by Steve Feasey
‘If we can get to Caliban before—’
‘You are too late!’ Hag said in a loud voice. She shook her head again. ‘No, you will just have to accept that your brother has his new sorceress. She will work to provide him with the army he needs, and together they will wreak havoc in both the Netherworld and the human realm.’
‘Unless we can stop them.’
‘They will go into hiding now. Caliban will need time to restore his strength. They will regroup and plan what to do next.’
Lucien considered this before asking the other question that he needed answered. ‘How was it that I was able to see through my brother’s eyes? To read his thoughts in that way? How can that be, Hag?’ He paused, and when he spoke again it was clear he was thinking out loud. ‘It was like the glamour that we vampires use on humans, but this is not possible on our own kind.’
The old woman sighed. She lifted her head and gave Lucien a cold, hard look. ‘Your brother seems to have a habit of creating new creatures. I told you when you first came here that you were no longer “just another vampire”, and that you have changed in ways that you yourself do not yet understand. You are twice undead, Lucien. You, like Helde, are something that the Netherworld has never seen before, and I’m guessing that you are going to need all of your newfound powers to deal with whatever lies ahead.’
34
Hrolop, Molok’s senior aide and advisor, approached the demon lord’s obsidian throne, his sense of dread growing with each step. It never paid to bring the Hell-Kraken bad tidings, and Hrolop knew that the news he was about to deliver was not what the demon lord wanted to hear. Molok’s last advisor had been killed in the most terrible way after informing the demon lord of Orfus’s defeat at the hands of the vampire Caliban.
The Great Hall was in almost complete darkness. A single torch burned in its sconce on the wall furthest away from the demon lord, and its measly light did little to illuminate the nether-creature sitting atop the black stone seat. Hrolop stopped at the base of the steps leading up to the throne and bowed his head.
‘Well?’ the demon lord said after a moment.
‘I am afraid to report to my lord that, despite our best efforts, and I mean our very best—’
‘Get on with it!’ the Hell-Kraken bellowed. ‘Have you located the vampire or not?’
The aide swallowed and risked a look in the Hell-Kraken’s direction. ‘No, my lord. Caliban has not been found.’
Molok steepled his hands in front of his face, tapping the tips of his huge black talons together as he considered what he had just been told. When he spoke again, his voice had a hard and dangerous edge to it.
‘Do you mean to tell me, Hrolop, that despite the army of spies and informants we have inside the various Netherworld factions, not one of these nether-creatures knows where the vampire is or what he is doing?’ The demon lord was on his feet now.
Hrolop cringed, hunching his shoulders and lowering his head, expecting the worst. He knew that his best option was to stay quiet. Anything he might say now was sure to enrage Molok further. He heard the demon lord take a deep breath and slowly expel it. When he glanced up again, he was relieved to see that the Hell-Kraken had returned to his seat on the throne.
‘I am sorry, my lord.’
The demon lord waved the apology away. ‘Very well, we proceed as planned: we allow the boy to fight in the Games, and hope that news of this will bring the vampire out of hiding.’
Hrolop considered how best to continue.
‘Forgive my stupidity, my lord, but please explain to me again why we have not just killed the child and sent him back to Caliban’s people in little pieces.’
The demon lord eyed his advisor suspiciously, trying to ascertain if the demon was being impertinent or not. ‘Because we have absolutely no idea how the vampire would react to such a course of action. For some reason, Caliban has it in his head that this boy could be the only thing standing between him and complete power. But it’s unclear to me whether simply killing the lycanthrope will please Caliban or send the bloodsucking freak into a fit of rage.’ The Hell-Kraken shook his head. ‘Vampires are volatile creatures at the best of times.’
Hrolop bit his lip and waited for Molok to go on.
‘There is little doubt in my mind that Caliban will attack us next. We need to find a way to endear ourselves to him if we are to retain any semblance of power in the Netherworld.’
‘Then imprison the boy until we know where the vampire is, and then hand him over.’
