He turned and roughly shoved Coinin aside, stalked over to the line of prisoners and grasped Jericho. He manhandled the ageing soldier to the centre of the arena and whipped off his hood.
‘My prize catch,’ he said proudly. ‘General Dareth Jericho, Order of The Wulf. The General, ‘ere, has been responsible for many of our finest crew’s deaths.’
The crowd went wild, passionate expletives issued forth and, despite his situation, Jericho silently thanked his stars that he was inside an arena and away from the crowd. Judging by their reaction to his presence, it was likely, if not for the protection of the platform, that they would tear him limb from limb. That would result in a dishonourable and grisly death. He would much prefer to go out fighting, comforted that he would soon meet his dear wife. He stared defiantly at the baying masses and muttered an oath that if he was to survive today, by some miracle, that he would hunt each of them and bring about a godly justice they so richly deserved.
Thuun clicked his fingers and Jericho was taken away. He then raised his arms high, pleading for the silence that took a few moments to arrive.
‘For those who ‘ave never had the pleasure of watching the games, ‘ere’s the rules. Everyone dies, it’s just a matter of which method and the order in which they cark it.’ Thunn paced the ring. ‘In the first round each prisoner’ll battle against a single opponent and the defeated’ll either be dead from their wounds, hung for losin’, or thrown to the lions at my judgement.’
The crowd cheered again, and Thuun continued. ‘The second round’ll see the survivors battle it out in a free for all. Again, those who are defeated within the first five minutes’ll meet the same fate as those before ‘em, assumin’ they ain’t already dead.’
The crowd stood and stomped their feet and chanted Thuun, Thuun, Thuun. A broad smile spread across the King’s face as he launched into his final speech.
‘Finally, when the fightin’ subsides, and the winners of that round are declared, the third and final battle’ll begin. The lions’ll be let loose. Should any prisoner survive, then I’ll meet ‘em personally in the ring.’
Tumultuous applause and chants of Thunder and Fist resounded the quarry. The King had laid forth his plan for what was sure to be a good show, and it met with approval from even his most vocal of detractors.
In the middle of the seating, three individuals turned and looked at each other with concern. They had to do something, or their leaders would die. As quickly and as quietly as they dared, they descended the seating platform and made for the exit to the quarry. Two individuals, dark skinned and with quizzical eyes, followed their movements, and after a nod to one another, hastened after Quindil’s party, curious as to why these three were leaving the arena just before the start of the games.
Quindil and his team moved swiftly, aware that they needed to act quickly. Hidden swords slapped noisily against their legs beneath long, woollen cloaks as they hastened up the walkway on the way back to the ship.
Aniol, ever aware, glanced behind her and spotted a dark shadow dive into an open doorway. She turned back and nudged Quindil.
‘What is it?’ he asked breathlessly.
‘I think we’re being followed.’
Quindil resisted the urge to look behind as would an untrained civilian. Instead, he spoke quickly and quietly. ‘Thruup, how do you feel about playing dead man’s bluff?’
Thruup looked at the officer with puzzlement, and then a moment later a smile spread wide across his face. ‘Clever.’
‘I’ve been known to be,’ Quindil chuckled. ‘The next bend should provide Aniol cover to hide while we execute the bluff. Aniol, do so, and come out fighting when the time’s right.’
A clatter of stones behind them confirmed they were indeed being watched, albeit not too discretely.
‘I just hope there aren’t too many of them.’
Aniol hurried on ahead, and out of sight of their followers, she darted into the dark shadows of an unoccupied dwelling.
Making lots of fuss and showmanship, Quindil patted himself down and exclaimed loudly. He shoved Thruup hard, who retorted noisily and pushed back.
‘You thieving scum! Where is it?’ Quindil demanded furiously at the top of his voice, ensuring that anyone within a dozen yards would hear him.
‘Where’s what?’ Thruup played along convincingly.
‘You know fine well.’ Quindil shoved again.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Sure you don’t,’ yelled Quindil, who, in one swift motion withdrew his sword from beneath his cloak and brandished it at Thruup. The latter looked affronted and drew his sword and used it to bat Quindil’s blade aside.
