Borgon the Axeboy and the Prince's Shadow

by Kjartan, Poskitt

  To Harry and Max

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Meet the savages!

  The Lost Desert

  The Vultures’ Surprise

  The Savage with Zebra Legs

  Cheers, Boos and Ragga Ragga Hoo Hoos!

  The Mountains of Chaos

  The Yellow Egg

  What Do Lies Smell Like?

  The Trial of a Thousand Darts

  The Walk of Death

  Two Against One

  Small, Fat and Far Too Smelly

  The Night Visitor

  Who’s the Mummy?

  About the author

  About the illustrator

  Also in this series

  Copyright

  The Vultures’ Surprise

  TUB-ARP TUB-ARP!

  It was early morning in the Lost Desert, and high up in the yellow sky, two ragged vultures were looking down to see what was making all the noise. They were hovering above a wide stone plain known as Golgarth Stretch. A wooden stage had been set up in the middle and standing on it was a fat blue slave with a two-headed trumpet. He gave it another mighty blast …

  TUB-ARP TUB-ARP!

  The sound echoed across the desert and slipped into the cave where Borgon the Axeboy was having his breakfast. Borgon was a barbarian, so he always ate his breakfast the barbarian way. This meant chopping lumps from a fat elephant tongue with his axe, and shoving them into his mouth as quickly and as messily and as noisily as he could.

  CHOP CHOMP SLURP!

  CHOP CHOMP SLURP!

  The elephant tongue was exactly how Borgon liked them. It was burnt on the outside and juicy in the middle, but most importantly it was a BIG elephant tongue. If Borgon was going to eat something, he didn’t really care how hot it was or even how dead it was, just so long as it was big.

  TUB-ARP TUB-ARP! came the noise again.

  Borgon’s mum came hurrying out from the back of the cave. Fulma was a tall slim savage with long fingers, mad spiky hair and dark narrow eyes.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ she asked. ‘I wonder what it is?’

  ‘Whatever it is, it’s very bad manners,’ said Borgon, doing a BURP. ‘I can hardly hear myself eat.’

  TUB-ARP TUB-ARP!

  Borgon’s dad came out of the back of the cave to join them. Fulgut was a very big sleepy old savage.

  ‘I know that noise,’ he said. ‘It’s the fanfare for the Shadow Trials.’

  ‘The what?’ asked Borgon.

  ‘It’s a competition that the palace organise,’ explained Fulgut. ‘They do it whenever they need a new bodyguard for the prince. The winner has to stay with him day and night, so they call him the Prince’s Shadow.’

  ‘Why does the prince need a bodyguard?’ asked Borgon. ‘The whole palace is built like a castle. Nobody can get inside.’

  ‘That’s not the problem!’ chuckled Fulma. ‘The danger’s already there.’

  ‘I thought the palace people were all harmless,’ said Borgon. ‘You told me they just lie around all day inventing laws that everybody ignores.’

  ‘Yes, but some of them can’t be trusted,’ said Fulma. ‘They’ll be nice to you in the daytime, but then they’ll murder you in your sleep.’

  ‘What, without having a good fight first?’ said Borgon. ‘That’s cheating!’

  ‘Dead right,’ said Fulgut. ‘But that’s what posh people are like. All cheats and liars.’

  ‘Why don’t they get one of the palace guards to be the Shadow?’ asked Borgon.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ said Fulgut. ‘They’re too soft and lazy. The palace need a savage for the job.’

  ‘Then you should have a go, Dad,’ said Borgon.

  ‘Me?’ laughed Fulgut. ‘We’re barbarians, son. We’re far too rough and smelly for the palace. They’d never want the likes of us in there.’

  ‘That’s their problem, not ours,’ said Borgon. ‘If they want the best bodyguard, then that’s you. You’ve always been the fiercest, toughest and scariest savage in the desert. Come on, Dad, where’s your pride? Get out there and show them what a real barbarian can do!’

  ‘They won’t be interested,’ said Fulgut. ‘The only savages the palace like are those flashy Raggahoos.’

  ‘The Raggahoos are hardly savages,’ giggled Fulma. ‘They use soap!’

  ‘Soap?’ asked Borgon. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s something you rub on your skin,’ said Fulma. ‘It’s like having a flower be sick on you.’

