by Sam Sykes
‘It could be worse,’ Kataria offered, snapping him from his gloomy reverie.
It certainly could, Lenk thought.
He glanced over his shoulder to where Gariath squatted. The dragonman had taken the worst of the crash, having been tossed from the prow violently, skidding across the sands until his violent journey ended abruptly at a nearby palm tree. Cuts from the beach rocks and thorny shrubs covered his red skin and splinters from the tree jutted from his back.
Regardless of his injuries, the hardy dragonman had refused all aid.
‘Human medicine,’ he had growled, ‘is for skinned knees and constipation.’
Instead, he had skulked over to the shade of the same tree he had caromed off and sat quietly.
Dragonmen, particularly red ones, Lenk had been told, were resilient creatures and had an innate ability to heal themselves through sheer force of will. If there was a will stronger than Gariath’s, Lenk had never seen it, for the dragonman’s wounds were no longer bleeding.
He would have thanked his companion for declining aid if it was out of generosity. There weren’t a great many supplies to go around for the purposes of treating injuries.
His arm had required a good deal of Asper’s bandages and Denaos’s scrapes had required a good amount of salve. Most of the priestess’s aid, however, had gone to the one who had caused the wreck in the first place. Lenk’s eyes narrowed to thin, angry slits as he cast a glare further down the beach.
Dreadaeleon sat propped up against a rock, Asper squatting by his side, working to tighten the bandage around his head that covered the gash at his temple. A lot of bandages, Lenk noted with a wince, too many to hold in such a small brain.
Even now, the wizard clutched his head as he lay against the rock, pampered like a baby. Lenk’s teeth ground together so hard, sparks almost shot from his mouth. He felt his hands clench into fists, heedless of the strain it put on his wounded arm. Kataria noticed his ire rising and laid a hand on his shoulder.
‘Now, calm down,’ she said soothingly. ‘He already told you-’
‘He told me nothing,’ Lenk snarled. ‘If we’re going to be stuck on some Gods-forsaken island and starve to death because of him, I want to know why.’
Not waiting for a reply from his companion, the young man stormed over to the boy’s resting place with such fury in his stride as to burn the sands beneath him. He paused nearby and folded his arms over his chest, focusing his icy scowl upon the wizard. Asper said nothing and continued working on her patient’s splint, though her hands trembled more than a little under Lenk’s frigid stare.
‘Well?’ Lenk snarled after several moments’ silence.
‘Well what?’ Dreadaeleon replied, not opening his eyes.
‘Well, how’s your little scrape, you poor little lamb?’ Lenk said, his sarcasm burning. ‘What the hell were you thinking?’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ the wizard replied, equally vitriolic. ‘I suppose I thought: “I bet Lenk would find it hysterical if I decided to crash the boat.”’ He snorted. ‘I already told you, I don’t know what happened.’
‘How?’ the young man spat back. ‘How do you not know what you were doing?’
‘The intricacies of my mind are of such staggering complexity that they might very well cause yours to explode, leak out of your ears and puddle at your feet.’ He tilted his nose up. ‘Suffice it to say, I knew exactly what I was doing, I just wasn’t sure why.’
‘Oh, well, thank Khetashe for that distinction!’
‘Lenk,’ Kataria said, creeping up to his side. ‘You know Dread wouldn’t do it on purpose.’
‘Well, I’d like to know whose purpose he did do it on,’ the young man growled, casting a sideways glare at the shict.
Despite the protests of his conscience, his rage cared neither for compassion nor logic. It took all his willpower not to flay the boy alive and use his skin to patch the vessel’s wound.
‘I’m not sure what happened,’ Dreadaeleon said, finally opening his eyes and looking at Lenk. ‘I was focusing on moving the ship, as you asked, when I suddenly. . heard something.’
‘Heard something?’ Lenk asked, screwing up his face in confusion. ‘When you focus, you can’t hear bloody murder two inches from your ear.’ His sniffed, glaring at Kataria. ‘I know from experience.’
‘Baby,’ Kataria grunted.
‘It wasn’t in my ears,’ Dreadaeleon said softly, ‘it was. . in my head.’
‘So you were just going mad?’
