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.
“It was not my intent to kill the last fighter. The Blood Dream though… is difficult to control,” answered Dox without making eye contact. “You are human; you would not understand such things.”
“No, no, no… don’t get me wrong, how you fought… wow. I wouldn’t want to lock horns with, well, in your case horn, with you,” said the musician, his mouth in a wide grin. “What I’m talking about is how it took half the Warden’s men to pull you away from that salt pillar!”
The bard stuck out his tongue and spoke, or more like mumbled as he continued his story. “You were like this…” said Navarro and then licked the bar of his cage. He then reenacted the scene, straining to keep his tongue on the bar while an invisible force attempted to pull him away.
Kelor and Magnus burst into laughter. Navarro laughed too.
“You looked like a new born baby corgan…” he said in the middle of his laughter as he stuck out his tongue again and stretched it out as far as it could go. “That was fantastic!”
Even Dox joined in, laughing at Navarro’s antics.
“I’ll have to put that in a song,” said the bard. Navarro sat up so he could project his voice.
“Behold the mighty Minotaur, tall and lean and strong.
Fighting for their herds; fighting to right the wrong.
But one by one they fall as the battle it does halt,
Here lies Dox and his kin, lost to a pile o’ salt!”
All in the tent roared. Navarro rolled around in his small cage, clutching his stomach as he convulsed with laughter. For a moment they forgot they were in cages, prisoners and fighters. They forgot the pain of their wounds and of their memories.
They laughed late into the night, swapping old stories and trading jokes. They felt something that had long eluded each of them… camaraderie.
****
The Trail of Bones tournament continued as the caravan and the Warden’s medley of beasts, creatures, and cast-offs journeyed across Southern Illyia. Their course took them through every dive, dump, hovel, and slum from South Utopia to Mountain View.
During the long marches to the next destination, Kelor was in good spirits, but as the convoy neared the outskirts of towns, he became increasingly agitated. Though the venues were different, the
agenda for the Warden and Korwin was the same. The panther knew what was coming next and it filled him with a terrible sense of Ghast.
Each time Kelor awoke in the Warden’s contraption he could almost feel a part of his soul sink into darkness. The sensation of being trapped and helpless, having his power negated, was agonizing. The violation of a thousand hands pulling, tugging, and ripping at his fur drove him to near madness.
As the moments passed, the cat felt like a volcano simmering under the surface until it was ready to erupt. His release was the arena. There he could put his anger to use. There he could feel his power as his nerves fired, his muscles contracted, and his enemies fell. In the arena, in the heat of the battle, he felt at ease.
Word of the tournament and its most infamous fighter - the evil man-killer Kelor - spread faster than a mid-summer brush fire. Major cities such as Haven and Empire requested to host the event, but the Warden declined. He told Korwin it was far too risky to be under the direct control and supervision of the royals, but by making the tournament secretive and elusive, it actually bolstered the demand. And he was right.
While Kelor was enjoying his new found fame, the brutal realities and harsh conditions of the Trail of Bones was taking its toll on Navarro and Magnus.
The bard was no dunce with the sword, club, or axe. Though he claimed his profession as a musician, his skill and performance in the arena displayed something to the contrary.
“I wasn’t always a musician, you know,” he once confided to his comrades. Nevertheless, he rarely escaped a battle unscathed. As the wounds added up, his carefree demeanor lessened. He was just trying to hang on.
When the wolf had refused to fight, the Warden considered pitting Magnus and a few other beasts against Kelor. Much to his surprise, however, the young wolf had become a crowd favorite, and he also had a knack for escaping the jaws of death. There were other benefits of keeping the wolf around a while longer, too.
The wolf’s quick reflexes and clever tactics provided a nice change of pace for the tournament – a lull before the storm. Kelor’s ferocity and pure strength was a more captivating and sensory experience after watching Magnus’s non-aggressive and somewhat comedic performance.
Last, but by no means least, the coin wagered on the Shade Wolf was the best in each and every tournament. The odds were long, and yet somehow Magnus would scrape out another victory. It became more important as Kelor’s reputation grew and the house margins shrunk. Though the crowds flocked to see Kelor, the Warden made most of his coin off Magnus.
The Trail of Bones lived up to its namesake and there was no end in sight.
CHAPTER 27
“Magnus, where are you? Where are you, Magnus?”
The young wolf could hear the voice but could not see the person from whence the call came. He was back in the forest, darting between the trees, but he was unsure if this was home or some other land. The canine was lost and confused. He sniffed the air, hoping to pick up a familiar scent or trail, but he recognized nothing.
The forest was growing darker and a wispy layer of fog crept in and clung close to the ground. The leaves of the bushes and trees changed from a vibrant array of green hues to drab and colorless, almost black.
“Magnus,” cried a voice not far from the wolf.
He dashed toward the voice, his ears up and searching for more sounds. The young wolf entered a small clearing, encircled by black trees and black bushes. At the center sat a human child, sobbing with his face buried in his hands.
“I am here!” answered the wolf as he ran up to the boy. “Do not fear, young one.”
The child turned around.
“Adolphus! What are you doing here?” asked Magnus. He was overjoyed to see his friend again.
The boy reached over and embraced the wolf, wrapping his arms around Magnus’s neck. As the boy pulled back, bright red blood began to drip from his nose and the corners of his mouth. It was the only visible shade other than black and a ghostly white.
“You’re hurt! Who did this to you? Who?” demanded the Shade Wolf.
