by Steve Feasey
He tried not to think about it, but, despite what Shentob said to the contrary, Trey knew that there was a good chance he would be killed during the Demon Games. And if that happened, Alexa might be stuck here forever, or at least for as long as it took Lucien to get to her. He sighed, silently wishing that his vampire guardian was here now to help get him out of this mess, but quickly rejected this sort of thinking: if Lucien knew anything about this situation, he would have been here in an instant. There was no telling where Lucien was, or how long he would be dealing with whatever had brought him to the Netherworld. Trey had to face up to the fact that he was in this on his own, and that Lucien wouldn’t be coming to his rescue.
He thought about everything he’d learned over the past few hours.
After the fighters had returned from their morning training sessions, Trey had retired to his cell while Shentob fixed their food. He’d watched again as the gladiators kicked and punched at the small demon as he moved among them. At one point, when the servant accidentally spilled a drink, a great muscular demon had leaped to its feet and threatened Shentob with a knife. Trey too had jumped up, and would have gone to his friend’s aid had Shentob not glanced in his direction and signalled with a small shake of his head that he was not to get involved. When the fighters left again for the afternoon and evening session, Trey came out and helped Shentob clear up the mess that they’d left behind, ignoring the demon’s insistence that he was not to do so.
‘You should not lower yourself to tasks such as these,’ the demon had said, waving with his hand for Trey to put down the plates he was carrying and return to his cell.
‘Why do they treat you like that?’ Trey asked, nodding towards the main door.
Shentob shrugged his shoulders and balanced another dirty dish on top of the precarious pile already in his hand. ‘They see Shentob as little more than dirt. Level-one djinn – that is what Shentob is. The lowest of the low.’
‘Who says? Who says that they are any better than you?’
The little demon shrugged again. ‘It’s just the way things work here. Always have and always will. Shentob knows his place.’
Trey let out a snort of derision. ‘If you ask me, you’re worth ten of any one of them.’
Shentob stood perfectly still. He frowned at Trey, his eyes exploring the teenager’s face. ‘Thank you, Trey Laporte. I think that might be the nicest thing that anyone has ever said to Shentob.’
Trey, embarrassed now, took his things into the kitchen.
When they’d cleared the place up, they sat down at the table together.
They sat in silence for a while, until a huge roar, followed by applause, interrupted their thoughts.
‘These Games are unusual,’ Shentob said.
‘That’s putting it mildly.’
The demon smiled at Trey and shook his head. ‘No more unusual than normal. Molok has decided that all of the bouts will be fought to arena rules. That means to the death.’ He sipped something from a cup before continuing. ‘Generally only the later fights are contested under these rules – there simply aren’t enough fighter demons in the Netherworld to have them wiping each other out for the sake of entertainment. But the popularity of the Games has waned recently, and Molok has decided that what is needed is more death. That is why there are so many fighters here at the moment. Molok has released many prisoners from his jails, promising them freedom if they fight. Most of the demons you saw yesterday when you fought Kronok will be killed in the first few rounds – cannon fodder. During those early fights the arena floor is filled with contestants; each pair will fight and the survivor will go through to the next round. You –’ he pointed a finger at Trey – ‘as the school’s champion, get a bye through to the quarterfinals.’
‘A bye?’
‘You don’t have to fight until the later stages. You’ll be fresher, but you’ll be up against nether-creatures that have managed to kill everything else that stood between them and the right to fight you. They’ll be fight sharp; you won’t.’
‘So I have to fight twice before meeting Abaddon in the final?’
‘Yes.’
‘If Abaddon makes it through. I’m assuming he has to fight from the quarterfinal stage too?’
Shentob looked at him. ‘He’ll make it to the final. He’d make it to the final even if he had to fight every single contestant to get there.’ He winked at Trey with his one eye. ‘Just like you would, Trey Laporte.’
The teenager shook his head. ‘I’m not so sure.’
‘Ah, but Shentob is. Old Shentob knows what you are capable of, even if you yourself are not.’
‘All of the fights are to the death?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what if I don’t kill my opponents?’ Trey thought back to that fight with Kronok, and how he’d managed to render his adversary incapable of fighting without having to resort to killing him.
‘You’ll be shot by one of archers,’ Shentob said, sucking at his teeth. He shrugged his skinny shoulders. ‘You don’t have any choice. The Games are very clear on the rules before they start. Molok has promoted this event by saying that the sands of the fighting squares will run black with blood. The crowd will demand it. These Games are a way for the demon lord to show he has lost none of his ruthlessness. If you don’t kill, you will be killed.’
Trey silently took this in. ‘I’m scared, Shentob,’ he said eventually.
‘Good. Then you will survive.’
Despite the dread that Trey felt at what faced him the following day, he couldn’t help but smile at Shentob’s answer. It was so much like something that Tom would have said. Trey was not prepared for the great wave of emotion that thinking of the Irishman suddenly unleashed within him – frustrations and feelings that he’d kept tightly bottled up inside him since arriving in the Netherworld. He might never see his friend again. He might never get back to the human realm or see Lucien again. For the first time Trey allowed himself to consider the magnitude of the terrible mess he was in, and in doing so came face to face with his own fear of dying at the Games, dying at the hands of some terrible creature that would show him no mercy.