‘No, Lenk,’ Asper said, looking up. ‘I. . I heard it too.’
‘Really?’ Lenk asked, more in sarcasm than genuine curiosity. ‘So tell me, why didn’t you go insane?’
‘She’s not sensitive to magic,’ Dreadaeleon said, ‘I am.’
‘If she’s not sensitive, then how did she hear it at all?’
‘I don’t know,’ Dreadaeleon said, shaking his head. ‘It’s possible that-’
He cut himself off and fell back against the rock, his face screwed up in pain as he clutched his skull.
‘What now?’ Lenk asked, an inkling of concern seeping through his anger.
‘Magic headache,’ Dreadaeleon replied with a halting, pain-filled voice.
‘What?’
‘Wizard’s headache,’ Asper said, a hand going to Dreadaeleon’s shoulder. ‘Magic takes a toll on the body.’
‘If I use magic too much,’ Dreadaeleon replied, breathing hard, ‘or cast too many spells at once, I get a headache.’ He glared up at Lenk through strained eyes. ‘I’ve told you this before.’
Before Lenk could form a reply, he was suddenly aware of a tall figure standing between him and Kataria. He glanced up, startled as he saw Denaos’s concerned face staring down at the wizard.
‘And just where have you been this whole time?’ the young man asked.
‘Asper asked me to get some water for Dread,’ the rogue replied, holding up a bulging waterskin.
‘We have water on the boat,’ Lenk said, casting a glance over his shoulder. ‘Most of the cargo was secured, it shouldn’t be damaged.’
‘True,’ Denaos replied with a nod, ‘but I thought I might as well take a look around, since we may be here a while.’
‘It won’t take that long to fix the ship,’ Lenk replied. ‘With any luck, we’ll be back out on the sea in a day or two.’ His eyes steeled. ‘Every day we’re on land, the Abysmyth’s lead increases. Every day we hesitate, another-’
‘We’re on it.’
‘What?’
‘We’re here.’ He stomped the earth. ‘This is Ktamgi.’
‘How do you know?’
The rogue reached down to pluck a single grain of sand from the beach. He eyed it for a moment before holding it next to Kataria’s midsection.
‘Just a shade whiter, as Argaol said.’ He pulled back his hand before Kataria could slap it. ‘Check the sea charts and you’ll see I’m right.’ He blinked at Lenk suddenly, coughing. ‘Sorry for ruining whatever speech you had, though. I’m sure it was astonishingly inspirational.’
‘When did you learn to read sea charts?’ Asper shot a suspicious glare at the rogue.
‘Around the time I learned how to avoid angry debt collectors by signing on as a deckhand and fleeing the city,’ he replied with a wink, ‘but that’s another story.’ He tossed the waterskin to Dreadaeleon, the wizard making only half an attempt to catch it as it bounced off his face to land in his lap. ‘Drink up, little man.’
‘I see. .’ Lenk said, furrowing his brow in brief thought. ‘Well, if it is as you say, we’ll take a look around, then.’
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to take another moment to berate me for finding the island?’ Dreadaeleon asked with a wry smirk. ‘Or did you perhaps have some praise for me?’
‘What I’ve got for you is a length of steel and few compunctions about where I jam it,’ Lenk snarled. ‘Now shut up before I plug the ship’s hole with your fat head.’
‘Still,’ Asper said
, ‘is it wise to move out now?’ She glanced at Dreadaeleon. ‘Everyone’s more than a little roughed up.’
‘We’re not too bad,’ Lenk said, glancing at his arm. ‘We’re only looking for traces of the Abysmyth and the tome.’ He glanced around his companions. ‘If you find it, don’t try to fight it on your own.’ He cast a concerned glare at Gariath. ‘Come and get the rest of us.’
The dragonman merely snorted in reply.
‘How are we even going to hurt it?’ Denaos asked.
‘We’ll worry about that later,’ Lenk said. ‘For now, we just need to find out whether it’s still here and still has the tome.’ He looked disparagingly at the copse of trees and scratched his chin. ‘We might as well spread out to find whatever resources we can.’
‘That makes sense.’ Asper dusted her hands off, rose to her feet. ‘The more food and water we find here, the less we have to use from the ship.’
