by Steve Feasey
‘Come on,’ the Maug said, dragging her out of the cell. ‘We don’t want our guest of honour to be late, do we?’
38
At Trey’s insistence, he and Shentob had taken up seats in Molok’s VIP section to watch the opening round of the games. Trey was in his human form, and the sight of the teenage boy in the stands had initially raised some unwelcome looks, but within moments of him taking his seat word must have got out about who, and what, he was, and now the spectators nearest to him had switched their attention back to the arena floor.
In its layout and design, the arena was like those that Trey had seen in the human realm. Tiered seating was arranged on each of its twenty sides, each tier sandwiched between steep, stepped aisles which were punctuated by arched entrances up and down their length. Through these archways nether-creatures of every size, colour and description moved in a constant stream, many carrying refreshments which they took back to their allotted place. Most of the stadium was full, but there were sections, mainly in the more sought-after areas like the one Trey and Shentob were now in, where the seats had not yet been occupied. Shentob explained to Trey that the first two rounds, where the number of fighters shrank from 256 to 64, were of little interest to those nether-creatures that considered themselves to be the elite of the Netherworld.
‘They say that the early stages are grotesque.’ Shentob shrugged.
Having watched the opening spectacle, Trey could understand why. The arena floor had been crammed with contestants, many of which jostled with those around them for space. The sandy fighting squares that would be used for the later fights were obscured beneath the mass of nether-creatures. Demons, djinn and hellish creatures of every description faced each other, the combatants remaining still, their eyes locked on each other’s, until a horn sounded somewhere off to Trey’s right, at which point all hell broke loose.
It was not so much a contest as a chaotic bloodbath.
It was impossible to make out any particular fighter in the melee that ensued in those opening moments. Limbs were sent flying through the air to crash into other fighters, and blood fountained from countless wounds. Screams and shouts and grunts and snarls filled the air, but these were barely audible over the noise from the crowd, many of whom were on their feet and roaring their approval at the gore-fest. Some demons, having won their own fight, turned on the nether-creature nearest to them, their bloodlust causing them to lose all control and lash out with tooth and claw. Trey commented on this to Shentob, who nodded his head and pointed out one particularly vicious demon which seemed to have gone utterly berserk, swiping out at anyone and anything in its vicinity.
‘Watch,’ Trey’s aide said, and moments later a black arrow found its home in the demon’s chest, the shaft quickly transforming into a snake-like creature that burrowed its way into the berserker’s body, causing it to scream and drop to the floor, dead.
Shentob turned to look at his young master. ‘Sometimes a demon will be sent into the first rounds with instructions to take out certain combatants from another school. To the casual observer, that fighter –’ Shentob nodded in the direction of the now dead demon – ‘was just lashing out at random. But he killed three demons from the same opponent’s school. And two of those were winning their fights. The umpires are on the lookout for this, and the archers deal swiftly with offenders.’ He winked at Trey. ‘That is why the champions are all given byes to the later rounds. We wouldn’t want to be down there in that, would we, Trey Laporte?’
The teenager could not see how Shentob was able to take in everything that he’d just described. To Trey it looked like wholesale slaughter. But he agreed on one thing: he was glad not to be down there in that chaos.
Trey tore his eyes away from the carnage and looked around him at the seated sections, noting that these had clearly been segregated; fans wearing the colours of whichever fighting school they were rooting for filled entire blocks, atop which flew pennants of the same colours. Even with the arena only two-thirds full as it currently was, Trey could see that it would be a spectacularly colourful affair when it was filled to capacity.
He watched as many of the spectators, all waving flags or wearing items of a certain hue, stood up and roared their approval as one fighter or another was dispatched. Then, like an unruly football crowd in the human realm, they would turn towards a different-coloured section of the crowd, gesticulating wildly and jeering at their loss.
‘Is there often crowd trouble?’ he asked Shentob. ‘They look like quite a partisan bunch.’
