Trail of Bones: A Young Adult Fantasy Novel (An Epic Fantasy Adventure For Any Family)

by Chris Salisbury

  As the barbarian gasped for breath, he watched Gork advance towards him, the saliva still spilling from the Ghast’s open mouth. Until my breath is gone, he thought. He looked up at Gork as the ape stood over him. The chief did not flinch, close his eyes, or turn away. He stared right back at the Ghast.

  Gork raised both fists but halted his attack. He jerked his head from side to side, and his eyes darted back and forth.

  Then Thayne heard it, a chorus of barks and howls from the Shade Wolves.

  Dain and his group were the first to arrive, racing in to engage as many Ghast as they could. The wolves moved so quickly it was like seeing streaks of black, gray and white, blazing through the village like bolts of lightning.

  One Ghast Gorilla was instantly swarmed by half a dozen Shade Wolves. They jumped up on the creature’s back, chest, and head, biting and tearing away at its flesh like sharks feeding off the carcass of a dead whale. The ape spun and thrashed its arms in panic, but dropped to its knees as the sharp fangs and claws of the wolves butchered their enemy.

  In one quick moment, the Ghast’s attention shifted from the barbarian to his ancient and hated enemy. Gork stepped over Thayne as if the barbarian was invisible. His large foot missed the chief’s head by less than the span of a hand. Hundreds of years of the ape’s instinctive hatred for the wolves took over and now the real battle had begun.

  The mighty Mardin has answered my prayer, Thayne thought as he looked to the heavens.

  He used what strength he had to crawl out from under the gorilla corpse. His left leg was useless; the bones were shattered and the muscles already swelling from the blow. So, too, was his dislocated left arm that hung like a tattered piece of cloth. Any normal man would have been incapacitated by such debilitating wounds, but this was his home, his village, and his family. Dealing with the pain would wait. This, he could bear. This, he could overcome. Losing his family and his village was a pain he could not accept, even if he never walked again after today.

  Finally, the wounded barbarian struggled to his feet, placing most of his weight on his good leg. He hobbled to over retrieve his sword. He watched as Dain and the other Shade Wolves kept the Ghast on the defense.

  The Shade Wolves were still outnumbered four to one. It was a noble and courageous effort, but ultimately futile. Like the barbarians, the wolves could put up a fight, but with these odds, the chances of victory were slim.

  A few of the Ghast had fallen during the initial counterattack, but now the gorillas were forming in pairs and trios to protect their vulnerable backsides. There was no doubt that Gork was the difference in the battle. Every time a new threat emerged; he growled and roared at the Ghast to regroup.

  Still, Dain and the other wolves continued to press their attack. They would dart in, one at a time, in random succession causing confusion that confounded the apes’ attempts to advance. As Thayne watched, he realized the tactic the wolves were using. They stayed close enough to demand the ape’s attention, but far enough away to avoid serious harm. They were stalling.

  Ataris led the second and third waves of wolves that poured into the village from various entrances. They engaged the enemy from every angle.

  The Ghast had used surprise and numbers to their advantage for most of the battle, and the barbarians’ losses were great. But Dain’s clever tactics only resulted in a few wolf casualties while keeping the gorillas from finishing the assault. With the arrival of Ataris and his most seasoned and experienced wolves, the gorilla’s advantage vanished.

  The alpha wolf spotted the wounded barbarian leader and dashed to him.

  “Ataris, my friend, thank the gods you are here,” Thayne said as the large wolf approached.

  “We have not a moment to spare. Get your wounded to the far side of the village. Quickly!” Ataris said.

  “There!” shouted Thayne as he pointed to Gork, the ape leader who directed the attacks of the Ghast. “The leader. He must fall or we shall all meet our end.”

  “It is the Ghast who are at an end, my friend. Run with purpose, Thayne Draghone,” said the leader of the wolves.

  “And you, Ataris. Win his throat and victory is yours,” the chief added as the two parted ways.

  “Father!” shouted Adolphus as he crested the ridge and approached the village riding upon Barun’s strong back. Magnus was running right alongside.