  ‘YUK!’ said Borgon. ‘That settles it. Dad, you’re going to compete in the trials, and you’re going to win.’

  ‘I’m too busy,’ said Fulgut, with a big lazy yawn. ‘It’s turned a bit chilly this morning. I need to find my thick socks.’ ‘Thick socks?’ moaned Borgon. ‘Dad, you’re a BARBARIAN! You should be fighting six-headed bulls, you should be walking through fire, you should be attacking whole armies on your own. You should NEVER be looking for a pair of thick socks. Tell him, Mum!’

  But Fulma was staring in the cracked old mirror hanging on their wall. She was pulling a bone comb through her hair, which suddenly snapped. Her mad hair immediately knotted itself up to look like an old bird’s nest.

  ‘Oh rattlesnakes!’ she sighed. ‘That was my last good comb. I’ll never control my hair now.’

  ‘Mum!’ wailed Borgon. ‘You’re a barbarian too, so your hair doesn’t matter. Tell her, Dad!’

  ‘They’re blue,’ said Fulgut, still looking for his socks. ‘You know the ones I mean? I knitted them myself.’

  Borgon almost choked. It was bad enough that his mum was worried about her hair, and now his dad was knitting his own socks! It was a really depressing start to the day. And it was just about to get worse.

  ‘Hello!’ came a voice from the cave entrance. ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘No!’ said Borgon.

  ‘But it’s your friend Grizzy,’ said Fulma.

  ‘She’s NOT my friend,’ said Borgon.

  Grizzy was a savage girl who lived in one of the other caves nearby. She had a bad habit of skipping and being irritating and generally sticking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted. And Borgon definitely didn’t want her nose sticking into his breakfast. He might accidentally chop it off and chomp it, and then she’d moan at him for EVER.

  ‘Hey, Borgon,’ said Grizzy excitedly. ‘Are you going to watch the Shadow Trials? If you are, can I come too?’

  ‘No I’m not,’ said Borgon. ‘So no you can’t. Goodbye.’

  ‘Aw!’ said Grizzy, sounding disappointed. ‘But look here …’

  She reached into her bag and pulled out the little book she always carried. It was called the Book of All Things. The three barbarians watched as she flicked through to find the right page. None of them could read, so they had no idea how the strange little flappy thing could put words in Grizzy’s head. In fact, they thought it was all a bit spooky. Oo-er!

  ‘The Shadow Trials,’ read Grizzy. ‘Contestants will face extreme challenges of endurance, speed and courage.’ She shut the book and looked at Borgon. ‘I can’t believe you’re not going.’

  ‘He doesn’t have to go if he doesn’t want to,’ said Fulma. ‘It’ll just be a lot of silly people with swords and blood and fighting and screaming and dying.’

  ‘WHAT?’ said Borgon. He immediately tucked his axe into one side of his belt, and the rest of the elephant tongue into the other side for later. ‘That sounds brilliant. Come on, everybody, let’s go!’

  By now Fulgut had found one big blue sock, but was still looking for the other one.

  ‘Not me,’ said the big old savage. ‘I’ve got a soc
k to find.’

  ‘How about you, Mum?’ asked Borgon.

  ‘Me?’ said Fulma. ‘I can’t go out with my hair like this!’

  ‘Honestly!’ said Borgon crossly. ‘Call yourselves barbarians? You two are USELESS and EMBARRASSING. I’ll just have to go on my own, then.’

  Borgon stomped off out of the cave.

  ‘Wait for me!’ said Grizzy, running after him.

  ‘I’m going on my own!’

  ‘But with me coming too,’ said Grizzy.

  ‘No, I’m going all alone, by myself.’

  ‘I know,’ said Grizzy. ‘And you will be all alone, by yourself, but with me.’

  ‘ON MY VERY OWN.’

  ‘With me.’

  And so it was that Borgon the Axeboy went marching out towards the stone plains of Golgarth Stretch all alone, on his very own, by himself.

  With Grizzy.

  The Savage with Zebra Legs

  The last few people were making their way across Golgarth Stretch to join the crowd around the stage. Borgon was walking with them, trying to ignore Grizzy skipping alongside him. She’d been talking the whole way.

