CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

When Trick awoke, he felt like somebody had used his head for a football. There was a stabbing pain behind his eyes, as if a knitting needle had been shoved up his nostril and scrambled his brains. The left-hand side of his face felt feverishly hot, while the right was as cold as ice.

If he could have gone back to sleep he would have, but that seemed impossible with the drums that banged in his skull. Trick wasn’t remotely interested in alcohol – the closest he’d come was a sip of Grandpa’s Guinness one Christmas, which had been vile – but he imagined that this was what a hangover must feel like. His eyes slowly focused.

‘You’re not dead then,’ said Kalaban. ‘That’s something we can be thankful for.’

‘Kalaban!’ exclaimed Trick happily, instantly regretting it as a thousand bottles seemed to shatter in his head. He winced as he struggled upright in his bed. To Trick’s surprise, there was no sign of the old man. Only Kaw sat on the foot of his bed, his head cocked to one side.

‘Where are you, Kalaban?’

‘I’m here, in a fashion,’ replied the old man, but Trick realized that the voice was coming from Kaw. The bird’s eyes were pale and white, as if he were possessed by a spirit. In a way, he was.

‘How are you doing that?’ whispered Trick in amazement.

‘This is how I stay in touch with you, Trick: via Kaw.’ The beak snapped as the bird spoke. ‘Should I need to speak to you, I do it through my black-feathered familiar. I can only be brief, though. This will exhaust my little friend – and me for that matter.’

‘Where am I?’

‘You’re in a friend’s home,’ came Kalaban’s reply. They were in the burnt-out attic of a tower, blackened timbers providing them with shelter from the elements. Just beyond Kaw there was open space, and the docklands were visible below where the floorboards splintered away into nothing. In the recesses of the fire-damaged loft, another figure moved in the shadows.

‘In Sea Forge? I don’t have any friends here.’

‘You have one,’ said the figure, stepping forward. It was the man in black.

‘Kuro,’ said Kalaban through the crow. ‘Be a good fellow and tell the others he’s awake. We’ll be down to join you forthwith.’

The ninja faded back into the shadows, leaving the black bird and the schoolboy alone.

‘This is Kuro’s tower?’

‘He’s claimed it as his own. The fact that the locals believe it is haunted means you’re quite safe here. Nobody will come knocking.’

Kaw hopped up the bed and on to Trick’s chest, tilting his head once more as he examined the cut on the boy’s cheek. His white eyes seemed to stare straight through Trick.

‘The wound will heal, in time. You’ll have quite a scar too. It was your head hitting the flags that caused the most damage. You’ve been unconscious for well over a day.’

‘A day? How the heck did the fight end without them killing each other?’

‘Seems they were interested in hearing what a talking crow had to say,’ replied Kalaban, as the bird he possessed shook its feathers. ‘Kaw speaking up grabbed their attention. You’ve our feathered friend to thank for intervening.’

Trick shook his head, causing Kaw to flap before settling. ‘It all went wrong when we got here, Kalaban. I lost Toki, Mungo and Zuma at the Broken Shield Inn. It’s a miracle Kazumi found me again. I’ve made such a mess of things.’

‘What nonsense,’ said the hermit. ‘You’ve misplaced your friends, that is all, and made new ones in the meantime. Kuro is the greatest ninja ever to have entered the Wildlands. His exploits are legendary. How he fell into the employment of Gorgo baffles me. And the Shield Maiden remains close by, desiring to speak with you. No, you have powerful allies, Trick Hope. Lose one, gain another – you are never without.’

‘But what of the other three?’

‘Toki and Mungo have been taken to Boarhammer’s arena, so far as we can tell,’ said the possessed bird, craning his neck as if looking out of the fractured roof. Trick followed Kaw’s blind gaze. The gladiatorial palace was visible, the sun shining bright above the cliffs, casting half the docks below into shadow.

‘We saw the arena in Mudflatt. That’s where we met Zuma.’

‘Oh no, this is nothing like the pit in the shanty port. Boarhammer’s arena is legendary. It’s a temple to death and despair, and the wealthy and well-to-do of Sea Forge flock there for excitement. Peasants provide mild entertainment when thrown to Boarhammer’s beasts, but it’s the warriors who provide the true spectacle. This is a common occurrence. Your friends aren’t the first and they won’t be the last.’

Trick shivered, despite the heat of the midday sun.

‘No. When the Skull Army arrived at the Broken Shield, they dragged away some suitable participants before shutting the place down. By which I mean killing the landlord, his family, his pet dog and then putting the place to the torch. Your feisty friends, along with many other luckless warriors, are now destined for the arena. Perhaps you need to stop Boarhammer before this event, Trick?’

Trick sighed. ‘I am trying, Kalaban. Believe me! This whole quest business isn’t easy, you know?’

‘I know, my young friend, I know. I found that myself when I first faced Boneshaker, but there’s simply no other way. You’re the Wildlands’ only hope. How are you progressing with the other two parts of your quest?’

