A New Hero

by Curtis Jobling

  ‘I’m looking for a sword.’

  ‘You should have said; I’ve a rack of them in my armoury.’

  Trick stepped gingerly through the rubble, a hooded lantern held before him, casting a roving spotlight across the ground. The lamp was invaluable; he’d grabbed it from the ninja’s tower and its controlled beam allowed them to search the ruined tavern without drawing attention. Trick was light on his feet, but more than once the floor beneath him gave way, scorched timbers collapsing or pitted bricks crumbling. The Skull Army had really gone to town on the place.

  ‘You should have asked the others to join us,’ said the ninja. ‘Many hands make light work.’

  ‘I’m not sure where I stand on Erika and Zuma. Can’t say I entirely trust them yet. Kazumi? Sure. That’s why I’ve left her at your tower, to keep an eye on the other two. And, besides, you and I are going somewhere else tonight, remember?’

  ‘Gorgo,’ said the man in black, his voice a whisper.

  Trick looked back into the shadows. He couldn’t see the ninja, but he knew he was there. Erika had questioned whether the man could be trusted. Trick had no such concerns. Kuro had proved himself when he’d saved Trick from Gorgo’s thugs at Blood Beach, effectively destroying any ties he had with the Thieves’ Guild. Since then he’d offered Trick and his companions his home, and sworn his katana to the boy’s cause.

  ‘You never did say why you took my side,’ said Trick, his voice low as he continued his search.

  ‘Yours seemed a good fight,’ came the disembodied reply. ‘My business with Gorgo had run its course.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘When I arrived in Sea Forge, I had nobody – no friends, no allies. My reputation meant nothing here either – my name was built back in Japan, a legend carved in blood. But that man is gone now, the old Kuro replaced by someone different.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  Kuro disengaged from the darkness now, materializing by Trick’s side as he helped him sift through the wreckage of the inn. He effortlessly lifted a marble bar top, shifting it to one side as the two left no stone unturned. The job was huge, and they’d already been there for almost an hour.

  ‘In Japan, I was a paid killer, a blade for hire. I worked for the highest bidder, the warlord who could afford my fee. My life was good. I wanted for nothing, and I cared nought for those who died at my hand. Sword, poison, arrow or shuriken – there were many tools of my trade.’

  Trick shivered. The man was a stone-cold killing machine. He was a flipping ninja, for goodness’ sake, and unless the boy was mistaken he was also now his mate. Trick’s life just kept getting weirder.

  ‘What changed?’

  Kuro shrugged. ‘Expectations, I suppose. I only ever had one job in Japan: to kill my master’s enemies. Killing was the only language I understood, and I never questioned it. Arriving in the Wildlands turned my world upside down. When I got to Sea Forge, I fell in with what I thought I knew. I offered my katana to Gorgo for work, and for a while life felt close to normal for me. And then I saw the injustice was no different in Gorgo’s company: the poor being crushed by the powerful, the greedy getting fatter – principally the guildmaster. The majority of the thieves in his employ live in fear of what he’ll do to them. You probably sensed it when you first met him, in the sewers. Even thieves deserve a better life than the one Gorgo allows them. When you turned up, I realized I had a choice.’

  ‘A choice?’

  ‘Free will. I’d never considered it before.’ The ninja stopped what he was doing, placing a black-gloved hand on Trick’s shoulder. He gave it a squeeze. ‘I may have been an assassin back in my own world and time, but here I’ve found something more: a cause, a purpose. I fight for you, Trick Hope.’

  Trick smiled, overwhelmed by the man’s words. ‘Thanks, Kuro. Knowing you’re fighting alongside me and not against me is wicked.’

  ‘Wicked?’

  ‘Trust me, mate,’ said Trick, patting the man’s hand before returning to his search. ‘Wicked’s a good thing on this occasion.’

  Having the ninja on his side made Trick feel good in a way he couldn’t explain. The man was clearly older than Toki, younger than Kalaban, saner than Mungo and not as wild as Zuma. He was strong but controlled, thoughtful and powerful. Trick suddenly realized who the ninja reminded him of; it was his father, Malcolm Hope. Not for the last time, the pangs of homesickness tugged at his innards, his heart aching for a reunion with his old man. With no father-figure in this world of warriors, Kuro appeared to be the next best thing.

  ‘So, this sword,’ said the ninja. ‘What does it look like?’

