Trick wriggled clear as best he could, his hands still bound at his back, the gag still over his mouth. Kuro raised his hands.
‘I’m not going to harm you, Trick Hope. I saved you for a reason. What you said down there, in the Thieves’ Guild – did you mean it? You would help the disadvantaged, the weak and deprived of this city rise and topple Boarhammer?’
Trick nodded warily, his eyes narrow with suspicion.
‘Then I shall help you, Trick Hope. Your quest is mine.’ Kuro’s face was hidden behind his mask, but Trick had to wonder if he was smiling, as his eyes twinkled under the light of the stars. ‘Now let me help you with those bonds.’
Kuro moved a hand forward, but it never reached Trick. A spear flew out of the night with expert, deadly precision, striking his arm and pinning him to the ground. He let out a shocked grunt, looking up and around them, as did Trick. A figure stood on a rooftop above them, silhouetted by the moon. A mane of long blonde hair fluttered out from beneath the stranger’s domed helmet. Holding a shield in one hand, her other hand moved to her sword, sliding it out of its scabbard silently.
‘Make another move, ninja, and it will be your last,’ said the woman, her voice deadly serious. ‘The boy is mine.’
ERIKA’S SUMMONING
England, AD 621
The young monk’s prayers were silent, his crucifix clutched to his chest. He remained curled in a foetal position in the dust, rocking gently, fear gripping every nerve and sinew. Having just witnessed his defenceless brothers being butchered by a boatload of killers, he had no desire to climb out of his hidey-hole. The older priests hadn’t run, hadn’t hidden. They’d waited for the doors to be broken down, then stood there impassively as the invaders cut them down like cornstalks in the meadow. The youth had no such courage. His heart was filled with horror at what he’d witnessed, and what was to come.
Directly above he heard booted footsteps come to a halt. Dust was dislodged, finding its way through a gap in the floorboards and gently settling over his face. It was impossible to resist sneezing, but the monk stifled the sneeze and held his breath. A tiny squeak emerged and nothing more. He lay motionless, eyes turned upward, wondering whether the invaders had heard him. When the board was prised up and the helmeted face of a Viking raider appeared above him, he learned all he needed to know.
‘What you got there?’ came a voice from further away.
‘Nothing,’ replied the Viking, the voice lightly pitched.
‘Let’s have a look at nothing,’ replied the other, yanking the helmeted raider aside. A big bearded brute with a gaping left eye socket stood there, a sick grin appearing in the nest of wiry hair.
‘Don’t look like nothing to me. Another dirty rat, eh? Smile for my axe, monk!’
He raised his axe, but his helmeted companion seized his wrist.
‘Let this one go.’
‘Why by Odin’s sweetmeats would I do that?’
‘He’s just a child, Hagan. He hasn’t even grown whiskers.’
‘Nor shall he ever,’ replied a third voice above. ‘Cut him up, Hagan. Kill ’em all, says I!’
‘Let go of my hand, Shield Maiden,’ snarled Hagan, his beard bristling as his gap-toothed smile became a snarl. She kept her grip on the man’s big forearm.
‘You gone soft, girlie? You found these fools’ God or something?’
‘We should never have brought a girl with us on a raid, Hagan,’ said the other man. ‘I’ve said all along she’s an ill omen. She’s brought nothing but bad luck.’
‘Last chance,’ said the one they’d called Shield Maiden. ‘Walk away now, nobody gets hurt. We’ve got all the gold we can carry and then some. Whaddaya say, Hagan?’
The bearded Viking suddenly spun, tearing his arm free to swipe his axe at her. It connected with her head, knocking off her helmet, which clattered to the floor. From the monk’s hiding place below ground it was difficult for him to see what was happening, but he heard the unmistakable sound of steel upon shield followed by steel upon bone. There was a series of wet, crunching sounds, gurgles and death rattles, and then silence. Curiosity got the better of the young man and he lifted his head up through the floorboards.
The two men lay dead, and the woman picked up her battered helm from the ground. She stood before the altar in the apse, the stained-glass windows at her back, her long blonde hair falling about her shoulders. She could have been an angel.
