by Mark Anthony
Then a cry of fear caught his attention. Artek parried several blows, then turned his head and saw Corin backing toward the rickety railing of the deck as a pair of zombies advanced on him. Artek tried to dodge the two pirates before him, but they blocked the way. He couldn’t get to Corin. If the foolish lord died, then their battle was in vain.
Corin nudged against the ship’s railing and could go no farther. Leering hatefully, the two shambling corpses closed in on the nobleman. Shaking in fear, Corin thrust his rapier before him, gripping the hilt with both hands. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his jaw, then proceeded to wave the sword in a fancy and ridiculously embellished maneuver—no doubt learned from some foppish fencing master who had never faced a real enemy in his life. The slim rapier whistled through the air, nearly invisible as Corin slashed, circled, and thrust with a bad actor’s flamboyance. Finally he lowered the sword and cracked his eyes. The zombies only grinned, apparently unaffected by his efforts. They raised their cutlasses.
As they did, the sword hand of one of the zombies fell off, sliced clean at the wrist. The undead pirate gaped at the oozing stump in mindless confusion. A moment later, its entire arm fell off at the shoulder. Then its nose slipped from its face, followed by an ear. Then all at once, the zombie fell apart into a score of neatly sliced pieces that tumbled quivering to the deck. Corin stared at his rapier in amazement.
Though only four zombies remained, things still looked ill. Corin’s second foe was too close for the nobleman to try another fancy maneuver. Beckla’s knife was proving to be no match for the cutlass of the pirate who faced her. Still fending off the blows of a zombie on either side, Artek was unable to make headway against either. Guss hovered in midair, uncertain which of his companions most needed his help. There was time to aid only one.
At that moment the schooner was swept into churning rapids. The ship lurched violently toward starboard, then a half-second later tilted toward the port side again. Corin fell sprawling on all fours. His foe clumsily tripped over him, flipped head over heels, broke through the railing, and tumbled overboard. The zombie facing Beckla lurched forward, impaling itself on her outthrust knife. She spun to the side, jerking her blade out of its body, and the pirate fell flailing over the side of the ship. Artek managed to keep his feet planted on the heaving deck and took advantage of the confusion, severing the head from one of his flailing opponents.
Now that only one zombie remained, Guss did not hesitate. The gargoyle swooped down from above and plucked up the last of the ten pirates. Clutching the creature in midair, he raked the pirate’s belly with his hind claws. Entrails spilled out like dark snakes, but the zombie was not defeated. It swung its cutlass blindly. The rusted metal bit into the flesh of Guss’s shoulder, then shattered. Guss let out a cry of pain as brilliant green blood streamed down his arm. He clenched his clawed hands, rending the zombie in two, then flung the still-squirming halves into the raging waters of the river.
Breathing hard, Artek looked around. The rest of the zombie crew still went mindlessly about their various tasks, taking no notice that their undead shipmates had been destroyed, or that the prisoners were now free. The cursed saber jerked in his hands, tugging him toward the nearest zombies. Forcibly, he tried to sheathe the magical blade, his face twisting with effort. The muscles of his arms rippled and bulged, but it was no use—he could not release the saber. As long as there were zombies remaining, the cursed blade would force him to fight. The sword pulled him another step toward the nearest pirates.
“I can’t resist the saber much longer,” he said through clenched teeth. “And I have a bad feeling that as soon as I attack one of the zombies, the rest of them will come after us.”
“You’re probably right,” Beckla agreed somberly, slipping her bloody knife beneath her belt. “I’ll help you keep your ground.”
“No, stay back!” cried Artek. “I might hit you with the saber. That goes for all of you—keep away!”
“Where’s Guss?” Corin asked as he climbed to his feet.
“Here I am!” a rumbling voice called from above. Stubby wings beating up a stiff breeze, Guss dropped down from the darkness and settled onto the rolling deck.
