CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
As the trapdoors clanged open, they sent great plumes of sand billowing across the arena. Gladiators, warriors and slaves alike covered their faces against the choking sand clouds as they slowly subsided. Trick could hear the roar of the crowd, wild with feverish anticipation of the horror that was to come. He blinked as the air slowly cleared.
Monsters of all shapes and sizes emerged from the pits. They crept and crawled, slithered and swooped, a host of otherworldly beasts. A feather-maned mountain lion was first from its pit, hackles raised and black quills rippling. Its roar heralded the arrival of the rest. An enormous white-furred ape followed, fists beating its chest as it let loose a roar, straight out of an old monster movie.
A centipede the length of a double-decker bus scuttled up another ramp, weaving straight for a gaggle of slaves. With a beating of leathery wings, four bat-like creatures emerged from their pen, canine heads snarling. They were all chained to a single great boulder which they dragged across the sand as they snapped at each other, seeking a likely meal.
Trick blinked away the sand as the three armour-clad men closed on him. He peered over his shoulder at the pit he had squeezed out of; the ramp grille was lowered, and nothing was emerging. It was the merest snapshot of a glance before his eyes were back upon the trio. They wore chain vests and gladiatorial helmets and – judging by their chuckles – they were grinning inside them. Would they ever have an easier kill than this kid? Trick’s chest went tight as if crushed within a giant’s fist. He grimaced, fearing his organs might fail before the thugs even reached him. Thirteen years old, he mused. No age for a heart attack. The gladiators raised their weapons in unison, readying to strike him.
The wind whipped around Trick’s ears as figures leapt past him, bounding from the pit at his back. The three fighters stopped short, each faltering where he stood. They were no longer alone. A warrior crouched beside each of them. Zuma, Kuro and Kazumi had dealt their counterparts killing blows, but the gladiators didn’t yet know it. It only dawned upon them as bright red wounds opened across their broken armour and they fell into the sand, wheezing and gurgling. Zuma shook his macuahuitl over his head, Kuro flicked blood from his katana and Kazumi twirled her naginata.
Then Trick’s companions were moving, dispersing into the assembled prisoners to break their bonds. They weren’t alone. The warriors who had already been freed by Trick and Toki provided cover, engaging the Blackguard gladiators and keeping them occupied. Chains were struck, links were broken and slaves and warriors were set free.
‘You did well, Trick Hope,’ said Erika, arriving beside him as a mob of thieves followed her from the pit. Having clambered up the enormous butchered corpse of the monstrous lizard, they scrambled on to the sand, seeking out foes. Women and children dashed the other way, urged towards the tunnels and safer places by a handful of veteran career criminals. The younger thieves were armed with their favourite light arms: clubs and daggers, crossbows and slings.
‘You think?’ asked Trick. ‘Reckon I just got Boarhammer mad!’
‘That’s a good thing. His anger makes him reckless and that will be his downfall. Kuro and Kazumi will bring him down. We all have our part to play in the fight. Remember, yours is to stay close to me. Leave the fighting to us warriors. You don’t leave my side.’
As if to emphasize this point she raised her shield before them, catching an arrow in the wood with a resounding thunk. Trick nodded.
He didn’t need telling twice. Trick was more than happy that the Shield Maiden was his protector. Climbing into the arena had taken all his remaining nerve after his duel with Gorgo. He was a spent force now, his legs trembling as the battle raged around them.
‘No time like the present,’ said Erika, reaching over her shoulder to where a bundle of spears was holstered. Trick fixed his gaze upon the supposedly impregnable tower, only accessible via the corridors and avenues that circuited the amphitheatre. Trick prayed that the Shield Maiden had as good an aim as he believed. He’d seen her skill with a spear on the docks when she’d pinned Kuro to the floor. As if in answer, her first spear hit the bottom of the tower, reverberating where it buried itself in the timber.
The plan was bold. By peppering the warlord’s tower with her spears, Erika would provide Kuro and Kazumi with a route to Boarhammer’s balcony. The ninja and samurai would then scale the fortified tower and dispatch the Lord of Sea Forge. Two more spears found their mark, wobbling where they struck the timber of the tower. Trick’s thoughts returned to Toki as he searched the arena for his friend once more.
With the Thieves’ Guild joining the fray, confusion reigned, and the Skull Army rushed in from the main gates to the aid of their gladiator brethren. Soon thieves and slaves were locked in mortal duels with Boarhammer’s forces. All the while, monsters kicked and clawed, bit and bashed, attacking the combatants indiscriminately.
Trick even spied the drunken gladiator who had brawled with Mungo and Zuma in the Broken Shield Inn – Crixus, he’d called himself. He was there in the middle of the melee, trident in hand, seeking out his foes. It was hard to tell whose side he was on, so chaotic was the battle. Of course, Trick’s warrior companions were causing the most damage. Trying to keep track of them made his head spin.
Kuro and Kazumi fought back to back, katana and naginata slashing about them and finding man and monster as they made their way ever closer to Boarhammer’s tower and their makeshift steps. The two made a great team, their movements almost balletic as they cut a swathe through their foes in the sand.
Zuma was a blur, darting between the armoured men, his macuahuitl splitting steel and breaking bones. The Jaguar Warrior’s face was a mask of grim delight. With a shiver, Trick realized the Aztec enjoyed this, revelled in the kill. He wasn’t alone, either. Mungo was now free from his bonds, shouting and screaming as he straddled the giant centipede. He rode it across the sand, grasping its antennae as he steered it over the Skull Army. They shrieked as they were crushed beneath its hundred clawed feet, while the blue-woad warrior whooped with berserk, bloody glee.
