‘If he’s a king,’ Arpo retorted, ‘what’s he doing here? Stratem? Never heard of Stratem. Crimson Guard? Who’re they?’
Calap said, ‘Since when does a king wander around without bodyguards and servants and whatnot? It’s a little hard to believe, your claim.’
‘Flea?’
Flea scratched in his beard and looked thoughtful. ‘Well, me and Midge and Relish, we’re the bodyguards, but we ain’t servants. King Tiny don’t need servants and such. He’s a sorcerer, you see. And the best fighter in all Stratem.’
‘What kind of sorcerer?’ the host demanded.
‘Midge?’
‘He can raise the dead. That kind of sorcerer.’
At that the pace stumbled to a halt, and Steck Marynd reined in to slowly swing his horse round, the crossbow cradled in one arm. ‘Necromancer,’ he said, baring his teeth and it was not a smile. ‘So what makes you any different from the Nehemoth? That is what I want to know.’
Midge and Flea stepped out to the sides, hands settling on the grips of their weapons as Tulgord Vise drew his sister-blessed sword and Arpo Relent looked around confusedly. Tiny grinned. ‘The difference? Ain’t nobody hunting me, that’s the difference.’
‘The only one?’ Steck asked in a dull tone.
Was it alarm that flickered momentarily in Tiny’s eyes? Too difficult to know for certain. ‘Eager to die, are you, Marynd? I can kill you without raising a finger. Just a nod and your guts would be spilling all over your saddle horn.’ He looked around, his grin stretching. ‘I’m the deadliest person here, best you all understand that.’
‘You’re bluffing,’ said Tulgord. ‘Dare you challenge the Mortal Sword of the Sisters, oaf?’
Tiny snorted. ‘As if the Sisters care a whit about the Nehemoth – a madman and a eunuch never destroyed the world or toppled a god. Them two are irritants and nothing more. If you truly was the Sisters’ Mortal Sword, they must be pretty annoyed by now. You running all over every damned continent and what for? An insult? That’s what it was, wasn’t it? They made a fool of you, and you’ll burn down half the world all because of wounded pride.’
Tulgord Vise was a most frightening hue of scarlet wherever skin was visible. He stepped forward. ‘And you, Chanter?’ he retorted amidst gnashing teeth. ‘Hunting down a pair of rivals? I agree with Steck, necromancers are an abomination, and you are a necromancer. Therefore, you are—’
‘An abomination!’ shrieked Arpo Relent, fumbling with his axe.
‘Midge, pick one.’
‘That girl there, the one with only one eyebrow.’
Tiny nodded. He gestured slightly with his left hand.
Sellup seemed to vomit something even as she pitched forward, limbs rattling on the sand before falling still. Face down on the ground, motionless in death, and all eyes upon her. Eyes that then widened.
‘Beru bless us!’ moaned the host.
Sellup moved, lifted to her hands and knees, her hair hanging down and clotted with – what was it, blood? She raised her head. Her visage was lifeless, the eyes dull with death, her mouth slack in the manner of the witless and fanatic fans of dubious sports. ‘Who killed me?’ she asked in a grating voice, tongue protruding like a drowning slug. A strange groaning noise from her nose announced the escape of the last air to grace her lungs. ‘That wasn’t fair. There was no cause. Pampera, is my hair a mess? Look, it’s a mess. I’m a mess.’ She climbed to her feet, her motions clumsy and loose. ‘Nifty? Beloved? Nifty? I was always for you, only you.’
But when she turned to him he backed away in horror.
‘Not fair!’ cried Sellup.
‘One less mouth to feed, though,’ muttered Brash Phluster.
‘You killed one of my fans!’ Nifty Gum said, eyes like two dustbird eggs boiling in a saucer.
‘It’s all right,’ simped Oggle Gush, ‘you still have us, sweet-thumb!’
‘Tiny Chanter,’ said Steck Marynd, ‘if I see so much as a finger twitch from you again you’re a dead man. We got us a problem here. Y’see, I get hired to kill necromancers – it’s the only reason I’m still hunting the Nehemoth, because I guarantee satisfaction, and in my business without my word meaning something I’m nothing.’
Tiny grunted. ‘Anybody hired you to kill me?’
‘No, which is why you’re still alive. But, you see, over the years, I’ve acquired something of a dislike for necromancers. No, that’s too mild. I despise them. Loathe them, in fact.’
‘Too bad,’ said Tiny. ‘You only got one quarrel and you won’t get a chance to re-load before one or more of us get to you. Want to die, Steck?’
‘I doubt it will be as uneven as you seem to think,’ Steck Marynd replied. ‘Is that a fair thing to say, Mortal Sword?’
‘It is,’ said Tulgord Vise in a growl.
‘And you, Well Knight?’
Arpo finally had his axe ready. ‘Abomination!’
‘This is great!’ said Brash Phluster in what he likely thought was a whisper.
Tiny’s tiny eyes snapped to him. ‘For you artists, yes it’s perfect, isn’t it? It was your meddling that caused all this.’ And with that he looked straight at me. ‘Devious tale – you’ll spin us all to death!’
Innocent my regard. ‘Sire?’
‘I don’t know Flicker’s game and I don’t much care,’ said Steck Marynd, his stony eyes still fixed upon Tiny Chanter. ‘You claim to be hunting the Nehemoth. Why?’
‘I don’t answer to you,’ Tiny replied.
‘You killed one of my fans!’
‘I still love you, Nifty!’ Arms opening, Sellup made pouting motions with her dry lips and advanced on her beloved.
He howled and ran.
Oggle shot Sellup a vicious glare. ‘See what you done!’ she hissed, and then set off in pursuit of the Great Artist.
Pampera posed for an instant, arching to gather and sweep back her hair, her breasts pushing like a pair of seals rising for air, and then with an oddly languorous lunge she flowed into a fluid sprint, buttocks bouncing most invitingly.
To my heartfelt quotation, Brash Phluster gusted a sigh and nodded. ‘Gormle Ess of Ivant, aye, he knew his art—’
‘Sandroc of Blight,’ Calap Roud corrected. ‘Gormle Ess wrote the Adulterer’s Lament.’ He tilted his head back and assumed the orator’s posture, hands out to the sides.
‘Oh sorrow!’ cried Sellup, clapping her hands and offering everyone a bright and ghastly smile.
Arpo, staring up the trail, suddenly spoke. ‘Could be the coward’s running … from us.’
‘We got horses,’ said Tulgord Vise. ‘They won’t get away.’
‘Even so, we should resume our journey.’ Arpo then jabbed a mailed finger at Tiny. ‘I will be watching you, sorcerer.’ Taking his horse’s reins, he set off.
Tiny grinned at Steck Marynd. ‘The Well Knight has the memory of a twit-bird. Leave off, Marynd. When we finally corner the Nehemoth, you’ll want me at your side. In the meantime—’
‘In the meantime,’ Steck jerked his head at Sellup, ‘no more of that.’