The Gang of Legend

by Robert J. Crane

  Of course, the same was likely true of Preston, whatever weapon he was carrying—weapons, I amended, as we’d already seen two in action thus far.

  Neither did. Likely because both had opposing forces watching. One wrong move, and the other team would move into action.

  Thing was, Preston had only brought with him a dozen of the lizard mercenaries. Between his army, and me and my friends, Tyran had probably thirty, maybe even as many as forty, people at his disposal.

  So just how strong and lithe were the lizards that Preston had walked, willingly, into a fight in which he was hopelessly outnumbered?

  I pushed back against my nerves, and followed the troupe to the door.

  Only upon reaching it, and turning his body so that he again faced Preston head on, did Tyran slip a hand into his golden garb and remove the second key—the tennis ball.

  Preston’s eyes flickered over it.

  I saw, in his face, an echo of Alain, a need to question—They awarded you this? But he did not ask. And like Carson now was, he’d seen too much of the Seeker world that he was not surprised that a key had taken on such an appearance. Why would he, when spears glamored themselves as red and yellow umbrellas, and cutlasses disguised themselves as Bluetooth speakers?

  “You first,” said Tyran.

  Borrick pressed his key into the first circular slot on the door.

  The recession pulsed red.

  “Now you.”

  Borrick backed away, and Tyran approached.

  He extended the tennis ball … and placed it, carefully, into the slot.

  A green light flashed this time—and then both keys vanished. Stone filled out the slots, as though it were poured into the cavities until they were flush with the door itself again.

  Then a crack of light appeared in its center. A dot at first, it extended up and down in a vertical line, like water following the space between floor tiles. It crept perilously slowly to the top of the door, and the floor—or did it only seem so slow because my breath was held, my heart thudding in my throat?—and then the door was formed, its birth heralded with a sighing sound—and a rush of air from between the opening, fetid and cold.

  Preston stepped forward—

  Tyran stopped him, holding out his sword.

  “Uh-uh,” he said.

  The lizards growled. They pressed forward—

  Tyran’s men moved too, their own swords extended—

  “Stop,” Preston ordered.

  “Likewise,” said Tyran.

  The two armies paused.

  Preston sneered at Tyran from over the top of the sword. It was inches from him, but all it would take was a swipe …

  “If you so much as move,” said Preston calmly, “they will kill every last one of you. And I will not order them to stop this time.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Tyran, flat, as if he would very much love to lop Preston’s head off his shoulders. “I was merely pausing you so that we may all pass through this doorway together. After all, we each won a key; it is only fair that we set off of the starting line at the same second, is it not?”

  Preston’s lip curled.

  But: “Fine,” he said.

  “Excellent.” Tyran stowed his sword. He kept a leery eye on Preston though.

  He placed a hand on the left-hand door, etched out of the stone. “Ready, Mr. Borrick?”

  Preston extended his own, resting the palm against the door too. “Like never in my life.”

  “Jolly good,” said Tyran—and unlike me, he looked the picture of calm, the heart not hammering against his throat or his hands slicked with sweat. In fact, he had on his usual winning grin—although there was a grim determination in his eyes too.

  He planned on winning this.

  It was up to us to do everything we could now to make sure it happened.

  “Mira?” Tyran looked back at me. “Ready?”

  I blinked, and stepped forward as he beckoned. “I am—well, we are.” I looked to see nods of reassurance from my crew.

  “Let’s go in, shall we then?” said Tyran. “On three. One … two … three.”

  They pushed—and the doors to the final arena opened.

  26

  The air breathing from the exhumed arena had the faint stench of sitting water. Now it all yawned out in one great huff. And although the air was cool, not cold, it rose goosebumps on my flesh as it breezed by me.

  It came in one long yawning huff, and then stilled.

  The dank scent pervaded though, like a ghost that lingered.

