Hugh Cook - The Walrus and the Warwolf

On his way forward, Arabin came upon a party of pirates who were trying to launch a boat.

'Avast there, you landlubbers!' bellowed Arabin. 'Any crow-gutted scavenger who wants to leave had better be ready to walk water!'

With a few more well-chosen words and some adroit use of his left-hand boot (always his best kicking foot, the left) he scattered the men back to their work.

Then hung on tight as a huge wave broke, sending water lathering over the ship. Amidst the lather was Quin Baltu. Jon Arabin grabbed him as he went floating past.'You all right?' said Arabin.

Quin Baltu could only cough and gasp. He had been thrashed something terrible by the roistering ocean; he had swallowed enough salt to pickle a pig.

'Volunteers!' roared Arabin. T need five volunteers to carry Quin Baltu to safety.'Five volunteers promptly came forward.

Drake Douay was one of them and Jon Arabin grabbed him.

'Friend Drake stays here,' said Arabin. 'It only needs four of you to carry Quin Baltu.'The lucky four hustled Quin Baltu away.'Now you come along with me,' said Arabin to Drake.

As the sea captain had caught the cook's boy in a painful wrist-lock, there was not much argument about it.

Weeping with fear and fatigue, Drake was forced along the deck toward the Neversh.

Neversh: flying monster with six wings; eight very short legs ending in clawed feet; massive head; thick neck; bulky bulbous body containing buoyant gas; very long whiplash tail which it often uses as a weapon; twin feeding spikes which appear to be made of solid ivory, but on Investigation prove to have a honeycomb structure; twin grapple-hooks to secure prey.

The Neversh can grow at least two hundred paces long and is alleged to be able to deflect crossbow bolts with its tail. (Nevertheless, archers have often shot down samples of this type of monster, as its gas-retaining sacs puncture easily.)

The Neversh is one of the Swarms, those colony creatures which dominate the terror-lands of the Deep South, and are only prevented from invading the north of Argan by the gulf of Drangsturm – and the wizards guarding that flame trench.

Weeping with fear and fatigue Drake was forced along the deck toward the Neversh. As Drake and Jon Arabin came level with the mainmast, Drake saw the monster had coiled its tail around the mast to stop itself getting swept away by the waves.

'We can chop the tail!' cried Drake, who wanted to go no nearer the head than he had to.'That won't do,' said Jon Arabin.

'Why not? Cut away the tail! The next wave will take it!'

'Aye! Or it might turn round to fight its way aft. Then what?''You tell me,' said Drake.

'We lose the ship, that's what. Come on! Move yourself! No – wait!'Jon Arabin forced Drake to the mainmast.'We'll cut the tail?' said Drake.'No! I've told you that! The rope – cut it loose.'

Drake drew his dirk and cut loose the coil of rope which was tied (by four-dozen turns of twine) to cleats anchored to the mainmast. As the rope came free, the coils of the tail of the Neversh shifted. Drake started, fell back. Jon Arabin caught him, took the rope and slung it over his shoulder.

Then Arabin hustled Drake onwards until they were up by the monster's neck. A massive neck, thicker than a tree-trunk. It seemed a dull purple colour in the dark of the evening. It pulsed as the creature breathed.

'Hack it!' shouted Drake, with the savagery of fear. 'Chop it and gut it!'

'Aye, boy, and have it tear the ship apart as it died. They're powerful strong, these brutes. Take half a day to die if they're cut clean in half. Help me with the rope!'

Arabin ducked under the monster's neck, mounted wreckage to gain some height, then slung the end of the rope to Drake.

'Make it fast!' said Arabin. 'A loop round the monster's neck! A hangman's knot, if you know the shaping!''Aye!' screamed Drake, catching the rope-end.

One moment he was standing there fumbling with the rope. The next he was slammed against the monster as a wave crashed down on the ship. The burdening waters smothered him this way and that. He lost his grip on the rope, was sucked away by the wave – then held. By the Neversh.

He had been swept right up by its head. A murderous jointed claw – its nearside grapple-hook – had spiked his boot precisely where sole met upper.'Jon!' screamed Drake.'Hold tight, boy!' yelled Arabin. 'I'm-'

Another wave drowned his words and the world. Flailing in the flurry, Drake grabbed something, a bar or pipe of sorts. The water was too heavy for thought.

Then the wave subsided, and Drake saw he was clinging to one of the monster's twin feeding spikes. Its nearside grapple-hook still held him. Its offside claw came for him. He kicked out. But it slashed into his sealskin jacket and held fast in the fabric.

Drake let go of the feeding spike. The grapple-hooks took his weight effortlessly. He dropped both hands to the offside grapple-hook. It was polished, it was cold, it was thicker than a banana. He tried to bend it or break it.Impossible!'O-o-o-oh!' moaned Drake.

Then the monster started straightening out both grapple-hooks, pushing him away. And Drake thought: It doesn't want me!

Then realized the thing had no mouth. It fed with the spikes. It wanted to push him away so it could jam those spikes into his body and suck. He jerked out his dirk. He slammed the blade into one of the feeding spikes.'Die!' he screamed.

His steel drove deep – then proved impossible to withdraw. His only weapon was useless, jammed in the feeding spike. He must cling to it: his strength against that of the grapple-hooks. He grabbed the hilt with both hands. Another wave smothered over. As foam shuddered away, Drake gasped for breath. The grapple-hooks convulsed, breaking his hold on the dirk.'Jon!' he screamed.

In answer, Jon Arabin dropped to the deck. Too late! The grapple-hooks shoved, one last time – and Drake was rammed hard up against the wreckage of the fo'c'sle.

The Neversh lowered its head, trying to get its feeding spikes into goring position. Drake tried to push them up and away. He might as well have tried to hold up the world. The grapple-hooks pushed up and out. The

Neversh was almost in a position to spike and feed.

Drake half-saw Jon Arabin draw his falchion and raise it high. The falchion, yes. A great ugly bit of metal, with the mass of it concentrated in the thickness far forward, at the optimum striking point.

Down it came, striking at the grapple-hook which had spiked Drake's jacket. The falchion descended on the grapple-hook's middle joint. It went through clean like an axe through a cucumber.Drake was still held by his boot.The Neversh reared up.

As the monster reared, Drake was jerked away from the wreckage. The sole of his boot tore free from the uppers. He was thrown clear. He landed on his back, hitting the deck heavily. The monster clawed for Arabin with the hook which had just lost Drake.'Scam!' screamed Arabin.And chopped the hook away.

The monster swung sideways, meaning to kill Arabin with its twin feeding spikes. But those spikes slammed into sprawling wreckage, cutting the gesture short. Arabin, still in a fighting rage, hacked a great chunk out of one of them – then stopped, suddenly realizing that if he cut the spikes away, the creature would be free to pulp him with its head.

He chopped for its nearest eye instead. His falchion bounced off the armoured bubble protecting that eye. Useless. Well, then – the rope!

'The rope now, boy!' shouted Arabin, wiping his falchion against his sleeve, out of habit (it usually had blood on it after combat) then sheathing it. 'Don't just lie there – or we're dead! Up off your arse! Help tie this rope around!'

Drake swore, mustered himself to his feet, was almost skittled by another (small) wave, then floundered forward to help get the rope knotted round the neck of the Neversh. Soon Jon Arabin was beside him, checking the hangman's knot he had fashioned.