There was only one thing that he had left to cling to: the knowledge that, should he succeed, Alexa would be freed from this terrible place and be allowed to return home.
He tried not to cry, but he suddenly felt like what he was: a frightened fifteen-year-old boy.
‘Shentob believes in you, Trey Laporte,’ the demon said, as if reading the boy’s mind. ‘You are so much like your father. You will be a great warrior tomorrow, and you will find a way to defeat Abaddon.’
Trey tried to raise a smile, but it would not come.
‘Thank you, Shentob. You are a good friend.’ He stood up, patting the demon servant’s shoulder. ‘I think I would like to be alone now.’ He crossed the dining area to his room, closing the door and locking it behind him. There was nothing to do but wait now: wait for the morning, for the beginning of the Games.
32
On the morning of the Games the Ashnon returned.
Alexa and Philippa had woken to the sound of the guards bringing their breakfast. As soon as their jailers had gone, they removed the food from the hollow area beneath the hatch in the floor, looking across at each other almost at the same time and pulling identical faces at the prospect of trying to eat what had been delivered to them.
‘Are you both well?’ the Ashnon said as the girls sat down. They looked up, and the demon showed itself, adopting its translucent form. It stared at them unblinkingly through those expressionless eyes – a dull, metallic, unearthly gaze.
‘As well as can be expected,’ Alexa answered. ‘When you consider that we are locked in the dungeon of a demon lord who has ordered one of us to be beaten, while using the other one as human bait so that he can kill their friend. Yes, I’d say that we were holding up pretty damned well.’
‘Good,’ the demon said, nodding. ‘That is good.’
‘I was bein
g sarcastic.’
‘Oh, were you? I’m sorry, but in this form I do not have the capacity to interpret such things. Sarcasm is a particularly difficult form of expression for me to recognize.’ The Ashnon paused, as if considering something. ‘Does that mean that either or both of you are not well?’
Alexa shook her head in disbelief. ‘Look, can we just skip the bit where you enquire about our general well-being, and move on to the part where you tell us how you are going to get Philippa out of here?’
‘Of course. Did Trey leave the Fae ring as I told him to?’
‘Yes. He … rediscovered it not long after you left the first time. He remembered what you said about needing it, so he left it in the food drawer beneath the cell plinth. He was a bit reluctant to do so, but he didn’t know where else to put it. It’s still there. None of the guards has been near that cell since they came and … ’ Alexa stopped and looked away, unable to complete the sentence.
‘Since they came and took Trey away,’ Philippa said, finishing her friend’s words for her.
The Ashnon crossed through the magical barrier guarding Philippa. ‘Are you ready for what lies ahead? Do you think you are strong enough to get away?’
‘I don’t want to go without Alexa.’
‘I have explained that I am unable to do anything for—’
‘I know what you said, but I can’t just leave without her! I can’t try to escape knowing that she’s still here!’
‘Yes, you can,’ Alexa said, crossing her cell to stand as close to the edge of her own as she could. ‘My fate is in Trey’s hands now. The Ashnon is your only hope of escaping this place.’ She smiled at her friend. ‘I would feel exactly the same as you do right now if our positions were reversed. But you have to do this.’
‘She is right,’ the demon said. ‘It is only possible for me to help one of you, and I am obliged to help you try to escape, Philippa. A contract still binds us, you and me.’
‘And how do you intend to get me out of here? Can you nullify that force field or whatever it is?’
‘No. The magic that sustains the barrier around this cell is unique. I am unable to disable it.’
‘Then how are you going to get me through it?’
‘I’m not.’
Philippa looked between the nether-creature and her friend in the adjacent cell, but Alexa simply shrugged her shoulders in reply to the unspoken question.
‘I will need your help, Alexa,’ the Ashnon said. ‘I am far from certain that my plan will succeed, but it is the only one that I could come up with. It means that you will have to try to escape the citadel yourself, Philippa, but there are very few guards around today – they are all preparing for the Games – and Molok is relying on the Fae to deal with anybody foolish enough to try to get into, or out of, this place. I have somebody waiting to help you once you are free of these immediate walls. They will get you to safety and help prepare a portal for your passage back to the human realm.’
‘How will I know if Trey and Alexa are safe?’
‘You won’t.’
Philippa gave Alexa a stricken look.
‘Don’t worry about us,’ Alexa said. ‘You must promise me that you’ll listen to the Ashnon and do everything possible to escape this place. We need you to get to Tom and tell him everything that you’ve learned over the last few days. He needs to know that Caliban is more powerful than any of us thought, and that it looks as if he’s planning another attack on the human realm. You need to tell him about Trey and me.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Without my father around, I doubt there’s much Tom can do to help either of us, but he can at least prepare for any outright attack Caliban might be planning. He’ll also be able to communicate all of this, should my father somehow get in contact with him.’
Alexa looked at her friend, and added, ‘You getting free of this place can help us all, Philippa. Don’t think it can’t. We’re all relying on you.’
