Chaos left the stage as well, his work done.
Now alone on the wide circular platform, Zaitan stood, placed his hands formally behind his back, and bowed reverently to his father and the royal spectators.
Standing in this way, no-one saw what he did with his hands behind his back: with a quick flick of his fingers, he slid two razor-sharp skin-coloured ceramic blades back underneath the folds in the skin of his knuckles—blades that he had used to slash Depon’s face during the pivotal moment of the fight.
All the while, Zaitan smiled up at the cheering, adoring crowd.
Fight 3: Scarecrow vs Edwards (vs Chaos)
Shane ‘Scarecrow’ Schofield stepped up the curving outer steps of the combat stage and beheld his opponent.
‘You . . .’ he whispered when he saw him standing on the opposite side of the stage.
‘I had a feeling it might come to this,’ his opponent said with a predatory grin.
It was Jeffrey Edwards of Delta. Another American, he was one of Scarecrow’s fellow representatives of the Sea Kingdom, and also the person who, back in Afghanistan a few days earlier, had tricked Scarecrow and his Marines into coming here.
They couldn’t have been more different. Scarecrow was lean, clean-shaven; Edwards, as was common among Delta operators, had an unkempt beard and a bulked-up physique.
Scarecrow just glared at him.
Edwards had known all along why he was coming to India. He had trained for the Games. He had prepared. Scarecrow, on the other hand, like Jack West Jr, had been thrown in the deep end and told to sink or swim.
Edwards snorted. ‘Reckon you’re pretty pissed at me, ain’tcha?’
Scarecrow said nothing.
‘Tricked ya into comin’ here,’ Edwards said. ‘A Marine wouldn’t like that. Fucking Marines. So damned earnest. Dudley fucking Do-Rights. Had to kill a few Marines in my time, you know: dumb fucks who saw things they shouldn’t have. Now, I gotta kill you.’
Edwards clicked his neck, loosening it. He did it casually, like a guy preparing to throw some pitches in the backyard.
Scarecrow’s eyes scanned his opponent’s body.
Tan combat trousers and t-shirt: no danger there.
Steel-toed boots: significant danger there.
Then he saw Edwards’s hands: lots of danger there.
On both hands, Edwards wore a classic piece of Delta kit: sand-coloured assault gloves. But these gloves had a more sinister name: ‘knuckleduster gloves’.
This was because they had special domed plates sewn into the knuckles—plates made of steel shot—giving the wearer significantly more punching power. They had the same effect as brass knuckles: a single well-timed punch from them could send a man’s nose back into his brain, killing him instantly.
Vacheron called, ‘Our third battle will be between Major Jeffrey Edwards, representing the Kingdom of the Sea, and Captain Shane Schofield, also representing the Sea Kingdom!’
Hades said, ‘Let the fight begin. To the death.’
Edwards sprang forward, unleashing a flurry of rapid blows, leading with his weighted gloves, driving Scarecrow toward the edge of the stage.
Scarecrow retreated in the face of the onslaught, parrying Edwards’s punches while also keeping half an eye out for Chaos.
Then Edwards launched a roundhouse right and Scarecrow ducked and swerved and bobbed up again—
—to see Chaos swinging at him with his sword!
Scarecrow ducked again and the sword swooshed over his head, missing by inches.
He turned back to Edwards as—whack!—Edwards’s left fist hit him square in the cheek.
The steel shot in the knuckles of Edwards’s glove did their thing.
Scarecrow heard his cheekbone crack. Broken.
His eyes began to water, his vision on that side began to darken.
Gotta watch out for Chaos, his mind screamed.
He swung back to check on the lion-headed assassin, just in time to see the big black figure lunge forward, stabbing with his sword . . .
. . . and to Scarecrow’s horror, the sword plunged deep into his left shoulder, going right through, so that two full feet of the sword’s glistening blade emerged out the other side, protruding from Scarecrow’s back!
The royal crowd gasped.
No-one came back from such a blow.
