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

by Chris Salisbury

  The beast-man pounded his chest and bellowed as the criminals scrambled to arm themselves with whichever weapon they could grab.

  A human convict secured a spike club, only to have it ripped from his clutches by the barbarian prisoner, who then in turn dispatched the man with the stolen weapon. The human’s face splattered and the crook dropped, never to move again.

  One down, five to go and the crowd loved it.

  Dox scraped his right hoof into the quarry floor, kicking up a plume of white salt and dirt. He could feel the adrenaline surging through his body and the chemicals washing over his brain as the Blood Dream took hold. He bellowed again and like a raging bull, charged headlong into the group of prisoners.

  The crowd rose to its feet, shouting and cheering at the top of their council lungs.

  The convicts ducked out of the way, except for one who stumbled on the loose gravel. The Minotaur trampled the hapless victim in one pass, his hooves stomping and crushing bone and muscle.

  Two down.

  The barbarian spun and countered, landing a blow with his club across the back and shoulder blade of the beast-man – the Minotaur’s senses barely registered the blow. The large fighter swung and swung again, but Dox had engaged several similar combatants in the past, and he knew how to evade the attacks.

  A prisoner lunged with his spear, but the weapon missed, only grazing the underside of Dox’s bicep. A second man barreled in and sunk a dagger into the Minotaur’s thigh, eliciting a roar from the audience. The beast-man slashed his whip around the first attacker’s waist and jerked to pull the man closer. He grabbed the criminal with one hand and slung him around, battering the other prisoner in the process, toppling him to the ground.

  Dox was loading to deliver a punch to the prisoner in his clutches just as the barbarian uncoiled another swing with his club. The club struck the prisoner instead, dislodged the victim from the beast-man’s grip, and launched the prisoner across the pit like a stone shot from a sling.

  “Ohh!” came a collective gasp from the crowd as another fighter was eliminated from the contest.

  Half of the fighters were on their way to the afterlife, leaving two humans and the barbarian to face the Minotaur.

  The Blood Dream still absorbed Dox. His warrior senses were heightened to new levels. He could smell the sweat streaming down the barbarian’s face. He could hear one of the prisoner’s sandals scrape against the gravel as he struggled back to his feet. The Minotaur could see the muscles flexing of the last convict’s hands and forearms as he gripped the spear.

  But the beast-man’s logic and reasoning was absent, and in this moment he was driven by instinct and reflexes alone.

  The Minotaur’s eyes caught movement to his right and without thinking he swung his arm and the bronze buckler on his forearm connected with a human’s skull. The blow ended the prisoner advance before he hit the ground, face first; his arms limp at his side.

  Dox scanned the quarry for another opponent, as his rage-filled mind refused to process or celebrate the end of another opponent.

  Only two left.

  The last convict, however, retreated to the far side of the pit. The man still held onto his spear, but his knees shook and his eyes were filled with fright. The end was coming swiftly, and he was succumbing to the terror.

  Dox took a step to pursue the human when a barbed chain lashed around his neck. It was the barbarian, clinging to both ends of the chain and tugging with his considerable strength to choke the life out of the Minotaur.

  The beast-man should have seen the attack coming. The barbarian was a far more dangerous enemy than the retreating human. But in the Blood Dream there was no anticipation, no logic or deduction, and certainly no order or priority. There were only reflexes, instinct, and the most carnal of reactions. Dox had lost track of the barbarian’s location, and it was about to cost him.

  The barbarian pulled again causing the steel barbs to lacerate Dox’s hide. The Minotaur reached up and grabbed the chain, attempting to release the pressure and reopen the airways in his throat. He coughed and gagged as the chain continued to tighten around his neck.

  The beast-man dropped to one knee while the barbarian remained positioned behind him. Dox swung his head in all directions in the off-chance that his single horn would land a direct hit and do some damage.

  It was the perfect opportunity for the remaining convict to come in and spear the Minotaur. Dox’s chest and stomach were completely exposed as his arms and hands were occupied with dislodging the chain around his neck. Even with the chants from the crowd demanding the convict to act, the human couldn’t. Instead, the prisoner remained in his position, cowering from the others. The barbarian was on his own to finish off the Minotaur.

  The Blood Dream had an odd effect in the middle of Dox’s dire situation. With his oxygen supply rapidly diminishing and the thoughts of his demise creeping in, most creatures would be caught in the throws of panic. But the Minotaur had no such thoughts. If anything, he ventured even deeper into his anger and didn’t feel a single stab of pain.

  The barbs on the chain also cut into the barbarian’s palms, and he was losing his grip. For one brief moment, he relaxed so he could secure his hold on the chain. The tension ebbed, and that was all Dox needed.

  The Minotaur heaved on the chain and pulled it away from his throat, but the barbarian held on tight which caused him to slam against Dox’s back. The beast-man then unleashed a jab with his elbow and cracked his opponent’s rib in the process. But the barbarian would not let go.

