“Oh, yeah?” said Gordo, sitting down beside the wildman. “How’s this? First we’re conned into questing for nonexistent treasures by a lying princess—”
Gape cut in. “Then we rescue an innkeeper and his wife, get lumbered with a crazy gangster—”
“I resent that,” said a voice.
“—who turns out to be a half-zombie twinling that won’t die even when we decapitate it.”
“Then we’re cheated out of a riverboat crossing by the wily old maniac whose boat you just burned,” Gordo went on. “Then—wait, I’m not finished—then we get attacked by archers, taken to the forgotten city of Wemeru, and have a right old kick off with people who’ve been dead longer than we’ve been alive. We end the day flying over Kazbrack Island in a pile of enchanted wood, pursued by fire demons and spat at by a giant volcano! Top that!”
Stump whistled between his teeth. “I can’t top it,” he said, as Groan took a seat at his side. “But how’s this: I started the morning being pursued across a mean stretch of forest by a blue tiger. Then I got knocked unconscious and tied up by some crazy girl, who turns out to be a princess in disguise; then her and her maid get caught by a duke who shoots the tiger—”
“What princess?” Gape interrupted, glaring at the wildman with fiery eyes.
Stump shrugged. “I didn’t catch her name,” he managed. “But her father’s the King of Phlegm.”
“What DUKE?” Gordo asked, standing up and gripping the handle of his stout battle-axe.
“I think I heard her call him Modeset,” said Stump. “But hang on a minute, the best bit’s still to come—”
“MODESET!” Gordo muttered, staring at Gape and Groan, who were also beginning to look decidedly concerned. “What’s he doing in Phlegm?”
“Takin’ over, by the looks of it.” Stump laughed. “By the time I managed to escape on his royal coach, he’d had the king and his daughter dragged away by their own guards! Crazy, eh? Who’d have thought you could overthrow a king with words!”
There followed a sudden, terrible silence.
“What words in particular?” Gape asked, licking his lips as he saw Stump tucking into his fish.
The wildman finished his mouthful and grinned. “Well, from what I heard, he threatened to tell the other leaders that the princess’d interfered with his plan by trying to warn your big friend, here, about something …”
All eyes turned to Groan, as the big barbarian flexed his muscles. “We’ve bin ’ad,” he said.
“Yeah.” Gordo nodded. “By bloody Modeset. We should’ve killed that vindictive little squirt when we busted out of Dullitch.”
“Na, he’d ’ready bin exiled by then,” Groan said, stealing a cut of Stump’s fish for himself. Gordo and Gape followed suit.
“I know I’m not in the best position to contribute to all your intricate conspiracy talk,” said the head of Loogie Lambontroff gruffly. “But would you mind including me in the food handouts, because I’m not quite dead, you know.”
Gordo pressed a slice of fish against Loogie’s lips, and peered balefully out at the river.
Twenty
“I DON’T BELIEVE IT,” Gordo said, peering out at the river. “We spend all afternoon lashing a raft together, and just when we finally complete the thing, we don’t bloody need it.”
“Eh?” Groan mumbled, raising an eyebrow.
“There’s a barge coming,” Gape translated. “And a decent-sized one at that.”
“Let’s have a look,” Loogie muttered, annoyed that he couldn’t scratch the itch beneath his nose.
“There’s not much to see,” Stump told him. “It’s just a big red barge with something scrawled on the side of it.”
“Let me see NOW!” screamed Loogie.
Gordo sighed, unhooked the head, and held it up toward the river.
“Satisfied?” the dwarf snapped.
“Yeah,” said Loogie, smiling nervously. “But I’d get back in the woods if I were you.”
Gape glanced at Groan, and they both stared at the trembling head.
“Why’s that?” Gordo asked.
“Because that barge belongs to my boss, and he isn’t a very nice man.”
Groan shrugged.
“Yeah, well, neither are we,” said Gape resentfully. “And we’ve had a really bad day.”
“I’m serious,” Loogie’s head intoned. “The best thing we can do is make a run for it. If we don’t, they’ll kill us ALL.”