Chaos stepped back from Scarecrow, cruelly leaving the sword embedded in his left shoulder.
Edwards moved in for the kill.
Scarecrow staggered, gasping.
He saw the sword lodged deep in his left shoulder and felt the arm below it go limp.
And then Edwards was in his face, raining more punches at him.
Scarecrow pathetically raised his good right arm in defence, trying to ward off the blows.
Edwards spoke as he unleashed his punches.
‘I have more training than you!’
Punch.
‘More experience than you!’
Punch.
‘More knowledge than you!’
Punch.
The last punch knocked Scarecrow’s defensive arm away and suddenly Scarecrow was totally exposed.
Edwards made a tight fist with his weighted right glove and coiled himself for the final blow.
Scarecrow held up his good hand and said breathlessly, ‘But I . . . have more . . .’
Edwards paused, grinning. ‘What? You have more what?’
‘I have more imagination than you.’
With those words, Scarecrow dropped suddenly and swept his legs around, taking Edwards’s feet out from under him, and Edwards fell to the ground.
Then Scarecrow did the most outrageous thing of all, he leapt up and, gripping the hilt of the sword, dropped his entire body in a backslam . . . right on top of Edwards . . . doing it in such a way that the sword protruding from the back of his left shoulder stabbed Edwards right through the heart.
Blood sprayed everywhere.
Chaos didn’t know what to do.
The royal audience watched, aghast.
Silence reigned . . .
. . . except for the long monotone beep of Jeffrey Edwards’s heart-rate monitor flatlining.
No-one said a thing until Prince George guffawed, ‘Bugger me, that was fucking intense!’
Then Scarecrow stood and, still wobbling unsteadily and covered in blood, he yanked the sword out of his body. At the same moment, seemingly of its own accord, the clamp mechanism holding the Golden Sphere in place on the podium beside him snapped open.
At a nod from Vacheron, Scarecrow took the glowing orb from the podium.
To the respectful clapping of the royal crowd, he brought it up to the observation deck and handed it to Hades who placed it reverently into the first bowl-shaped recess on the right-hand armrest of his throne.
Only four champions remained now.
Zaitan, the son of Hades.
Major Greg Brigham, the SAS man who had been granted a bye through the Sixth Challenge.
Scarecrow, the Marine with the scars on his eyes.
And Jack.
How they would pair off for the Seventh Challenge, only Vacheron knew, but the royal spectators whispered animatedly, eager for the next round of mortal combat to begin.
In anticipation of this, they moved from the south-facing rail of the Observatory’s balcony to its east-facing one overlooking the second of the three combat stages.
Only Hades remained where he sat. His throne moved for him, rotating ninety degrees on an unseen mechanism.
Like the first combat stage, this stage featured a podium with a sphere on it, a hole in its centre and curving entry steps on either side. But it had an extra feature: a raised platform on which stood three large stone statues.
The statues were of three cows, bunched together, cut fro
m a single piece of pale stone. They looked worn and old, faded with extreme age.
‘Cattle,’ Lily said, seeing them. ‘The Cattle of Geryon. Another of the Labours of Hercules. Hercules wrestled a giant named Geryon so he could steal his cattle.’
Iolanthe said, ‘In truth Geryon was the name of a champion whom Hercules fought on this very stage three thousand years ago, in the shadow of these statues. Geryon was a towering fellow and a famed wrestler.’
Vacheron called, ‘My lords and ladies! Welcome to the Seventh Challenge! Only four brave champions remain. Bring out the two combatants for the first fight of the Seventh Challenge!’
Jack was once again fetched from his cell by the four minotaur guards.
After the brutal punishment Jack had endured in his first fight, Iolanthe’s foppish British physician Dr Barnard had come by to patch him up. Barnard had used an ice pack to reduce the swelling and the old boxer’s trick of Avitene and Vaseline to stem the flow of blood from his cuts.