  Thayne spun, ignoring the shooting pain in his wounded leg. “My son?”

  The boy leapt from the wolf’s back and the two embraced. “Adolphus, where have you been?” the chief asked.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the boy cried as he let go of his father and viewed the carnage of the battle before him.

  “This is not a moment for sorrow. That will come,” said Thayne as he took up his sword. “The battle is not over, and this no place for you. Go with Magnus. Go back to the safety of the forest. I will come for you when the Ghast have been conquered.”

  “But Father, you’re hurt. I can help,” said Adolphus.

  “Go!” the chief shouted, wincing as he shifted his weight. “I cannot fight if my thoughts are of you. Please, Son. Stay with the wolves. It is not your season for war… it is mine. Now go.”

  “He’s right, this is no place for us,” said Magnus. “We must go, Adolphus.”

  Thayne nodded as Adolphus climbed up onto Barun’s back. Magnus led the way, and the trio disappeared into the brush of the forest as a horrible growl rose from the center of the village.

  Ataris had engaged Gork.

  CHAPTER 15

  “What do you need?” asked Elbane Draghone as he sat upon his throne. “Anything in my lands is yours if it will help me turn Cordale to ashes!” He slammed his fist down on the armrest.

  Korwin, deep in thought, was trying to figure out the very question the barbarian king had presented. “Thank you, mighty king. Some of what I need is here, but I’m afraid the remainder is in the lands to the South.”

  Servants entered, assembled a table before the king, and exited. A few moments later they returned with armfuls of drink and assorted edibles. A few more return trips filled every square inch of the board.

  I could feed an army of elves with that! thought Korwin as he looked on with astonishment. Of course, barbarians have such appetites, as they have equal lust for battle. All I have to do is channel it in the right direction. That I can do!

  The elf watched as the barbarian king tore into the meal before him. Korwin had seen the Krape Lords on Ohsmar, essentially cousins to the dragon but flightless, eat with more decorum and manners than what he was witnessing now. Savages, all of them. But if plan to rule this backwards world, I’ll need a few savages.

  Juice, meat, bones, and grease, all seemed to explode from the mouth of Elbane Draghone. “You!” the king shouted at one of the servants. “This is overcooked. Come back with more or I will have you on a spit!”

  “Go on,” the king mumbled with a mouthful of venison. The elf swallowed as his stomach turned. He looked beyond the savage and continued his pitch.

  “I can’t travel the lands of Cordale without… complications. And I can only assume a band of barbarians would encounter the same. How can one enter the lands of the South without raising suspicion?” he asked.

  The king halted his voracious consumption for a moment while he looked up. A half-chewed piece of meat hung from the corner of the barbarian’s mouth. Korwin could see the barbarian’s mind working. The elf knew this was not a time to speak, so he waited for the king to connect his thoughts.

  Elbane first looked at the wooden rafters, then around his throne room. His glances focused on the many trophies standing, stuffed, or mounted on the walls surrounding him. Perhaps there was an answer in sight, and it was there before the two of them.

  The king sat straighter as a broad smile crossed his face. “A tournament. That is the answer you seek, Wizard.”

  “My apologies, Sire. Please, explain?” requested Korwin.

  The huge man stood from his thron
e. “In Illyia each city hosts a tournament. From Draghone to Cordale and beyond. Safe passage is granted to the participants and spectators traveling to attend the spectacle. To harm any during such an event would bring the heaviest of punishment; even Gundir Cordale would uphold that!”

  “Excellent. I will accompany some of your champions as we travel to these tournaments. You are as wise as you are strong, mighty King,” said the elf as he layered on the compliments.

  “It is not that simple, Elf. Fighters must earn the right to enter the arenas. They must be invited by royalty or by the arena owners. Even for my best, this could take years to achieve,” said Elbane.

  “We don’t have the time to wait while Cordale and its wizard prepare to strike against your people, my king,” said Korwin.

  “Nor do I intend to. I hate waiting. I want Gundir to lick the waste from my boots before the snow falls.”