“Groan Teefgrit runs from no man,” roared Groan.
“He’s not kidding,” Gordo added.
“Is it all going to kick off?” Stump inquired, always on the lookout for his own personal safety. “Because I’ve got places to go, you know—”
“Here, look after this,” said Gordo, waddling over to the wildman and thrusting the head into his hands.
“Now, hang on—”
“Just be thankful that we’re not handing you a sword,” Gordo told him, unsheathing his battle-axe.
Groan and Gape drew their blades at the same moment. They could both vaguely make out figures moving around on the flat deck of the barge.
“It’s Mr. Big,” Loogie chattered, sweat beginning to form on his brow. “He’s probably looking for me … and he never travels alone.”
“How many of them are there, then?” Gape asked, climbing onto his rock to gain a better vantage point.
“Can’t see,” said Groan. The giant barbarian had already assumed battle stance.
“There’s three,” said Stump, who lived and died by the strength of his eyesight. He pointed at Groan: “One guy who looks about your height, one not much smaller, and a dwarf. They’re all armed.”
“Look, we don’t actually have to fight, do we?” Gordo said doubtfully. “I mean, if he’s your boss—”
“I see where you’re going with that,” said the head of Loogie Lambontroff. “Only problem is, I sort of ran out on him about six weeks ago, and I’ve been freelancing a bit with his customers. I doubt whether he’ll throw his arms around me, not that he could even if he wanted to …”
Gape squinted at the barge. “You reckon they’re all armed?” he said to Stump. “Can you see what they’re armed with?”
The wildman nodded. “Two have got swords, and it looks like the big one’s got a pistol.”
“How come every scumbucket’s got a pistol, all of a sudden?” Gordo spat, staring gloomily at his battle-axe. “I don’t know, some bloke in Legrash invents a hand-banger and suddenly you can’t get away from ’em.”
“You’re telling me!” said Loogie, who was a good two hundred years older than anybody else. “It was the same thing with crossbows, you know.”
Stump sniggered at the remark, and was about to give his own opinions on the danger posed by ballistics, when a piece of lead shot took a chunk out of his shoulder.
“Ahhhhh!”
The wildman fell, unintentionally throwing Loogie high into the air, as Groan and Gordo dived for the safety of the riverbank.
Gape had dropped one of his swords and was spinning around in a circle with the other, like a particularly adept shot-putter. Faster and faster he went, every muscle straining with the effort. Finally, he released his remaining sword, which shot out across the water like a rogue missile.
There was a distant scream, and the biggest figure on the barge toppled backward into the water. His two companions immediately dived in, but it soon became apparent that they weren’t planning to linger around the barge looking for him. They were heading straight for the shore.
“Stay down,” Gape warned Stump, who was rolling around in agony and probably didn’t need the advice. At least he’d managed to catch the head on its way down.
Groan strode down the beach, splashed into the shallow water, and actually plucked Mr. Mediocre out of the river while the man was still swimming. He quickly smacked the sword out of Mediocre’s hand, grabbed him by the arm, and swung him toward Gape, who slugged the gangster in the face with
his free hand and raised his sword for a vertical slash. Unfortunately, he didn’t get the chance to swing it.
Mediocre threw three punches in quick succession, each explosively well judged, and all on target. Gape staggered back, as surprised at the strength of his opponent as he was that the man had survived a Gape “face-slammer.”
Gordo Goldeaxe, at the far end of the bank, was having serious problems. The dwarf that had leaped from the water had disarmed him with comparative ease and was now ruthlessly slashing at his armor with a gleaming short sword.
Groan turned away from the water, trying to decide who was more in need of his help. The answer was obvious: Gape was being totally outclassed by his opponent. Groan grinned and stomped off to help Gordo. He was almost upon the two dwarves when Mr. Big waded out of the Washin and clouted him hard in the face.
Groan fell back onto the beach as the gangster pulled Gape’s sword out of his stomach and tossed it aside like a matchstick.
“Now I’m bitter,” he said.