  ‘It’s exciting, isn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘I can’t wait, can you?’ she said.

  ‘Not far to go now, is it?’ she said.

  Suddenly Borgon stopped dead in his tracks.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Borgon. ‘One more word from you and I’m going home.’

  ‘OK,’ said Grizzy. But then she realised she’d said one more word. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to say that. And I didn’t mean to say that either. Or that. Or that. Or that.’

  Borgon glared at her.

  ‘Not ONE MORE word,’ he said.

  Grizzy clamped her hands over her mouth to show she was trying her best, but then she saw something charging up behind them.

  ‘Mm mm mmmm mm!’ said Grizzy, pointing back across the Stretch.

  ‘Forget it,’ said Borgon, sticking his fingers in his ears. ‘I’m not listening.’

  ‘Mm mm mmmm mm!’ said Grizzy, her eyes wide open in alarm.

  ‘Can’t hear you,’ said Borgon, jamming his fingers in even more tightly.

  ‘Mm mm mmmm mm!’ said Grizzy, jumping up and down.

  Borgon still couldn’t hear Grizzy, so she grabbed him and pulled him aside just as a huge horse shot past right where he’d been standing.

  ‘OUT OF MY WAY!’ shouted the rider. He was a tall savage wearing shiny, zebra-skin trousers. The horse was still charging forwards and heading straight at two boys. One was skinny and wearing a straw hat, the other was as chunky as a pile of bricks.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Borgon. ‘It’s Hunjah and Mungoid!’

  Borgon’s two friends tried to dive clear, but then Hunjah’s hat fell off. He stopped to pick it up, but just as the horse was about to hit him, Mungoid stepped in the way.

  SCREEEE … KRUMP!

  The horse hit Mungoid full-on, then staggered backwards and came to a stop with Zebra Legs desperately struggling to stay on its back. The chunky savage wobbled slightly, but stayed on his feet.

  Borgon and Grizzy ran up to see what was happening.

  ‘Why aren’t you dead?’ Zebra Legs shouted at Mungoid.

  ‘Sorry, mate,’ said Mungoid. ‘I just didn’t fancy it.’

  ‘He’s a special sort of savage,’ explained Hunjah. ‘He’s a stone-eater. He’s as solid and as heavy as a rock.’

  ‘Then why did he step in front of my horse? He could have killed it!’

  ‘So what?’ said Hunjah. ‘You could have squashed my hat.’

  ‘Are you two trying to make me look stupid?’ demanded Zebra Legs.

  ‘We don’t need to,’ said Hunjah.

  ‘You’re the one riding your horse like an idiot,’ said Mungoid.

  ‘You’ll be sorry you said that!’ cried Zebra Legs. With a flash, he whipped out his sword from his belt, but then Borgon went and stood in front of them.

  ‘Oi, Mr Fancy Trousers!’ shouted Borgon. ‘What kind of coward are you? You can see those two haven’t got weapons.’

  ‘I’m not scared of weapons,’ said Zebra Legs.

  ‘Oh no?’ said Borgon. He reached down to grab his axe from his belt. ‘You should be scared of this one!’

  Zebra Legs gave Borgon a funny look. Then everybody gave Borgon a funny look. Even the horse gave Borgon a funny look.

  Borgon couldn’t understand it. He was a BARBARIAN! And there was nothing more frightening than a barbarian waving his axe.

  ‘GRRRR!’ growled Borgon, just to remind everybody how frightening he was.

  To Borgon’s amazement, Zebra Legs just smiled.

  ‘GRRRR!’ growled Borgon again.

  ‘Ha ha ha!’ laughed the savage.

  ‘Borgon …’ said Mungoid.

  ‘Not now, Mungoid’ said Borgon. ‘I’m busy saying GRRRR!’

  ‘Yes I know,’ said Mungoid. ‘But it would be better if you were holding your axe.’

  ‘I AM holding my …’

  Then Borgon looked at his hand. It turned out that Borgon had only thought he’d pulled his axe from his belt. Unfortunately when he’d gone to grab it he’d made a mistake, and instead of his axe he’d been waving the squelchy end of the elephant tongue.

  ‘It’s a good job you’re not competing in the Shadow Trials,’ laughed Zebra Legs. ‘You’d be dead in no time!’

