by Peter Wacht
The bulk of the rats milled around the carcasses, hungrily consuming them. Yet it took less than a minute before the pack stripping the bodies to the bone. The rats continued the chase. His fear driving him forward, Thomas tried to think of a way to escape. Nothing came to mind. He was still too far away from the exit. All he could do was try to slow the pack down and hope an opportunity presented itself. He knew it wasn’t much of a plan. Soon his weariness would get the better of him. Then the rats would have him.
Lost in his thoughts, Thomas stumbled and almost fell, a rat having snapped at his heel. Thomas stabbed the creature in the back, then swung the quarterstaff around to meet the charge of two more rats. This time, though he killed the two rats, his movements were awkward. The first rat was still lodged onto the other blade, weighing him down.
Several more rats charged forward. Thomas frantically spun the quarterstaff above his head in a whipping motion. The dead rat’s body flew off the staff behind him and landed on the floor. In an instant the walls slammed together, crushing the body into something unrecognizable, then just as fast sliding back into place.
Thomas couldn’t believe it. Swinging the quarterstaff in front of him, he plowed through the rats, yet even more came forward. Though he might decimate the pack, in the end the rats would win. Their numbers were too great, and with the newly discovered trap behind him, he had nowhere to go. Then again, perhaps the trap would work to his advantage this time.
As a rat leapt through the air for his throat, Thomas caught it on his blade, but instead of throwing it to the pack he turned and ran down the hallway. Just before he reached the crushed carcass, he threw the rat off his spear. The body landed beside what had once been the other rat. The walls slammed together, crushing the rat, then began moving back to their original positions. This time, though, with the walls still in motion, in a burst of speed fueled by fear, Thomas bolted down the tunnel, diving through to the other side just before the walls crashed together again. The rats that chased after him weren’t so lucky.
Thomas sat there on the floor for a brief moment catching his breath. The mass of rats stopped, unwilling to chance the walls, more than satisfied to gorge themselves on the carcasses left for them by Thomas. Thankfully he had been right. The walls had to fully return to their original position before coming together again. Even so, he had barely made it through. If he had been wearing boots, he probably would have lost a foot.
Shivering at such a thought, Thomas pushed himself back up. Not wanting to waste more time, Thomas trotted down the tunnel. The Labyrinth was almost at an end, and he knew the Makreen waited for him. Thomas smiled in anticipation. He didn’t want to disappoint his adversary.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Murmurs
Kaylie wrung her hands in worry as the minutes slipped by, her concern for Thomas increasing. Sarelle leaned past Gregory from time to time, trying to engage her in conversation in an attempt to distract her, but to no avail. The murmurs within the crowd grew more intense, the wagers increasing. The entire spectacle sickened her.
She took some solace that as the minutes dragged by, Rodric seemed to worry more, cringing every time Lord Chertney leaned forward to whisper angrily in his ear.
Perhaps Thomas could survive, she thought. Fearhounds and Ogren didn’t seem to bother him. So why couldn’t he escape the Makreen?
A wish in vain, maybe, but it was the only thing she could hold onto as her fears played through her mind.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Almost at an End
Thomas crept silently down the corridor, his eyes sweeping from side to side. The exit to the maze was just ahead at the end of the tunnel. He held his quarterstaff at the ready, expecting an attack at any time. His anticipation increased as he drew closer to the portal. According to the map, a large, circular room awaited him, and through that was the pit — and Thomas’ freedom.
As he came to the entrance, Thomas let go of the Talent. He knew which way to go now, and his constant use of the power was draining what little energy he had left. Besides, he didn’t want to take any chances with Chertney so close.
Carefully stepping through the threshold, Thomas swept his eyes over the room. It resembled an oversized banquet hall and was probably large enough to seat five hundred or more. On the far side light cut into the darkness through a doorway, shining brightly in an otherwise nebulous environment. Thomas smiled. The pit, and freedom. Still, it couldn’t be this easy. His suspicions were confirmed quickly.
“You’ve done well.”
The raspy, guttural voice broke the silence of the hall. Thomas’ eyes followed the sound, picking out the shadowy creature standing calmly in the center of the room. The beast had acquired another quarterstaff, leaning his weight on it. Though its huge body was shrouded in darkness, its red eyes burned brightly.
“None have ever made it to my sanctuary.” Thomas struggled to decipher some of the words, as the Makreen had difficulty pronouncing certain sounds because of the forked tongue that slithered from its mouth. “Normally I like to kill my prey at the beginning of the maze, as you might have guessed, if only so I don’t have to wait for my traps to claim them.”