‘May God the Father watch over you, sweet lady,’ whispered the boy, making the sign of the cross.
‘There’s only one Highfather, monk, and his name’s Odin. And he’ll be mad as hell when he sees what I’ve done to my uncle.’
She slammed her sword into its scabbard, adjusted her helmet and picked up her shield, just as the light through the stained glass intensified. The monk averted his gaze as she became a sliver of a silhouette, a heavenly blue light engulfing her. When he looked back she had gone, vanished into thin air.
‘Angel,’ whispered the young monk, taking hold of the floorboard and dragging it back into position as he returned to the safety of his hiding place.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Kuro didn’t have time to answer the woman on the rooftop. Before he could speak, another figure emerged from the shadows on the docks, one Trick recognized.
‘You want the boy,’ said Kazumi, addressing the woman above and raising her naginata as she prowled forward, ‘you have to beat me first.’
‘As you wish,’ said the blonde stranger, sliding down the tiled roof before leaping to the street below. She wore a leather cuirass over her body, and held her sword and shield raised before her with expert ease. Her blue eyes flitted from the ninja on the dock to the samurai standing nearby, sizing up each of her opponents. All the while, Trick squirmed on the ground, trying to work his hands loose from his bonds. If he could have cried out, he would have.
Kuro pulled the spear from his arm – it came free from the black fabric, having narrowly missed the flesh. In the same breath it flew from his wrist towards the blonde woman, whose quickly raised shield deflected it in the direction of Kazumi. She swung her naginata, striking the spear out of the air and sending it skittering across the dock. Kuro stood over Trick now, his own sword in hand as he glared at the two women.
‘The boy is in my custody,’ said the ninja. ‘I do not wish to kill either of you, but if you press me …’
‘Brave words,’ said Kazumi. ‘He came to Sea Forge with me and he’ll leave with me. If either of you stands in my way you’ll never see the sunrise.’
The blonde woman suddenly sprang forward. ‘Sweet Odin but you two talk too much!’
Her longsword struck Kazumi’s naginata, but the samurai parried with ease. This prompted Kuro to attack, and three throwing stars whistled towards her. Her shield went up, catching all three of them. She struck the back of the shield with the fist that held her sword, dislodging the shuriken and sending them flying back at the ninja. He leapt, rolling clear as they clattered around Trick.
The boy rolled as the three warriors went at one another, trading blows with katana, longsword and naginata. Trick found one of the stars on the dock, picked it up with shaking fingertips and turned it against his bonds. He began to cut the rope, his eyes fixed upon the duelling fighters. If he could, he would help Kazumi, as she was the only one among them he trusted. As for Kuro – the idea of helping the poor of the city had struck a chord with the ninja. Perhaps he could be of use to them. But the blonde woman? Trick had figured her out now. The fair complexion, the distinctive shield and the Odin curse: this was the Shield Maiden Toki had mentioned. Whether she was honourable or not was another matter.
The rope came loose, allowing Trick to leap to his feet. He tugged the gag loose and dashed towards the battling trio.
‘Stop it!’ he shouted. ‘Quit fighting each other!’
He rushed in, trying to grab Kazumi. It was no good. She was completely committed to the fight, slashing, parrying and counter-attack
ing in turn with her naginata. She threw an elbow back, catching Trick in the shoulder as she barged him clear of the melee. He flew across the dock, crashing into a barrel and a stack of lobster pots. They clattered down around him as the battle raged on.
‘How’s tricks, Trick?’
He looked up. There, perched upon a lantern post, was a familiar big black bird.
‘Kaw!’ he exclaimed, relieved to see the pesky crow again. The bird was looking over the dock’s edge to the beach, where more carrion crabs had joined the others at the banquet.
‘Made a bit of a mess down there, didn’t you, kid? Still, better them than you, eh?’
‘You have to help me, Kaw,’ said Trick, struggling wearily to his feet. ‘You’ve gotta make them stop. They’re going to kill each other!’