Mr. Big leaped into the air as Groan tried for a leg-sweep. Then he dragged the giant barbarian to his feet and head-butted him right between the eyes, using the time bought by Groan’s momentary confusion to kick the warrior’s broadsword away. It slid to a halt a little way down the bank.
Mr. Big sniffed. Then he brought up a heavy knee and, as Groan doubled up, chopped him roughly on the neck. The barbarian went down, hard.
“The bigger they are, eh? Ha!”
The gangster gave the prone warrior a gap-toothed grin and turned to see how his cohorts were doing. Thankfully, the scene was a pleasing one: both Mediocre and Titch were winning their respective struggles.
“Good on you, boys,” he shouted. Then he turned back and, to his surprise, came face-to-face with Groan.
“Is ’at all you got?” the barbarian thundered and drove a fist like bunched steel into Mr. Big’s stomach.
Stump, meanwhile, was attempting to shoulder himself along the bank, dragging his new companion behind him.
“Maybe my twinling can help,” the head muttered. “Get me angry; get me angry!”
“And how am I supposed to do that?” Stump complained, clutching at his bleeding wound.
“I don’t know—bang me on a rock or something!”
Stump looked around, found a flat stone, and slammed the head against it.
“Harder!”
A second time.
“Harder! Harder!”
A third.
“Ow! Not that bloody hard! You’re flaming useless!”
“And you’re nothing but a damn nuisance!”
“Yeah? I’d do you up a treat—”
Stump swore under his breath and lobbed the head over his shoulder. He didn’t see where it landed.
Mr. Mediocre raised a fist and slammed it down across Gape’s back. The warrior moaned, collapsed to the ground, and drove his hand into his boot. When he brought it out again, he was wielding a blade.
Mediocre grabbed Gape’s wrist, but the barbarian was stronger: he forced the gangster’s hand back toward him and slashed a deep wound across his chest. Then he turned Mediocre around and drove him headfirst into the Washin.
Groan had given Mr. Big six of his best shots, but the man had simply shrugged them off. Now he was blocking every blow, a filthy grin pasted across his face.
He ducked the last of Groan’s punches and caught the barbarian with one of his own.
“You’re a big lad,” he muttered. “But yer punch ain’t worth spit.”
He pulled a pistol from his sodden suit, flipped it over, and smacked Groan in the face with it. As the warrior fell onto his knees, he reached out for Gape’s sword.
Mr. Big stamped on his hand. “No thanks,” he said. “I’ve had that sword in my stomach, and I’m not in any hurry to get it ba—”
Mr. Big stopped talking.
An identical sword had sprouted from his rib cage.
“You’re quite right,” said a voice behind him. “My swords do seem to like you.”
Mr. Big spun around in a state of bewildered shock, and grabbed Gape by the throat …
… just as Groan lost his temper.
The barbarian unfolded like a deck chair. Then he wrenched Mr. Big away from his brother, withdrew Gape’s sword from the man’s ribs, and punched him with all his might.
The gangster staggered back and collapsed in a disheveled heap: he didn’t get up again.
Gape took his sword from Groan and reached down to snatch up the other.
Groan gulped some air. “Fanks fo’ the ’elp.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“I would’ve ’ad ’im anyway.”
“Yes, I know that.”
“I’m jus’ sayin’.”
“Fine.”
They both peered over at Gordo, who had turned the tide on his fellow dwarf and was driving Mr. Titch back down the beach with his own sword. It certainly didn’t seem as though he needed any assistance.
Groan glanced down at Big, who was lying still.
“What ’appen’d to that uvver one?” he said.
“Swam away,” said Gape. “The cowardly rat.”
He looked on, bewildered, as Groan suddenly bolted down the riverbank and dived into the Washin.
“What are you doing?” he shouted, as Stump appeared beside him with an incredibly indignant head.
“I think he’s trying to get to Mediocre before Mediocre gets to the barge,” he guessed.
And he was right.
Groan had adopted a smooth underwater breaststroke in order to counter the gangster’s frenzied crawl. Mediocre reached the barge first but, despite his head start, there wasn’t a lot in it.
