CHAPTER SEVEN

The Skull Army had hardly left the village before Trick was scampering out of the smoke-fogged alleyway and up the steps of the inn. He made straight for the lifeless hanging warrior. In his haste, he tripped over an abandoned helmet that sat on the porch, but somehow kept his footing. Kaw squawked as Trick ran, taking flight and flapping furiously as the boy seized the limp youth by the legs and lifted him.

‘It’s no good,’ said the bird, as Trick hefted the limp warrior on to his shoulders. ‘He’s snuffed it!’

‘Peck the noose loose,’ grunted Trick as he stood unsteadily with the red-haired youth slumped on his back as smoke continued to belch out of the burning inn.

‘But he’s gone!’

‘Do it!’

The crow landed on the young man’s head, twisting his beak to pick and worry at the knot. Gradually it came apart, and the warrior fell forward as the rope came free. Trick tumbled down with him, trying to catch him before he hit the boards. The two landed in a jumble of limbs, and Trick crawled out from underneath and rolled the fair-skinned youth on to his back. He couldn’t have been much older than Trick. Perhaps late teens?

Preoccupied as he was, Trick was unaware that a bare-headed soldier had emerged from an alley beside the inn. The man had clearly been relieving himself and was adjusting his plate suit as he made for the steps. His armour clanked as he stopped suddenly, alerting Kaw to his presence. The crow squawked as Trick rose and spun. Soldier and schoolboy remained motionless, frozen momentarily. Trick’s eyes flitted to the helmet at his feet that had almost broken his neck; it had not been discarded after all. The soldier’s grizzled face twisted into an expression of menace as he weighed up the boy before him. Then the man was moving, whipping a dagger out of his weapon belt as he bolted up the steps towards Trick. The kid was quicker.

The black helmet rocketed through the air, toe-poked by Trick directly at the soldier’s face. It struck him hard and sweet in the forehead, splitting the skin as he lurched up the steps, intent on murder. Trick looked left and right; there was nowhere to go but backwards into the inn. Smoke might have been billowing out of the open doorway, but the boy had no choice. Throwing a sleeved forearm over his mouth, he ran in. The brute followed, bouncing off the door frame as he gave chase, cursing.

Fires still burned, above and around the inn’s stone walls, which were all that had kept it standing. Trick dashed through the debris, running he knew not where, all too conscious of the killer on his heels. Lead the soldier in and get back out before the whole inn came down – that was Trick’s plan. His parkour skills kicked in. He jumped on to a chair, his next step finding a table that instantly tilted and sent him forward. Trick leapt, hurdling upturned furniture as he arrived on the long bar at the inn’s centre. The soldier followed with a great deal less finesse, throwing stools and tables aside as he pursued the boy. The crackling roar of the fire raged overhead, where the upper floors were still aflame, and black smoke rolled between the floorboards and boiled across the ceiling.

A knife hit the bar at Trick’s feet, the blade quivering in the wood. He looked back at the soldier who was already pulling a second knife from his belt, a broken-toothed grin breaking up his ugly face. Trick dropped behind the bar, in no doubt that he was in mortal danger. He scanned for anything he might defend himself with. A keg the size of a bucket was stashed beneath the counter. He snatched it up, hearing the contents swill about inside.

‘I got a rope with your name on, scum,’ said the soldier, his voice directly above Trick. A gnarled hand reached down over the counter, seizing the boy by his hair. He cried out, launching the keg up at the man. It cracked him square in the face, the wooden container exploding as its contents showered his head and shoulders. He released his grip on Trick, wailing as his split scalp was peppered with brandy-soaked splinters. Trick didn’t hang around, jumping up and rolling back over the bar as the blinded soldier smacked his bloodied lips.

‘Come here, you little –’

He never got the obscenity out. A blackened beam buckled above him, sprinkling the soldier with burning embers. The moment the glowing shards glanced his saturated shoulders, the brandy ignited with a woof that would have put a Rottweiler to shame. His shout became a high-pitched scream as he was engulfed by flames, allowing Trick to dash for the door as the ceiling came down behind him. The soldier’s cries were silenced as Trick leapt through the crumbling doorway in an explosion of dirty smoke. Kaw took flight from the porch, squawking excitedly. The whole melee had lasted half a minute.

Trick didn’t stop. He dashed straight to the hanged youth’s body, dragging him off the steps and into the dusty street, away from the crumbling inn. Trick bent over the body, turning his head and placing an ear to the chest, checking for signs of life. Anything.

‘Told you,’ sighed Kaw, as Trick retrieved the dead soldier’s helmet. ‘He’s brown bread, ain’t he?’

The bird watched the boy slide the helmet into the horse trough, returning with his makeshift bucket sloshing. Kaw hopped clear as Trick tipped the contents of the helmet over the motionless youth. The young warrior didn’t react to the faceful of water. Trick sighed, dropping to his knees, the helmet rolling from his hand across the dirt. His head slumped as Kaw flapped closer.

‘Fret not, kid. You can’t win every battle.’

The red-haired fighter spluttered, his eyes flickering open as Trick’s heart suddenly soared. The youth fixed his gaze upon the schoolboy and mouthed two words silently – thank you – before his blue eyes fluttered shut once more and he fell into a deep, troubled sleep.