Philippa pursed her lips and looked desperately unhappy, but eventually nodded at the Ashnon. ‘OK, what do I have to do?’
The nether-creature moved to a space between the cells and explained its plan to the two girls.
33
Moriel had dropped Lucien off at the safe house where he was staying in the hills of Nongroth. She would not allow him to go with her – regardless of the bonds that had formed between them in the last few days, she’d explained to him that there was no way a battle-angel was about to let a vampire know where the Arel were based. Lucien walked into the stone hut, little more than a shack, and slumped back against the door, shutting it behind him. He had not fed for some time now, and although he was in no danger of collapsing yet – a vampire as old as he was could, if pushed, survive for a few days without feeding – he was aware that he was getting weaker. He moved over to the one piece of furniture in the place, an old chair, and slumped down into it.
He closed his eyes.
And opened them again almost instantaneously, but this time he looked out through the eyes of another.
He was weak. Maybe weaker than he’d ever been before – certainly since being reborn as a vampire. He could hardly stand; his legs gave way beneath him every time he tried to put his weight on them. If it hadn’t been for the creature by his side, he would not have been capable of making his way through the thick heavy mud that stuck to his feet and legs. She was almost carrying him along now, bearing his weight, his arm across her shoulder. He turned to look at her. Earlier he’d told her she was beautiful, and he had not lied. She was beautiful in her grotesquery.
‘Not much further, my lord,’Helde said.
There was a carriage waiting for them on the far side of the swamp. They heard the snuffling of the gurtligs that would pull it, and they made their way towards the sound, relieved to find that the ground beneath their feet was becoming firmer with each step.
The world was bathed in a low, dark purple gloom now, and the driver only became aware of their presence when they were almost at the carriage. Helde opened the door and pushed Caliban in ahead of her, bundling the vampire into the cab. The demon driver leaned over at the sound, exclaiming loudly at the sight of the sorceress. It was the last thing it ever did. Helde reached up and grabbed the creature by the throat, pulling it down off its seat and throwing it to the floor. She set about the creature, opening up its throat and feeding hungrily on its blood. She stood, straightening up to her full height and peering into the murk on all sides.
Lucien watched all of this through Caliban’s eyes from his position inside the cab.
He was desperate to feed, and the sight of his sorceress sating her own bloodlust made him all the more frantic about his own state. He would not be able to carry on for much longer without human blood.
He watched Helde step over the body and approach the seat on top of the carriage. Suddenly the vampire stiffened, his eyes widening as he realized that he was not the only one looking out through those twin orbs. That something, or someone else, was seeing these things too. He had never experienced anything like this before, but the vampire instinctively knew what was happening.
‘Well, brother,’ he hissed, ‘it seems that you have learned some new tricks since we last met.’ The vampire closed his eyes and called out to Helde, waiting for her to get in and sit opposite him before telling her everything that had just happened. The sorceress listened without saying a word. When he was finished, she drew back her arm and hit the vampire on the jaw with all her might.
Lucien sat up with a jolt as if it had been he who had been struck. He had seen through his brother’s eyes and experienced his thoughts. Whether that was because Caliban was in such a weakened state, or for some other reason, he didn’t know. But he knew that his brother had successfully resurrected Helde, and that they were making their escape.
He stood and paced about the small hut for a moment, before approaching the window and looking out. Lucien closed his eyes again, but this time no revelation of his brother’s whereabouts came. He d
idn’t expect any – his brother had clearly been knocked unconscious by the sorceress. He kept his eyes shut and concentrated on Moriel, filling his mind with her and calling out in the way that she had told him to. He had no idea if the beckoning had worked, and he crossed the room to slump back into the chair again.
The battle-angel was there in less than ten minutes.
When he opened the door, Moriel was standing with her sword drawn, looking behind Lucien for the source of danger.
Despite everything, Lucien smiled. He was not used to having anyone act as his protector.
‘We need to go to the old woman,’ he said. ‘Immediately.’
Hag opened the door. She stepped back, moving aside so that they could enter.
She did not seem surprised to see them.
‘You failed to find her,’ she said in a low voice.
Lucien looked at the sorceress. There was none of the usual mischievous and sly banter that she usually greeted him with. And she refused to meet his eyes, shaking her head and staring at the floor before shuffling off to sit down.
‘My brother was successful in bringing the sorceress back,’ Lucien said, following Hag and taking up the chair opposite her. She nodded, and Lucien wasn’t sure if this was because she already knew about Helde, or if she had suspected it would happen anyway. He told her everything he’d seen and felt from inside his brother’s head.
‘You had your chance,’ the old woman said when he’d finished. ‘You had an opportunity to find them both when they were weak and vulnerable. You had a chance to destroy Caliban a«t/Helde.’
‘He is weak, very weak,’ Lucien said.
Hag looked back at the vampire, her eyes boring into his own. ‘She will restore him, the way that he restored her. But your brother does not fully understand what he has done. He has given her something that will make her stronger than she ever was before.’ She held up a gnarled and misshapen finger. ‘Mark my words, your brother has created a special kind of monster in Helde. She will stop at nothing to repay him the debt he is now due!’