  Trick grabbed the pendant hanging round his neck between two grubby, soot-stained fingers. ‘It’s made from the same black glass as this.’

  ‘A glass sword? Sounds fragile.’

  ‘You’d think, huh? Kalaban says it’s uber-powerful. Used to belong to Boneshaker, and that’s why he’s got Tombstone and Boarhammer looking for it.’

  ‘Perhaps they found it when they turned the place over, Master Hope?’

  ‘Maybe. But the old hermit told me to come and look again, so here I am. Reckon they never found it.’

  ‘Perhaps it was never here at all?’

  Trick continued his search, heading back through the ruined inn towards the front entrance. It was hopeless. The parts of the building that still stood threatened to collapse at any moment, and the debris underfoot was an indiscriminate mass of black rubble.

  ‘Perhaps it’s meant to remain hidden, Master Hope? I know how the myths of my homeland work. Powerful items tend to be found by powerful individuals. Maybe you aren’t destined to find this sword.’

  ‘That’d suit me fine,’ said Trick with a sigh as they arrived back at the door. He closed the shutter on the hooded lantern as they neared the street, concealing their presence. ‘I never wanted to be part of some dumb prophecy anyway. I’d much rather someone else turned out to be the Black Moon Warrior.’

  ‘You’ve looked, Master Hope. That’s all you could have done. The sword isn’t here. If it was, you would have found a clue,’ said the ninja, stalking out of the ruined inn.

  Trick kicked at the rubble, sending a chunk of burnt brick skittering. Kalaban had told him not to quit, but what else had the riddling hermit said? The hairs on Trick’s neck were suddenly all aquiver. When your chin hits your chest, lift it – look up. Trick did that, his eyes searching the ruined walls of the tavern.

  ‘There would have been a sign of some kind,’ said Kuro.

  Trick stopped dead in his tracks, hit by a lightning bolt of inspiration. A sign. He lifted the shutter on the lantern once more, letting an iris of light slowly shimmer into life.

  ‘Master Hope,’ whispered Kuro, dancing back up the steps towards the boy. ‘The light!’

  ‘Hush a mo,’ said Trick, tilting the lantern and letting its beam wander up the demolished walls round the doorway. It weaved over the scorched stones before rising higher, finally settling on the creaking shield that swung from its rusting chains above the door, one of the few fixtures to have remained untouched by the fire that had ravaged the inn.

  Kuro chuckled with realization. ‘By the gods …’

  The lantern light lingered over the tarnished black blade, buried deep in the filthy timbers of the sundered shield. The handle, unnoticed on Trick’s previous visit, drew his eye this time. It was fashioned in the shape of a bird’s head, sharp beak at right angles to the cross guard, all carved from polished black glass.

  ‘We have our sign,’ Trick said with a smile. ‘And we have our sword.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ‘You sure you know what you’re doing?’ whispered Kuro, back to back with Trick as the smoke bomb cleared. Ravenblade remained holstered across the ninja’s shoulder, swaddled in wraps, its blade crossed with his katana.

  ‘Absolutely,’ the boy lied, holding his quarterstaff up before him as the confused mob of thieves encircled them.

  The ni
nja had been able to lead him right into the heart of the guildmaster’s kingdom, sneaking silently past sentries and sidestepping patrols. Trick was a sure-footed and agile young man, but in the presence of Kuro he felt like a noisy, mouth-breathing, bumbling klutz. The ninja was like a ghost, sliding in and out of shadows and vanishing from view. It took all Trick’s concentration and guile to keep his eyes focused on his companion in the darkness – and more than once he disappeared entirely from view, only to reappear at the boy’s side.

  With Gorgo’s guards dodged, Kuro had managed to reach the old catacomb cavern, revealing his and Trick’s presence in dramatic fashion. The smoke grenade was an evasion weapon for the ninja; this was the first time he’d used one to make a grand entrance.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ said Gorgo, tossing a half-eaten chicken leg into one of the channels that ran through the stone chamber. His men parted to allow him through, and the guildmaster wiped his greasy fingers on his shining steel breastplate. ‘I never thought I’d see this. The worm returns, as does the traitorous scumbag who killed Shiv and Clubb at Blood Beach.’

  ‘It was the carrion crabs that killed them,’ said Kuro.