The young Viking stood beneath the four dog-headed bat creatures that were chained to the boulder. With a swipe of Ravenblade, he hacked at the links of one of the chains, shards of twisted iron flying. The monster beat its wings, chancing a bite at the red-haired youth. He smacked it away with the flat of the blade, sending it flapping clear. Catching the broken length of chain in his free hand, Toki quickly bound it round his arm and ran after the creature, his feet kicking up sand.
‘Toki!’ screamed Trick, almost distracting Erika from her task.
If the young Viking heard Trick, he didn’t show it, and the Norseman allowed the bat monster to take flight. It tried to escape the arena, only for Toki to poke and prod it with the sword, guiding it in another, far more dangerous direction.
‘Oh God,’ whispered Trick.
‘What?’ asked Erika, firing another spear across the arena and finding her target.
‘He’s going for Boarhammer,’ said the boy. ‘Alone!’
Dumb instinct kicked in suddenly and unexpectedly. Trick dashed headlong across the bloodstained sand towards the warlord’s tower.
‘Come back!’ the Shield Maiden shouted. ‘Trick!’
‘He needs my help. Keep those spears coming!’ the boy called back, ducking beneath the lunging attacks of gladiators, guards and gargantuan monsters. He looked up as he ran. Toki was directly overhead, gliding towards the balcony, the bat-beast snarling as he steered it towards the tower’s top. Trick didn’t have a clue what he was doing. This was rash to the point of suicidal, but he couldn’t allow his friend to fight Boarhammer and his cronies alone.
Trick channelled all his concentration into his frantic dash, pushing the fear from his mind and ignoring his aching limbs. He skidded under a scything sword swipe like a world-class limbo dancer before hurdling the low chop of a pole-arm. He swung out his quarterstaff, cracking a gladiator across the wrist and snapping the bones, before bringing it round before him. Then he was at the foot of the tower, driving the end of the staff into the sand. It dug in, the staff bending as Trick used it like a vaulting pole. It propelled him high towards the first spear, three metres off the ground, then clattered to the ground behind him.
The Shield Maiden was a wizard with weapons, but agility was Trick Hope’s forte. The sure-footed nimbleness that had made the rooftops of London his playground now came to his aid. He caught the spear shaft and swung, hauling himself on to it with the agility of a spider monkey. The next spear was already above him, followed by a third. He glanced quickly towards Erika and saw the Viking concentrating on hitting her mark, before he leapt for spear number two. Then he was moving, finding rhythm, the momentum carrying him higher like a gymnast on the bars.
Trick was halfway up the tower when he heard a hideous howl from the bat creature above. Peppered with arrows and crossbow bolts, the monster began to tumble from the air, some way short of the balcony. Toki was moving, scrambling up its tumbling body and making a leap for the tower top.
Trick caught sight of his friend disappearing on to Boarhammer’s viewing deck, to a chorus of screams, cheers and jeers. The winged monstrosity was plummeting now, snapping the two uppermost spears from the tower wall, bouncing off the supporting beams. Trick hugged the timber panels as it tumbled by, narrowly missing him.
Suddenly he was stuck, twelve metres up the tower, but four metres below the balcony. He could hear the fighting up there, and heard Toki’s roar as he engaged the enemy. Trick glanced desperately back at the arena.
No sign of Zuma; the Jaguar Warrior was lost in the melee. Kuro and Kazumi remained surrounded by the enemy, bloodied but unbeaten, unable to reach him. Mungo had switched beasts, ditching the slaughtered centipede for a great purple toad. Its hide was peppered with arrows, as was the blue-woad warrior, but he rode it with deft skill as they trampled the enemy in bone-crunching bounds.
The battle still raged, but Erika stood motionless in the eye of the maelstrom. Her spears were all gone and only her shield remained. She immediately understood Trick’s desperate look and nodded.
Erika took a deep breath and aimed. The shield spun through the air like a discus, rising higher as it neared the tower. Trick gasped as it hit the wood above his head, splitting it as the metal edge buried itself deep in the dark timber. He crouched and leapt, snatching at the shield’s rim. He grabbed hold, struggling and scrambling to clamber on to its battered surface. He looked up. The distance to the balcony had been halved. He jumped off the shield and the makeshift ledge gave him greater power, like a diver’s springboard.
Trick caught the railing just as one of Boarhammer’s soldiers peered over the edge. The boy grabbed the chinstrap of his helmet and yanked him down, smashing the guard’s face into the railing. He went limp. Muscles burning, Trick crawled up and over the man’s unconscious body and arrived on the warlord’s balcony.
The scene was freeze-framed for Trick. The horrible drawn-out moment was captured as time seemed to slow. Toki crouched low as eight of the warlord’s best soldiers encircled him, their master hovering behind them. Wounds criss-crossed Toki’s body, inflicted by the gaggle of brutes. They coaxed an attack from him, drawing him on to the offensive. It worked. As the Norseman lashed out with Ravenblade, tearing a bloody gash through the nearest two Skull Army soldiers, Boarhammer leapt in. His spiked mace descended, striking Toki with such ferocity that it broke the Viking’s helmet in two.
Toki went down in a heap, red hair darkening as blood spread from the fresh wound. Boarhammer shoved his men aside and stood over him triumphantly, his mace raised once more. Trick’s heart stopped beating, frozen in his chest as he foresaw his friend’s fate. He saw Ravenblade on the floor, dropped when Toki had been felled. He was beaten, perhaps already dead. If he wasn’t, the killing blow was about to fall. The mace was dropping when Trick leapt, snatching up the black sword as he threw himself between friend and foe.