‘The three amigos? No chance, pal. Ain’t getting my feathers ruffled in that scrap. I’m likely to end up as a crow kebab! I’m afraid it’s down to you, Trick. You’re the leader of this gang, you’re the Black Moon Warrior. It’s you who needs to tear them apart.’
Trick glowered at the crow. ‘Remind me again what purpose you serve?’
Trick left the bird, and stalked cautiously towards the combatants. All three were masters of their weapons and individual fighting styles. Kazumi was all grace, her elegant sweeping moves kept her foes at bay with the naginata and she chose her moments to strike carefully. The Shield Maiden was the opposite, all strength and fury, trusting her armour and shield to protect her should any blade find its way past her longsword. Kuro’s movements were all speed and stealth, he faded in and out of the fight, striking quickly and quietly. Trick had to choose which of the three he would try to distract without getting hurt, let alone killed. His shoulder still throbbed from where Kazumi had struck him.
He decided on Kuro eventually. The ninja kept disengaging, affording Trick the chance to dive in and try to catch his attention. He darted forward and instantly regretted his rash and foolish move.
The ninja suddenly sprang high, just as the Shield Maiden was lunging at him. The longsword cut through the air, straight through the spot Kuro had occupied and on towards Trick. He gasped as the blade zoomed towards his head. He let instinct, and the nerve and agility that had carried him across rooftops back home, take over. His hips slid, torso twisting, head falling to one side as the Viking’s sword thrust by. He felt the steel’s razor edge kiss his cheek, slicing open the flesh as, loose-limbed and dizzy, he collapsed.
His head struck a paving stone with a sickening crack. The three warriors stood over him, their fight finished, the stars twinkling overhead. The last thing Trick heard was a crow’s caw as the darkness engulfed him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
When Trick awoke, he felt like somebody had used his head for a football. There was a stabbing pain behind his eyes, as if a knitting needle had been shoved up his nostril and scrambled his brains. The left-hand side of his face felt feverishly hot, while the right was as cold as ice.
If he could have gone back to sleep he would have, but that seemed impossible with the drums that banged in his skull. Trick wasn’t remotely interested in alcohol – the closest he’d come was a sip of Grandpa’s Guinness one Christmas, which had been vile – but he imagined that this was what a hangover must feel like. His eyes slowly focused.
‘You’re not dead then,’ said Kalaban. ‘That’s something we can be thankful for.’
‘Kalaban!’ exclaimed Trick happily, instantly regretting it as a thousand bottles seemed to shatter in his head. He winced as he struggled upright in his bed. To Trick’s surprise, there was no sign of the old man. Only Kaw sat on the foot of his bed, his head cocked to one side.
‘Where are you, Kalaban?’
‘I’m here, in a fashion,’ replied the old man, but Trick realized that the voice was coming from Kaw. The bird’s eyes were pale and white, as if he were possessed by a spirit. In a way, he was.
‘How are you doing that?’ whispered Trick in amazement.
‘This is how I stay in touch with you, Trick: via Kaw.’ The beak snapped as the bird spoke. ‘Should I need to speak to you, I do it through my black-feathered familiar. I can only be brief, though. This will exhaust my little friend – and me for that matter.’
‘Where am I?’
‘You’re in a friend’s home,’ came Kalaban’s reply. They were in the burnt-out attic of a tower, blackened timbers providing them with shelter from the elements. Just beyond Kaw there was open space, and the docklands were visible below where the floorboards splintered away into nothing. In the recesses of the fire-damaged loft, another figure moved in the shadows.
‘In Sea Forge? I don’t have any friends here.’
‘You have one,’ said the figure, stepping forward. It was the man in black.
‘Kuro,’ said Kalaban through the crow. ‘Be a good fellow and tell the others he’s awake. We’ll be down to join you forthwith.’
The ninja faded back into the shadows, leaving the black bird and the schoolboy alone.
‘This is Kuro’s tower?’
‘He’s claimed it as his own. The fact that the locals believe it is haunted means you’re quite safe here. Nobody will come knocking.’