The Makreen shifted his weight, standing up straight and holding his quarterstaff with two hands.
“But you, green eyes, you are different. I wondered if you would make it this far.”
“And I have,” responded Thomas.
“You have,” said the Makreen. “Thank you for the entertainment, but now it must come to an end. The Labyrinth is my domain, and only one can rule here. Only I can rule here!”
The Makreen shouted the words to emphasize his point.
“Then let us begin,” said Thomas calmly.
He had been through more than he thought possible in the last two days. He wanted it to end, and the only way to ensure that was to make his way out into the pit. But he would have to get there first. The sooner he started, the sooner he would be done — one way or the other.
The Makreen nodded. In a rush, the Makreen charged forward, one tip of the quarterstaff held out like a spear.
Though Thomas was tired, the Makreen’s attempt to take him by surprise by the sudden burst of motion failed. Thomas easily stepped aside, avoiding the charge. The two combatants began circling one another, twirling their quarterstaffs in front of them, ready for one or the other to make the next move.
The Makreen obviously had the advantage of size and strength on his side, the beast towering above him, but Thomas was faster. Therefore he chose to wait and study the Makreen’s pattern of attack before making his move. After coming so far, now was not the time to make a foolish mistake.
Impatient for the kill, the Makreen ran forward again, lunging twice then slashing at his face. Thomas deflected the first two blows and ducked under the third. The Makreen stepped back, smiling. He was enjoying the contest and was certain of his victory, sensing his opponent’s fatigue.
They circled each other once again. This time the Makreen didn’t wait as long to attack. Lunging forward with the quarterstaff, the beast slashed at Thomas, aiming for his legs. When Thomas blocked the blow, the beast immediately brought the quarterstaff up and cut at Thomas’ neck.
Thomas raised his staff just in time, stopping the blow from connecting, the Makreen’s blade barely missing its intended target. Thomas pushed the Makreen back, finding a renewed energy within himself, then slashed with his own quarterstaff, forcing the Makreen to break off.
The contest continued in much the same way for the next few minutes. The Makreen circled Thomas, waiting for an opening to attack. Each time the creature charged forward, Thomas defended himself. Yet each time the Makreen maintained his attack for just a little bit longer.
Thomas realized what the Makreen was doing. The beast had noticed that the cut on Thomas’ side had reopened, and as a result, it was only a matter time before his weakness proved fatal. Until then, the Makreen was simply playing with him, waiting until Thomas’ r
eactions slowed. He had to change tactics. Otherwise, Thomas would die just a few feet from his goal.
As the Makreen lunged forward once again, instead of catching the blade on his own, Thomas ducked beneath the slash and swung low with his own blade. Carried forward by his momentum, the Makreen left himself exposed, and Thomas sliced him across the back of his leg. The Makreen leapt away, howling in anger and pain. Rather than wait for the next attack, Thomas became the aggressor, refusing to give the Makreen time to recover.
Continuing his attack, Thomas maneuvered the beast toward the opening of light. Try as he might, the Makreen could not disengage himself from the flurry of lunges, slashes and chops, the injury to the back of his leg limiting his mobility. All the Makreen could do now was focus on defending himself. Thomas ignored his tired muscles as he continued his assault. His quarterstaff was a blur of motion, and the arrogance and hunger in the eyes of the Makreen slowly changed to desperation.
Only wanting to break away, the Makreen jumped backwards, trying to gain some breathing room. But his injured leg failed him, and rather than stepping out of the way, he stumbled, giving Thomas another opportunity. Thomas’ slash took the Makreen across the back of the other leg.
The Makreen howled again, this time in pain and fear. This tiny man was winning. The Makreen tried to break away again, hoping to slip off into the darkness, but Thomas wouldn’t allow it. The beast only had two options: deal with Thomas or back away through the entrance to the pit.
Not really having much of a choice, the Makreen stepped through the entrance with Thomas right behind him, slashing and lunging with his quarterstaff, seeking another exposed part of the Makreen’s body. All thought had left Thomas’ mind. All he had now was motion, constant motion. The quarterstaff had become a part of him. He didn’t even notice when the darkness gave way to light.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Faint Hope
As each minute passed Kaylie’s hope that Thomas was still alive increased just a bit more. He had been in the Labyrinth for more than an hour, closer to two in fact. Many of the lords and ladies filling the gallery looked down at the white sand with disgust. They had bet on a quick end and lost their money as a result. Rodric’s growing concern was evident, even though Loris said there was nothing to fear. If the boy had fallen victim to one of the traps, which probably had happened, it would take the Makreen longer than usual to bring his body out into the pit.