  ‘You helped them though, didn’t you, ninja? You come back to rob me? As a once-trusted lieutenant you know many of my secrets, Kuro. I’m looking forward to killing you. I may even break out a new knife for you.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be like this,’ said the man in black, his voice calm. ‘Hear the boy out.’

  ‘I heard what he had to say last time, and it didn’t interest me then. Bowmen!’

  A number of thieves darted forward through the ranks, crossbows raised and levelled at the two intruders.

  ‘I have a challenge for you, Gorgo,’ shouted Trick, his voice breaking as he cried out.

  ‘Ha! I don’t need to accept any challenge, especially not one from a worm.’

  ‘You’re not afraid of a kid, are you?’

  A murmur rumbled through the crowd and Gorgo noted it. He turned back to Trick.

  ‘What’s this challenge?’

  ‘You say you can kill me,’ said Trick, ‘and that’s probably true. But at least give me a chance to face you in combat. Let me die fighting.’

  Gorgo guffawed. ‘I can do that.’

  ‘Oh,’ said the boy, ‘and one more thing. If I win, your men are free to join my cause.’

  There was a frisson of nervous excitement in the Thieves’ Guild throne room. ‘Shut up, you shower!’ yelled Gorgo, who clearly dominated every soul in the room. ‘You lot swore an oath to me. I own you, and all your poxy debts!’

  None would meet his gaze, the cowed thieves averting their eyes from their boss’s stare. He turned slowly back to Trick, an enormous grin filling his face.

  ‘Right, worm. Let’s do this. I promise you, it won’t be quick. Take a moment first, if you wish,’ he chuckled, as his men gathered round him, fussing and flattering him.

  Trick and Kuro were alone, although a dozen crossbows remained trained on them. Trick saw the ninja’s eyes dart from man to man.

  ‘Some of these are good men. I’d hate to kill them.’

  ‘Let’s hope it won’t come to that.’

  ‘You’re sure this will work?’ asked Kuro.

  ‘Not a bit sure, but it’s all we’ve got. If I fail, get yourself out of here and tell Kalaban.’

  ‘Not before I kill that fat pig Gorgo,’ replied the ninja coldly.

  ‘I don’t want to kill him,’ said Trick. ‘Just defeat him.’

  ‘Trust me, Master Hope, it’s the same thing. The only way you’ll beat him is by killing him.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Trick, limbering up. ‘Now back up, mate. I don’t want you to get hurt.’ Kuro retreated, unsure what to make of the gallows humour.

  ‘Remember – keep moving. Don’t stand still. It’s the only chance you have.’

  Trick nodded before reaching inside his jacket. ‘You’re up, Sparky,’ he whispered.

  If Trick had been expecting some kind of wrestling MC to announce that the duel was under way, he was sorely disappointed. He first realized that the fight was on when a throwing knife hit the stone pillar beside his head. Masonry dust showered his face as Gorgo readied another blade.

  ‘Start wriggling, worm!’ he laughed.

  Trick ran.

  With his bamboo staff in hand, he hurdled the nearest waterway towards the darker recesses of the cavern, skidding behind a pillar. Shielded from the guildmaster’s next attack, he looked down the length of his quarterstaff, spying light at the far end. It would be a squeeze, but it could work. Trick peered round the pillar in time to see Gorgo land on his side of the canal, his metal boots cracking the flags.

  ‘There’s nowhere to hide, worm, no hole you can wriggle into. Get some light over here, you lot!’

  Upon his command, half a dozen torches were lobbed over the canal, skittering across the paved floor and illuminating the area. Alcoves and crypts suddenly flickered into view, leaving Trick with nowhere to run.

  ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are.’ Gorgo’s giggle was sickly; the anticipation of the kill was getting the better of him.

  Trick stepped out from behind the pillar, staff in hand. The torchlight shone off the guildmaster’s plate-mail suit, the steel reflecting hellish red flames as he twirled two enormous knives in his hands.

  ‘That’s it?’ said Gorgo. ‘You think you can beat me with just a stick?’

  ‘And a little help,’ said Trick, raising the staff to his lips like an oversized pea-shooter. He aimed and blew hard, expelling a lungful of air into the blowpipe. The lightning bug – or Sparky, as Trick had named him – rocketed out of the other end, heading straight for the thief lord. Sparky had grown a bit since Trick had grabbed him in Grub Gulch, his diet of flies having kept him more than healthy. He struck Gorgo’s breastplate dead centre, his hard carapace instantly connecting with the super-conductive metal. The lightshow that followed was breathtaking.