‘That would make me look weak in the eyes of those loyal to me. No, the lycanthrope is a talisman – a symbol, if you like. I must use him in a way that demonstrates that I have no fear of the vampire and at the same time manipulate the situation to my advantage with Caliban.’ The demon lord ran his tongue over his teeth, lost in thought. ‘This game has to be played with the utmost cunning. If the werewolf fights for me, my own people will still see me as strong and defiant, but I can also give Caliban what he wants.’ He held up a finger to emphasize his last point. ‘I will play this boy like a pawn in a chess game. I will use him to lure Caliban out of hiding. If that does not work, the pawn will have to be sacrificed in a way agreeable to both sides.’ He drummed his talons against the arms of the stone seat, thinking his strategy through for the thousandth time.
‘Sacrificed in a way agreeable to both sides?’ Hrolop said. ‘You just told me that there was no way of knowing how Caliban would react to the boy’s death.’
‘Ah, but it would be different at the Games. Caliban now has his own fighting stable – those who used to fight for Orfus – and I’m sure that even a megalomaniac like the vampire can see that having one of his own fighters dispatch the boy can be used to his own political advantage.’
‘So we rig the games to ensure that the lycanthope only fights combatants from Caliban’s school?’
‘Exactly.’ The demon lord nodded approvingly at his aide. ‘We have done it before with success. Remember how we sacrificed the champion Sthuron to garner votes on the demon ruling council? Yes, we can use the Games to our advantage. I will explain to Caliban that I captured the boy and forced him to fight only Caliban’s people. The victory is his; the werewolf is killed by the vampire’s fighters. I will explain that I thought this the best course of action in his absence, and he will see that I am a good ally to have by his side.’
Hrolop stayed silent. The aide could see the folly of his master’s twisted reasoning and doubted that there was another creature in the Netherworld who still viewed the Demon Games with the same degree of importance that Molok did. The Games had traditionally been used to settle disputes and limit the possibility of war between various factions – the demon lord whose champion won was viewed as the dominant force in the realm, and this method of deciding the pecking order had worked in the Netherworld for centuries. But Molok’s strategy was old school. The old ways no longer applied. Nether-creatures like Caliban paid little heed to such things – choosing instead to settle matters in a more direct way. The Netherworld was entering a new era, and the Demon Games had no place in it.
‘What if he wins?’ Hrolop said in a small voice.
‘What?’
‘The boy – what if he wins?’
The low, rumbling laughter that cascaded down the steps from above was a terrible sound. ‘If the boy makes it to the final, he will inevitably face Abaddon. Are you seriously suggesting that this boy is capable of defeating a champion like Abaddon the Destroyer?’
‘His father did. His father won through against the odds, and you were forced to—’
‘THE BOY WILL NOT WIN!’ Molok’s voice boomed out, echoing around the stone walls of the Great Hall. He was on his feet now and glaring down at his aide as if daring the creature to disagree. Black flames licked across the demon lord’s skin, and every muscle in his body was tensed.
Hrolop nodded his head slowly, not daring now to take his eyes away from the demon lord in case the Hell-Kraken should at
tack. He swallowed loudly.
‘No, my lord. Of course he won’t.’
35
Alexa screamed. It was the first time she had done so in a very long time, and the sound was alien. She’d waited until she was certain that a guard was near the outside door, and the acoustics of the domed room did a terrific job of amplifying the sound and making it all the more strident.
She sucked in another breath when she heard the lock in the door slide back, and released a fearful howl as the Maug stepped into the room. The guard looked at her and then followed the line of her pointing finger to the prone figure of the girl lying sprawled at an awkward angle in the other cell. The demon called out for help.
‘Shut up!’ it shouted in Alexa’s direction. But she was enjoying herself now, and she let out another scream as a second guard joined the first.
