“Oh, he’ll fight. You wait and see. He’s a predator, a hunter, a killer, down to his bones… he just doesn’t know it yet,” said the Warden.
“A hunter? He was born in a cage, was he not? Fed by your hand his whole life. He’s had no reason to hunt… or kill for that matter.”
“Right, you are, Elf. That’s why I have to help him remember. I have to unlock ages of instinct, power and rage.”
“And how do you plan to do that?” asked Korwin.
“Hate,” said the human with a smile. “The beast just needs some motivation and the rest will come. The more he hates me, the harder he’ll fight. Trust me, I know his kind. He just needs a push.”
The Storm Elf looked over at his companion. “Then for your sake I hope you can keep him in his cage. Should he escape, your days are numbered,” said Korwin with a smile of his own.
“Not to worry, wizard, in the off chance that does occur, I have a few safeguards in place. I don’t lose… ever,” he said as he patted Korwin on the back and then walked over to the contraption.
Korwin chuckled under his breath. The arrogance of this human is without equal, thought the elf. One day he will lose, and I’ll be there when it happens. For some reason, I think the panther will be, too. I can’t wait to see the look on his face then!
****
The sun was setting when Kelor arrived back at the camp. As he entered the holding tent, all eyes were fixated on the cat. Magnus, Dox and the human captives all watched as the panther walked by.
He looked awful. His fur was a tangled, shredded mess. Stains from blood, rotten food, and other unidentifiable garbage blanketed his dark, spotted coat. Even his unblemished and perfect tail looked mangled and abused.
Kelor walked by with his head hanging low, his ears drooping, and his tail almost tucked between his legs. He could feel the stares, like cactus spines piercing through him, adding more pain to the humiliation already drowning him. If losing his family had been the worst emotional moment of his life, then this was a close second.
When the cage door slammed shut, it was painful. A loud clank and scrapping of metal from the padlock screamed the finality of his captivity throughout the tent. He was a caged beast, at mercy to the whims and taunts of his captor, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Kelor felt helpless.
Dox wanted to say something. Some words of comfort or advice. Anything to help lessen the sting he knew the cat was feeling. The same sting he felt when the Warden had made him slurp up his dinner from the dirt of the tent floor. The same sting he had felt when he was tossed down into the pit like a barrel full of garbage. He had tried to warn Kelor, but the stubborn panther would not listen.
I’m sorry, Kelor, thought the Minotaur. I wish you could have learned this lesson from my mistakes. I hope at some point, you can learn from others… or this will only be the start of your misery.
The beast-man watched as Kelor fought the urge to clean his fur.
After a few moments, the panther curled up to shield his face from the eyes of the others and licked the filth from his front paws and legs. The taste was so foul, so bitter, that he licked a cut to taste blood and mask the unpleasant contaminants.
Magnus watched too. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Like the Minotaur, he, too, knew how Kelor was feeling. I’ve been there, he thought as looked at the cat in the adjacent cage. There is no shame… only pain.
The wolf’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t find the words. What could he possibly say to make this any better? Nothing. Magnus had felt alone from the moment he was taken from his pack. Even here in the Warden’s camp with other captives, he still felt alone. Initially, he thought he had nothing in common with any of them. But that changed when he realized they all shared in at least one thing in common… pain.
None of them slept much that night.
CHAPTER 20
The shipyards were a hive of activity, talk, and mischief. A prevalent buzz rippled through the crowds as more and more citizens entered the makeshift arena. The audience had little idea of what to expect, but there was a near-tangible air of excitement and anticipation.
The colossal and ornate arenas in cities like Cordale or Champion flaunted protocols, pomp, and ceremony. Those sanctioned events required clear divisions of class, wealth, and importance amongst its attendees and viewing accommodations. This venue was nothing of the sort. Large crowds pressed into tight quarters, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip with little room to spare or breathe.