  My eyes took a moment adjusting to the slice of the room presented to us by the opened doors. It was dark inside, but there were very bright streaks too, luminous blue. It looked to me like someone had converted ceiling strip lights, the sort you’d find in a school assembly room, to neon tubes, and stacked them all vertically.

  Then I realized: these were not neon lights. They were anti-gravity chutes.

  “COMPETITORS,” announced the distant rumble of an Antecessor’s voice. As ever, it sounded not in my ears, but the back of my mind.

  The crimson-skinned mercenaries Preston had arrayed twitched. They jerked their heads back, looking for the source of the noise. Some smacked at the backs of their heads, claws raking against their scales.

  Hisses sounded.

  “Guess Daddy Borrick didn’t fill these losers in on the Antecessors,” Heidi muttered.

  “YOUR FINAL CHALLENGE AWAITS,” the Antecessor voice continued. “SELECT TEN PARTY MEMBERS EACH, AND THEN PROCEED TO TRANSPORT BUTTONS.”

  Ten party members?

  I stepped forward in an instant, before I could think through the ramifications of doing so—or indeed consider what this challenge might actually involve. “I’ll do it,” I told Tyran, cutting in front of the queue, sidestepping two lizard mercs to do so. They hissed at me, raising the hair on the back of my neck. I forced myself not to flinch back, putting unfounded trust into them, and Preston, that they would not snap out and tear my spine out from the base of my skull.

  Tyran assessed me. He nodded. “Anyone else?”

  “Me, sir,” said Commander Greco.

  Tyran shook his head. “No. You remain here.”

  “But sir—”

  Tyran took his shoulder, squeezed it. He leaned forward, and muttered—something inaudible. Greco conceded to his command with a reticent nod, and eased backward. “Then I suggest you take Adelaide and Whitehall, at least, Captain.”

  While the Velocity’s crew pressed forward—

  “I need nine of you,” Preston barked. “NOW.”

  The lizards moved, the entire dozen of them pressing forward. Borrick let nine pass by him, to the doors, and then held up a hand before the final three could progress. He stalked away from them, into the cavity opened by the keygate.

  They hissed at his back.

  Preston whirled, but did not pause his movement to the anti-gravity chutes. “Too slow.”

  One of the lizards made a clicking sound.

  “We will see,” hissed Preston, and then turned tail once again.

  “What was that?” I muttered.

  “Compensation,” said Heidi. “He wanted to make sure they’re still being paid.” She shook her head. “Mercenaries.”

  “Are you going to help?” I asked.

  She heaved a sigh. “Fine.” Sticking her hand up to draw Tyran’s attention, she stepped forward. “I’ll fight too, Burnton.”

  He glanced to her. “You wield the cutlass, correct?”

  “That’s right.” She swung it to its full length, glamor shaking off.

  The scaled lizards remaining outside the door twisted. They hissed at her, pressing their bodies low, poised and ready to strike.

  Heidi swung the cutlass, a showy but threatening arc through the air.

  “One step,” she warned, “and I will disembowel you. Do I make myself clear?”

  Tyran said, “All right, then. I need three more. Mira Brand—any others among you
willing to fight?”

  “Me,” said Bub, lumbering forward.

  He was about to unsheathe his sword, to show that massive blade off, to convince Tyran that he was the right person for the job. But Tyran waved him through without pause. The orc’s vast heft was obvious; there was no need for a show.

  “Me too,” said Manny.

  I held my hand out.

  “Meer,” he started.

  “You’re not far out of bed,” I told you. “Don’t be ridiculous. You need to stay back, and keep on recovering.”

  “I can do this.”

  “I know you think that,” I said. Manny’s eyes registered some combination of hurt and anger, so I quickly went on, “And I’m perfectly sure you could. But just in case you can’t—our numbers are limited. The Antecessors won’t permit more than ten per team. So please, just sit this one out, will you?”

  He frowned at me.

  “She’s trying to protect you,” said Borrick, stepping forward. “My father will do whatever it takes to win this fight.”