‘Where’s my gold?’ Quindil roared. ‘I had two pouches brimming with gold. Now, where are they?’
Further down the walkway, two watchers looked at each other with greedy expressions. Their interest had piqued at the mention of gold, exactly as Quindil had planned.
‘If you’ve lost your gold, that’s not my concern.’ Thruup yelled.
‘If I kill you and take my gold, and your share, perhaps then it’ll be your concern.’
‘Try it, and I’ll see you dead.’
Quindil lunged with his blade. Thruup parried and backhanded his attacker across the face. The latter staggered and recovered to swipe back then. Thruup dodged easily, though Quindil whirled, sword raised. With a slashing motion, he targeted Thruup’s trapezium, only to find his blow deflected by his opponent’s sword. Quindil hardly hesitated and swung his weapon in a wide arc and Thruup had barely the blink of an eye to duck and roll. He ended up behind Quindil and wrapped a strong arm around the man’s neck.
From the vantage point of the watchers, they were witnessing a genuine fight and were surprised to see it end so suddenly and violently. In profile, they watched as Quindil arched his body and saw the tip of a sword exit his abdomen.
Thruup looked about him, as if to check that he had not been seen, and dropped the limp body of Quindil. The dead man fell in a heap amid the clatter of sword onto the walkway. Without hesitation, Thruup raced away around the bend and out of sight.
The watchers exited the hiding spot seconds later and jogged to the prone form of Quindil. The dead man was on his back, eyes and mouth agape, a glassy look that stared into nothingness.
‘Search ‘im,’ said the larger of the two watchers, his gruff voice used to giving orders.
While the smaller man searched the body of Quindil, the other man walked ahead to see if he could spy the dead man’s attacker. He had not wandered far when his companion called.
‘Burke, come ‘ere; this ‘ere is very odd.’
After taking one last look around to ensure no one was in sight, he sighed and headed back to where his friend Phenil knelt over the body of Quindil.
Burke dropped to his knees at Quindil’s head. ‘What is it Phenil?’
Phenil moved Quindil’s cloak aside. ‘There ain’t no blood, look.’
Burke too saw that no wound to Quindil’s abdomen or pool of blood around the body was visible. ‘What the—’
Cold, sharp steel slipped under his chin and stalled his words. Burke looked at his partner wide-eyed. Phenil jumped up and stepped back into the waiting arms of Aniol. She held him at sword point.
Quindil heaved himself up from the floor and with only a stump to support him it was quite an effort. If he had thought about it a little more, then Thruup would have taken his place. However, as it was, he had, at the time, only moments to formulate a plan.
He sheathed his small blade and withdrew his sword while Aniol covered the two men. He approached Phenil. ‘That was dead man’s bluff. The lesson I guess is never to believe your eyes. Why have you followed us?’
Phenil looked alarmed, shook his head and said nothing.
‘No? Let’s ask your friend,’ Quindil continued.
Quick footsteps caught his attention, and Thruup returned to support them. He had hidden behind a series of bar
rels and waited for the right moment to emerge.
‘Welcome back Thruup. Hold this one will you?’ He indicated to Burke.
Thruup walked behind the man and held his arms while Quindil approached, intent on receiving answers. Burke, on the other hand, had other ideas. The stout man used his weight as leverage and using Thruup as a support he raised his feet. He kicked out and struck Quindil squarely on the chest. Thruup and Burke toppled over backwards, and Quindil landed heavily.
Phenil took the distraction as an opportunity to elbow Aniol in the gut. She doubled over winded and bruised, yet somehow still held onto the small man. Phenil struggled with the wheezing woman and fought to free himself from her grasp. He swung her left and right, desperate now. Just as it appeared that he had succeeded in breaking free, both he and Aniol struck the walkway’s handrail and toppled over the barrier.
Aniol let out a scream, and Quindil got up as quickly as he could and raced to where he had seen her disappear. ‘Aniol?’ he called in a panic.
Looking over the barrier and fighting back an understandable fear of the height, he saw Aniol and Phenil holding on for dear life with terrified looks of impending doom plastered across their faces.