Rich, poor, city officials, or dock workers, it didn’t matter as all burst with eagerness to see the planned battle of the beasts. Fist fights broke out one after another in different sections of the crowd. But it was the gamblers and bettors that made the most noise and attracted the most attention.
Coin, deeds, and titles changed hands at a feverish pace as wagers of all sizes and types were negotiated. How long would the panther live? Would he live at all? What were the odds if he won? How many strikes until a combatant was defeated? Anything and everything was a subject for a possible wager. Big or small, it was all on the table and there were plenty of eager souls waiting to make it happen.
The Warden surveyed the bustling crowd like a conquering general strutting through the battlefield after a great victory. The contests hadn’t even begun, yet he had already won. The turnout far surpassed his best estimates, and the amount of coin at the wagering tables was astounding.
The elf and the barbarian may not be shrewd in the ways of business, not like me, but they are certainly onto something here, he thought.
He watched as the tension and anticipation continued to build. There was something carnal, some base level of existence bubbling to the surface. The full spectrum of emotion was on display. Greed, revenge, anger, pride, redemption, competition, rage, lust, gluttony. It was all there… and it was in a word… glorious. I just wish I had come up with the idea. Then the spoils would be all mine, he mused.
“We best begin or the there won’t be a crowd left to see the fight,” said Korwin as he watched the melee. The wizard’s hood shielded his face from the crowd. He wasn’t the only hooded one; in fact, there were many who opted to keep their identities a secret.
“Right you are,” answered the Warden with a nod. There was such a thing as overplaying your hand, and that was a mistake, especially right out the gate.
The Warden walked to the front of the crowd. He stood on a large wooden cargo carrier requisitioned from an incoming barge, and it served to enclose the combatants. In fact, the “arena” was an asymmetrical circle of crates and carriers, lined with barbed fencing, metal grates, and carved wooden spikes to keep the warriors inside and the spectators safe, or at least one level removed.
“My friends!” shouted the Warden. “My friends, the moment has come!” he yelled over the crowd.
His shouts were like whispers against the wind as the mob continued to jockey for position or place their last final wagers. The Warden was losing control of the crowd, if he ever had it, and chaos would ensue if something was not done to channel their attention. He looked at Korwin.
The Storm Elf put forth his hand and whispered a few elfin words. A spark of fire, followed by a loud clap of thunder shook the center of the pit. Magical embers rained down until disappearing at the feet of the Warden. It was a bit theatrical, but effective as every pair of eyes refocused on the Warden.
There was a hush as the human began to speak.
“My friends, the moment has come. The moment has come for justice!” he shouted.
The crowd responded with a loud cheer.
“Behold, the bane of Dravenclaw!” shouted the Warden as he pointed to one of the arena gates.
The rusty metal hinges groaned as the gate swung open and Kelor emerged from the darkness. Several servants led him to the center of the arena, each holding a long metal pole attached to the panther’s steel collar. They paraded him around the perimeter of the arena as the crowd booed, shouted, a
nd rattled the fences as the cat walked by.
“He ended the lives of a dozen souls in one night of blood and terror!” Every word tossed to the crowd was consumed like chunks of bloody chum to hungry sharks. The Warden continued his introduction. “A night of horror. A creature of evil. On this night, you will all witness his punishment and justice will be yours!”
Another loud cheer from the crowd followed.
The last few rays of the sun vanished as the star sunk below the horizon. Lit torches cast an array of light and shadow upon the arena, the crowd, and Kelor. The cat’s dark, spotted fur enhanced the ominous mood as it seemed like he vanished and reappeared from one shadow to the next. His coat, still stained from the torture he experienced a few days earlier, only made the young panther look more menacing.
Kelor did not hear the death threats, the taunts, or jeers. He did not notice the angry faces, the pounding fists, or the lashing tongues. Instead, he looked deep into the flames of a single torch. Inside the yellow and orange he saw images of his mother’s face. He heard the cries of his brothers, and he remembered the pain in his heart as a result of the events of that fateful and awful day.