‘Hmmm? Oh, some trouble, yes. But if it gets out of control, the archers usually put a swift end to it.’
‘They shoot the spectators too?’
Shentob looked back at him as though this was the most ludicrous of questions. ‘Of course,’ he said, and went back to watching the fighting.
‘They’re that accurate?’
‘Accurate enough.’
Trey closed his eyes and pressed the tips of his fingers against them, but the terrible scenes that were being played out below him were simply waiting for him as negatives on the other side of his eyelids.
‘Look at that demon,’ Shentob said, pulling at Trey’s tunic.
Trey tried to follow Shentob’s finger. ‘The green one with the huge head?’ he asked.
‘No! The one just to the left. The black one wearing the red armour.’
Trey saw the creature Shentob was referring to. ‘What about it?’
‘That is Hurg. Once a champion. Retired unbeaten. Hurg is making a comeback, but now has to fight to get through to the later rounds like every other contestant.’
‘Was Hurg good?’
‘One of the best. He fought out of the Azael stable.’ Shentob nodded towards the section of the arena festooned in red. ‘Now it appears he fights for Thamuz.’
‘But not as the school’s champion?’
‘No.’
‘Why would he come out of retirement? Why would anyone choose to participate in that?’
‘Why does any fighter enter the Games? Because they have been made an offer that they cannot refuse.’
Trey thought about Alexa. Molok had told him that she would be brought to the stadium to see him fight.
‘I’ve seen enough,’ Trey said. ‘I’m going back down to my quarters.’ Trey, as a school champion, had been given his own changing room to use during the Games.
‘Old Shentob would like to stay and watch the second round,’ the little demon said. ‘Is that OK with you, Trey Laporte? He would like to see which demons get through and how they fight.’
‘That’s fine. You stay as long as you like.’
The old demon touched the side of his nose with a gnarled finger. ‘Shentob will discover who is good and who is not, and he will work out how they can all be defeated.’
Trey glanced at the carnage again. The first round seemed to be drawing to a close. Most of the fighters that had won their battles were standing around and watching the conclusion of the few fights that were still ongoing. A number of carts had drawn up around the perimeter of the arena floor, and Trey guessed that they would soon be piled high with dead bodies. ‘I only hope you can, Shentob.’
The demon winked his wink again. ‘Trey Laporte will not regret making Shentob his aide. Wait and see. We will be victorious at these Games.’
Trey tried to smile but failed. Shaking his head instead, he turned and left his demon aide to it.
39
Still dressed in his tunic, Trey sat on the edge of the bench and stared at the floor beneath his bare feet. Moments earlier there’d been a loud knock at the door followed by a muffled voice announcing that he would be fighting as soon as the current bout was over. A small green beetle crawled across the rough stone floor, pausing now and then as if looking for something, before moving on busily. Trey lifted his foot to allow it to pass underneath.
The noise from the stadium was loud. Even here, in his changing room beneath their stand, the walls shook
every time something particularly exciting brought the spectators above him to their feet. Every time this happened, the noise and shaking sensation were enough to set his nerves on edge and reignite the bone-aching terror he felt about what he was about to do.
Even during everything that he’d been through since discovering the terrible truth about what he was, Trey doubted that he’d ever been this scared. The fear occupied every part of him. His legs had turned to jelly, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk, let alone fight some crazy nether-creature in an arena packed with a crowd baying for his blood. He couldn’t let the fear consume him like this, and he tried to counteract it by turning his thoughts to Alexa and the possibility of winning her freedom.
Another roar went up above him, and a small, unexpected whimper escaped his lips. Tears threatened to come again, and he balled his hands into fists and pressed them against his eyes in an effort to stop them. He wondered how his father had felt when he’d been here, forced to fight for information about the killer of Trey’s mother. He’d been seeking revenge. Had he been as scared as Trey was now? Had he sat on a bench like this and wanted nothing more than to run away? Trey closed his eyes and tried to picture his dad. He wished he’d known his father better. Known the kind of man he was, instead of having to rely on secondhand impressions of him from the likes of Lucien and Shentob. Unable to conjure up his father’s face, he opened his eyes and glanced across at the blanket-wrapped bundle of armour that Shentob had carried all the way here from the fighting school. Daniel Laporte had fought, and won, at the Demon Games. He had won against the odds.