The Maug looked at each other for a moment before hastily moving towards the two black polished stone rods that stood on either side of Philippa’s cell. They hooked their fingers into chains that hung about their necks, quickly extending the small discs attached to them and pushing them against the top of the rods in a synchronized and well-rehearsed manoeuvre. As soon as they were certain that the barrier around the cell had been deactivated, they crossed the threshold, stepping up on to the raised plinth and standing on either side of the injured girl, staring down at her, unsure what to do next.
The last thing they expected was to be attacked.
The Ashnon, now in a perfect duplicate of Philippa’s human body again, appeared from the anteroom at the back of the cell and arrowed straight for the guard with its back to it. It reached around the Maug and snatched the knife that hung from its belt. Then the Ashnon twisted on its heel in one fluid, lightning-quick movement. Its hand snaked out and the razor-sharp blade painted an inky-black line across the second Maug’s throat. At the sight of its colleague collapsing to the floor the first guard roared, and it would have charged the attacker if it was not for the blade already buried up to the hilt in its own chest. The demon stared down at the offending article for a moment, before mirroring its associate and sinking to the floor, dead.
The Ashnon jumped down from the dais and pushed the outer door shut. It pressed its ear up against the metal surface and stayed like that for a moment, listening out for any sign that the guard’s shout had been heard.
When it was certain that there were no more Maug coming, it turned away from the door and glanced across at Alexa.
‘Well, that went better than I thought it would,’ the teenager said.
‘Never underestimate the element of surprise,’ the Ashnon said. ‘I’m just thankful that Molok uses Maug as his guards. They’re loyal to the core, but rather stupid and slow.’ The creature bent down and gently touched Philippa’s shoulder.
‘It’s OK. You can get up now.’
The real Philippa Tipsbury slowly got to her feet and found herself face to face with her mirror image. She tried not to look down at the dead bodies in their rapidly widening pools of blood, focusing instead on her demon facsimile. She found the eyes very disconcerting, and even though the Ashnon had explained this quirk of the Netherworld, she could not help but think how strange she looked.
‘You’d better be going,’ the Ashnon said.
‘I still don’t understand why I have to go alone. We could all three of us escape. We have the keys to open Alexa’s cell, and then—’
‘We wouldn’t make it. It won’t be long before the guards’ disappearance is noticed. As soon as that happens there will be a huge search conducted for any missing prisoners. If Alexa and I are here, there are no missing prisoners.’
‘But the bodies! ‘she said, pointing at the Maug. ‘They’ll find them and then they’ll—’
‘Leave that to me, Philippa. Our being here will buy you the time you need to escape Molok’s fiefdom and get to a place of safety where the demon lord cannot touch you.’ The Ashnon paused. ‘There is no other way. Believe me – I have tried to think of an alternative, but there isn’t one.’
Philippa took a deep breath and held out her hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
The demon took her hand and nodded. ‘You are welcome.’
Philippa stepped across the threshold of her cell, every part of her tensing up in anticipation of the pain she expected, despite knowing that the barrier had been disabled. She walked over to stand in front of Alexa.
‘I don’t want to leave you here!’ she said to her friend. ‘I wish that—’
‘Don’t say it,’ Alexa said, holding her hand up. She put on a smile and gave Philippa a quick nod. ‘As soon as I’m out of here, we’re going on that humongous shopping trip that we spoke about. Hair, beauty treatments … the works. My father’s credit card won’t know what’s hit it.’
Unable to speak, Philippa nodded and turned away so that her friend wouldn’t see the tears that snaked their way down her face.
The Ashnon had retrieved the Fae ring. It pressed it into Philippa’s hand, curling her fingers around it. ‘You need to go,’ it said.
She walked to the door, taking one last look behind her before turning and leaving.
‘She didn’t ask the question that you were dreading,’ Alexa said, gesturing at the edge of the plinth and the deactivated barrier.
‘No.’
‘What would you have told her if she had?’
‘The truth, I suppose.’
‘She wouldn’t have gone if you had.’
‘Probably not.’
‘I want to tell you what a pleasure it has been to know you.’
