Steven Erikson - The Wurms of Blearmouth

He jabbed a finger at her. “Count on it!” Turning to his brothers he said, “On your feet all of you! It’s time! In the keep up there, we’ll find Lord Fungaltooth and those two from the Suncurl !”

“Who’s Lord Fingaltooth?” Midge asked.

“A dead man!” shouted Tiny.

Flea frowned and said, “We gonna kill a dead man, Tiny? What for?”

“No, he ain’t dead yet, Flea. But he’s going to be, when he meets us!”

Midge laughed. “And he won’t be no Lord Fancytooth then, will he? Ha ha!”

“Fumbletooth,” corrected Tiny.

Feloovil watched the huge man draw his equally huge sword, and felt a brief wilting of anticipation. Shaking it off, she pointed at the door. “On your way, Chanters. Destiny awaits!”

“Ha ha ha,” said Midge. “Destiny’s taking us up to the keep! Where is she, then?”

“Get the door, Puny,” commanded Tiny. “We’ll regroup in the street,and then begin our charge on the keep walls.”

“Up that hill?” Lesser asked.

“Tiny don’t do hills,” Tiny said in a growl. “We charge and that’s that. We take the walls, and then we slaughter everyone!”

“Hey,” said Puny, “where’s Stint and Gil and Fren?”

“Probably ran off with your new hat, Tiny,” said Scant.

“We’ll deal with them later,” Tiny snapped.

Puny walked to the door and swung it open.

“As far as stupid ideas go,” whispered Sordid, “this is our worst one yet.” She was crouched with the rest of the squad, barring Birds Mottle, in the ditch beside the track, not thirty paces from the keep’s gatehouse. From their hidden vantage point, they studied the lone guard standing in front of that gate.

“You got a bad attitude there, Sordid,” said Bisk Fatter in low tones. “It’s always been your problem, you know. You’re always wanting to stand apart from the rest of us, as if you were special or something. Smarter, maybe.”

“Prettier, that’s for sure,” Heck Urse said.

“Shut your mouth, Heck,” said Bisk in a growl. “Listen, Sordid, it’s bad for morale.”

She turned to study the man. “Morale? Have you lost your mind, sir?”

“We can do this,” said Bisk, glowering in the gloom. “He’s just one guard, for Hood’s sake.”

“But he’th juth sthanding there,” hissed Gust Hubb. “Thorm’th howling and wind’th blowing and thill he juth sthans there, holding tha’ sthworth.”

Sordid saw Wormlick slide close to Gust, reach up with one gloved fist, and knock on the side of the man’s head.

Gust flinched away. “I ain’t thimple, you fool. Juth got a sthliced thongue.”

“And one eye, no nose and no ears, and bite marks on your legs.” Wormlick laughed.

“Sthooth thoo clothe to Manthy, ith all.”

“Gave you the title, I’d say,” Wormlick went on. “Gust Hubb the Luckless. Sorry. The Luckleth.” He sniggered.

“Look whothe thalking, you pock-faced hog-butt.”

“Keep it down you two!” Bisk commanded in a rasp. “Someone throw a rock against the wall. Make the guard turn round, and then we rush him.”

Sordid faced the guard again and shook her head. “He ain’t right, sir. Too pale. Too bloated.”

Heck Urse pushed up beside her, squinting. “Necromancy! That’s man’s dead. That’s one of our ship-mates from the Suncurl . That’s Briv, who drowned.”

Gust Hubb joined them on the bank. “Briv the carpenter’s helper or Briv the rope maker?”

“That don’t matter,” whispered Heck. “This is Korbal Broach’s work.”

“So what?” Bisk said behind them. “Dead or alive, it’s just one man.” He pulled up a stone from the ditch. “Get ready.” He straightened slowly, and then threw the stone. It sailed over the guard’s head and thumped high on the wooden gate.

The guard turned.

“Now!”

The squad rose from the ditch and rushed forward.

But somehow, still the guard faced them, and was now raising his sword.

The charge slowed, wavered.

“How did he do that?” Wormlick demanded.

“It’s not the same man!” Heck said. “That’s Briv one of the other ones!”

“He thowed them thogether!” shrieked Gust Hubb.

The squad’s charge dribbled away, and they stood staring at the new guard, with fifteen paces between them.

The dead man lifted his sword with some alacrity.

“A guard no one can sneak up behind!” cried Heck Urse.

“Gods below,” said Sordid. “That’s the stupidest thing I have ever seen.”

“You’re only saying that,” retorted Heck, “because you weren’t on the Suncurl !”

“Wormlick, you and Bisk go to the right. Heck and Gust, to the left. Follow me.” She headed forward, drawing her fighting knives.

“I’m corporal here, Sordid-”

“Just follow, sir.”

The others fanned out while Sordid advanced on the guard. “Hey!” she shouted.

As she suspected, the guard facing the gate sought to turn round. The other one resisted the effort and they stumbled.

Bisk howled and charged in from one side, trailed by Wormlick, while Heck attacked from the opposite flank. Gust Hubb stumbled on something and fell hard on the track. He cried out as he landed on his shortsword.

The guard tottered about, waving swords that kept clashing against one another.

Sordid came in low and hamstrung the creature. It fell over, just as Bisk shrieked and swung his huge two-handed sword. The heavy blade swished over the guard and flew from the corporal’s hands. It sailed across the track and speared Gust Hubb through the right thigh. He loosed another howl.

Heck Urse reached the fallen guard and hacked at both heads. “Briv and Briv! Die! Die and die and die again!”

Sordid backed away. “Wormlick, check on Gust. See how bad it is.”

Wormlick laughed. “How bad? The fool’s skewered through the leg! And he fell on his sword! He’s spurting blood everywhere!”

“Then bandage him up, damn you!”

“You ain’t corporal-”

“No,” she snapped. “Our corporal’s the one who speared him! I’m busting him down right now. Whose plan was this? Did it work? Of course it worked. Why? Because it was my plan! Listen, all of you, I’m now Captain.”

“Sergeant, shouldn’t it be?” Heck asked, still gasping from hacking open Briv and Briv’s heads.

“Captain! Sater always had it in mind to promote me.”

“Since when?” Bisk demanded.

“Since I just said so.”

Gust’s howls went on and on.

At that moment the gate swung open and there stood a tall man with a forked beard. “Ah,” he said, eyes alighting upon Gust Hubb, “the late Captain Sater’s redoubtable soldiers … and friends. Well, your timing is impeccable. I have just made cookies.”

Emancipor Reese sat across from Korbal Broach, watching the huge, fat man licking the icing from one of Bauchelain’s creations. His stomach rumbled and then gurgled. “How is it you’re allowed to eat them, then,” he asked.

Korbal blinked at him, said nothing.

There was a commotion from one end of the dining hall and a moment later, amidst clumping boots, gasps, whispers and moans, Bauchelain returned leading a woman and three men carrying between them a fourth, who had a massive sword thrust through one thigh, and a short sword driven up into an armpit. His bandaged form was splashed with blood.

Emancipor pointed a finger at one of the men helping this unfortunate comrade to a nearby bench. “You was on the Suncurl ,” he said. “You led the charge onto the Chanters’ ship during the mating and the battle and all. Then you stole one of their lifeboats and lit out.”

The man glared. “Aye, ’Mancy. I’m Heck Urse. And this is the rest of Sater’s squad. They chased us down, all the way from Stratem.”