There was a knock at the door.
Trey took a huge breath, pulling the air in through his nose and completely filling his lungs before blowing it out through his mouth. ‘Come in, Shentob.’
The door opened, but the demon lord Molok, not the old servant, entered the room. He looked at the boy, narrowing his eyes at him.
‘You are not in your armour,’ he said.
‘No.’
‘You fight next.’
‘I know. I’ll put it on when Shentob gets back.’
The demon lord pulled a face at the mention of the aide’s name and took another step towards the teenager. ‘I brought someone to see you.’
He stood aside, beckoned to the guards waiting outside the door, and Alexa was dragged between them to stand in the doorway.
‘Trey,’ she said, trying to break loose from their grip.
Molok held up a warning hand to Trey, who had also made to move towards Alexa. ‘I think that this is close enough.’
Both teenagers glared at the demon, who answered their hate-filled looks with deep, low laughter. ‘I thought that it would be a good idea for us all to remember what we are doing here, and what we are competing for.’
‘We?’
‘What you are competing for.’
Trey ignored the Hell-Kraken, turning his attention back to Alexa. She was wearing a short white tunic, similar to his own, with a belt round the middle, and he was instantly reminded of pictures he’d seen in history classes of Greeks and Romans. Her long black hair was piled up high on her head, adding to the effect, but she wore a strange necklace about her throat, the sight of which, for reasons he couldn’t explain, made Trey deeply uncomfortable.
‘Have they hurt you, Alexa?’ he asked, using the thought-transference spell.
‘I can’t speak to you like that now, Trey. But no, they haven’t hurt me.’
Trey frowned, unable to understand why she had not been able to use the magic.
‘How is Philippa?’
Alexa gave him a strange look and was about to respond when Molok interrupted.
‘I think that we will leave this conversation for another time,’ the demon lord said. ‘Your little girlfriend, or whatever she is to you, is safe, and she will be able to witness your heroic efforts to try to rescue her. She will be by my side at all times.’ Molok stepped forward and took the chain attached to Alexa’s handcuffs from one of the guards, giving it a little shake and causing the heavy links to rattle against each other.
Then he smiled over at Trey, enjoying the anger and hatred that he’d stirred up in the boy. ‘Fight well, champion. And remember that each fight is to the death.’ The smile slipped from the demon’s face. ‘I will not tolerate any of the nonsense that I allowed you to get away with back at the school. Any disobedience will result in a swift and merciless death for you and your pretty friend here.’
Trey looked at Alexa, unable to put into words the things he wanted to say to her.
‘Let’s go,’ Molok said. The guards moved back to allow the demon lord to pass, falling in on either side of him. For a moment, Alexa was left alone in the doorway. Tears filled her eyes as she looked at Trey.
I love you. Alexa mouthed the words, a brief and sad smile touching her lips.
Trey had just taken a step towards her when the chain attached to her wrists suddenly went tight, and she was yanked away, a huge guard immediately occupying the space where she’d stood. The nether-creature slammed the door in the face of the advancing boy.
Trey pounded on the heavy wooden door, shouting out Alexa’s name.
Allowing the rage to take him over, he morphed.
The huge lycanthrope took hold of the metal bars set into the small hatch of the door. Putting one foot up against the wall beside the door frame he leaned back, pulling with all his might, the muscles in his arms, legs and back bulging with the effort. For a second nothing happened, and then there was a terrible splintering sound as the door was ripped free of its hinges. Trey tossed it aside and it landed on the floor with a huge crash. The guard spun about, and that would have been the last thing the demon ever did had it not been for Shentob. The little demon had been coming down the corridor when Alexa had been dragged off, and he quickly ran to position himself between Trey and the guard, both hands held up high in front of him, eyes locked on to the werewolf’s.