‘Not to mention that spreading out will make it easier for the Abysmyth to hunt us down and eat our heads,’ Denaos added with a nod. ‘As per usual, your genius cannot be praised with mere-’
‘Yeah, we’re all going to die, I get it,’ Lenk interrupted, waving the rogue away. ‘Anyway, foraging shouldn’t be a problem. Gariath alone can probably sniff-’
He glanced up at the sound of sand crunching beneath massive feet in time to spy Gariath’s wings twitching as the dragonman turned his back to the companions. Without so much as a word, he began to stalk off down the beach, snout occasionally thrust into the air with quivering nostrils.
‘There, see?’ Lenk smiled smugly. ‘That’s what you call community-minded. He’s already got the scent of some food.’
‘You can all starve,’ Gariath replied calmly without looking back. ‘I’m following something else.’
‘What?’
‘Die.’
‘Ah.’ Lenk frowned. ‘He’s in a mood.’ He cast a sidelong glance at Dreadaeleon, gesturing towards the dragonman with his chin. ‘You’d better go with him.’
‘What?’ The boy looked incredulous. ‘Why me? I can barely walk.’
‘“Barely” still translates to “capable”,’ Lenk responded sharply. ‘It’ll be better if we’ve got two hounds on the Abysmyth’s trail.’
‘I’m not sure I follow.’
‘You can sense magic, can’t you?’
‘All wizards can.’
‘And there you have it,’ Lenk replied. ‘While I don’t know if the demon is actually magical in nature, it probably leaves some kind of reek behind that either you or Gariath can follow.’
‘That logic doesn’t entirely hold up.’ Dreadaeleon rose to his feet shakily. ‘Wouldn’t one of us have sensed it before it attacked the Riptide?’
‘Maybe things work differently when it’s out of water.’ Lenk placed a hand on Dreadaeleon’s shoulder. ‘The other reason I’m sending you is to keep an eye on him. If you do find the demon, try your best to keep him away from it until we can all assemble. We don’t want anyone to fight this thing alone.’
The wizard had no sarcasm in reply. Instead, placing an expression of resolution upon his face, he nodded stiffly to the young man, his tiny chest swelling as Lenk offered him an encouraging smile.
‘Beyond that,’ Lenk clapped him on the shoulder, ‘he looks like he’s going to kill someone, and since you crashed the ship, it might as well be you.’
‘That does make sense.’ Denaos nodded.
‘What?’ Dreadaeleon’s eyes flared. ‘You can’t be-’
‘I am.’ With another clap on the shoulder, Lenk sent the boy staggering across the sands in pursuit of the dragonman. ‘Off you go now.’ He had barely a moment to make certain Dreadaeleon was still on his feet ten paces later before he spied Kataria moving away in the opposite direction. ‘Where are you off to?’
‘Hunting,’ she replied, holding up her bow and patting the quiver of arrows upon her back. ‘Gariath is going that way, I’ll go this way.’
‘Fine.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘You don’t have to,’ she muttered in such a way as to indicate that it was not at all a simple suggestion.
‘But I should,’ he said, less firmly than he might have, ‘if only for protection.’ He raised a brow. ‘Is that disagreeable to you?’
‘Slightly,’ she hissed. ‘But if you can keep up, I can’t tell you where to walk.’
And with that, she was gone, vanished into the palm trees like a shadow. A dramatic sigh brought Lenk’s attention to the rogue leaning on the remains of the vessel, staring wistfully into the jungle.
‘Tell me,’ he muttered, ‘why is it that you always get to go with Kataria while I’m left behind?’ A puzzled expression flashed across his face. ‘And what am I supposed to do here, anyway? Not that I’m complaining, but I seem to have been left out of this plot of yours.’
‘The boat needs mending.’ Lenk gestured to the wreckage. ‘You and Asper can tend to it and see if the Abysmyth comes your way.’
‘Oh, good,’ Denaos said, sighing once again. ‘We get to sit here and do busywork while we wait for the demon to come and eat us.’
‘More like appetisers than busyworkers, I’d say.’
Lenk didn’t linger to hear whatever the tall man might have offered in retort. Pausing only for a moment to pluck his sword from the ruined vessel, he slung it over his shoulder and tore off in pursuit of the shict.