Beckla moved quickly toward him, concern in her brown eyes. “Guss, you’re hurt!” She examined the ragged wound on his arm. Bits of dirt and rust were embedded in the cut, and it already looked as if it were beginning to fester. “We need to clean this wound now. There’s no telling what filth was on that zombie’s sword.”
Guss wiped the sweat from his brow with a clawed hand. “There’s no time.”
“What’s going on?” Artek demanded, straining against the pull of the saber. His boots skidded on the slimy planks as he slid another foot forward. Once again the ship tilted wildly to the side, then slowly righted itself.
“While you were recovering, I flew ahead of the ship to scout out the rapids,” Guss explained quickly. The others listened in growing dread as the gargoyle described what he had seen. “We’re in the worst of the rapids now—it doesn’t get any rougher than this. I think we can make it. But up ahead, the cavern and the river both divide. Down the right-hand passage, the waters grow calmer.”
“And down the left?” Beckla asked nervously.
Guss’s long pause was as terrifying as the words that followed. “Farther down the left-hand passage, there’s a great roar. The river drops over a huge waterfall. I don’t know how high the falls are.” The gargoyle licked his scaly lips with a green tongue. “I couldn’t see the bottom in the dark.”
Artek swore, still fighting the saber’s pull. “The captain has been keeping the ship to the left side of the cavern. He must be steering The Black Dart toward the waterfall.”
“But why?” Corin asked fearfully. “The ship will be broken to bits.”
“Why not?” Beckla replied. “The captain’s already dead. What does he have to lose?”
Artek racked his brain until he hit upon a plan. It was not elegant—hardly the level of the crafty thieving jobs he had executed in the past—but it was all he could come up with. He struggled against the murderous will of the cursed saber. He had to remain in control only a few moments more, and then the blade could do its work.
“Guss,” he gasped. “Fly ahead of the ship and keep watch on our progress. Call out when we’re near the fork in the river. Beckla, Corin—try to find a way to distract the crew. Use your imaginations! Anything you can do to gain their attention without getting yourself killed will work.”
“But what are you going to do?” Beckla asked urgently.
“I’m going to try to convince the captain to change our course.”
With that, they set to their tasks. Guss rose into the air, wings flapping. He disappeared into the gloom ahead, though not before the others saw him grimace in pain and clutch at the wound on his arm. Grunting with effort, Artek managed to turn and point the quivering saber toward the prow of the ship. The zombie captain stood before the wheel, spinning it wildly as The Black Dart careened down the rapids.
“There,” Artek whispered fiercely. “That is our enemy. That is the one we must slay.”
To his wonder and relief, the saber seemed to understand his words. It jumped in his hands, ignoring the other zombies, and pulled him toward the pirate captain. This time Artek did not resist. He let the saber lead him toward the prow. It was time to stage a mutiny.
* * * * *
Beckla rummaged through a heap of crates, barrels, and assorted refuse. There had to be something here that would help them.
What are you doing, Beckla? cried a voice in her head. This wasn’t part of the deal. They’re as good as dead. You should use it now!
“There’s still time,” she muttered under her breath.
“Time for what, Beckla?” Corin asked. The nobleman stood nearby, wringing his hands.
Beckla swore inwardly. She was getting careless. That was the surest way to get herself killed. And getting killed was definitely not the point
of this exercise.
“There’s still time to help Artek,” she said firmly.
Beckla flipped open the lid of an old chest. It was filled with rusted fishing gear, none of it worthwhile. She started to let the lid drop back down when two objects caught her eye. She looked up at Corin.
“Can you shoot a bow?” she asked quickly.
The young lord shrugged. “I studied archery as a lad, as all nobles do.” A wan smile crossed his pale visage. “I wasn’t half bad, if I do say so myself. Why do you ask?”
“This is why.” Beckla pulled a short bow and a quiver of arrows from the chest and thrust them toward a surprised Corin. The weapon was old, but the bowstring had been wrapped in oiled leather and was still sound. The arrows were rusted at the tip, and their shafts were warped, but they would do.