  “And knowing that, I should just let her go?” Manny demanded.

  “She is her own person,” said Borrick calmly. “She will go whether you ‘let her’ or not.” Turning to him, his expression softening, Borrick said more quietly, “She has lost her brother once already. Just let her call the shots on this one, please? It would kill her to lose you again.”

  “She’s not going …”

  “Please, Manny,” I said, gripping his hand. “Stay here—with Carson. Okay?”

  He wrestled with it a long moment.

  Finally, he relented.

  But he jabbed a finger at Borrick before turning away. “If your father lays one finger on her …”

  “Don’t worry,” Borrick answered. “I’ll save you the job and kill him myself.”

  Manny’s lip twitched. But he nodded, and turned away, stalking toward Carson.

  That left me and Borrick.

  “You in?” I asked him. “It means fighting against your father.”

  “Fighting against my father is what I’ve done my entire life. Of course I’m in,” he answered.

  We strode toward Tyran, waiting at the door. “You too?” he asked Borrick.

  Borrick nodded.

  “Then we have our ten. Let’s go.”

  We marched in through the door, to the chamber inside.

  It was carved out of the rock of the mountain, a perfect enclosed cube. Across the back wall were the twenty transport pads, all of them mounted on a podium accessed by just two steps. Their edges pulsed with luminous blue light, pale and gloriously bright in the darkness of the room. They all extended straight up most of the way to the ceiling, before all forking to twist into one chaotic helix that disappeared through a hole in the rock.

  “It’s a maze,” I muttered. “They didn’t want any Seekers tracking the correct route through to the finale.”

  Tyran pursed his lips, but said nothing.

  “SELECT A TRANSPORT BUTTON,” said the Antecessor’s disembodied voice.

  Team Preston had already arrayed themselves at ten of the buttons. They stood on the pads, waiting across the room, some bunched together and others separated by one or two empty buttons. So far, though, nothing had happened; no one had been whisked from the room with a high-pitched zip!

  The Antecessors wanted all twenty of us in place before they got this ball rolling.

  Without any distinct markings to select by, choosing one was no different than picking a ball out of a bag. I selected one more or less straight ahead, slotting me straight between Daddy Borrick, and one of his crimson-scaled lizard mercs.

  I stepped onto the button.

  Again—no sensation of being stretched, I was not shot through the air.

  The Antecessors wanted all of us in the mix for this last fight.

  The lizard on my right stuck its head forward, glaring at me. Its lips were naturally upturned, not unlike a tortoise’s mouth. Opening its jaws wide, it flashed me three lines of serrated teeth. It hissed.

  I narrowed my eyes, again resisting the urge to flinch back. “I’ve dispatched meaner things than you in my sleep, Shark-Teeth.”

  The ten of us were finally in place, Whitehall jogging up the steps of the last transport button, in the far right corner from the entrance.

  I waited, my breath held, heart hammering in my chest.

  “Well?” demanded Tyran. “Let’s go already!”

  “PROCEED.”

  And then it was happening again—I was stretched. My body zipped up through the blue tube—I almost screamed, the air threatening to burst out of my lungs in a screech—and then I was whizzing through the tangle of tubes overhead. I saw crimson flash by, then gold, streaks of blade—another flash of gold, as Tyran and I looped past each other again—and then the chaotic jumble split apart. I saw stone, for a full second—my brain registered a flash of panic—had I been swallowed by it?—and then I was out, jetting between the Peaks of Pote-K’ah, a downward, twisting trajectory that took me whizzing by the Velocity, an anti-aircraft gun at opposition to it, pointed but not firing—then I was corkscrewing, around and around—

  I gritted my teeth against vomit threatening to spew out of me—

  And then I was deposited on the opposite button.

  I landed so hard I fell down onto my knees. Sucking in a pained breath, I bit off a swear word that would have made Heidi proud.

  I breathed.