Kaw hopped up the bed and on to Trick’s chest, tilting his head once more as he examined the cut on the boy’s cheek. His white eyes seemed to stare straight through Trick.
‘The wound will heal, in time. You’ll have quite a scar too. It was your head hitting the flags that caused the most damage. You’ve been unconscious for well over a day.’
‘A day? How the heck did the fight end without them killing each other?’
‘Seems they were interested in hearing what a talking crow had to say,’ replied Kalaban, as the bird he possessed shook its feathers. ‘Kaw speaking up grabbed their attention. You’ve our feathered friend to thank for intervening.’
Trick shook his head, causing Kaw to flap before settling. ‘It all went wrong when we got here, Kalaban. I lost Toki, Mungo and Zuma at the Broken Shield Inn. It’s a miracle Kazumi found me again. I’ve made such a mess of things.’
‘What nonsense,’ said the hermit. ‘You’ve misplaced your friends, that is all, and made new ones in the meantime. Kuro is the greatest ninja ever to have entered the Wildlands. His exploits are legendary. How he fell into the employment of Gorgo baffles me. And the Shield Maiden remains close by, desiring to speak with you. No, you have powerful allies, Trick Hope. Lose one, gain another – you are never without.’
‘But what of the other three?’
‘Toki and Mungo have been taken to Boarhammer’s arena, so far as we can tell,’ said the possessed bird, craning his neck as if looking out of the fractured roof. Trick followed Kaw’s blind gaze. The gladiatorial palace was visible, the sun shining bright above the cliffs, casting half the docks below into shadow.
‘We saw the arena in Mudflatt. That’s where we met Zuma.’
‘Oh no, this is nothing like the pit in the shanty port. Boarhammer’s arena is legendary. It’s a temple to death and despair, and the wealthy and well-to-do of Sea Forge flock there for excitement. Peasants provide mild entertainment when thrown to Boarhammer’s beasts, but it’s the warriors who provide the true spectacle. This is a common occurrence. Your friends aren’t the first and they won’t be the last.’
Trick shivered, despite the heat of the midday sun.
‘No. When the Skull Army arrived at the Broken Shield, they dragged away some suitable participants before shutting the place down. By which I mean killing the landlord, his family, his pet dog and then putting the place to the torch. Your feisty friends, along with many other luckless warriors, are now destined for the arena. Perhaps you need to stop Boarhammer before this event, Trick?’
Trick sighed. ‘I am trying, Kalaban. Believe me! This whole quest business isn’t easy, you know?’
‘I know, my young friend, I know. I found that myself when I first faced Boneshaker, but there’s simply no other way. You’re t
he Wildlands’ only hope. How are you progressing with the other two parts of your quest?’
‘Let me think,’ said Trick sarcastically, tapping a finger on his chin. ‘Well, let’s see. We went to the Broken Shield Inn searching for warriors, and managed to get my party disbanded and the inn burned down. So I reckon I fluffed that bit. And, as for Ravenblade, I’m looking for a needle in a haystack there. I’ve got sod all chance of finding that flipping thing.’
The crow hopped back to the foot of the bed. ‘Stay strong, Trick. You may feel that all is lost, but, trust me – you’ve made progress.’
Trick nodded but he really didn’t see it. He felt hopelessly out of his depth. The idea of leading an offensive against Boneshaker terrified him. The title of Black Moon Warrior sat uneasily on his shoulders. He changed the subject.
‘You didn’t mention Zuma. What happened to him?’
‘No sign of the Jaguar Warrior. He disappeared during the melee in the inn. Kazumi didn’t see him carted away by the Skull Army. She is convinced that he’s disappeared with that strongbox of money and you’re unlikely to see him again. We’ll have to see what happens.’
Trick sat up in bed, throwing his legs out and pulling on his boots. He felt rough beyond description, but lying in bed was getting nothing done. From his lofty perch, he could hear the clashing of weapons below. Immediately, Trick felt anxiety rise.
‘Sounds like a fight.’
‘That, Trick Hope, is your companions in training.’
A New Hero Page 12