Tome of the Undergates

of decent faith.’

‘Oh,’ the woman blinked, ‘well, thank you, but-’

‘She’s with us,’ Denaos interjected, stepping up beside the priestess with a scummy grin. ‘How’s that stick in your craw, Squiggy? One of your beloved, pious temple friends embroiled in our world of sin and sell-swording, eh?’ He swept an arm about Asper, drawing her in close and rubbing his stubble- laden cheek against her face. ‘Doesn’t sit too well, does it? Does it? I can smell your disgust from here!’

Lenk caught the movement, subtle as it was, as the rogue gingerly tried to ease his blanching captive towards the escape vessel. Dreadaeleon, too, looked shocked enough that he’d never see Kataria coming to grab him. He readied his sword, eyeing the ropes.

‘That would be me,’ Asper snarled, driving an ungentle elbow into his ribs and ruining his plans. ‘Get off.’

‘The hallowed dead litter the deck,’ the Serrant said, sweeping her scorn across the scene, then focusing it on Lenk. ‘Innocent men alongside the impure. All sloppily killed.’

‘What?’ Dreadaeleon asked, pointing to his impaled victim. ‘That is, by far, the cleanest kill in this whole mess!’

‘Incredibly enough,’ Lenk added with a sigh, ‘killing is a sloppy business.’

‘These vagrants should have been routed before one of Argaol’s men could be driven below,’ she snapped. ‘You allowed this to happen.’

‘Me?’ Lenk said.

‘All of you.’

‘What?’ Kataria looked offended as she gestured to Denaos. ‘He didn’t even do anything!’

‘Yeah,’ Lenk said, nodding. ‘How do you figure we’re at fault?’

‘Because of the horrid blasphemies that continually spew from your bile-holes. You anger the Gods with your disregard for the sacred rites of combat! Your crude tactics, your consorting with heathens,’ her stare levelled at Kataria again, ‘as well as inhuman savages.’

Her eyes were decidedly warier when she swept the deck again.

‘And where is your other monster?’

‘Elsewhere,’ Lenk replied. ‘Look, we have a plan, but it doesn’t need you around. Is this really-’

‘Respect for the Gods is very necessary,’ Quillian said sharply. ‘Yes. Really. Bad enough that you bring your Godless savages here without questioning the divine mandate. ’

‘Savage arrows took three already.’ Kataria’s threat was cold and level. ‘I’ve got plenty more, Squiggy.’

‘Cease and repent, barbarian,’ the woman replied, just as harshly. Her gauntleted hand drifted dangerously close to the longsword at her hip. ‘The name of a Serrant is sacred.’

‘I’d disagree with that, Squiggy.’ Denaos chuckled.

‘Me too, Squiggy,’ Kataria agreed.

Stay calm, Lenk told himself as he watched the Serrant fume. This might be better. Neither Asper nor Dread is paying attention. We can still salvage this, we can still-

Kill.

The thought leapt, again, unbidden to his mind. He blinked, as though he had just taken a wrong turn.

Run, he corrected himself.

Kill, his mind insisted.

And, like a spark that heralds the disastrous fire to come, the sudden concern on his face sparked Quillian’s suspicion. Her glance was a whirlwind, carrying that fire and giving it horrific life as it swept from the companions, standing tensed and ready, to the escape vessel.

By the time it settled on Lenk, wide with shock and fury, he could see his plan consumed in that fire, precious ash on the wind.

‘She knows,’ Lenk whispered harshly to Kataria. ‘She knows.’

‘Who cares?’ the shict growled. ‘Stick to your plan.’

‘What? Shove her in, too?’

‘No, shove her over. She’ll sink like a stone in all that armour.’ She paused, ears flattening against her head. ‘It was my idea, though, so she counts as my kill.’

‘Deserters,’ Quillian hissed, ‘are the most grievous of sinners.’

Damn it, damn it, damn it, Lenk cursed as he watched her sword begin to slide out of its scabbard. This complicates things. But we can still-

Kill.

‘I suppose you would know,’ Denaos said with a thoughtful eye for the brand under her right eye, ‘wouldn’t you?’

Her shock was plain on her face, the kind of naked awe that came from the knowledge of a secret revealed. Her lip quivered, her spare hand going to the red ink.

‘You-’

‘Yes,’ he replied smoothly. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind scampering off to scrawl another oath on your forehead or something? We’ve got stratagems to-’

‘You. .’ she hissed again, brimming with rage as she hoisted her sword, ‘you dare!’

There was a flash of steel, a blur of black. In the time it took to blink, the Serrant’s sword was out and trembling, its point quivering at Asper’s throat. The priestess’s eyes were wide and unmoving, barely aware of what had happened as two broad hands clenched her arms tightly.

Denaos peered out from behind her, grinning broadly and whistling sharply at the blade a hair’s width from the priestess’s throat.

‘Dear me.’ The rogue clicked his tongue chidingly. ‘You ought to be more careful, oughtn’t you? That was nearly another oath right there.’

Quillian’s eyes were wide, the bronze covering her knuckles rattling as she quivered horribly. Empty horror stared out from behind her gaze, as though her mind had fled at the very thought of what she had nearly done. It was an expression not entirely unfamiliar to Lenk, but it was usually plastered on the faces of the dying.

‘I. . I didn’t mean. .’ She looked at Asper pleadingly. ‘I would never. .’

This is it, Lenk thought, she’s distracted. Denaos has a grip on Asper. Time to-

Kill.

No, time to run. We have to-

KILL!

WE HAVE TO RUN!

‘Now,’ he whispered.

‘What?’ Kataria asked.

‘NOW, GENTLEMEN, NOW!’

The voice of the Cragsman was accompanied by many others, boiling over the railings of the ship like a stew. The panicked cries of the sailors, mingled with Argaol’s shrieks for order, were hurled into the broth, creating a thick, savoury aroma that Lenk well recognised.

Battle.

Damn it.

Chapter Two

BLOOD AND SALT