‘Aniol?’ Quindil leant over the barrier and proffered his arm to her. ‘Grab on.’
‘I can’t,’ she squeaked in a panicked reply.
‘Grab my arm. That’s an order!’ Quindil bellowed.
Shocked out of her panic, Aniol blinked back tears and using every ounce of her strength she made a grab for Quindil’s open hand. Their fingers brushed momentarily, and a cry of fear from the young woman spurred Quindil further.
‘Hold on, Aniol!’ he yelled. He turned to look for Thruup and saw Burke cold and lifeless on the ground with Thruup bent over him.
Thruup was bruised and battered and looked to Quindil with a smile, and then looked puzzled.
‘Where’s Aniol?’
‘Here,’ Quindil indicated. ‘Help me.’
Thruup raced over to where Quindil stood and peered over the barrier of the walkway. He cursed and immediately stuck out his arm for the stricken woman. ‘Come on Aniol; I’ll catch you. Jump for it.’
For a moment it appeared Aniol had frozen and then suddenly she kicked with her feet that were barely holding her onto a small ledge, and leapt for Thruup’s open hand.
Their hands impacted and Thruup gripped hers tightly. Quindil offered his arm, and Thruup took it gratefully. Shooting pains coursed through his arm and shoulder as his muscles strained with the weight of Aniol. Together they hauled the young woman over the barrier, and she sat on her haunches panting heavily.
Quindil turned his attention to Phenil and offered his single arm to the man. At first, the frightened man shook his head fearing Quindil would aid his death rather than assist him.
‘Come on, I’m here to help you,’ Quindil said softly.
‘No, you’s soldiers from The Brotherhood.’
Thruup stuck his head over the side of the barrier and also offered an arm. ‘Come on son, its us or a fall to your death.’
That worked. Phenil looked down and shook visibly. He jumped for the proffered hands and caught them. Quindil and Thruup puffed and took the strain. Phenil, although small, was heavier than Aniol. Combined with their pulling and Phenil’s pushing with his feet, he toppled over the barrier to the safety of the walkway, landing heavily on top of his rescuers.
He did not hang around, though. Like a frightened rabbit, he picked himself up and bolted back down the walkway. A second later Quindil was in pursuit. No way could this man be permitted to warn his kin. Sweating profusely in his cloak, he stripped it off and dropped it mid stride and was able to gain speed. He was a champion sprinter and had competed several times in the International Brotherhood Games, held once every three years. He’d won first place on six occasions.
The walkway bounced and clattered as the two men ran, and Quindil had almost caught up to his quarry when the sound of tearing iron punctuated the air. The walkway lurched and bucked like a wave. Quindil stopped running and grabbed at the handrail. The walkway in front of him rocked and bucked like a virgin stallion and rent in two sending iron and shards of wood flying in all directions like deadly missiles. The sound was terrifying, and the sudden drop of the walkway sent Phenil plummeting over the edge and to his death on the rocks far below. A look of disbelief and horror was the last Quindil saw of him.
Below, many airships were struck by falling debris, the envelope of each collapsing as sharp metal pierced the air sacs. The decks of each ship received critical damage before breaking free of the moorings and plummeting together into the abyss below.
The handrail Quindil held gave way, and the walkway dropped to an even steeper angle. Quindil lost his footing and slid uncontrollably towards the edge of the fractured gangway. Unable to stop himself, he knew there was no way he could survive a fall from this height. He closed his eyes and thought fondly of his family, offering the briefest of prayers to Rindor.
His heart stopped as he toppled over the edge and fell.
Thruup had chased after Quindil and gasped at the sight. He dived forward to save his friend and officer, his hands scraping painfully on the walkways as he slid towards the lip.
Below the walkway, Quindil hung suspended by a broken stretch of iron that had caught up in his leather waistcoat. He opened his eyes and looked up in time to see the stitching give way, and he fell once more. His arm, though, was suddenly wrenched and his fall was arrested. Letting out a cry of pain he checked above him.
