Kaw perched nearby on a ship’s mast, surrounded by a group of irritated-looking gulls. The crow squawked at them, shooing them off as he flexed his black claws on the sail top. The crow would be coming with them. He would be their eyes and ears on the open road, and their way of reaching Kalaban should the need arise.
‘Your boat is prepared,’ said Kuro quietly, leading the heroes through the crowd on the pier. Trick limped along beside him, still battered after the fighting in the arena. His quarterstaff was gone, and had been replaced by Kazumi’s broken naginata. The blade had been lost from the head, and the black wood now made the perfect replacement weapon. Still, Ravenblade hung from his hip, the black-beaked handle brushing Trick’s belly.
Many whispered blessings as Trick and his companions passed by, some going so far as reaching out to touch them for luck. Gifts were handed to the heroes and Mungo was keen to accept anything that was edible. These brave warriors had defeated Boarhammer and broken his stranglehold on Sea Forge. Who knew what dangers awaited them ahead?
‘Lord Hope,’ said a man with dark hair, brushing his hand over Trick’s shoulder to attract his attention.
Trick smiled awkwardly. ‘I’m no lord,’ he replied, but the man was not listening. He ushered a child from behind him, prompting her to move forward. She could only have been five years of age, and Trick recognized her. She was the girl from Warriors Landing, who he’d last seen in the arena. In her hands she held a bouquet of wild flowers which she held up to him. Trick’s heart ached as he saw the tears that raced down her dirty cheeks – tears of happiness. He knelt and hugged her – briefly – but was overwhelmed by emotion. Taking the tiny bunch of flowers he stood, sniffing back his own tears. He mouthed the words thank you to the girl and was on his way again, the ninja still at his side.
‘You’ll head upriver under cover of darkness,’ whispered Kuro. ‘The roads will be watched, within and outside the city. Our enemies are everywhere, remember. Take the people’s thanks now, then we’ll get you off the streets and down into the sewers. The Thieves’ Guild will send you on your way before anyone knows you’ve gone.’
‘You’re definitely not coming?’ asked Trick.
‘No,’ said the ninja. ‘There’s too much to be done here. With Gorgo and Boarhammer both dead, there’s a power vacuum in Sea Forge.’
‘You mean to take the city for yourself?’ asked Zuma, suspicion evident in his voice.
‘Gods, no. I would help find the right man or woman for that task while maintaining some kind of order. Many in the Thieves’ Guild look to me for guidance. I shall do what I can in the short term. Many villains linger within this city’s walls, looking for advantage.’
‘Your loyalty is admirable,’ said Erika.
‘You’ll join us once things are sorted?’ asked Trick.
‘Perhaps,’ said Kuro. ‘Only my work in the arena ruins is not yet over. Kazumi is up there, somewhere, lost within the wreckage. I mean to find her, bury her as she deserves. Only then can I return and join you on your quest, Trick Hope.’
Kuro raised a black-gloved fist. Trick gave the now-obligatory bump and smiled. ‘Be great to get you back aboard as soon as, mate. I hope you find her.’
‘As do we all,’ added Erika as they passed through the throng.
Trick managed to smile as he saw Mungo laden with foodstuffs: ham hocks, fresh bread and strings of sausages hanging round his neck. A plump chicken squawked in the crook of his arm, destined for the Celt’s belly.
‘Mungo eat,’ said the blue-woad warrior, grinning at Trick cheerily. If anyone could keep the boy’s spirit up, it was the crazy bearded berserker.
Trick caught sight of Zuma standing toe to toe with a familiar figure: Crixus.
‘Is there a problem?’ asked Trick, approaching the two of them.
‘Says he’d like to join us,’ replied the Aztec, eyes narrow as he studied the Roman.
‘Is that right?’ said Trick.
‘Yours is a worthy cause, master,’ replied the gladiator. ‘You can add my trident to your arsenal.’
‘I’m not sure we need it,’ said Zuma, barely disguising his sneer. ‘If you hadn’t caused a ruckus in the Broken Shield, Toki may never have –’
‘I’m honoured that you’d ask to join us, mate,’ said Trick, cutting the Jaguar Warrior’s rant short. ‘Let me speak with my companions first.’
With that he turned away. He didn’t have the energy to referee the bickering of these warriors, not this evening, after what they’d just been through. He spied the burning boat drifting out of the bay, towards the Sea of Night, its fiery reflection dancing crazily upon the waves.
His hand drifted over the raven-headed pommel of the obsidian sword on his hip. He hadn’t wanted the weapon, had fought his destiny tooth and nail, but somehow Ravenblade had found her way into his hand. It seemed he was on a path now, one that was impossible to turn away from. He was surrounded by strangers but felt truly alone. When he spoke, the words were a whisper, heard by nobody but destined for his friend on his way to Valhalla.
