Trail of Bones: A Young Adult Fantasy Novel (32 page)

Thick fur and even thicker muscle tissue covered the badgers’ necks and shoulders. Attacking them from the front was a bad idea, so Magnus continued to evade until they started to tire.

The arena crowd, however, began to tire from Magnus’s chosen tactic and like Dravenclaw, the jeers rained down. They wanted action and violence, not a game of tag.

The Warden was not going to let this continue much longer. He motioned for a servant to approach just as a tank badger jumped at Magnus…missed and rolled onto the head of a spear. The shaft had been wedged between the arena’s wall and the ground.

The crowd applauded, and for the moment was satisfied, so the Warden dismissed the servant, and the chase continued.

Without the assistance of his companion, the remaining badger had no choice but to go right after the wolf. It ran as fast as its stubby legs and feet could move, but Magnus avoided the enemy with ease.

Round and round they went while Magnus refused to take the offensive. At long last, the badger stopped mid-chase and keeled over. The creature had run itself to death without Magnus inflicting a single wound.

The badger rolled onto its back and convulsed, all four legs going stiff, as the crowd booed again. They cursed Magnus as the slaves led him out of the arena, his head hanging low, and his tail between his legs once again.

It would have been another disaster for Korwin and the Warden, but there was still one fight left… the main event and it featured Kelor against a combatant few had ever seen before.

CHAPTER 26

Kelor puffed out his chest as he entered the quarry. The arena was his domain, and he was the conqueror.
I don’t care what the Warden thinks,
thought the cat.
In here he can’t touch me, can’t order me around, can’t hurt me.
The panther paraded around the arena floor like a prized stallion before a big race.

The Warden’s setup and false charges worked to perfection once again. The crowd yelled, shouted, and demanded Kelor’s end… justice for a crime he never committed. On this occasion, however, the more they screamed and taunted Kelor, the more confident and emboldened the feline became.

“I think you’ll enjoy this,” said the Warden as he looked over at his elf companion. “It took some doing, but you can cross another one off your list.”

Right on cue the ramp gate swung open and a large figure stomped into view. The spectators stared with wide-eyed anticipation as the ogre cleared the barrier, and the entrance door slammed shut behind him.

The ogre was an ugly fellow, with a broad nose and forehead. His bulbous nose curled up under and between his fatty cheeks. His small, dark eyes contrasted his large ears and thick neck. The creature was close to twelve feet tall, a male that had not yet reached maturity. His skin was a pale yellow with blotches of green and brown, a good camouflage for his native lands of the forests and high mountains of Illyia.

“Well done, Warden,” said Korwin as he walked to the front of the tower and leaned against the guard rail. He had been watching the fights alongside his business partner but had shown minimal interest.

“Your talents continue to impress,” the elf said with a smile. “I shall see to it your efforts are rewarded.”

“I’m just getting started.” the Warden smirked.

As am I,
thought Korwin.

The pair looked down into the arena as the ogre and the panther began to circle. The fight was about to begin and all eyes were fixated on the two fighters.

You’re mine!
thought Kelor as he raced toward his opponent. He wasn’t going to wait to see what the ogre might do. He was going to destroy him, just like he had done with the bears.

Although Kelor was getting bigger and stronger, the ogre was no slouch by comparison. The ogre was heavier and taller … an even match or so it appeared, but not in the panther’s mind.
I will end this now. The Warden and his threats won’t stop me!

The cat made a straight line for the ogre, making no attempt to distract or surprise his opponent. He ran on all fours, and then concentrated his strength and sprang. Kelor’s aim was right on target. He extended his claws and opened his jaws as he prepared to unloose devastation upon his enemy… until a cloud of white salt and dust pelted his face and eyes.

The ogre, with his big, heavy boot, kicked up the salt and gravel of the quarry floor just as Kelor leaped into range. Dust alone would have stalled an attack, but the high concentration of salt added pain to blurred vision.

Kelor missed his intended victim and crashed into the side of the quarry wall. The panther roared as he rubbed his face and eyes on the fur of his shoulder attempting to clear away the contaminant. Kelor’s antagonist, however, did not hesitate to take full advantage of the cat’s impaired vision.

The ogre tackled his enemy and both combatants went spiraling onto the arena floor. Kelor squirmed and kicked as the ogre wrestled for position, sliding his arm into position to put the cat in a headlock of sorts. The tactic also kept him clear of the feline’s jaws and front claws.

The arena audience gushed with boisterous approval.

Meanwhile, Korwin grabbed the Warden by the arm. “What if the panther fails? How…”.

“I realize you’re not from here, Master Korwin, but do you believe Kelor is the only giant cat in Illyia? Don’t worry, he can be replaced if necessary, they all can,” the Warden said without looking at Korwin, but keeping his eyes on the battle.

“What of the war maiden of Cordale? How will she react should Kelor fall? We don’t need those kinds of…complications,” Korwin said.

The Warden watched as the two warriors continued their roll of kicks, punches, and attacks. He watched Kelor closely, waiting for something.
He’s not angry, not yet. The ogre is formidable, but no match for Kelor should he remember what flowed through his ancestors veins… the thrill of the hunt!

“I will take care of Mistress Kitra, if it comes to that… and without involving your precious benefactor. But I don’t believe Kelor’s done quite yet,” said the Warden as he watched Kelor wriggle free of the ogre’s hold.

The giant cat was frustrated. The ogre had landed a number of punches to his ribs, and his side was throbbing. But it was his lack of vision that most angered the cat. The salt was potent and his sharp vision had been reduced to shadows and blurs. The panther could not depend on his eyes to vanquish his opponent; instead he had to rely on his other senses.