  Trick was blinded momentarily as the electricity discharged into Gorgo lit him up like Piccadilly Circus. Sparks arced from him, leaping across the catacombs, finding the swords and daggers of his surrounding cronies. The thieves dropped their weapons, watching as smoke rolled out of the collar and cuffs of the guildmaster’s steel suit. His daggers clattered to the floor as he dropped to his knees, the blue lightning dissipating.

  Sparky hopped down from his chest, scuttling back across the flags towards Trick and narrowly missing being crushed by the toppling Gorgo as he crashed down like a felled redwood. His breastplate broke from its hinges and bounced clear, leaving the beaten guildmaster twitching spasmodically on the floor.

  Trick’s heart was racing. He couldn’t quite believe his plan had worked. It had been a desperate roll of the dice, and somehow the gamble had paid off. He strolled forward on wobbly legs, trying to look confident while his insides were jelly. Walking past the still form of Gorgo, he stepped over the broken breastplate and came to a halt at the edge of the waterway. Across the canal he could see Kuro, surrounded by thieves. His face was hidden, but Trick was convinced the man was smiling.

  ‘You have a choice,’ said Trick. ‘You don’t have to work for a tyrant like Gorgo, and you don’t have to remain under Boarhammer’s boot. You can make a stand against injustice. Help your fellow men and women – free the slaves from the arena before they’re murdered for fun. Are you with me?’

  Some of the thieves turned to each other, the expressions on their faces shifting from fearful glares to hopeful glances. Trick could feel it: a growing sense of optimism. It wasn’t shared by all, of course. Many of the guildmaster’s most trusted men gathered together, forming a mean-looking huddle that simmered with ill intent. Trick held his breath, aware that the fight wasn’t yet over.

  ‘Trick!’ yelled Kuro.

  The boy turned just as Gorgo rose from the floor, shaking loose his broken armour and letting out a roar. Beneath the breastplate he wore a black jerkin, a white skull prou
dly emblazoned upon it: the unmistakable sign of a captain of the Skull Army. He held a dagger in each hand, raised, ready to strike the boy.

  Then he halted, his eyes slowly dropping to his chest. A crossbow bolt was quivering in his exposed torso, quickly joined by five more. Gorgo fell for the second time that night. He landed on the flags with a crash, never to rise again.

  Trick looked back at the throng of thieves, as did Kuro. The thieves lowered their crossbows, looks of contempt and dismay writ large upon their faces as they glared at the body of their master, their betrayer. Even those who had remained loyal to Gorgo had changed their tune, spitting curses at his corpse. The revelation of their master’s true identity had a profoundly unifying effect upon them. The thieves stepped forward, shaking the ninja’s hand and glancing Trick’s way.

  They stared at him with a mixture of awe and fascination. Trick’s attention was drawn elsewhere though, towards the myriad tunnels and passageways that exited the chamber, disappearing into the cliffs that Sea Forge sat upon. Trick’s sigh of relief nearly made him pass out.

  Hope was winning.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Trick was scared.

  He’d suffered claustrophobia throughout his childhood, and had always feared being trapped in confined spaces – now he found himself stuck like a rat in a drainpipe. The tunnel was nearly vertical, and the rough-hewn walls provided foot- and handholds that helped him progress. However, the sewage and slurry that dripped and drizzled across the rocky surface made Trick’s progress more perilous, as well as making him gag.

  He fought back the urge to hurl, the only thing really stopping him being those who followed him up from below. The last thing they needed to contend with – alongside the poop walls and narrow tunnel – was Trick’s breakfast showering down upon them. He felt a tug round his waist, as the rope suddenly yanked him from above, urging him to climb onwards, upwards.

  As plans to infiltrate a villain’s fortress arena went, this one had been straightforward. Kuro had been a key player in the plotting, the ninja apparently having had previous experience in this domain. Trick and his small army would crawl up through the network of sewers and storm drains that riddled the great cliffs of Sea Forge. Maps had been provided by the Thieves’ Guild; there were few parts of the city that the band of rogues didn’t know how to infiltrate. Eventually – if the climb didn’t kill them – they would arrive in the ludus, the gladiators’ training school. Erika had assured them that this would be empty on the day of a coliseum battle, with all the combatants gathered at the gates that ringed the arena.