Trail of Bones: A Young Adult Fantasy Novel (28 page)

He could see nodding heads; hear whispers of secrecy, and subtle affirmation. Kelor’s abrupt performance had almost ruined the entire plan, but it had also baited the hook. The Warden’s persuasions had snared the crowd and they bit the bait with hot anticipation.

“Shall the tournament continue?” asked the Warden with renewed vigor.

The roar of the mob responded in the affirmative. The tension and simmering anger dissipated. The wagering tables resumed, the fist-a-cuffs ensued, and the crowd settled into drinking in the night and its offerings of illegal and exciting battles.

“Well played,” said Korwin as the Warden resumed place next to the elf. “Your promise is no folly after all.” The familiar voice as mimicked the challenger from the crowd.

The Warden laughed. “That was you?”

Korwin gave him a nod. “I thought you could use the help.”

Not on your miserable little life, elf, did I need any help from you. I had them right where I wanted them. You just sped things up is all,
thought the Warden before responding.

“My thanks. Their appetites are satisfied and the wagering tables are brimming with coin,” he said to Korwin, exhibiting another well-rehearsed grin.

“Our secret little tournament will remain so, I wager. The search for a champion was a nice touch but to offer a reward of 100 platinum…,” the elf said. The last few words did not need to be uttered; he had made his point, and the Warden had certainly caught it.

He smiled again, this attempt, however, was far from genuine.

“That sum will have tongues wagging from shore to shore in Illyia. Every shanty town and dung pile on the continent will be begging to host our tournament. You and your barbarian king will have your pick of the spoils and access to every beast in the kingdoms. But if you think for one moment I have any intent to actually pay the reward… then I am very disappointed in how you view me and my talents,” the Warden said. “Very disappointed.”

CHAPTER 22

Thayne Draghone took in a deep breath. He loved the crisp bite of the cold forest air as it hit his nostrils and lungs. Winter approached, as it always did, but for some reason the chief felt this season would be harsher than those of the past.

He reached down and rubbed the top of his thigh. His right leg was still swollen from the horrific wounds he had suffered at the hands of the Ghast and their leader, Gork. A contraption of leather braces and buckles ran down his limb and provided the necessary support for him to walk. Thayne still had a severe limp, but at least he was mobile.

The proud barbarian refused to spend his days in bed healing when there was still so much to do. The village healers had done what they could, applying generous amounts of red dasher root to his legs to accelerate the mending process. But even that was troublesome, as the chief rarely stood still long enough for the procedure, and insisted others of the village receive it first before administering his dose.

Winter is indeed coming,
he thought as he looked into the starless night sky.
I can feel it in my bones… but where are the wolves?

The barbarian had grown accustomed to hearing the Shade Wolves howl their songs late into the night. There were a few occasions when the forest would be silent as the pack hunted or moved throughout the territory, as they often did. But it had been weeks since Thayne or anyone else in the Village of Thornmount had heard a single call, bark, or howl from the wolves.

Something is not right,
pondered Thayne.
Will they ever forgive me for what I did to Magnus?

The prophecy had come to pass just as the Soothsayer said it would. Sparing Magnus from the sacrificial fires and selling the wolf instead of ending his life had brought prosperity back to the village. The storage sheds were full of wheat and dried meats. Buildings once smoldering and destroyed were being rebuilt, some better than before. Many of the guards, watchmen, and warriors of the village sported new weaponry and wares. Still, it all felt hollow.

What path did I put that poor wolf upon? What pain and suffering does he endure because of my wounded and selfish heart? You did not deserve such a fate, Magnus,
he chided himself in silence.
I should have been stronger. I should have let you go.

Sleep was rare for the troubled chief. Most nights he wandered the village, inspecting the fence and the perimeter defenses. He often cursed his complacency for not doing so long before that fateful day.
How many souls could have been spared?
he asked himself over and over again, but never finding an answer.

I miss my son. Adolphus, you were the best of me… and you are gone. Oh, how I wish my heart was as brave and true as yours.
These thoughts often haunted him and only made sleep more elusive.

One by one he stopped by each tower and chatted with the sentries. The same report came back, the forest was quiet. But on this night it was eerily so.

“Perhaps the beasts of the forest have taken to shelter with the approach of the storm,” said a watchman.

The chief nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.”

It was a lie. The village was quiet and calm but the leader felt no peace.

The last part of his routine led him outside the village gates. He would walk along the fence until he came to a sacred spot, a log still bearing the darkened stains of the blood of his son, Adolphus.

Thayne reached out and placed his hand on the wood, just above the grim reminder. He closed his eyes, hoping as he always did, that he would hear his son’s voice punch through the veil of the afterlife to offer him words of comfort. None came. They never did.

On this occasion, however, the barbarian heard something else. A scuffle and something similar to a whimper came from over the closest hill. He squinted and peered into the thick foliage of the forest, trying to make out a shape to determine the cause of the disturbance.

The chief looked over to the closest watchtower, the sentry still at his post, paced back and forth.
Perhaps I should call for assistance?
he thought as his leg throbbed with a dull aching pain.
It’s probably a thatcher rabbit. What will they think then? The mighty Thayne, Chief of Thornmount, startled by a rodent.

There it was again. The barbarian took a few steps closer to the forest and away from the protection and light of the village barricade.