Thus tidied up, Jack was taken down another forked passageway and pushed through a door which was slammed shut behind him. Another set of curving steps led upward, to another combat stage.
Jack climbed the steps, his head slowly peeking above the flat level of the stage.
He had no clue how the other fights had gone, who had fought against whom and who had won, so he wondered who he would face this time.
As he stepped up onto the stage, his opponent rose up the matching set of stairs on the other side of the stage.
When Jack saw who it was, his face fell.
‘Oh, no . . .’
It was Scarecrow.
Jack West Jr and Shane Schofield faced each other on the ancient fighting platform.
The two men looked like they had been through hell, which wasn’t far from the truth.
Despite Dr Barnard’s best efforts, Jack’s face was bloody and bruised. His jeans and t-shirt—and the body armour he now wore over them—were dirty and torn.
Scarecrow’s left arm hung limply from his shoulder, some tightly bound bandages securing the stab wound there. His combat trousers and Marine t-shirt were similarly dirty and ragged and smeared with blood.
Jack looked deep into Scarecrow’s eyes.
Astro and Mother had been right when they’d vouched for Scarecrow. He was the one champion Jack had met during this whole thing whom he trusted and admired.
Scarecrow had saved Jack’s life, using his reward to spare Jack when Hades had ordered his head to be blown off.
And now here they stood, facing off against each other in a fight that only one of them could walk away from. A fight to the death.
Jack looked away.
He couldn’t see a way out of this.
‘Damn . . .’ he breathed.
‘Captain West,’ Scarecrow said suddenly. He glanced to the side. Chaos was striding out of the Observatory and would be on the stage in moments.
‘This is the only place we can speak freely so listen up and listen good. I need you to kill me now. I don’t know enough about these ancient matters, but you do. This is your field. This is what you do. If killing me now means saving the world, then that’s what you have to do.’
Jack was speechless. ‘No . . .’
Scarecrow looked him square in the eye . . . and then with a flick of his eyes, he drew Jack’s attention to something in his left hand.
Jack saw it . . . and frowned.
His eyes snapped up and met Scarecrow’s and he nodded.
‘You know what you have to do,’ Scarecrow said.
‘I do,’ Jack said.
‘See you on the other side, Captain,’ Scarecrow said.
At that moment, Chaos stepped out onto the stage armed with his sword, and Vacheron called out: ‘The first battle of the Seventh Challenge will be between Captain Jack West, representing the Kingdom of Land, and Captain Shane Schofield, representing the Kingdom of the Sea!’
Hades said, ‘Let the fight begin. To the death.’
Fight 1: Jack vs Scarecrow (vs Chaos)
Scarecrow launched himself at Jack, driving into his belly with his good shoulder.
It was to be expected. The Marine was in a bad way—his left arm was all but useless—and the only way he was going to win this fight was with a quick victory.
He picked up Jack and thrust him back against the podium that supported the three cow statues.
Jack gasped at the impact. Even in his injured state, Scarecrow was strong.
And then Jack saw a flash of silver and out of instinct he ducked as Chaos’s sword slashed over his head and hit one cow statue, kicking up sparks.
Jack pushed Scarecrow away from him and side-kicked Chaos in the chest, making him double over.
Scarecrow swung at Jack with his good right arm, but this time Jack evaded the blow and as Scarecrow overextended, Jack stepped in behind him and got the Marine in a choke hold.
The royal audience murmured.
Lily watched tensely.
Then she saw movement above and behind Jack, something emerging from the statue of the three cows, something small and red.
‘Oh, no,’ she breathed.
Mephisto crawled stealthily down from the statue, moving like a monkey, silently approaching Jack from above. He gripped the handle of his double-balled flail in his teeth.
Jack never saw him coming—he was too busy holding the writhing and struggling Scarecrow and keeping one eye on Chaos, who was at that moment getting back to his feet.
Chaos stood and took a step toward Jack and Scarecrow.
Then Chaos paused.
It was just for a millisecond, but Jack saw it. Chaos had seen something behind Jack.
