Tome of the Undergates

Page 40

‘I’m rather more concerned with what they’re doing,’ Denaos muttered with a grimace as the frogmen began to rhythmically sway. ‘Any ceremony accompanied by ritualistic chanting tends to end with eviscerations, in my experience.’

‘I am slightly tempted to enquire, but all the same.’ Lenk nudged Kataria’s shoulder. ‘Any sign of Abysmyths?’

‘Not that I can see.’ Her eyes were narrowed, sweeping the chamber. ‘Take that as you will, though. They’re large, black things in a large, black room.’

‘Well, we can hardly wait here for them to come and eat us,’ the young man murmured. ‘We’ll have to move soon.’

‘To where, exactly?’

Lenk glanced about the hall. Options, it seemed, were limited. The chamber had undoubtedly once been grand, though its vast ceiling had begun to sink, its marching pillars had crumbled and its floor was completely lost to the water, save for the sprawling stone island that the frogmen congregated upon.

He didn’t even bother to note the torches crackling an unnatural green and the hanging sacs; there would be time enough to soil himself over those details later.

Though nearly unnoticeable through the gloom, he spied a crumbling archway at the chamber’s furthest corner. Half-drowned, half-cloaked in shadow, what lay beyond it was veiled in forbidding void.

‘There,’ he pointed, ‘that’s the way.’

‘How do you figure?’ Kataria grunted.

‘Because we seem to have a habit of going into places that would result in our deaths and I’d hate to ruin our rhythm.’

‘Sound reasoning as any. However,’ Denaos gestured to the prostrate frogmen, ‘how do you intend to get past them?’

‘Luck? Prayer?’ The young man shrugged.

‘Neither of which ever seem to work for me,’ the rogue countered. ‘Hence, before we decide to rush off all at once and possibly die together, let’s do a bit of scouting.’ He gestured to Kataria. ‘Send the shict out first.’

The suggestion struck Lenk like an open-handed slap and he felt himself tense at it, fixing a scowl upon the rogue. In the back of his mind, he knew such an anger shouldn’t have been stirred within him; after all, his companions had nothing in common save complete disregard for each other’s well-being.

All the same, he couldn’t help but tighten his grip on his sword irately.

‘Yeah, that works.’

If Denaos had slapped him, Kataria’s response all but knocked him into the water. He whirled on her suddenly with eyes wide.

‘What?’ he sputtered. ‘Wait, why?’

‘It makes sense, doesn’t it? I’m the best stalker. I should go ahead and see if this even has a chance of working.’

She unstrung her bow and pulled a small leather pouch from her belt. Quietly coiling the string, she secured it tightly within the pouch before popping it into her mouth and swallowing it. Her unpleasant smile at the men’s revulsion was accompanied by a wink.

‘Wet bows don’t shoot.’

‘That’s not what I’m worried about. You might get killed.’

She blinked at him.

‘And?’ Not waiting for an answer, she turned, crouching low into the water. ‘Assuming you can see me when I reach the door, follow.’

‘But . . . Fine.’

Lenk found the words coming out of his mouth with more exasperation than they should have. He watched her slide into the water, her black-painted flesh melding seamlessly into the gloom. Only the tips of her ears, protruding from the surface like the dorsal fins of two fish, gave any indication of her presence.

It was only after she was almost totally out of sight that he whispered to her fading form.

‘Be careful.’

‘She’ll be fine,’ Denaos muttered.

‘Of course, no great loss if she dies.’ Lenk cast a cold, narrow scowl over his shoulder. ‘Right?’

‘Given the circumstances, I would think the opposite. I’d rather have a working bow than a corpse.’

‘Don’t act coy.’

‘It’s no act, I assure you.’

‘Well, in case you hadn’t noticed,’ Lenk spat, ‘I still hold a grudge over what you said on the beach.’

‘You’ll have to be more specific.’

‘I mean—’ The young man paused, scowling at his taller companion. ‘You really are scum, you know that?’

‘It has been suggested before.’ The rogue shrugged. ‘And yes, of course I know what you’re talking about.’

‘And?’

‘And,’ Denaos bit his lip contemplatively, ‘I’m a tad hard pressed to care.’

Lenk had no retort for that, merely staring at the tall man with a blend of incredulousness and anger that vaguely resembled an uncomfortable bowel movement. Before he could even begin to think of something to say, however, Denaos held up a hand.

‘And before you decide to see just how far up you can shove that sword, let me explain something to you.’ He sighed a sort of sigh that a father reserves for uncomfortable discussions with a son aspiring to be a seamstress. ‘Listen, you’re still young, rather naive to the ways of the world, but I consider you enough of a friend to tell you that you’re wasting your time.’

The rogue’s words were lost on Lenk, so many unheard echoes in the void of his ears, fading quickly with every breath. And with every breath, another voice spoke more loudly in his head.

‘He is weak.’

‘You’re a human,’ Denaos continued, ‘she’s a shict. Don’t get me wrong, I’m delighted you found a pointy-eared shrew to lavish undue affection upon, if only for the sake of loosening you up, but don’t think for a breath that the feeling is shared.’

‘She is weak, as well.’

‘Whatever you may think of her, of everyone in the little social circle we’ve created, it’s all completely pointless.’

‘They will both die here.’

‘In the end, you can’t change what you are, and neither can she.’

‘We will live on, though.’

‘She’s a shict. You’re a human. Enemies.’

‘Our enemy lies within this forsaken church.’

‘Centuries upon centuries of open warfare won’t lapse just for you, my friend.’

‘We will make our war upon the creature that leads these abominations.’

‘She’ll shoot you in the back as soon as she feels the impulse.’

‘We will carve out the pestilence that festers here.’

‘So don’t blame me for holding a view that the rest of the world knows to be true.’

‘We will cleanse this world.’

‘It’s all moot, anyway. You clearly haven’t heard a word I’ve said.’

‘And it begins . . . now.’

‘Now . . .’ Lenk whispered.

‘NOW!’ another voice echoed.

They whirled about as one, suddenly aware that the rhythmic chanting had reached an abhorrent crescendo. The voices were incoherent, tainted by the sound of croaking and gurgling, punctuated by clawed hands raised, trembling, to the sunken ceiling. All knelt prostrate, all babbled wildly in mockery of a proper hymn.

All but one.

‘Now is the time,’ the frogman with the staff uttered, ‘now is when these ones’ suffering and hardships are rewarded. ’