‘No, Trey Laporte. You must not lose control now or all is lost. Please! Shentob is here now. He is here to help you. Calm yourself, Trey Laporte. You must calm yourself.’
Trey looked in the direction that Alexa had been taken. There was no sign of her. He looked back down at his friend, who nodded encouragingly at him.
‘She is safe as long as you fight,’ Shentob said, reaching up and placing his hands on Trey’s abdomen, gently nudging the giant back into the room. ‘We must get you ready – yes, we must. Shentob will tell you everything he has discovered. Not all of it – there is too much. But he will tell you how to defeat your next opponent.’ They were back in the room now.
Shentob looked at the guard and then at the broken door on the floor. ‘We need some privacy,’ he said, nodding in the direction of the door. The lycanthrope stepped forward, and a deep, rumbling growl filled the small room as he picked up the door and placed it back into the wrecked frame as best he could.
‘Good.’ Shentob nodded encouragingly at Trey. Then he gestured towards the low bench by his side. ‘Sit, please. Sit and listen to what old Shentob has to say.’
‘You are to fight a Gurgot.’
‘What’s a Gurgot when it’s at home?’
‘They’re ugly, stupid creatures. But strong. Very strong. They like to fight at a distance. Long arms, you see? Long arms ending in terrible hooks. They strike, quickly, like this.’ The little demon shot out an arm like a piston. ‘They are very quick. Very quick and very accurate.’
‘That doesn’t sound too good.’
‘No. They are difficult creatures to fight, and they often do well at the Games.’
‘Great.’
Trey got up off the bench and shook his huge head at the enormity of the task that faced him. Turning back to glance at his aide, he was struck by the sly and devious look on the demon’s face.
‘What? What is it?’
‘The Gurgot has an injury,’ the little demon said, climbing up to stand on the bench so that he could be closer to the l
ycanthrope’s level. ‘Shentob thinks it is an old injury, but it is still bothering the nether-creature, and it has had to adopt a slightly different fighting style because of it.’
Trey waited.
‘The left arm. The Gurgot is carrying an injury in its left arm, which means that it can’t use it in the same way as its right. Instead of the arm snaking out straight like this –’ the demon demonstrated again – ‘it swings it in more of an arc: a hook rather than a jab, if you like.’ Shentob pointed his finger at Trey. ‘It wants to use that right arm. It positions itself so that it can. You must not allow it to, for it is a terrible weapon. You must circle to the Gurgot’s left – your right. It will not be able to set itself properly if you do so. It will lose patience. When it does, Trey Laporte will strike!’ The little demon leaned back and folded his arms.
If I can,’ Trey said.
‘You must! You can, and you will.’ Shentob stared hard at the werewolf. ‘Remember the rage and fury that you experienced a moment ago. You must use that anger to defeat this demon. It is one of three such creatures that stand between you and freedom. Three creatures that stand between you and that girl up there.’ The demon’s look was cold and steely, and Trey saw something in Shentob that he had not seen before. ‘You must forget some of the things that Lucien Charron and your friends in the human realm have taught you. You must forget them, just as your father had to forget them when he fought here. Out there –’ he pointed towards the door – ‘you must put aside some of your human ways and start to think and act like the nether-creature you are. If you do not, you will be killed.’
They stayed like that for a moment or two, eyes locked together, until the little demon’s face softened again and he climbed down off the bench, crossing the room to retrieve the blanket bundle from the corner where he’d placed it. ‘We must get your armour on now. Shentob will come with you and watch from the tunnel that leads to the arena. From now on he will be at your side at all times, as any good aide should be. Besides, you get a better view of the royal box from there, and old Shentob wants to watch Molok’s face when the demon lord sees you walk out wearing this!’