With a resigned grunt, Denaos pulled himself up to perch upon the hunk of wood, frowning at the gaping hole between his legs. Definitely some work to be done here, no doubt, and it was work he hardly felt like doing. There’d be wood to find, wood to shape and wood to attach to the ship’s wound.
‘So, you know how to take care of this, right?’ Asper asked, tilting her head at him.
‘It’s not too hard,’ he replied. ‘I did a bit of work under a carpenter back in Redgate.’ He scratched his chin. ‘His name was Rudder, more body hair than flesh. Nice fellow, but a bit handsy when he tossed back a few. So long as you can-’
A sudden movement caught his attention and he glanced over to see Asper busily at work, altering her garments. After a little bit of tearing, she tied a flap of her skirt to each of her legs, securing the fabric with leather strips to form a pair of makeshift leggings. His interest was piqued and he leaned forwards as she rolled up the sleeves of her tunic to her shoulders, exposing firm arms. The faintest hint of a grin appeared on his face as she grabbed the hem of her tunic and rolled it up, tying it off below her chest and baring a slender midsection.
Suddenly aware of his gaze, she looked up with a suspicious glance.
‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘But that’s quite a bit of skin to show if you’re just mending sails.’
‘You can knit,’ she said, scowling at him as she moved over to the boat and pulled herself inside. After rummaging around in a few crates, she produced a shiny, well-worn hatchet. Leaping from the vessel, she hiked it over her shoulder and glanced at him. ‘There’s wood to be cut. If you’re scared of demons and want to sit here and cry, though …’
He bit his lower lip contemplatively as he watched her go. Truthfully, he had to admit it was a difficult decision: linger here, out in the open where he couldn’t be surprised by anything on two or more legs, or follow a hatchet-wielding, half-clad woman into the forest where he might very well accidentally strangle himself with a vine if insects — or demons — didn’t eat him alive first.
The decision seemed easy, he thought, until he caught one last glimpse of her before she vanished. It was funny, he thought, but he had never noticed the particular delicacy with which her hips swayed.
Thirteen
AN EARNEST HUNT
Forests, Lenk decided, were places where man was not meant to tread.
It seemed a logical enough theory; humanity built their cities out on the open, where they could see threats coming. In the canopy-choked gloom, everything seemed to be a threat
.
What had begun as a tiny copse of trees had blossomed into a lush jungle, deep and green as the sea. And, like the sea, the forest, too, was alive. Hidden amidst eclipsing boughs and grasping leaves, sounds emerged in disjointed harmony. Birds sang shrilly, determined to drown out the thrum of insect wings with their agonising choruses. For all the noises, he couldn’t see a single living thing. Not so much as a flicker of movement in the shadows.
Sunlight filtered through the green, twisting net of the forest’s canopy, shadowing every tree that crowded Lenk in an attempt to keep him out of their domain. He glanced about warily; in the darkness, the verdant trunks, slim and black, resembled nothing so much as his quarry.
The Abysmyth comes from the sea, right? He asked and answered himself. Right. It’ll stay near water, then. He paused. But what if it needed to go into the forest for some reason? What if it had to eat. . demons eat, right? He considered that for a moment. Right. They eat heads, probably. They seem like the kind of thing that would eat a person’s head.
If it had retreated into the forest, it could stand right in front of him and not be seen. Even worse, it could easily ambush anything that wandered by it; after all, how could anyone tell the difference between it and a tree in the gloom?
Simple, he thought, a tree won’t eat your head.
That thought brought him no comfort. Instead the same thought occurred to him each time he forced his eyes closed in a blink: he didn’t belong here. That thought, in turn, opened his eyes in a scowl at the pale figure shifting effortlessly through the foliage in front of him.
How does she make it look so easy?
‘You’re moving rather quickly,’ he said, if only to break the ambience.
‘I’m sorry,’ she replied acidly, ‘would you like to stop and paint a picture of the scenery?’
Lenk let that particular barb sink into his flesh, not bothering to pull it out or launch one of his own. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth; perhaps, he thought, he should wait before attempting to mend things with the shict. She didn’t seem to be in the mood for reconciliation at the moment.