The Ashnon studied her for a moment, a strange look on its face. ‘I am doing this because I have a contract with Philippa. Do not mistake my actions for kindness.’ The demon bent down and picked the knife up off the floor.
‘I think that what you are doing goes beyond your obligations to Philippa,’ Alexa went on. ‘My father said that the Ashnon were trustworthy and honourable.’
The demon looked between the knife and the two Maug on the floor. It turned to Alexa and smiled before plunging the blade into its own chest.
‘Goodbye, Alexa,’ it said as it sank back on to the chaise longue.
‘Goodbye.’
36
Molok stood in the centre of the fighting square and looked out across the assembled nether-creatures, nodding his approval and waving magisterially at some of the fighters. Trey watched the demon lord, noting how excited and tightly wound the Hell-Kraken was, despite the nether-creature’s best efforts to conceal the fact. Every time the demon lord thought he was not being observed, the fixed smile on his face disappeared and was replaced by an anxious scowl.
The gladiators were to be brought to the arena in low-sided wagons, the beds of which sat upon enormous sparred wooden wheels. Each wagon had been decorated in the same way: a canopy of black material had been stretched between poles of the same colour, which rose up from each corner of the wagon bed. From the edges of this canopy hung long purple streamers which fluttered in the breeze, the whispering sound that the strands made as they brushed against each other perfectly suited to the hushed atmosphere of the fighting school’s courtyard. Each of the vehicles in the caravan was hitched to a great horned beast called a kelg, which Trey thought looked something like a cross between a cow and a hippo.
A huge entourage of nether-creatures was running about in every direction, making last-minute checks, ticking names on registers and loading various pieces of equipment. Despite this, the place was eerily quiet. Many of the fighters were bouncing about on the spot, stretching or simply standing around in groups, stirring the sand at their feet with the tips of their toes. But apart from the odd cough and sniff, there was very little sound, and certainly none of the bluster or threats and curses that usually rang out across the square. Many of the nether-creatures glared at Trey. One of the demons – a Nanil with a hooded head, not unlike that of a giant cobra – opened its huge, fanged maw and spat in the teenager’s direction, the
foul globule falling just short of the boy’s feet. When Trey looked at the creature it hissed that it hoped to meet him in the arena and promised to inflict a terrible death upon him if they did.
Suddenly, at some unspoken signal, the quiet became absolute, every nether-creature turning to look at the demon lord. Molok cast his eyes once more over the assembled fighters, then suddenly raised a clenched fist and shouted, ‘We go!’
The assembly copied the action, roaring in unison, ‘We go to fight!’ Then the fighters turned and began to make their way towards the caravan, climbing aboard and settling themselves on the benches so that they faced each other across the wagon beds. Accompanied by guards on either side, the first vehicles started to make their way out of the encampment, heading for the arena. As the doors to the fighting school swung open, Trey could see that there was already a gathering of nether-creatures outside to cheer the fighters as they left.
Molok had requested that Trey hang back and allow the others to embark without him. His champion would travel with him in his own vehicle – a sedan chair painted in the demon lord’s deep purple. Trey had watched the litter arrive, carried on the shoulders of two of the largest demons he had ever seen, and he was far from certain that he wanted to travel in the thing.
The demon lord approached the teenager.
‘You would do well to transform before we get under way. The streets will be lined with onlookers, and they are expecting a ferocious lycanthrope, not a pale-skinned teenager.’
‘I’m fine as I am, thanks. I’ll Change when it’s time to fight.’
‘I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.’
Trey stared back at the demon. ‘And I’m telling you that I’m fine,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Our agreement was that I fight for you at the Games. As far as anything else goes, you can forget it.’
The demon lord started to say something, but stopped. Taking a deep breath, the Hell-Kraken beckoned a tall, white-skinned, red-eyed demon over. He pointed at the demon and spoke to Trey. ‘This is your assistant for the day. Your … aide, if you like.’