‘Let me think,’ said Trick sarcastically, tapping a finger on his chin. ‘Well, let’s see. We went to the Broken Shield Inn searching for warriors, and managed to get my party disbanded and the inn burned down. So I reckon I fluffed that bit. And, as for Ravenblade, I’m looking for a needle in a haystack there. I’ve got sod all chance of finding that flipping thing.’

The crow hopped back to the foot of the bed. ‘Stay strong, Trick. You may feel that all is lost, but, trust me – you’ve made progress.’

Trick nodded but he really didn’t see it. He felt hopelessly out of his depth. The idea of leading an offensive against Boneshaker terrified him. The title of Black Moon Warrior sat uneasily on his shoulders. He changed the subject.

‘You didn’t mention Zuma. What happened to him?’

‘No sign of the Jaguar Warrior. He disappeared during the melee in the inn. Kazumi didn’t see him carted away by the Skull Army. She is convinced that he’s disappeared with that strongbox of money and you’re unlikely to see him again. We’ll have to see what happens.’

Trick sat up in bed, throwing his legs out and pulling on his boots. He felt rough beyond description, but lying in bed was getting nothing done. From his lofty perch, he could hear the clashing of weapons below. Immediately, Trick felt anxiety rise.

‘Sounds like a fight.’

‘That, Trick Hope, is your companions in training.’

‘Toki, Mungo and Kazumi,’ said Trick, pulling his boots on. ‘Zuma and Kuro … I must say, you seem very well informed, considering we left you back in your cave at Tangle Falls, old man. How do you know so much?’

The crow ruffled his feathers. ‘Kaw acts as my eyes and ears over great distances. And I’ve been in Sea Forge for a number of days, courtesy of my familiar. From the rooftops, we even found time to play the part of a crazy old prophet in Speaker’s Square, providing a voice of opposition to Boneshaker.’

‘That was you? The mad old bloke shouting about the Black Moon Warrior?’

The crow chuckled. ‘I was here three days before you. Then it was simply a case of starting the rumour of your impending arrival. Kaw has been a busy bird. He’s been hopping over rooftops, shouting into streets and calling through open windows. A disembodied voice can travel great distances – you’d be amazed how many people have now heard of the Black Moon Warrior. Sometimes fate needs a helping hand, and hearsay is a powerful weapon. We sow these tiny seeds, and over time oaks shall grow.’

Trick admired the old man’s cunning. Still, he felt sick that he’d made such a mess of things. ‘I lost everything, you know? My staff, my bag – it had the map in it, and other stuff, besides.’

Kaw squawked and hopped to one side of the bed end, revealing a chair in the corner of the room. There was the schoolbag and Trick’s quarterstaff. ‘You’re very absent-minded, Trick Hope. If you’re not losing warriors you’re losing your belongings. Just as well Kazumi can think on her feet, eh? Oh, and I noticed you have a passenger in there too. Don’t worry, Kaw found a couple of juicy bluebottles to feed him. Provided quite a meal, apparently.’

Trick grinned. ‘You found Sparky?’

‘That’s what you’ve called him?’ chuckled the bird.

‘Seemed an appropriate name. Thanks, Kalaban. Will you remain with us, then?’

‘Sadly, no,’ said the bird, straightening his back stiffly. ‘As I said, I cannot stay in this feathered vessel for long. Kaw will be wanting his body back. And I must remain at Tangle Falls, out of sight. Were I to reveal myself entirely to any of Boneshaker’s minions, it would bring the Dark Lord’s fury down upon us. He would focus all his efforts on crushing you before your quest has truly begun. I must remain invisible for as long as possible – stick to the shadows. Let Boneshaker think me dead. That would be best for everyone. You may then cross the Wildlands without additional complications from the Skull Army. Well, no more than any gang of heroes would encounter, anyway. If the time is right for me to reveal myself I shall, but only when it will best serve your cause.’

‘My cause?’

‘You still want to go home, don’t you?’

Trick nodded.

‘And one last matter,’ said the disembodied hermit. ‘You said you’d investigated the Broken Shield Inn. I find that hard to believe – you were only there long enough to start a bar brawl.’

Trick opened his mouth to object, but the wise man continued.

‘I recommend that you return there.’

‘But the warriors have all been seized by Boarhammer’s men. What’s the point?’

‘Have you retrieved Ravenblade?’ Trick shook his head as the bird continued. ‘Leave no stone unturned, even if it’s burnt rubble. Understand? I said you’d find answers there, and I never lie.’

‘But I looked, Kalaban …’

‘Then look again. Don’t give up so easily. Remember, when your chin hits your chest, lift it – look up. Seek and you shall find.’

The boy nodded, irked by the riddling talk.

‘Good,’ said the crow, suddenly looking a little uneasy on his perch. ‘Well, until next time, Trick Hope.’

Then the bird keeled over, landing on his back at the end of the bed, feet in the air like a comedic dead parrot. Kaw blinked, the white mist fading from his eyes as the familiar beady black returned. The crow trembled, rolling on to his belly, wings akimbo, and he snapped his beak wearily as he spoke.

‘I hate it when he does that.’