Thruup was laid flat on his stomach, hanging dangerously over the edge of the walkway, and gripping tightly onto Quindil’s arm. The look of pain on his face told him that Thruup would not be able to hold him for long. He dared hope in that second that he would survive his current predicament, yet judging by the strain on Thruup’s face; he did not hold out much hope. It was then that Aniol appeared beside his rescuer, gripped Quindil under his armpit and pulled and yanked. Together, she and Thruup successfully hoisted Quindil back onto the damaged walkway and crawled away from the edge.
Quindil lay on his back and breathed heavily, trying to calm his shattered nerves. Aniol approached and knelt beside him.
‘Are you injured?’ she asked.
Quindil had yet to find his voice and simply shook his head.
‘He’s not injured,’ she called to Thruup.
‘That’s great,’ Thruup replied and rubbed a sore arm.
Soon his breathing eased, and Quindil sat up and looked behind where the walkway once stood intact. He shook his head in disbelief; he had almost met his maker. Then he suddenly remembered that there were others in danger also.
‘Aniol, Thruup? We have to get to the ship and fast. Let’s just hope the pirates didn’t hear all that commotion.’
THE NICK OF TIME
The arena buzzed with excitement. Drums banged, flutes played and cheering abound as the first of the combatants were paraded around the platform. The noise they were making had masked the sounds of destruction coming from the dock beyond the quarry.
A variety of clan colours, held aloft on long poles, fluttered in a stiff breeze that wound its way through the quarry and refreshed those gathered.
Coinin shook uncontrollably, not from cold, but from fear and apprehension. He was going to die today, and there was not a thing he could do to prevent that or to stop his friends from suffering the same fate.
He looked about him and spotted the redheaded witch casting her magic to suppress his. Even from this distance, he could see her mumbling incantations under her breath. Lordich, several hooded figures and a knight in full steel armour stood not too far away at the edge of the arena. He watched as Lordich and the witch left to join the King in a raised private box. Thuun himself sat in his box overlooking proceedings while popping one red grape after another into his mouth from a bowl set out before him.
Jericho, Coinin saw, was strutting around the arena swinging a curved sword, a loo
k of intense concentration on his face.
His opponent was huge, twice as wide as Jericho himself, and his footfalls rattled the platform. He did not look particularly fast on his feet, and that gave Coinin some hope that Jericho would triumph.
A herald, a thin man, wearing a striped shirt and dressed in a tall hat with a peacock feather sticking out of it, stood in the centre of the arena and signalled to a figure high on the quarry lip. A moment later, the blast of a great horn sounded, rich and resonant, with throbbing undertones that cut through the noise of the crowd.
The crowd hushed, their attention was drawn immediately to proceedings, eagerly awaiting the herald’s next words, and he did not disappoint.
He very grandly raised both his arms high and wide. ‘Ladies and gentlemen.’
The crowd burst into fits of uproarious laughter.
‘Listen up you scum and treacherous dogs.’
The crowd laughed even harder.
‘The time you’ve waited for ‘as arrived. Without further delay, I present Rathman the beast, and Dareth Jericho.’
The crowd cheered or booed, and stomped their feet in approval, the noise rising steadily until the herald held up a hand.
‘The fight will be to the death. There are no rules, and anythin’ goes.’ The herald took a deep breath and yelled. ‘To the glory of the King, go to yer deaths!’
The herald stepped aside, and the combatants circled one another assessing any weaknesses. Rathman was truly a beast of a man and easily earned his nickname. Jericho would not have been surprised if giant blood coursed through his veins. He was completely bald and wore a torn tunic stained with years of bodily emissions, tied in the middle with a thick leather belt. Around his wrists, leather bands were tied with thin strands of animal hide. He was naked from the waist down, only the tunic hung to his knees and covered his genitals.
Jericho twirled his sword and stared directly into the giant of a man’s eyes, trying to dominate him. The slightest shift of his opponent’s eyes would give away his intentions, and the General was keen to stay away from the two-pronged spear wielded by his opponent. Not only did it reach further than his sword—the mass of Rathman behind any strike would surely see him injured fatally. Standing close to eight feet tall, Rathman was built not for speed but heavy labouring. That, he hoped, was enough to give him an advantage. He was wary, yet confident that his skill and tactical planning as a General in The Brotherhood’s army would see him victorious.
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 64