Tome of the Undergates

‘With Dread, we can-’

‘You can. With the skinny little runt, I can sit around listening to two spineless imbeciles and waste time that could be better spent killing.’ He waved her off, stalking into the surf. ‘See you in the afterlife, if you ever make it.’

‘You expect to die,’ she called after him, ‘and you’re still going?’

‘It should have ceased to be shocking after the four hundred and twenty-seventh time.’

The curse she flung at his tail was lost, as was the tail, behind a screen of froth. She watched him become a red blur, his wings, arms and legs pumping to propel him beneath the waves and towards his target. She snarled, stamped her foot and found herself caught between cursing and envying him.

He, at least, would be doing something to help the others.

Gariath’s words were true, she knew; should their companions run into the longfaces, there would likely be nothing left to drift ashore. She admitted to herself with less shame than she expected that the dragonman had voiced concern for their companions before she had.

Now he was off, with at least a shallow facade of compassion behind him, to at least attempt to help Lenk and the others. And she stood on shore, helpless, left arm burning with impotent fury.

‘Where’s he going?’

She glanced up at Dreadaeleon’s approach, immediately noting the smoky tendrils he flicked from his fingers.

‘What happened to you?’ she asked.

‘Found something purple further up the beach,’ he replied, ‘fried it.’

‘It’s not important. Look, there’s-’ She paused, blinked at him. ‘Wait, what? Fried her? Just like that?’

‘Her?’

‘It was a woman.’

‘Oh. . wait, really?’ He flapped a hand. ‘It. . she had a sword, she was waving it at me. I was busy searching for Greenhair, I didn’t have time not to fry her.’ He stared out over the sea. ‘But where’s Gariath going?’ His eyes went wide at the sight of the black ship. ‘Furthermore, what’s that?’

‘A ship,’ she replied curtly. ‘Isn’t that obvious? It’s also full of more purple women, all armed, all irate, all heading for Lenk and the others.’

‘As well as the demons,’ Dreadaeleon pointed out.

‘Right. There are demons in there, too.’ She began to wade into the surf. ‘Gariath’s heading out to help and we have to, as well.’

It wasn’t until the water was up to her thighs that she realised both that she was not dragonman enough to swim out to Irontide and that Dreadaeleon was still standing on the shore, staring at her in befuddlement. She whirled, turning a scowl upon him.

‘What are you waiting for?’ She gestured wildly at the water. ‘Make an ice bridge. . or an ice boat, some kind of ice. . whale. Do something.’

‘Like what?’ He held his hands out to his sides. ‘It doesn’t seem like anything needs to be done. The longfaces hate the demons. We hate the demons and the longfaces. Let one kill the other and we can clean up afterwards.’

‘If Lenk and the others get caught between the demons and the longfaces, there won’t be enough left of them to clean up with a dirty rag,’ she snarled. ‘If you won’t help, sit here and wallow in a pool of your own cowardice, but at least call Greenhair to see if she can help me.’

‘Call her? She’s not a dog.’ He snorted. ‘Besides, I couldn’t find her. She vanished beneath the water.’

‘All the more reason for you to help me,’ she replied hotly. ‘What do you suppose will happen to her when whoever’s the victor of this little clash comes out?’

‘What do I suppose will happen to a siren capable of hiding anywhere in the limitless blue sea?’ He tapped his chin, her scowl deepening with each strike of his finger. ‘Goodness, maybe she’ll come out and ask for a hug?’

Her face grew red with the scathing fury building up behind lips twisting into a grimace fierce enough to spew it. Her left hand trembled at her side, burning angrily, demanding to be wrapped about the boy’s throat. If he noticed such a thing, however, he paid it only as much care as was required to wave a hand as though batting away a particularly irate gnat.

‘It may seem callous,’ he continued, turning to walk away, ‘but my solution is both logical and fair. They’d abandon us in a heartbeat and you know it.’

‘Being an adventurer isn’t about being fair,’ she snarled, tearing through the water towards him, ‘it’s about suffering every miserable person the Gods deem fit to throw into your company.’ She raised a fist angrily, his head a greasy black pimple waiting to be popped. ‘And dealing with it the best you can at the mo-’

The burning in her arm dissipated with such force as to be painful. Quietly, she lowered it, stared at it with wide eyes. It felt strange in its socket: no longer so heavy, no longer so hot. It felt exactly like her right arm, it felt. . normal.

That, she thought, has never happened before.

But it paled in comparison to the sensation that followed.

A feeling straddling pain and ecstasy swept over her. Her flesh grew gooseskin beneath her robe, a chill crept down her back, wrapping about her spine like a centipede with icy, frigid legs. She felt her voice catch in her throat, unsure how to respond to the feeling. Then, with a suddenness that made her knees buckle, the chill twisted inside her body, becoming violently hot.

The sun seemed incredibly oppressive at that moment, as though it reached down with a golden hand to glide past cloth, flesh, muscle and bone. It seized her essence in a scalding, fiery grip and shook vigorously. She could feel it pushing down upon her, a great pressure forcing her skin in upon itself.

She would never have noticed Dreadaeleon’s hand clenching about her arm had she not spied his scrawny fingers. He seized her with a strength belied by his frailty, he stared at her with an intensity she’d never seen in him. Behind the dark orbs of his eyes, crimson light danced like a flock of agitated fireflies.

‘What. .’ Her voice came reluctantly to her lips. ‘What are you-’

‘You feel it.’ He spoke with a firmness not his own.

‘Feel. . what?’

‘It. Cold. Hot.’

With surprising strength, he tightened his grip on her left arm. She felt her heart leap into her throat. He knows, she screamed in her own mind, he knows, he knows, he knows. Of course he knows. He knows everything. He knows what it is. She tensed her fingers, the burning returning. It’s hot enough to torch him. He knows.

If he intended to act on that knowledge, however, he did not. At least, not the way she expected. Instead, he pressed his palm against hers. It felt freezing, then hot enough to rival even her own heat.

‘You can sense it,’ he whispered, ‘can’t you?’

‘Sense what?’ she asked, hysteric as she tore her hand away from his. ‘I don’t know what you’re-’

‘Venarie. Magic.’

The fireflies behind his eyes, the ever-present, if faint, mark of wizardry in his stare, went alight. His gaze became a pair of pyres, crimson energy seeping out in great flashes. He turned his scowl out to sea, the pyres becoming thin red gashes.

‘There is. . a wizard out there.’

Her gaze followed his, towards the only thing present upon the sea.

The black ship drew into Irontide’s ominous shadow, blending into the darkness. But Asper could still see it, clear as a fire on fresh-fallen snow. Though she knew she stared into darkness, she felt the ship, sensed it as she might an itch between the shoulder blades. She felt it throb, felt it twitch.

And then she felt it stand up and stride to the prow of the ship.

Something stirred atop the tower’s battlements. A chorus of chattering teeth and throaty gibbers cut through the sky. The great crown of white shifted as a hundred bulbous blue eyes spotted the ship.

Like a wound bleeding white, the Omens toppled from the tower, pouring over the side with flapping wings