  “A very disgusting act, but I catch your meaning. What do you suggest, oh large one?” asked Korwin, almost forgetting his place.

  “A new tournament. Something the people have not seen. Something they want and would pay for. No, beg for. But how?” Elbane asked as he turned and faced Korwin.

  Now you’re talking about something I know about, the Storm Elf thought. “The best way to make people want something is to tell them they can’t have it,” he said with a sly grin.

  Elbane raised his eyebrow in confusion.

  “My king. It needs to be sensational. Brutal. Carnal. It needs to be… illegal.”

  “Ha!” shouted the king as he clapped his hands together. Flesh, grease and crumbs sprayed from his mucky hands. “Yes! You are very small, but you are right! A tournament of beasts! We will start in the borderlands and soon Cordale and his subjects will come. But what should we call this battle of the beasts?”

  The king was right. The name of the tournament needed to add to the hype. Battle of the Beasts was accurate, but boring, thought the elf. We need something more sinister.

  Korwin looked around the room and even glanced at the table.

  “Ah!” he exclaimed as he looked at the wreckage of food and plates before the king. “We shall call it The Trail of Bones!”

  ****

  “What are we going to do now?” asked Adolphus. The young boy could barely sit still. His entire family was in danger, his friends the wolves were fighting to the death against the Ghast, and he was no help.

  “We’re going back to Thornmount,” answered Magnus.

  The boy didn’t respond at first. He was conflicted. People are dying… and I’m… running away, he thought. I’m a barbarian. A Draghone. This isn’t right.

  “No. We can’t!” Adolphus argued as he slid off Barun’s furry back.

  Magnus could feel where this conversation was going. “You heard the words of your father. This is not your season to fight.” The wolf hoped logic would overcome emotion. “That is not wise.”

  “We aren’t cowards, Magnus. Are we?”

  The wolf cringed. “That’s not in question. Not at all. But those are not a band of thieves or brigands back there, Adolphus, it is the Ghast and they are out for blood, and they will get it one way or another.”

  “I can’t just run away and hide when my family and village needs me.”

  Magnus shook his head. “I never should have brought you here in the first place. Please, I beg you, come back to Thornmount. You can fight another day,” said the young Shade Wolf.

  The boy would not back down. He stomped off in the direction of the village.

  The wolf ran and caught up, then stood in front of Adolphus to block his way.

  “You would disobey your father?” asked Magnus. “He’s the alpha of your pack. You must obey his wishes.”

  “No. He said I can’t fight, and I don’t plan to. But there must be some other way I

  I can help. Perhaps they need weapons… or water. I don’t know, but I’m going back,” the boy said as he stepped past Magnus.

  “Adolphus, you don’t have to do this. There will be another time when you can avenge your people. But this is not it; you are not ready. When that time comes, I will be at your side should you need me, I swear it,” said Magnus.

  The boy halted and looked directly into Magnus’s eyes. “I need you now, Magnus. Are you coming or not?” he asked.

  Magnus took a deep breath.

  Adolphus wasn’t about to wait a moment longer. They boy spun around and started back in the direction of the village and the battle.

  The young wolf’s teeth snagged the back of his friend’s skin coat, and then Magnus dug in his heels. The wolf pulled, preventing the barbarian from advancing even one step further.

  “Magnus, stop it! Let me go!” demanded Adolphus.

  The boy tugged and yanked on his coat to free himself from Magnus’s grip, but the wolf refused to budge.

  “I… can’t… let you … do this,” mumbled Magnus through his clenched teeth.

  After another moment or two of resisting, the boy finally relented.

  Feeling the slack and release of tension on Adolphus’ coat, Magnus relaxed and released his hold. He knew the boy would not understand why, but he was determined to protect his friend from harm.

  The young barbarian turned around, but he wasn’t angry or frantic. He simply looked down at Magnus.

  “If the gorillas were attacking your home. If everyone you knew and loved was there. What would you do? Would you still run away, or would you do anything you could to help?”

  Magnus dropped to his haunches and looked back up at Adolphus. The boy was brave. He was not looking for glory or recognition. His courage was real, brought on for no other reason than to help another. It was a stark reminder of why Magnus loved him so.

