Hugh Cook - The Walrus and the Warwolf

Then he realized there was going to be nobody to record what was said. So it made no difference whether his speech was good or bad. They were doomed to vanish from the face of the sea – one more ship lost without trace.

'Gentlemen,' said Jon Arabin. 'Let's show them what we're made of.'

And, with that, he drew his falchion and raised it in salute. He looked fearless and heroic. But, in fact, he was starting to worry quite badly about all those trees he had never planted.'Look!' cried Zim.

And they looked where he was pointing, and saw a giant green centipede crawling up over the side of the ship.

'It's fate will be written with my grey-goose quill,' said Blackwood easily, nocking an arrow.

He sent the missile singing toward its target. The centipede, struck in the larboard eye, writhed in agony and fell overboard. Blackwood was pleased. But what could one man do against so many? After all, Blackwood had but twenty shafts remaining.'Where's this extra liquor?' said Zim.

But his question went unanswered. For, the moment he had spoken, purple lightning lacerated the heavens. Then came a roar of thunder, as if the sky had been shattered by earthquake. Then, again, the outlash of lightning. Again, thunder. Then, with a keening, high-pitched ululation, the monsters of the Swarms attacked the ship.

The Swarms: diverse creatures, monstrous and almost mindless, controlled from a distance by the Skull of the Deep South, a powerful entity based in the southern terror-lands. The fall of the Confederation of Wizards has allowed the Swarms to venture north of Drangsturm, conquering most of the western seaboard of the continent of Argan.Screaming, the Swarms attacked. They came in their thousands.

But only twenty logs were within monster-leap of the good ship Dragon, meaning the Swarms had only twenty avenues of attack. And there were three hundred men aboard.'Death is our destiny,' said Blackwood, grimly.And sent an arrow hissing to its target.

Lightning crackled across the sky. Thunder boomed. But still no wind. Still no rain.

'This no time to die,' said Whale Mike, sounding worried. ' I got wife and kids to look after.'

And he swung an oar. Thwapl The head of a monster exploded in a spray of gore and ichor.'Ahyak Rovac!' screamed Rolf Thelemite.

And plunged his sword into the underbelly of a scrabbling keflo as it tried to haul itself onto the deck of the ship.'Help me!' screamed Simp Fiche.

A glarz had swarmed over him, and was ripping him to pieces. 'Help!'

Ish Ulpin strode forward. But he was intercepted by a thing which looked like a walking thorn bush armed with a dozen sets of shears and a couple of scythes. Ish Ulpin killed it with the help of a couple of other bravos. But by that time Simp Fiche was dead, ravaged, torn to pieces.The glarz swarmed forward.

Ish Ulpin picked up a spare ballast block and hurled it so it fell square in the middle of the net-shaped body of the glarz. Trapped, it writhed and struggled – but could not get free.'We'll deal with you later,' said Ish Ulpin.

And went looking for a worthier foe.

'Die, Demon-spawn!' screamed Sully Yot, hurling ballast blocks at creatures which had leapt from logs to the Dragon's flank, and were trying to climb up to the deck.

T bet they don't even make good eating,' said Ika Thole gloomily, sinking his harpoon through alien armour.'Now!' screamed Bucks Cat.

A dozen men were with him, using a spar as a battering ram. They pulped a slow-footed monster, screamed, whooped, yelled, and looked for another.

Using spears, ropes, boarding nets, grappling hooks, pikes, halberds and battle-axes, the pirates fought for life and liberty.

And won.

They won the first round, at any rate.

The deck was wet and slippery with ichor, blood, pulp, gore, mashed monsters, the unidentifiable remains of half a dozen men. Amputated tentacles writhed in the scuppers. Someone was floundering in the water, shouting. It was the soldier Scouse. How came he to be there? It mattered not: there was nothing anyone aboard could do for him. As they watched-

Most stopped watching, and, for those who did, the interest was soon terminated with the death of the unfortunate Scouse.

'Come with me,' said Miphon, finding Blackwood. 'Let's go below and venture to the bottle.'

'That's a good idea,' said Blackwood. 'I'm right out of arrows. There'll be more within.' And the pair departed.

The pirates had broken the first assault of the Swarms, killing upwards of a thousand monsters. The onsurge of horror-creatures died away to a dribble, then to nothing. A great cheer went up. But the battle was only beginning. Stalkers, glarz, keflos, granderglaws, green centipedes and other brutes began, as best they could, to paddle logs toward the Dragon. Their best was far from good.

A centipede clinging to the end of a log, half in the water and half out of it, its water-wet half thrashing furiously, was an essentially ludicrous sight. Many of the creatures lost their grip, floundered briefly, then drowned in the oily darkness of the seas. But there was no shortage of replacements. And they were getting results.The logs were converging on the Dragon. Jon Arabin clenched his fists and glared at the sky.'Give me lightning!' he yelled.Lightning forked downwards.'Thunder!' screamed Arabin.A drumroll of thunder followed.

'Now wind!' howled Arabin. 'Wind, for the love of mercy!'

But no wind came. The air was silent. Still. Dead. Even a thread of gossamer would have hung limp in such lifeless airs.'Bugger bugger bugger!' screamed Arabin.

And searched the horizons for signs of squall. He saw none such: but did see five winged creatures circling far, far overhead. He very much doubted that they were eagles. No: the Neversh were up there.

'Maybe we could catch them somehow,' muttered Arabin. 'Harness them to the ship so they'd pull us clear of this grabble of logs.'Could it be done?Somehow, he doubted it.

Drake, also looking up to the sombre oppression of the stormcloud skies, saw the Neversh, but made no comment on it lest he panic someone. With luck, the storm which threatened them would shortly break, scattering the Neversh. Otherwise, there was nothing they could do about the flying monsters. But surely there was something they could do about the logs converging on the ship. Once the Swarms had a hundred jump-off points instead of twenty, it would all be over for the Dragon. 'Drake . . .?' said a voice.

It was Zanya, in company with Miphon. The wizard still wore his feathered hat.

'Zanya!' said Drake, embracing her. 'What are you doing here?'

'Standing on the deck so my eyes can proof what Miphon's been telling me. He's been keeping me in touch.'

Drake kissed her. Light touch of lips against lips. Lumps on her lips. Blue lumps. Blue leprosy. What hope now of getting to Ling for a cure? He smelt patchouli on her skin.'Why perfume?' he said.

'Because I wanted to be my best for you. For. . .for the end. This is the end, isn't it?' She was starting to cry.

And Drake, by way of soothing, kissed her again. Then held her, held her close and held her tight. He remembered how he had first seen her, so many years ago, when he had been floating in the water bare-arse naked, a horizon away from Stokos, and she had been looking down from the deck of a xebec. And he remembered . . . other places, other times. Their best had been very good indeed. Yes. It had been worth it to have lived. But now … '

'Darling,' said Drake. 'The next attack is soon. Best you return to the bottle.''Are you coming?' said Zanya.'No,' said Drake.

He had already made up his mind. If the Swarms took the ship, anyone in the bottle would survive. But they would have to stay there, for to exit from the bottle would be death. He had no wish to survive as a prisoner forever. What kind of life was that? He had languished in too many dungeons to consign himself to another. Better to fight, yes, and make an ending.