  And with that, the zebra-legged savage galloped on towards the stage.

  Borgon growled. He was thinking of something nasty and frightening to shout, but then a strange smell drifted up his nose.

  SNIFF SNIFF went Borgon.

  SNIFF SNIFF went the others.

  SNIFF they all went together.

  ‘This might sound silly,’ said Mungoid. ‘But can anybody else smell something like … flower sick?’

  Cheers, Boos and Ragga Ragga Hoo Hoos!

  Borgon and the others joined the back of the crowd, just as the fat blue slave held up his trumpet again. He did one final, and very important sounding, TUB-ARRPPP!

  A very elegant lady slowly stepped up on to the stage. She wore a striped top hat and she had a long pointed nose. She was using a tall staff to lean on, which had a large silver crystal on the top.

  ‘Wow!’ said Grizzy excitedly. ‘That’s Dame Madreesh!’

  ‘Who?’ asked the others.

  ‘She’s one of the most important people in the palace,’ said Grizzy. ‘They say she’s as old as the mountains.’

  Everyone went quiet as the dame inspected the crowd. There were people of all different sizes and colours. There were big people, skinny people, bald people, spiky-haired people, people wearing thick metal armour, people wearing nothing, and nearly everybody was carrying some sort of nasty weapon.

  ‘Welcome, savages!’ said Madreesh. Her voice was a strong low purr, like a lion snoring.

  ‘YARGHHHHH!’ cheered the crowd, waving their weapons in the air.

  ‘I come from the palace to seek the prince’s new Shadow,’ said the dame. ‘Contenders, present yourselves!’

  TUB-ARP! went the trumpet. Three savages climbed up the steps and stood in a line along the stage. There was a fat one, a bony one and one with curly hair. They were all wearing zebra-skin tunics and each one had a sword. Suddenly a fourth savage leapt up on to the stage behind them and pushed his way to the front. It was Zebra Legs himself.

  ‘I am Akabbah the champion!’ he shouted to the crowd. Then, for no reason at all, he jumped up and did a neat backflip before landing perfectly on his feet again.

  ‘Oooooh!’ went the crowd and everybody gave him a cheer.

  All four savages on the stage started to chant:

  RAGGA RAGGA HOO HOO!

  RAGGA RAGGA HOO HOO!

  ‘I might have guessed,’ said Borgon. ‘That’s the Raggahoo tribe. Dad says that one of them always wins these trials.’

  ‘It’s obvious which one it’s going to be too,’ said Mungoid.

  Aka
bbah was swaggering around at the front of the stage while the others looked a bit grumpy.

  Madreesh spoke to the four Raggahoos.

  ‘Contenders, prepare to face the three Shadow Trials. The first trial is a test of endurance and the second is a test of speed. The final trial is the terrible test of courage.’

  There were disappointed murmurs from the crowd.

  ‘What about a COMBAT trial?’ shouted a big woman with an eyepatch. ‘We want them to fight to death!’

  ‘DEATH DEATH DEATH!’ cheered the crowd.

  The four Raggahoos on stage glanced at each other nervously.

  ‘The trials do not require savages to kill each other,’ said Madreesh.

  ‘How about if they hurt each other a lot?’ shouted a huge man with rusty metal teeth.

  ‘HURT A LOT, HURT A LOT, HURT A LOT!’ cheered the crowd.

  The old dame shook her head.

  ‘Suppose they just make each other slightly sore?’ shouted a skinny man with iron spikes coming out of his head.

  ‘SLIGHLY SORE, SLIGHTLY SORE, SLIGHTLY SORE!’ cheered the crowd.

  The four Raggahoos were still looking uneasy. Akabbah went up to Madreesh.

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be in charge,’ he said. ‘So get this lot sorted out, you silly old woman.’

  The dame’s long nose twitched crossly.

  ‘Don’t worry, little boy,’ she said. ‘There is NO official combat trial …’

  ‘Booo!’ went the crowd.

  ‘… unless two of you challenge each other.’

  Everybody looked at the contestants. The four Raggahoos had relaxed again, and were strutting about trying to look tough, and doing dainty little swipes with their swords. The crowd groaned. There wasn’t much chance of seeing two of them wanting to fight to the death.