  How long had that whole affair lasted? No more than five seconds, surely. It had been enough to fully shake me up though. The fluid in my ear was swirling again—damn, now I had stopped I was so painfully dizzy—

  A footstep sounded on the stone opposite.

  Something hissed.

  I looked up.

  On a smaller ‘landing pad’ set beneath another vast anti-aircraft gun, I faced a central button, the light glowing from it pulsed in a faint orange color, signaling readiness but as yet not active—and opposite that, exiting from a blue transport chute, one of Preston Borrick’s scaled mercenaries.

  It had in its grip a curved blade, hooking round like a scythe, though closer to a shortsword in length.

  Its yellow eyes flashed at me.

  I clenched my teeth. “I see how it is,” I said, pushing onto my feet—I was so unsteady, but I overcame it—

  I snagged Decidian’s Spear in its glamored form. The umbrella swayed—my aim hadn’t been perfect, with the world twisting as it was—but I caught it the second time.

  I pulled—the metal loop holding it to my belt bent and then pinged off.

  I shook the spear to full length, stepped down from my platform—

  “All right, Shark-Teeth,” I said, holding the spear’s haft firm. “Let’s dance.”

  27

  The crimson-scaled lizard monster drew itself to its full seven feet of height. On the far side of the central transport button, it gripped its hooked blade tight. Moving slowly to the left, it tracked around the button’s edge.

  I countered, shifting right.

  The orange light shining into the sky hooked a dizzying curve around the mountainside. I couldn’t see where it went, but I assumed higher up. The tallest of the peaks was likely the place where the final challenge would take place.

  Which meant this was what, exactly? Were the Antecessors pairing us off against each other, one team pitted against the other, until we were whittled down to just a handful of final competitors for the Spoon of Abundance?

  I had no further time to think on it. The lizard leapt forward in one sudden burst of speed. I jolted backward, eyes wide—Decidian’s Spear flung up, on instinct rather than any conscious action. It struck the hooked blade the lizard clutched, sent it swinging off at an angle, metal clanging in the air—

  The lizard hissed. It pushed forward again, bringing the blade swiping through the air once more—

  “Back!” I shouted, flicking up the spear.

  The blade sunk deep into the wood.
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  I stared, horrified. The last time this had happened, I’d been close to losing to the Order of Apdau. The haft had eventually repaired itself, via whatever magic it was that it possessed—but the sheer strength needed to sink the blade into the haft in the first place was—

  The lizard wrenched the blade out of the spear. Its fanged mouth opened wide. It clicked at me, throaty sounds that I assumed were threats—

  “You need a breath mint,” I snapped, and thrust out with the spear.

  The lizard dodged the blow. Its body flexed almost cartoonishly, like it had no bones at all. Decidian’s Spear should have sunk through its chest; instead, it cut through empty air.

  The lizard batted it aside.

  I yelped. The force of it flung me around too. The spear almost came out of my grasp. Somehow I held firm—

  The lizard swung—

  I ducked, again on instinct rather than using any thought to guide my actions.

  A whoosh of air flew over my head. My hair fluttered—I gasped—how close had the blade come?

  I whipped around—

  The lizard punched me in the face.

  Stars exploded across my vision.

  I staggered backward, away from the central transport button, the upward chute still glowing a frail orange color. My feet threatened to spill out from under me. Somehow, though, I kept them in check, kept myself moving, turning the stumble into a dodge that took me closer to the mountain rather than the landing pad’s trepidatious edge—

  The lizard roared and followed.

  I swung around, bringing Decidian’s Spear up.

  Metal rang on metal.

  The jolt rung through my wrists, up my arms, deep into my core. Teeth crashed together—the tang of iron filled my mouth as I caught my tongue—and I staggered backward again, nearly tilting over.

  The lizard swiped out with the hooked blade, cutting it through the air in a wide swipe.

  I threw myself backward.

  Something ripped.

  I gasped, stared down in horror.

  It had sliced me open. He’d got me!