Adolphus began to sob again. “You did, Magnus. It was you.” Tears ran down the boy’s face and cheeks, but they were tears of blood.
Magnus shook his head. “No. I’ve come to save you, to help you. I would never hurt you, Adolphus, never!” said the wolf. “You must believe me.”
“You did this to me, Magnus. Why? Would you do this? Why would you hurt me?” the boy asked in between his sobs.
The wolf was stunned. He loved his friend. He would die for his friend.
“No, Adolphus, no. It was not me. You are my friend, I swear it,” Magnus pleaded.
The child looked up from his hands; the blood was gone but the pupils and irises of his eyes had faded to black like the cold, void eyes of a shark.
“You forgot about me. You forgot,” answered Adolphus.
The wolf shook his head again. “Of course not. Not a day has gone by that I have not thought of you. Not one. I will never forget you, Adolphus.”
Light returned to the boy’s eyes. He looked straight into Magnus’s eyes as he stroked the side of the wolf’s face.
“Then why do you not run with purpose?” the child asked.
The question struck the wolf’s heart like a lightning bolt, piercing through the very center of it, but radiating impulses of painful energy in all directions. It wracked him with intense pain, terrible pain, as a wave of guilt crashed upon him.
“I gave my life for you, Magnus… because I wanted to be like you… because I loved you,” said Adolphus. “Why do you not remember?”
Magnus sat in shocked silenced. Visions of the village, the Ghast Gorilla, and the final moments of his friend’s mortal existence washed over him in succession. He had forgotten.
“Don’t you love me, Magnus?” asked the boy.
“Yes. Yes!” Magnus shouted back.
“Then you must remember.”
“I remember you, Adolphus,” said the wolf.
“No. You must remember who you are. Only then can you remember me,” corrected the child.
The wolf watched as the boy stood up. Adolphus looked down at his friend, pet him on the neck, and then turned to leave. The barbarian boy walked to the edge of the clearing, and Magnus knew he could not follow.
“When you hunt, hunt until your prey is in your jaws. If you love, love until your heart stops beating,” said Adolphus as he disappeared into the brush. The boy’s voice still echoed through the forest, and Magnus joined in, repeating the wolf saying along with his friend.
“If you fight, fight with all your strength until your win your enemy’s throat. And if you must run, go swiftly until you run with your pack once more. This is the way of the wolf. This is the way of the warrior.”
“Run with purpose, Magnus,” said the voice.
High above the clearing, Adolphus reappeared. He was far beyond where Magnus could see him as he walked among the clouds. A sudden swirl of wind, lightning, and rain transformed the barbarian boy into Mardin, the God of War.
Mardin looked down on the wolf as he spoke, “Your moment has come. You must awake, Magnus.”
****
“Wolf! Wolf… get up! Wolf!” shouted the Warden as he prodded Magnus with the blunt end of his scabbard. “What’s wrong with him?”
The servant attending to the canine shrugged.
Magnus lifted his head and reopened his eyes. He squinted as he tried to regain his bearings. He looked awful. One eye was swollen, a wound on his foreleg oozed puss and blood, and large patches of his black fur had been torn out. He looked like a pit fighter... in every way.
The Warden grunted his dissatisfaction. “He’s not ready. He won’t last a moment in there.”
The servant froze, waiting for another command from his master.
“Well, clean him up, if you can!” yelled the Warden.
The servant jumped into action, dressing Magnus’s wounds first.
The Warden stormed towards t
he tent’s exit, then paused, turned, and barked a few more orders. “Get the cat ready. We’ve got to mix things up if we’re going to turn a profit tonight. Put Kelor in with our new guest. Going up against a Ghast Gorilla should shake the coin from their pockets.”
Ghast Gorilla? thought Magnus. The Warden’s words had shaken the wolf from his haze. He sat up and almost fell from the table.
“Alright, alright. I can see your strength is returning, let’s get you some food,” said the servant as he helped Magnus down from the examining table.
A leash and collar restrained Magnus. The wolf tugged on the leash as his front legs pushed against the dirt floor. The sudden and strong pull nearly ripped the leash from the servants grip.
I must tell Kelor. He has no idea what he’s up against! thought the wolf as the servant led him into the holding tent with the other captives.
“Magnus!” shouted Navarro as the wolf and servant entered. The bard had already completed his fight for the tournament and was tending to his wounds.
“We thought you had passed,” added Dox, he was much in the same condition as Navarro.
“Thought you decided to buy a ticket to the afterlife,” added Navarro.
“And without the approval from the rest of us,” said Kelor.
The servant did not put Magnus in his cage, but rather fastened his leash to a metal loop attached to a crate next to a bowl of fresh water and chopped meats.
Magnus lapped up a few tonguefuls of water until the servant left. He waited another moment to make sure it was safe to speak and then turned to address the panther.
“Kelor. You’re fighting a Ghast Gorilla!” said Magnus louder than he wanted to.
“What difference does that make? Gorillas, Ogres, Bears… oh… who cares?” said the cat with total indifference.
“No, you don’t understand. You can’t just charge in and face him head on. You must trust me,” the wolf said. “He’s too strong.”
Kelor scoffed at the remark. “Says the mutt that’s never run into a fight in his life. He only runs from them.”
“Please you must listen. The Ghast has been the enemy of my pack for many ages, they…” pleaded Magnus, but Kelor interrupted.
Trail of Bones: A Young Adult Fantasy Novel (An Epic Fantasy Adventure For Any Family) Page 24
