‘we can satisfy ourselves with that, can’t we?’

The longface regarded Asper’s hand with apparent concern, eyeing it for a moment as if unsure what to do with it. For a moment, the priestess felt her heart stop as the longface shoved her bloodied blade back into her belt without cleaning it. While the sensation she felt as the purple female seized her hand in a red, sticky gauntlet was not what she thought she could call ‘good’ in all conscience, it was with no small relief that she saw the longface smile back, exposing rows of jagged teeth.

The feeling was decidedly ruined when the longface pulled her forwards violently and drove a purple knee into her belly.

She staggered backwards, clutching at her stomach. Her left arm throbbed angrily, pulsing with a life all its own, a foreign, fiery blood coursing through it. Swiftly, she seized it with her weak right hand, clutching it as though it were a feral dog.

No, no, no! NO! Not now! She grimaced at her arm, and it seemed to scowl back at her, as if to ask, Then when?

She found no ready answer as the longface stalked forwards, eyes glimmering cruelly in their sockets. Feebly, the priestess held up her right hand, half in futile warding, half in unpitied plea.

‘No! No!’ she hacked. ‘That’s. . not. . I didn’t want to. .’ She staggered to her feet, knees threatening to give out beneath her as she backpedalled awkwardly. ‘Listen. Listen! ’

She stumbled backwards, saved from falling only as the red gauntlet reached out to seize her by her collar. With a harsh jerk, she was brought face to longface, a jagged, white smile added to the ivory stare. And the longface spoke with a voice as harsh and grating as the iron spike sliding from her belt.

‘I heard you, pinky.’

‘You,’ Asper gasped, ‘speak my language?’

‘I do.’ The longface’s smile seemed too wide for her narrow visage as she levelled the spike at Asper’s. ‘That’s what your weak breed calls “irony”, isn’t it?’

‘It’s not irony, it’s coincidence!’

‘Arguing languages while you’re about to be skewered?’ The longface shook her head. ‘Your death will be a boon to your race.’

Before she knew what was happening, Asper’s left arm, burning under her sleeve, snapped up to seize the woman by her throat. The voice shrieking inside her mind, begging for control, fell quiet against a violent crackle inside her. The fire in her veins slid through her fingers, up her shoulder and scorched a bare-toothed snarl upon her face.

‘I’m not going to die, heathen.’

The longface’s smile only grew broader, a predator feeling its prey squirm inside its jaws. Without a thought for the unnatural tension in Asper’s hand, she raised her spike and aimed the point directly at the priestess’s face.

‘VERMIN!’

The bellow degenerated into a wordless howl that rent the air. Eyes, white and pupilled alike, turned upwards to regard the massive wall of crimson muscle standing upon the shore.

Gariath’s own dark orbs were fixed upon the longface, apparently heedless of the captive she held, as he unfurled his wings, dropped upon all fours and charged, leaving sundered earth in his wake.

‘Not yet, anyway,’ the longface muttered, dropping the priestess and turning her weapon to face the new threat.

She did not have to wait long.

With a roar, Gariath sprang from the sand, wings flapping, claws outstretched and aiming for a tense purple throat. What he received instead was a vicious handful of iron as she raised her spike to strike at him. He seized it and twisted it away. She was driven backwards by the force of his lunge but did not stagger, her heels digging deeply into the sand.

His free hand came up, claws glistening, and was caught in her grasp. His muscles tensed, eyes widened, if only in momentary appreciation for a hand large and strong enough to hold his killing grasp at bay. A good fight, his toothy smile said without words, a good opponent. And, as he reared his head back, his horns finished the thought.

Not good enough.

His skull crashed against her nose, snapping her head backwards. When he drew away a face glistening with a moisture not his own, his eyes spoke of a deeper surprise. The longface’s grip held firm, her hands unshaking, as she turned upon the dragonman a scowl burning white through the crimson dripping down her face.

She snarled, a noise as vicious and fierce as Asper had ever heard Gariath utter, and returned the gesture, slamming her face against his snout. He reeled and Asper’s breath caught in her throat; Gariath had never reeled before.

He made a long, slow effort of drawing his face back up. And it was with longer, slower and far more unpleasant effort that he drew his tongue across his lips, tasting the red that dripped upon it.

‘Oh,’ he said through his smile, ‘I like you.’

His nostrils flared, snorting a cloud of crimson into her eyes. Her flinch left her unprepared for the head that followed. His skull smashed against hers; she quivered. His horns crushed her forehead; she released him and staggered backwards.

As if infuriated by the sudden lapse in her strength, Gariath drove his head forwards a third time, sending the longface to her knees. His rage-laden howl became the song of a violent choir as he brought his fists down upon her back. She withstood two hammering blows before buckling, collapsing to the earth.

Not nearly satisfied, Gariath fell on her, continuing to rain fists upon her until the sound of meat slapping meat became the sound of thick branches snapping.

It wasn’t until the sound of a particularly moist sponge being wrung reached her ears that Asper finally spoke up.

‘Enough, Gariath.’

‘You’re right.’ The dragonman rose, flicking thick droplets from his hands. ‘This one’s almost finished.’ At an errant twitch from the purple body, he brought his foot up and then down, smiling at the sound of undercooked porridge being spilled. ‘Tough one, though.’

‘There are more of them.’

His eyes lit up with a glimmer that Asper often found charming in children being handed presents.

‘Where?’

‘Later. We need to find Dread and-’

‘Where?’

He stood before her, the stink from his body, and parts of the longface’s body, roiling into her nostrils. She did not turn away, despite the pleas of her senses; his twitching arms suggested that there was only one acceptable gesture to make. And, with a sigh, she pointed out over the sea to the black vessel.

He shoved her aside, scowling across the waters. The ship cut through the froth like a black spear, propelled by its harmony of oars. Purple bruises lined the low deck, and in each pulse of purple muscle, Gariath saw something that made his smile threaten to split his face in two.

‘They’re not so fast,’ he grunted, stalking towards the water. ‘I can still catch them.’

‘Catch them?’ Asper turned an incredulous glare on him. ‘Catch them? There are over thirty of them on that ship!’

‘A ship heading for the tower,’ Gariath pointed out. ‘A tower filled with Lenk and two other weaklings.’

‘Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you care about them.’

‘Fine, but only because I can insult you in so many other ways. Like this.’ His hands went limp at the wrists as he began dancing from foot to foot on his toes, whining through his teeth. ‘Oh! Oh! A bunch of scary purple women! Whatever shall we do?’ He gasped, reached out and slapped her face hard. ‘How about we kill them?’

‘Just because that’s the only answer you know doesn’t mean it’s the right one,’ she snarled, rubbing her face. ‘They’re dangerous. That last one almost killed me.’

‘Such a phenomenon ceased being interesting the last four hundred and twenty-six times it happened.’