Gape, Gordo, and Stump watched as Groan climbed onto the barge and began to struggle with Mr. Mediocre. Loogie would’ve watched, but he was facing the wrong way.
“Go on, Groan!”
“Give him hell!”
“Low blow, low blow!”
“Can somebody please turn me ’round?”
A series of blows were exchanged before the gangster toppled into the water and floated away. Groan strode to the far end of the barge and began to steer it slowly toward the east bank.
“So,” Stump said, as Gordo proffered a rough bandage for his shoulder. “Are we going for a trip along the river, then?”
“No,” said Gape sternly. “We’re going to rescue a princess, overthrow an evil dictator, and sack a city.
“Ah, right.” Stump flashed a grim smile. “Still,” he said. “You’ve got to laugh, haven’t you?”
Part Three
The Fight for Phlegm
Twenty-one
TWO NIGHTS LATER, IN the converted hall of records at Phlegm Keep, Susti wriggled her arms in an attempt to loosen the pressure on her wrists. No use: the manacles were fastened tight. Still, it could’ve been worse: at least they had platforms to stand on.
She peered across at her father and Bronwyn, who were both, unfathomably, asleep. Susti couldn’t understand how anybody could sleep with their arms raised high above them.
She focused on the king.
“Psst!”
Nothing.
“Father!”
At first she thought the king might wake; then he began to snore.
Susti sighed, as the door to the hall creaked open and Pegrand limped inside.
“Good evening, milady,” he said, holding his ribs with one hand and a tray of goblets in the other. “Thought I might bring you all some water?”
Susti nodded. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, milady. My chest is a bit battered and my leg’s been better, but otherwise I’m fine.”
“Hmm … you really shouldn’t have betrayed me, you know. I mean, I understand why you did what you did, but honestly”—Susti shook her head—“No. I’m not talking to you. You’ll only repeat everything I tell you to Modeset.”
Pegrand nodded. “Probably, milady. I’m sorry.”
“Yes, so am I,�
�� Susti said regretfully. “Sorry that you’ve spent practically all of your life serving someone who doesn’t appreciate your loyalty, someone who only thinks of thrones and power, someone who’d rather fawn over a makeshift general than tend to the wounds of his own faithful manservant. I’m sorry for you, Pegrand.”
“Well, milady, I appreciate the thought, but it really is my business.”
He hobbled up the narrow flight of stone steps to the length of wall where Susti was confined, and raised the goblet to her lips. When she’d drunk her fill, he replaced the goblet on the tray … and looked up again.
“Which one would you have married?” he asked, his expression earnest in the glimmering torchlight.
Susti frowned. “What?”
“The Teethgrits,” Pegrand muttered. “If there was no plan and you really meant to marry, which warrior would you have chosen for a husband?”
Susti thought for a moment, then managed a noncommittal shrug.
“Neither,” she said. “I like my men modest … and preferably loyal to a heart, not a purse. Even if you weren’t a hundred years too old, you’d never do.”
Pegrand’s face flushed, and he hobbled across to wake the king from his slumber. Susti watched the manservant raise a goblet for her father and Bronwyn, and wondered if thirty-nine was really as old as all that.
“Right,” Gordo said, surveying the vast array of weapons and armor that they’d unloaded from the gangster’s barge the night before. “We’ve got ten longbows, six hundred arrows.”
“Firty swords, five axes,” Groan added, brows meeting as he tried to do the math in his head.
“Ten crossbows, fifty bolts,” said Gape.
“One empty pistol,” Stump said, tossing the spent weapon to the grass.
“And a head,” Loogie finished, speaking from his resting place atop the crossbow pile.
“How many guards d’you reckon they’ve got in Phlegm?” Gordo said to Gape.
The warrior shrugged. “Who knows? Judging by the arena turnout, I’d say more than one hundred, less than three.”
“That’s still too many,” said Stump, suddenly wondering why he was still with the group, and making a conscious decision to leg it at the first available opportunity.
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