Tome of the Undergates

‘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?’

At the question, the boy seemed to forget his impending evisceration. He lowered his finger, magic extinguished, and beamed a smile at the young man. With all the propriety of an actor, he stepped aside and gestured to the siren, who merely blinked and smiled.

‘She did it,’ he said, ‘with her song.’

Lenk felt his heart quicken a beat. ‘You can heal,’ he whispered, ‘with your song?’

‘It is within my power to soothe.’ She nodded.

His mind quickened to match his heart, a flood of thoughts streaming in. The siren could heal. . no, not heal, soothe. She could soothe Dreadaeleon’s headache, an affliction that no known medicine could cure. She could soothe the mind.

And perhaps, he thought, the voices within it.

‘Sit down.’ He waved a hand at Gariath.

‘What?’ The dragonman growled. ‘Why?’

‘I want to hear what she has to say,’ he replied. ‘Not that I’m promising anything, but if Dreadaeleon believes in her, we should give her a chance.’

‘The little runt came within an inch of betraying us,’ Gariath snorted, ‘and the last thing she said made the shict deaf.’

Lenk tensed himself at the mention of Kataria, not for any anticipation that she might yell again, but for the fact that he suddenly felt her gaze upon him. Glancing from the corner of his eye, for he did not meet her stare directly, he imagined she could be looking at him for any number of reasons: explanation, impatience. .

Or perhaps his suspicions were right and, deaf as she was, those giant ears could still hear his thoughts.

‘If I held attempted murder against everyone in this group,’ he said calmly, looking away from the shict and towards the dragonman, ‘then we’d never get anything done. He’s entitled to at least one attempt on your life for all the times you’ve actively attempted on his.’

The dragonman’s glower shifted about the circle, from the siren to the young man to the boy, then once more around the others assembled. Finally, he settled a scowl upon Lenk.

‘You couldn’t stop me, you know,’ he grunted.

‘Probably not.’ Lenk shrugged.

‘Good. So long as we all understand that.’ He snorted, took a step backwards, settled upon his haunches and scowled at the siren. ‘Talk.’

The female blinked. ‘In regards to. .’

‘Start with your name?’ Asper offered. ‘I believe that’s where we left off before we decided to act like raving psychotics.’

‘I. . I do not have a name, I am afraid,’ she replied meekly. ‘I have never had a use for one.’

‘Everyone needs a name,’ Dreadaeleon quickly retorted. ‘What else would we call you?’

‘Screechy.’ Denaos nodded. ‘Screechy MacEarbleed.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Asper chastised. ‘She needs something elegant. . like from a play.’

‘Lashenka!’ Dreadaeleon piped up, enthused. ‘You remember the tragedy, don’t you? Lament for