  “You’re right. I would do exactly that.”

  “Then help me… or let me go,” pleaded the boy.

  Deep down Magnus felt every bit the same as Adolphus. He wanted to help, he wanted to do something… he wanted to fight. But he also swore he would protect his friend. He gave his word, and by returning to the village he feared more for his friend’s life than his own.

  Magnus looked to Barun, who was still waiting and a bit confused on which direction they were supposed to go.

  “Barun. We need help. Go find any wolf you can. The Ghast must be stopped here or Thornmount will be next. Go!” ordered Magnus.

  “Very well. Run with purpose, Magnus,” Barun said as he nodded before darting off.

  “For all of us,” answered Magnus under his breath.

  “Come on!” shouted Adolphus as he ran back toward the village.

  The Shade Wolf followed. I pray you may bless us this day, Mighty Mardin. Protect us with your blade that we may fight for you for many seasons to come, he thought as he trotted behind the barbarian.

  ****

  “These are OUR lands, ape. Your trespass will lead to your demise,” shouted Ataris as he closed in on Gork.

  “Lands stolen from Ghast,” snorted the leader of the gorillas. “We take back! I drink your life source, dog!”

  “I will have your throat, beast!” the alpha wolf shouted back as he lunged in for an attack.

  There was no question that Ataris was the most skilled, the most powerful of the Shade Wolves. If there was ever a question regarding his status as alpha wolf, it was quickly answered in a battle. His movements were so swift, so strong and decisive that it even took Gork by surprise.

  Ataris’ first strike resulted in a mouthful of flesh, ripped from Gork’s meaty forearm. The wolf spit it out as if tasted like a rancid piece of meat. “I will rip your flesh from your bones one bite at a time, if I must,” the wolf threatened.

  “I bite you, wolf. Break your bones.”

  This time Gork took the offensive. He grabbed the dead body of a barbarian warrior and slung it around like a whip. It was a ghastly sight as the limbs of the lifeless body flailed through the air.

  The gorilla’s first two swings struck nothing but air, the mak
eshift weapon hitting the ground with a sickening pop and thud. The third, however, hit its target and bludgeoned Ataris with a direct blow.

  The wolf tumbled into a nearby rack of pottery. Clay containers shattered and splintered from the force of the impact, slicing Ataris’ coat.

  “Ha!” screamed the Ghast.

  Ataris shook his whole body, as canines do. Dust, flour, and fur sprayed from his coat. It will take more than that to fell me, beast! he thought as he regrouped and prepared for another attack.

  More and more Shade Wolves arrived on the scene. Gork and the other Ghast Gorillas each battled a number of enemies at once. One by one, the gorillas fell victim to the fangs of the pack.

  One Ghast dropped to his belly, reaching out for Gork as a dozen wolves pounced. Within a few quick moments, they finished him in a flurry or fangs, barks, and howls. The ape’s assault on the village, once organized and efficient, fell to chaos as the ranks of the Ghast broke and scattered. The beasts fled in all directions to avoid another attack of sharp fangs.

  Some leapt to the trees. Others scaled some of the village buildings, only to be exposed to a rain of arrows from the remaining barbarian archers.

  As the death cries of the Ghast echoed through the trees, only a few of the gorillas remained. Gork was among them.

  The Ghast leader retreated, attempting to keep some distance between himself and Ataris while he sought an escape route. His path took him to a far corner of the village, but the tall and spiked poles of the barrier fence stood in his way. There were also no trees because of several long stretches of rock surface. Before he realized his tactical error, Ataris and over a dozen wolves converged on his position.

  Gork was cornered. Trapped. Panicked, he jerked his head from side to side as he searched for an opening. He could barrel through the wolves, hopefully taking out a few along the way. But there were hundreds of razor-sharp teeth waiting to welcome such a brash maneuver.

  The wolves backed up a pace or two and gave the ground to Ataris. This was his kill, his right, and they stood by his side, ready to advance if their leader signaled them to do so.