Beckla grabbed a handful of greasy rags and handed them to the nobleman. “Tear these into strips and tie them around the tips of the arrows.”
While the lord did as she instructed, Beckla pulled a small wooden cask out of the chest. Liquid sloshed within, and she hoped the brand on the side meant what she thought it did. With her knife, she pried the cork out of the top of the cask, then bent down to take a sniff. Her head reeled as a sharp, spicy warmth filled her lungs. It was rum, all right—potent stuff, by the smell of it. Taking a deep breath to clear her head, she recalled the words of a spell.
Whispering in the arcane language of magic, Beckla weaved her hands over the cask of pirate rum. A blue aura shimmered around the cask as it slowly levitated off the deck. Guided by the motions of her hands, the cask drifted through the air. A sheen of sweat broke out on Beckla’s brow. This was the most difficult spell she knew, and if it failed, she could not try it again. She moved her fingers in intricate patterns, weaving invisible threads of magic. It was all she could do to keep the enchantment from unraveling.
As she concentrated, the cask floated over the head of a zombie swabbing the deck. Beckla twitched her fingers, and the cask tipped, dousing the zombie with a cupful of rum. Heedless of the liquid, the mindless creature continued to lurch about its task. Beckla weaved her hands, and the cask floated toward another zombie. Once again it tipped, pouring dark rum onto the undead pirate, soaking its rotten clothes. As she continued, Beckla tightened her control over the spell, and the cask flew more swiftly through the air, dousing zombie after zombie with the reeking spirits. Finally, the cask was empty. With a groan, Beckla released the spell. Her head throbbed with the effort, but there had been enough rum to douse only half of the zombies. She hoped it would be enough.
“Now what?” Corin asked in puzzlement. He gripped the bow and a rag-wrapped arrow.
Beckla pointed a finger at the arrow and said, “Urshak!” Instantly the tip of the arrow burst into flame. Corin almost dropped the bow in shock, but a stern look from Beckla made him tighten his grip. “Start shooting,” she ordered sharply.
Corin raised the bow, pulled back on the string, aimed at a zombie perched in the rigging above, and released. The flaming arrow traced a crimson arc through the air, then plunged directly into the center of the zombie’s chest. For a second the pirate stared stupidly at the burning arrow embedded in its body. Then, all at once, the zombie burst into crimson flame. Limbs waving spastically, the undead pirate fell from its perch and plunged to the deck below, exploding in a spray of charred flesh.
Beckla allowed herself a smile of dark satisfaction. The pirate rum was highly flammable, and made an excellent fuel.
“Keep shooting, Corin!” she shouted.
The startled lord lifted another arrow, and Beckla set it afire with a magical command. Corin released the arrow, and another writhing zombie was engulfed in a pillar of searing flame. The bow twanged again and again as Corin released a barrage of flaming arrows. The nobleman had not exaggerated his skill. His aim was perfect, and not a single arrow missed its mark. In moments more than a dozen zombies were ablaze, stumbling around the ship, sending up pillars of black smoke like foul torches.
Many of the burning zombies tumbled overboard, just as Beckla had hoped. However, some of them ran into heaps of old crates or rotten sailcloth and set the materials alight. Other zombies moved haltingly to stamp out the new fires. However, even without being doused with rum, their dry, tattered clothes were flammable enough, and they only succeeded in setting themselves ablaze and stumbling off to start still more fires. Several burning zombies became entangled in the ship’s rigging, and in moments flame licked up both of the schooner’s masts.
Corin shot Beckla a look of sudden fear. “I think your plan worked better than you thought it would.”
“So it seems,” Beckla replied dryly. She looked at the rapidly growing fires, wondering if she had just succeeded in getting herself killed after all.
* * * * *
Gripping the tingling hilt of the cursed saber, Artek stealthily approached the undead pirate captain. The zombie stood before the wheel of the ship, steering wildly, his back to Artek. As the wheel spun, The Black Dart tilted alarmingly to starboard. Just when it seemed the ship would capsize, the captain spun the wheel in the opposite direction, and the ship lurched back to port, running dangerously close to the left side of the subterranean cavern. A deep, throbbing roar now mingled with the frothy voice of the river. It could be only one thing: the waterfall.