Jack dived right . . . taking Scarecrow with him . . . just as the two brass balls of Mephisto’s flail came whizzing down from above and clanged together right where Jack’s head had been!
The little jester jumped down from the statue and grinned at Jack with his hideous teeth. He began to twirl his flail, increasing its speed, preparing to launch it at Jack when—
Jack dropped Scarecrow and dived toward Chaos, who swung at him with his sword.
This was now a totally crazy fight—Jack vs Scarecrow vs Chaos vs Mephisto—with Jack as the central figure in it all.
Jack somersaulted left, ducking Chaos’s blow, just as Mephisto threw his flail and it whipped past Jack, brass balls blurring with speed, and struck Chaos hard in the chest.
Chaos roared in pain and dropped, winded, as Mephisto opened his mouth in shock. He’d hit the wrong man.
He rounded on Jack, only to be side-kicked square in the ribs from the other direction . . . by Scarecrow, lying on the ground! The well-timed kick sent the jester flying into the well-hole in the centre of the combat stage and with a wild squeal, the little red man sailed into the hole and disappeared from view.
‘Take that, little fucker,’ Scarecrow grunted.
Now free of interference from Hades’s henchmen, Jack dived back toward Scarecrow. The Marine was getting painfully back to his feet and had just got to his knees when Jack pounced on him, once again wrapping his muscly right forearm around Scarecrow’s throat in a perfect choke hold.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jack whispered into Scarecrow’s ear. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Scarecrow kicked and struggled desperately, but then gradually Jack felt the Marine’s body begin to sag and go limp.
Scarecrow’s eyes closed.
Jack maintained the choke hold.
Scarecrow lost consciousness. His head flopped forward.
Jack maintained the choke hold.
Scarecrow’s breathing stopped.
Jack maintained the choke hold.
And then, as the assembled royals watched in rapt silence, the shrill piercing beeeeep of Scarecrow’s heart-rate monitor flatlining
rang out in the silence.
Jack West Jr had killed Shane Schofield.
Lily stood stock-still as she watched Jack release Scarecrow’s limp body and kick it away from him.
She saw the pained look on his face. Killing any man was not easy, but killing this Marine had clearly hurt him deeply.
On the combat stage, two minotaurs appeared and they dragged Scarecrow’s body past Jack and off the stage.
Jack stood and watched Scarecrow go.
Jesus Christ, what have I done? he thought.
A few feet away from him, Chaos rose groggily to one knee, then to his feet.
Jack peered down into the well-hole to see what had become of Mephisto—
What he saw shocked him.
Six feet below the rim of the well-hole, hanging off the side of the slick, polished wall of the hole, was the little red jester.
He grinned mischievously up at Jack.
Mephisto gripped his little mountain-climbing device, the one he had used during the Fourth Challenge on the wall-maze, the pneumatic device that drove a handle deep into the stone, allowing him to hang from an otherwise sheer wall.
Chaos lowered Mephisto’s flail into the hole and used it to haul up the jester.
Mephisto sneered at Jack as he stepped back onto the stage. ‘Tick-tock, tick-tock, I’ll be coming back to stop your clock.’
Jack just bowed his head.
This was all becoming too much.
Killing Vargas was one thing, but killing Scarecrow was something else. He’d been a decent man, a guy who had wanted the same thing as Jack: for good to prevail.
His mere presence alongside Jack in these hellish trials had given Jack hope, sustenance. He had not been entirely alone in the Games, surrounded by scumbag royals and zealous champions.
But now Scarecrow was gone—killed by Jack himself—and Jack had to survive the final two challenges alone.
Gotta stay strong, he told himself. This isn’t over.
Exhausted physically, depleted mentally, spent emotionally and on the ragged edge of his sanity, Jack West trudged off the combat stage escorted by the four minotaur guards and returned to his cell.
The Four Legendary Kingdoms: A Jack West Jr Novel 4 (Jack West Junior) Page 26