There was no crowd, no arena or pit. There were no fences, gates, or barriers. He paid no attention to the Warden’s elaborate fabrications. Feigned atrocities as shouted by his captor and echoed by the crowd fell on deaf ears. The panther saw or heard none of it. Memory, pain, and rage dominated the cat’s senses.
The power surged to his muscles and channeled through his torso. He felt strength in his back and in his haunches. His jaws clenched with remarkable force, and his paws felt every granule of dirt, every knot and bump of the dock’s wooden planks.
He wasn’t sure if Dox was watching and he didn’t care. But one long-ago statement from the Minotaur kept ringing through his mind, unleash the beast.
The Warden motioned for the crowd to settle down, and they finally obliged.
“How should such a fiend meet his end? How can such sins be absolved?” asked the Warden as he scanned the faces of the crowd. He paused to add to the suspense.
“How?” he continued in a softer voice before shouting, “With blood, and claw, and fang!” The crowd erupted. As the servants led Kelor to the far side of the enclosure, another gate lifted. Two bears, not yet fully mature, but weighing almost 800 pounds each lumbered into the arena.
The spectators oohed and ahhed cheered and jeered.
One grizzly rose onto his rear legs and hollered at the crowd.
The onlookers broke into a frenzy of applause and waves of shouts and adulation.
“Banished from their clan, the man-eaters terrorized the peaceful countryside of Zilka. I give you the dreaded outcasts, Shef and Alamuss!” The Warden threw his hands into the air, and the bears and the crowd roared.
The wager tables surged with activity with a new round of bets. “Two against one, he’ll never prevail,” yelled one spectator. “I’ll place two silver on the bears,” shouted another. “The outcasts, at three to one,” added yet another.
“No rules, no mercy. Welcome to the Trail of Bones. Let it begin!”
With a nod from the Warden, the servants unlocked the poles from Kelor’s collar. The others who restrained the bears did the same. They scattered fast to the closest exits. The last servant was too slow, and as he clamored over the man in front of him who blocked the exit, one of the bears clamped its jaws onto the man’s foot and dragged him onto center stage.
The enraged grizzly pounced and then mauled the helpless servant with its huge front paws. The weight alone dealt crushing blows to the victim, but the bear’s claws ended the servant’s life with one swift stroke. The bear tossed the body aside, much to the delight of the crowd.
Kelor, however, stood still, unimpressed. He waited for the bears to conclude their tantrum and stared in their direction.
The Warden retreated to a safer spot to watch the chaos he had unleashed. He stood next to Korwin who had found a small balcony overlooking the arena. It provided an excellent vantage point to watch the fight without obstruction or danger.
The larger of the two bears, Alamuss, rose to his feet again and roared. Meanwhile, the smaller bear, Shef, barreled in on Kelor. Foam splattered from its mouth, as its pink tongue sloshed about, and its white fangs flashed in the torchlight.
Kelor remained still, refusing to move his head or divert his attention to the standing grizzly. His eyes locked on Shef as the bear charged closer. He waited, his muscles ready, his claws digging into the wooden planks.
He waited… and then unleashed death.
The panther channeled all his strength, and with one fierce swipe of his right front paw, he struck the attacking grizzly. The blow hit Shef across the side of its face and down the front of its throat.
Kelor hit the bear with so much force that the grizzly catapulted through the air and slammed against the metal fencing surrounding the arena. With a grotesque gurgling sound, the bear then slid down the barbed wiring until it slumped onto the wooden floor of the dock.
The crowd stood in silence. Even the mighty roar of Alamuss ceased as the bear gazed at his fallen comrade.
Shef rolled into his side and let out one long, last gasp. Air gurgled through three huge and deep gashes that had been carved into the creature’s throat by Kelor’s lethal claws. Severed muscle, ligaments, and bones oozed forth like viscera found on a butcher’s floor.
The cat broke the silence as he let out a roar of his own. This was his first real fight, his first real test, and his first victory.