  Dox took a deep breath as the crowd cheered with excitement. He stood and the noise built even louder. The Minotaur was taller than the barbarian, and when he stood to his full height, the smaller fighter hung in the air by almost a foot. Still, the barbarian would not let go.

  The beast-man spun and bucked, jumped and twisted but could not jettison his attacker. He kicked and flung his elbows, head butted and slashed with his horn, but the barbarian maintained his grip. Dox backed up and slammed the barbarian against the cliff walls, but the fighter took the blow again and again.

  As Dox delivered another blow against the wall, a section of the brittle shale stone gave way and crumbled to the arena floor. The small landslide revealed a new pillar of salt. It was a pillar of a thousand sharp edges of hardened minerals.

  The chain tightened again around the Minotaur’s neck. Dox stumbled as his airways closed. He snorted, trying to take a deep breath, but it was too late. The barbarian dug his knee into his enemy’s back to increase the leverage and pull on the chain.

  Dox stumbled again, toward the salt pillar. He twisted his torso and spun the barbarian around as his full weight crashed into the crystallized mineral. The chain around the Minotaur’s neck slid and dropped to the ground. The beast-man looked over his shoulder. The barbarian hung, his legs still twitching, from the salt pillar with a dozen formations punctured into his back.

  The Minotaur should have responded to the crowd’s roar as they celebrated his victory and his escape from death. He didn’t hear a single shout or clap of applause, but turned to zero in on his final opponent.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” pleaded the prisoner as Dox approached. “You win, you win!” he said as he realized he was still holding onto a spear. He dropped the weapon which resulted in a wave of boos from the crowd.

  “Please! Put me back in the salt mines. I don’t care. I’ll do whatever you wish, just get me out of here!” the prisoner shouted in the direction of the Warden. The human took his eyes off Dox for just one moment.

  Suddenly, the boos from the crowd ceased. The unarmed human stopped in mid-sentence and looked down at his belly. He stared at Dox’s horn protruding from his abdomen. The Minotaur had not hesitated to gore the last prisoner. Unarmed or not, it didn’t matter.

  The man slid off the Minotaur’s horn, curled into the fetal position, and closed his eyes. Dox had ‘unleashed the beast’, and the Blood Dream had claimed another victim.

&nb
sp; There was some applause, a few cheers, and laughter mixed in, but it was far from the rousing response most would expect. The beast-man’s battle to the death with the barbarian had been incredible, and in a way honorable, if there was such a thing in a pit fight. But the ending of the last combatant felt gratuitous and senseless.

  What Dox did next, however, elicited the loudest response from the crowd all evening. With the Blood Dream beginning to ebb, the scent of the salt was too much for the Minotaur to resist. The mighty, powerful, and fearsome Minotaur was lapping up salt as fast as he could. It took almost a dozen slaves to pry him from the pillar and return him to the staging area of the ramp.

  The Warden had to shout his loudest to be heard over the laughter of the crowd as the Minotaur was drug away and the next fight was introduced.

  Navarro was the next scheduled combatant, then Magnus.

  The bard was pitted against seven swamp foxes, annoying little creatures with high pitched barks and mouths full of tiny, sharp teeth. The musician was armed with a single saw-toothed dagger. Not his weapon of choice, but it was sufficient enough to get the job done, though he suffered a number of bites. His left leg in particular had three foxes clamped on it at once, all digging in with their needle-like fangs.

  The crowd got a kick out of it. Watching Navarro run around trying to avoid a constant onslaught of fur-balls was amusing to young and old alike. The fighter looked like he was swept up in the middle of an orange furry tornado. He would throw one fox off of him, only to have two more latch on in its place.

  Even the Warden laughed when the musician received a hard bite to his rear. “That alone was worth the price of admission,” he said as he wiped a tear from his cheek from laughing so hard.

  “Take that, you nasty little buggers!” said Navarro as he dispatched the last two swamp foxes. He gave Magnus a wink as he walked up the ramp and back to his shackles.

  Although the lumberjack’s performance had eased the tense atmosphere of the arena, Magnus was not much amused. He had watched the other fights from his cage and dreaded what lie before him. He had no wish to fight… any creature. There was no fight in him, or anger, or any emotion for that matter. He was a shell of what he once was and numb to feeling anything.

  The young wolf walked to the center of the arena as the audience cheered. Then he saw two tank badgers enter, and his head sank. If the swamp foxes had been annoying and ill-tempered, the tank badgers were worse. They scuttled close to the ground and made terrible hissing noises as they approached.

  The Shade Wolf jumped and skipped out of their way as they darted in and snapped their jaws. Magnus was much quicker than the badgers, but he had no interest in tangling with his ornery opponents.

  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 ne
cessary, 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.