The scent of sweat, feces, and greggled hash was billowing from his right. His sense of smell was working to perfection, even with the presence of the salt. With his hearing providing direction and distance, he heard a shuffle, followed by the rhythmic pattern of approaching feet. The ogre was running towards him.

Strike now!
thought Kelor.

The cat struck out in the direction of the commotion and stench. He felt pressure and tension as his claws struck the ogre’s skin, and then give way as he severed the dermal layers and cut through soft tissue. The cat could feel the warm liquid coat his paw as it gushed from the ogre. He could hear his enemy whine and then mumble a curse in its native language.

The panther listened to the ogre’s footsteps that became erratic. He could hear his foe’s breathing quicken and its heart rate accelerate.

Kelor whipped around looking for his attacker, but his eyes betrayed him. Then he smelled something rancid … the ogre’s putrid breath as it exhaled before striking.

Now!
thought the cat, though his reflexes fired first. He leaned up and chomped down, seizing the ogre’s head in his jaws.

The taste of the ogre’s skin and scalp was so repulsive Kelor could barely hold on, but he acted more out of reaction than deliberate thought. And then, with one quick contraction of his jaw muscles, the ogre was no more… and the crowd had their champion.

The cat could not see the crowd, but he could hear them, and on this eve, they were cheering for him, not against him. He had won the tournament… and the crowd.

****

The village of Thornmount was a wreck. Sections of the perimeter fence were in a terrible state of disrepair. Trash littered the compound, and cooking fires smoldered unattended. The number of guards manning the towers and gates was a fraction of what they normally would be, and there was little activity on either side of the fences.

Thayne’s eyes remained open as he stared into nothingness. He lay on his back, motionless in his bed, with his face pointed toward the ceiling of his lodge. His condition had not changed since the sentries had discovered him in the forest after his encounter with the spectral wolves.

The chief, however, was not the only one to suffer this fate. His lodge had been converted into a hospital of sorts, a triage center housing a dozen other comatose villagers. Like their leader, they stared at nothing, their skin was a pale ash-white in color, and other than infrequent and shallow breaths there was little to confirm they were still part of this mortal realm. These were the lucky ones, somehow clinging to a fragment of life.

The others were thrown into piles atop the ceremonial pyres and consumed by fire. The unaffected villagers had the task of collecting their dead, most family or friends, and disposing of their bodies. The ‘healthy’ ones didn’t look much better. Many had lost weight, while others had large bags under their bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep.

A few of the guards gathered at the foot of Chief Draghone’s bed and whispered.

“We must do something; the village will not survive the winter,” whispered the most senior of the group.

“What can we do? We lose more warriors every night. Soon there will only be women and children left,” added another.

“The gods have forsaken us. I say we take those who can walk and we leave for the City of Draghone. Our kin will not let us perish from hunger,” suggested the third guard.

The senior guard did not care for his comrade’s plea. “Our kin… will never allow us inside the city. They will know of our curse; the gates will remain locked and we will all perish outside their walls.”

“We must try,” said the second guard.

“And if the wolves follow, then what? Will you doom the rest of our kingdom to our fate? Is that the kind of people we have become?” asked the senior.

“Then we are the ones who are doomed,” said the third.

The senior guard shifted as an idea came to him. “The Soothsayer. We must find the Soothsayer!” A few glares from women attending to the bedridden warned the guard to keep his voice down.

“But none know where to find him. Where shall we look?” asked the third guard.

“Go to the forest; take those who can still run. Search as far and wide as you can, and when you can walk no more, go further and you will find him. He will know what we should do; you must find him,” the senior guard answered.

“And if the Terror Wolves attack the village again? How can you hold with so few men?” asked the second guard.

Terror Wolves. That was the new name the villagers of Thornmount called their former allies. The spectral wolves only attacked at night, and those who survived their attacks were cast into catatonic states of terror. Lying in a nightmare, they remained trapped between mortality and the afterlife.

“We will hold, by the sword of Mardin, we will hold,” said the senior guard. He placed a hand on each of his comrades’ shoulders. “Down to the last man if we must, somehow we will hold the village until you return.”

****

“You have to admit, we put on quite a show,” said Navarro as he sat in his cage. He grimaced as he wrapped a bandage around his shredded leg. The bard looked as if a giant cheese grater had been rubbed against his limb. He had more bite wounds, punctures, nicks, and cuts on his body than he could count.

“Except Magnus, of course,” quipped Kelor. The giant cat licked the top side of his front paw, and then rubbed it over his face. His eyes were still bloodshot and irritated from the ogre’s attack with the salt cloud.

Kelor peered over at the wolf. Magnus was in his usual position, lying down, his head on his paws, and staring at the wall of the holding tent.

“You don’t get it, mutt. This is who we are, this what we do. This is your life now, better get used to it,” said the panther. “Look at me. Once I’m out of this cage and inside the arena, I let it all go. I unleash the beast, just like Dox said to. He’s right. You want to survive; you have to unleash the beast.”

Magnus looked over at Kelor. “I’m not like you, Kelor.” He then turned to gaze back at the wall.

“True!” Kelor said and then laughed. “But you better start fighting like me or you’re not going to last much longer. You’re quick on your feet, I’ll give you that, but if you don’t fight you’re going to lose. Sooner or later you’re going to have to fight, Magnus.”

Navarro tossed a pebble at Dox to get the Minotaur’s attention. “Hey, horned one. Unleash the beast? That’s what you call… whatever it was you did in there?” he said, trying to fight back a laugh of his own.