CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

It was dusk, and thousands had gathered in Sea Forge, lining the dock-front doorways, windows and rooftops. A flotilla of boats bobbed in the choppy water, each filled with mourners here to pay their respects. The grisly gallows and gibbets that had lined the harbour front had been torn down and all signs of Boarhammer’s reign removed from sight.

The gates that had barred the way to the Upper City via the cliff road were open, for now at least. Never again would the poor be kept down. Whatever wealth was to be made in Sea Forge would be shared out henceforth. The gates would remain open, at least until the Skull Army returned. That would happen, no doubt, and the people of the city port would be prepared.

Impressive though the crowd was, Trick felt cold and alone. Across the water, drifting on the tide, was the riverboat, loaded with a pyre of wood and straw. Toki lay upon it, hands closed round the hilt of the sword that rested upon his chest. This was Toki’s final journey, to who knew where? Trick wasn’t religious; he had no idea what was out there when you died, if anything. Maybe there was a Valhalla for the Viking, where his forefathers would be waiting for him to drink mead and feast. Or perhaps he would find himself transported back to his own world and time. It wasn’t a theory Trick fancied testing. He shivered at the thought.

Mungo, Kuro and Zuma surrounded him, while Erika stood apart from them. They were at the end of the long stone jetty that reached out into the harbour. She held a bow and arrow, the missile’s tip coated in oily rags. Kuro stepped forward, a burning brand in hand, as Erika brushed the arrowhead against the flame.

The fire blazed immediately, devouring the fuel-soaked wrappings. She brought the arrow back, black feathers bristling against her cheek as she took aim. Then the arrow was flying, arcing gracefully through the air before finding its mark across the water. The flames quickly spread, feeding upon the packed hay on the boat as the funeral pyre caught light. Erika dropped her head and lowered the bow solemnly as the vessel quickly became an inferno, dark clouds belching into the twilight sky.

The Shield Maiden stepped back to them, and Trick couldn’t resist placing a sympathetic hand upon her shoulder. She looked up, her blue eyes intense. No tears on show, just anger.

‘There will be a reckoning, friend,’ she said coldly. ‘My countryman fought for you, treated you as his brother. I take on his oath in Odin’s name. My sword and shield are yours, Trick Hope, and vengeance shall be mine.’

In that moment Trick caught a glimpse of just how hard the Viking was, hewn from Nordic rock and carving her own legend upon any world she walked in. She handed the bow past Trick to Zuma.

‘My thanks, Aztec,’ she said, as Zuma nodded. He slung the bow over his shoulder where it rested against a quiver loaded with black-feathered arrows. Trick’s mind instantly returned to the arena and Kazumi’s awful end. He then spied Boarhammer’s golden mace swinging from Zuma’s hip. It figured; Zuma was there for the gold.

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.’