‘Laters, brother,’ said Trick, punching his breast as he saluted the departed Viking. Kalaban’s words returned. The hermit had been right about these warriors. Each had taught Trick a different lesson: Toki, loyalty; Kazumi, staff skills; Kuro, atonement. Practical or philosophical, it didn’t matter. Each of his friends had gifted Trick something wonderful. He would never forget them. When he turned round, he found Erika waiting. ‘Just the person.’
‘I am?’ she asked as Trick unbuckled the weapon belt from round his waist. He handed it to the Shield Maiden.
‘You jest, surely? You would give me Ravenblade?’
‘Please. Take it. Take her. It’s not for me. Use it against our enemies. You know how. I don’t; I never will.’ He struck the naginata staff on the floor at his feet. ‘Besides, I’ve got this. Don’t need no stinking sword.’
Erika snapped the belt in place and grinned. ‘Come, Trick Hope. We go nowhere without you.’
‘I wish you would,’ sighed the boy, managing a sly smile. She clapped his back and hugged him.
‘But you’d miss all the fun!’
‘This is fun?’ Trick’s words were incredulous and high-pitched, his breaking voice treacherous before the striking, blonde-haired warrior woman.
‘Of course,’ she said, her voice lacking irony, or humour or playfulness. Trick realized then that the Viking never joked. Erika simply didn’t do funny.
‘This battle may be won,’ said the Shield Maiden, her voice cold as ice, ‘but our war has just begun.’
EPILOGUE
The covered wagon trundled along, its wheels bouncing off every rock and rut that pitted the road out of Sea Forge. On either side of the vehicle, a handful of Blackguard rode on war horses, the few surviving elite warriors of the slain warlord. The soldiers of the Skull Army trudged behind them, heads bowed, battered and beaten by the assault upon their city. This was no orderly march. They were a ragtag shambles of a fighting troop, weary and washed out.
The nobles and merchants who had been loyal to Boarhammer followed, in a caravan of carts and wagons loaded down with all their worldly belongings. These people had worked hard for their riches. They’d be damned if they’d leave them behind for the thieves who had taken their city from them.
Within the confines of the covered wagon, an old woman sat cross-legged beside a body. A brass censer swung overhead, its heady smoke filling the cramped confines of the wagon. A carpet bag lay open beside her, a host of ugly-looking tools rattling around inside it. She reached a bony hand within, removing a sharpened flint dagger. Raising it high, she muttered a series of arcane words, her blind eyes rolling in their sockets until only the whites showed. Her familiar, a fat black rat, sat upon the chest of the body, ignoring its mistress as it nibbled at the lifeless figure’s bandages. Its yellow incisors dug in, tugging at the blood-soaked cloths, trying to worry them loose to reach the burnt flesh beneath. The fire had consumed him.
The fire had taken him.
The witch’s eyes remained pale and milky as she drew the flint over her palm, opening the thin skin in a bloody line. Her incoherent burbling continued, frantic words that grew in speed and volume, her grey lips bumping as her ritual reached its climax. Her hand dropped, landing over the body’s bandaged face as she cried out, shaking her free fist at the heavens. Her bloodied fingers clenched the wrapped head, the skull trembling beneath as fresh smoke suddenly billowed from the gore-stained muslin.
With ferocious speed, the body’s hands shot up, one striking the witch’s fingers from his face, the other seizing the rat. Hard. There was a crunching of brittle bones as the rodent died in his burnt grasp. The old woman gasped, sensing the death of her familiar in that awful instant. Then the fingers were clawing at the face, tearing the wrappings away from the blackened, splitting lips.
‘Lord Hugo,’ said the witch, sobbing at the loss of her familiar. ‘You are returned to us. Praise be to the old one!’
The reed-thin voice came out loud and clear, all that remained of the blond-haired boy.
‘Hugo … is dead. I am reborn in the flames. Call me … Inferno.’
The witch mouthed the name silently, felt the heat roll off the boy in terrible waves. An unnatural, blood-curdling heat.
‘Take me … to Boneshaker,’ said the mummified nephew of Boarhammer, his voice cracking along with his frazzled flesh. ‘I have news of the Black Moon Warrior.’
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First published 2015
Written by Curtis Jobling
Copyright © Mind Candy Ltd, 2015
World of Warriors and all related elements™ and copyright © Mind Candy Ltd, 2015
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
ISBN: 978-0-141-36035-5
A New Hero Page 19