Artek continued to creep silently toward the captain. He needed just one uncontested swing to lop off the zombie’s moldy head, and the ship’s wheel would be free. Just a few more paces. Artek raised the cursed saber. Scarlet light flickered down its edge.
Without warning, the decomposed parrot on the captain’s shoulder turned its head. Its dead black eyes saw Artek, and the parrot opened its beakless mouth in a muffled squawk of alarm. Artek swore under his breath. The blasted, worm-eaten bird! He sprang forward, hoping to make his swing, but it was too late.
The zombie captain turned with surprising speed and raised its rusted cutlass, blocking Artek’s blow. Artek grunted as a jolt of pain ran up his arm. He stumbled backward, then caught himself. The captain was stronger than the other zombies, and seemed somewhat less decomposed. Perhaps it had been the last to die, hoarding the ship’s dwindling food supplies while the rest of the crew perished one by one. Regardless, Artek now stood before a foe who would not be as easily defeated as the others.
Artek crouched warily, looking for an opening. He feinted left, trying to draw the captain’s attack in that direction. However, such subtle moves were quite lost upon the rotten-brained zombie. Utterly ignoring the feint, the captain charged forward. Artek barely managed to spin aside, avoiding the zombie’s lumbering blow. Before Artek could fully recover, the undead captain charged again, cutlass raised. The move caught Artek completely off guard—no sensible opponent would move so madly, leaving himself completely open. Of course, the dead captain had no need to follow the rules of the living.
Exploiting the opening created by the captain’s upraised sword arm, Artek lashed out with his saber, slicing through the zombie’s grimy coat and carving a deep gash across its chest. Once again he realized his mistake. Any living opponent would have stumbled back in response to this grievous wound, but the zombie, oblivious to pain, did not hesitate to charge. It swung its cutlass in a wild arc. Caught by surprise, Artek tried to lunge out of the path of the blade, but he was too slow. The dirty tip of the cutlass traced a stinging line across his left side. Artek gasped, his head reeling with sudden pain. He clutched at his side with his free hand, and his fingers came away wet with blood.
Again he was forced to react as the zombie charged heedlessly at him. He parried a series of bludgeoning blows that left no chance for a counterstroke. Artek tried to reach for the wheel, but he nearly got his hand cut off. Steadily, the captain’s mindless advances pushed Artek backward, away from the ship’s wheel. The throbbing roar grew louder, echoing deafeningly off the rough stone walls of the cavern.
“Artek!” came Guss’s voice from above, his shout barely a
udible over the watery din. “The ship is almost to the fork in the river. You’ve got to steer it to starboard or it’ll head down the left-hand passage, toward the waterfall!”
“Thanks for the reminder,” Artek grunted as he dodged the captain’s whistling cutlass.
Movement caught the corner of his eye, and Artek risked a hurried glance over his shoulder. New fear spilled into his stomach—a dozen bloated forms shambled toward him. With the attack on their captain, the zombie pirates finally took notice of Artek. With scurvy grins, they drew their cutlasses.
Artek had to turn his head back to the captain, or lose it. With renewed urgency, he fended off the zombie’s attacks and even gained some ground. However, he knew it was only a matter of moments until the other undead pirates reached him, at which time he would join the crew of The Black Dart in death.
Without warning, crimson light flared behind him. Artek risked a second glance over his shoulder, and what he saw almost made him drop his sword in surprise. One of the approaching zombies had burst into flame. Writhing and burning, it stumbled away. Even as he watched, scarlet fire engulfed another zombie. All over the ship, pirates were being transformed into undead torches. The remaining zombies hesitated, then turned to try to stamp out the resultant fires with their clammy feet. Despite his predicament, Artek could not suppress a sharp-toothed smile—Beckla and Corin had done their work.