A new murmur had begun to run through the crowd, as many discussed the boy’s chances of survival. None had ever stayed in the Labyrinth for so long, or so the stories said. There were others in the crowd who scoffed at such a possibility, arguing that the Makreen was probably just playing with the body before dragging it out.
Kaylie tried to ignore the chatter. It was because of her that Thomas was down there to begin with. Could he really still be alive? She hoped so with all her heart.
A sudden uproar in the gallery forced Kaylie’s eyes to the white sand of the pit. She gasped in shock at the scene unfolding before her. The Makreen had just backed out of the Labyrinth, and right behind him came Thomas, his entire body a whirlwind of motion as he drove the beast backwards. Thomas was covered in blood, yet his green eyes blazed fiercely. Kaylie wanted to cry with joy. In her heart, she knew what the outcome would be.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Freedom
Thomas didn’t hear the startled gasps or notice the shocked expressions of the onlookers as he stepped out into the light. He knew he had made it to the pit because he could feel the grainy particles of white sand slip through his toes. He remained focused completely on his task, his mind free of everything but one desire — to kill the Makreen.
Despite his quickly tiring body and the wound in his side screaming for him to stop, Thomas followed after the beast, his quarterstaff coming ever closer to its primary goal. It was only a matter of time before his opportunity would come. He had to be ready.
The crowd gasped anew when the Makreen dropped to one knee, one injured leg having finally given out. Seeing the opening he had worked so hard for, Thomas raised his quarterstaff above his head and brought it down toward the skull of the Makreen. The beast grasped its quarterstaff with both hands and raised it above his head to defend against the blow.
Expecting such a tactic, Thomas pressed on the slight indentation in the haft of the quarterstaff. While still bringing one blade down with his right hand, he pulled free the other half, slashing toward the Makreen’s throat. The Makreen never saw it coming. The blade cut halfway into its neck, its life gushing from the wound and staining the white sand red.
He should have felt jubilation, but at the moment he was hollow on the inside. Thomas stepped back as the Makreen collapsed onto its side, its eyes blank and staring. It was over. Unexpectedly, pride surged within him. He had just shoved another thorn into Rodric’s foot, and this one quite deeply.
Finally he looked up into the gallery, which had gone deathly quiet. He saw all the stunned faces, even Kaylie’s, as no one had expected such an end. Breathing heavily, Thomas threw the other half of the quarterstaff’s blade into the sand. He stood there proudly, enjoying the look of confusion on Rodric’s face. He could read the High King’s thoughts quite clearly. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he could see running behind those beady eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Even Chertney was at a loss as to what to do. No one wanted to break the silence. Finally, someone did.
“The boy has made it through the Labyrinth and killed the Makreen,” said Gregory as he rose from his seat. “He has passed the Trial.”
“He has passed the Trial,” seconded Sarelle, as did several other lords and ladies still dumbfounded by what had occurred. The Makreen had never before been defeated. How could this boy have won?
“According to the law, then, he is innocent,” said Gregory. “He is free.”
Rodric turned his eyes to the King of Fal Carrach, still not sure what had gone wrong. He looked for some way to turn this situation around, but he couldn’t. He had been bested by this boy, just like his son.
“He is free,” whispered Rodric, the words a struggle for him to get out.
Gregory nodded in satisfaction and Kaylie sighed with relief. She looked down at Thomas, trying to apologize with her eyes, but he refused to acknowledge her. Instead, he scanned the crowd with a defiant glare. His eyes came to rest on Rodric, who found the gaze uncomfortable, but to look away now would be a sign of weakness.
Pleased to see Rodric’s sullen expression, Thomas was distracted for a moment by a young girl with long blonde hair sitting next to him. She was quite beautiful, and judging by her pursed lips and crossed arms, she weighed him. It made him extremely uncomfortable. He could tell right away that she was probably just as dangerous as the Makreen, if not more so.
Finally he glanced at Kaylie. Her eyes begged his forgiveness. He quickly looked away. The wound of her betrayal was still fresh, and he was not yet ready to forgive, if he ever would be. As he stood there, his pose one of defiance and pride, something tickled the back of his mind.
He suddenly felt with a great deal of certainty that he had foreseen the whole moment — of Kaylie looking down at him as he was covered in blood, victorious like the gladiators of old in the white sand of the pit. The scene continued to play along the edges of his memory, but he couldn’t place it. No matter. He had accomplished his goal. He was free.
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