What sort of beast is that?
he wondered. It sounded like something was being dragged along the forest floor. Then he heard another sound, one that made his blood run cold.

It was not quite a cry or a screech, a yell, or a shout. It was like a whisper combined with the shriek of metal swords as the blades grinded against each other.

Are those words? What creature speaks in such a tongue?
he asked as his mind searched for something familiar, some logical conclusion.

Thayne scaled the hill with the help of a small branch he picked up to use as a walking stick. Once he crested the top he took a step to descend the other side. His weak leg failed, and the strength and the support of the braces could not sustain his weight and balance. The huge barbarian tumbled down the hillside until he crashed into some thick ferns near the bottom.

As he sat up he saw a trail of blue light pass a few paces in front of him. He shook his head and wiped dirt and mud from his brow. The same haunting whispers echoed through the trees again, but much closer than before.

The chief pulled back one of the fern fronds and his face turned a ghostly pale white.

Standing in front of him, devouring a shredded elk carcass, was the dark figure of Jiro the Shade Wolf. But the wolf looked like it had been ripped from the afterlife, its black fur rippling and surging with blue flame-shaped lights. It looked like torrents of electrical storms were trapped behind the lenses of his eyes. As it opened its mouth, sparks of lightning sprang forth.

“Magnus?” asked the barbarian.

Jiro snapped his head around, snarling and heaving at the intrusion. He let out a ghastly howl, a terrifying mix of pain and anger.

Thayne reached for his dagger… as two more spectral wolves pierced through the foliage and raced toward the barbarian.

They’re here for me! A curse, a vengeance because of my sins,
he thought as he unsheathed his weapon.

****

The house-take from the wager tables was impressive, especially considering how the evening had teetered on the edge of becoming a complete disaster.

Was it luck? Fate? Or perhaps none of that at all?
thought the Warden as he
supervised the counting of the coin. He was armed with dagger, sword, poisons, and a few hidden weapons just in case things went awry. As dangerous as an angry crowd could be, he was more nervous about collecting and counting the coin.

Coin has a strange effect on man,
he thought.
Logic and reason dissolve in an instant should the snare of greed take hold. Don’t trust a soul when it comes to coin, I always say.

Two armed guards stood at the door and another one at the back of the room. The Warden had insisted in finding a discreet place near the outskirts of town, not far from the arena.

“Pockets tend to have new holes on the road, and coin disappears,” he told his entourage of servants, clerks, and guards. “Should even one be missing upon our return to camp, I will take it from your pay… or your miserable hides.”

A hearty knock at the door brought everyone to attention and hands to hilts. One of the guards opened the door, mumbled a few statements and then gave way.

Kitra, Sindas and Dor’van all entered, lowering their hoods as they walked up to The Warden.

“Ah, my lady. I mean, General. I wondered if your network of spies and snitches would inform you of our little gathering this evening,” said the Warden, smothering each word with charm.

The war maiden did not look pleased, but in far better spirits when last they spoke. Of course, that could change with a few threats, demands, or hasty show of force.

“I shouldn’t be too surprised to find you in Dravenclaw. Your kind of town,” said Kitra as she removed her leather gloves. “I hear you travel with an elf now. Where is your little magic-user?” she asked as she raised an eyebrow.

The Warden hated how she knew so much about him. The fact that she knew where to find him, especially as he counted coin, made him most uncomfortable. She had the upper hand on this occasion as he hadn’t planned on so soon a visit.

“Yes. But I’m afraid he’s detained for the moment. He has a fondness for the beasts, you see. But I assure you, his presence in no way hinders our agreement,” said the Warden.

The hunter knew the Storm Elf was probably chopping up the remains of the bears even as he spoke, digging for whatever disgusting ingredients he needed for his magic spells and potions.

“Perhaps I’ll meet him another time. But that’s not why I came. Putting Kelor in with two grizzlies was not exactly prudent. A rash and foolish decision,” said the war maiden as she stared down the Warden. “I didn’t pay you all that coin just to have him ended in his first contest.”

The Warden cleared his throat to prevent himself from cursing her. “I assure you, General …Kelor was in no real danger. Your instructions were quite clear, but if you want the product you requested, it will have to be done my way,” he retorted.

“And what does that mean? Your way?” she asked.

The host gave a quick smile. “It means I have to break him first. Like I’ve said before, their race is remarkably willful. If I can’t bend his will, he’ll be of no worth to you or anyone else.”

“Kelor won’t be of any worth if he’s deceased or badly wounded either,” Kitra shot back.

The Warden walked straight to Kitra. “If you are unhappy with my work, you can take him now. I’ll even refund your coin… prorated of course for expenses and days spent training the beast. But the cat’s all yours if you wish it.” He turned and walked back to his original position behind the counting table.

“I’ll wager you’ll get a ways outside of Dravenclaw before he rips your throat out,” he added with his sinister grin. “But then again, perhaps he won’t.”

How I hate this man!
thought Kitra.

“That won’t be necessary. But know this… I am watching.”

“I would expect nothing less,” he said with a bow. “Did you enjoy the rest of the tournament, my lady?”

“I came only to see, Kelor. The rest of your twisted games are of no concern to me.” Kitra turned to leave, she had said what she wanted and had made her presence known.

Sindas opened the door for her, but before she exited, the Warden tossed her a bag of coin.

“What’s this?” she asked in confusion as she caught the bag.