A few cheers and claps finally accompanied the panther’s roar of victory. Soon the crowd noise grew and the shocked spectators were back, begging and shouting for more.
Alamuss dropped to all fours. The young male bear retreated, grunting and moaning as he looked for an exit. Servants reinforced the gates, preventing the beast from barreling through possible openings. After a few failed attempts, the bear turned and faced Kelor.
The panther crept forward, his belly low to the ground as he stalked his prey. He released a growl, quiet and low gurgle at first but growing with intensity as he closed the distance to his target.
The crowd rose to its feet as Kelor leapt at the grizzly. The cat missed his first attack and crashed into one of the arena barriers. He shredded through the cargo carrier, sending splinters and shards of the crate in all directions. He swiped again, attacking in a blind rage. His claws sliced through a section of metal fencing, tearing through it like a slice of milk-soaked bread.
Kelor was a tempest of rage, claws, anger, growls and fangs. He ripped at the grizzly, bit at the fence, tore through the barriers, slashed at shadows, and finally skewered the bear.
The crowd was horrified but delighted. They were aghast and yet enthralled. Every viewer wanted to close their eyes to the carnage unfolding so near to them, but they couldn’t. They had to watch.
For one brief instant, Kelor had become the beast. He had become the nightmare and the curse, the terror and predator The Warden had foretold he would be.
What had felt like eternity to Kelor had flashed before the crowd in only a few brief moments. As quickly as the fight had begun, it was over. The audience’s desire for blood and justice, however, was far from satisfied.
CHAPTER 21
“We want more!” they shouted. “Bring another beast!” yelled others.
“This is not justice. The cat must pay for his crimes!” demanded the crowd.
“Yes, he must pay! Make him pay!” the spectators chanted.
Calls and shouts rained down from every section. The frenzy for battle boiled into frustration. The crowd was a breath away from becoming a violent and riotous mob.
“Do something!” shouted Korwin as he took hold of the Warden’s forearm and squeezed.
Meanwhile, Kelor dropped to his belly and relished the anguish and discontent of the crowd. His tail flopped back and forth at a playful pace as if he had no cares. For the moment, he was The Master of
the Hunt, the victor, and the champion.
The Warden dashed to one of his attendants. He could feel the tension rising just as much as Korwin. He had only a moment to act. “Hurry, get the wolf, the Shade Wolf,” he shouted as the slave looked at him perplexed.
“To fight Kelor?” the slave asked. “He won’t last a single moment in there!”
He’s right. Two grizzlies should have at least provided a challenge to the panther, the Warden thought as his mind raced. He needed a solution and fast. It won’t matter what I throw in there with the cat right now. He’ll destroy it just as quickly. I’ll deal with Kelor later. I need a fight, a real contest or this crowd will feed me to the panther!
“Get him out of there,” ordered the Warden, referring to Kelor.
“Put the wolf in the next fight with … humans. Grab three of the captives; I don’t care which, just hurry!”
Servants reentered the arena, their long poles in hand, and cautiously approached Kelor.
The crowd held its council breath and watched with eager eyes. Which slave would the beast end first? How many slaves will it take to subdue the cat? Similar questions and whispers sifted through the audience like a strong breeze.
The young panther knew what was going on. He could see the faces of the crowd. He could sense the anxiety, but he was in no mood to obey. Besides, fighting the servants was a pointless endeavor. He’ll just send more, thought Kelor as the men approached.
The cat had done what he needed to and nothing more. There was no glory in killing a few nameless slaves. It wasn’t worth the pain or aggravation and more importantly, Kelor didn’t feel like fighting anymore.
The poles were refastened to Kelor’s collar without so much as a snarl or hiss from the young feline. The perplexed but relieved entourage left the arena without the slightest resistance from Kelor. For the anxious and eager crowd, this series of events was anti-climatic, an utter disappointment.
Trail of Bones: A Young Adult Fantasy Novel (An Epic Fantasy Adventure For Any Family) Page 19