Trail of Bones: A Young Adult Fantasy Novel (31 page)

CHAPTER 25

Dox was the first combatant to enter the quarry arena. He strode with a confident gait to the center of the pit and looked up at the applauding crowd. He took a deep breath and inhaled the pleasant scent of the salt. Most of his wounds had healed, though his ribs were still a little tight.

The combination of the salt, the crowd, and his restored vigor gave the Minotaur a sense of satisfaction he had not felt for many seasons.

If I should pass, the gods be praised, for on this eve I will fight. I will fight and my herd will remember my name. The winds will chant my deeds to the plains of my fathers,
thought the beast-man as he spun to observe the audience perched upon the tops of the quarry cliffs.

He raised his hands high above his head and the spectators roared to life.

The Warden had learned a thing or two after multiple close calls with catastrophe at Dravenclaw. First, the quarry itself provided a much improved venue for the battles.

The steep cliffs and the elevated location of the audience further removed the spectators from the warriors, and it also offered a superior view and perspective of the fights below.

The second and more obvious lesson was rearranging the order of the fights. He had thought showcasing Kelor first would satiate the crowd’s desires for ‘justice’ and revenge. The rest of the battles, spectacular or not would be ample entertainment. With the panther’s victory attained so quickly, the plan almost backfired. He wasn’t about to make that mistake twice and slated the cat to fight last.

Magnus, Navarro and Dox would be the appetizers with Kelor providing the entrée and perhaps dessert to the evening menu of blood and guts.

“No rules, no mercy. Welcome to the Trail of Bones! Let it begin!” shouted the Warden high atop a guard tower overlooking the pit below.

The Minotaur watched as six fighters entered the pit. Five humans and one barbarian.

The bureaucracy of the city of Halmar had insisted upon supplying some of their most sinister prisoners as challengers for the tournament. What better way to clean out the jail cells and do so with public approval. The Warden didn’t argue, after all that resulted in acquiring fewer combatants while increasing his profits. But he wasn’t about to waste them by tossing them in with Kelor. Not a chance. The contest would be over far too quickly. Better to drag it out at bit and give them the pound of flesh they desired.

Dox snorted a blast of air out his nostrils.
He does wish for my destruction,
the beast-man thought as he sized up his opponents.
He will be disappointed!

The Minotaur watched as the Warden dumped the contents of a crate from his tower to the fighters below. Daggers, spiked clubs, barbed chains, and several spears clattered down the cliffs and landed conveniently close to the Minotaur’s opposition. The beast-man looked up at the tower but could only see shadows.

The former slave, however, had no such weapons at his disposal. Instead, the tournament organizers gave Dox a leather sleeve to cover his right shoulder and upper arm, a small bronze buckler for his forearm, and a worn, leather whip. He did, however, have two advantages over the convicts … a single horn and the Blood Dream.

The beast-man pounded his chest and bellowed as the criminals scrambled to arm themselves with whichever weapon they could grab.

A human convict secured a spike club, only to have it ripped from his clutches by the barbarian prisoner, who then in turn dispatched the man with the stolen weapon. The human’s face splattered and the crook dropped, never to move again.

One down, five to go and the crowd loved it.

Dox scraped his right hoof into the quarry floor, kicking up a plume of white salt and dirt. He could feel the adrenaline surging through his body and the chemicals washing over his brain as the Blood Dream took hold. He bellowed again and like a raging bull, charged headlong into the group of prisoners.

The crowd rose to its feet, shouting and cheering at the top of their council lungs.

The convicts ducked out of the way, except for one who stumbled on the loose gravel. The Minotaur trampled the hapless victim in one pass, his hooves stomping and crushing bone and muscle.

Two down.

The barbarian spun and countered, landing a blow with his club across the back and shoulder blade of the beast-man – the Minotaur’s senses barely registered the blow. The large fighter swung and swung again, but Dox had engaged several similar combatants in the past, and he knew how to evade the attacks.

A prisoner lunged with his spear, but the weapon missed, only grazing the underside of Dox’s bicep. A second man barreled in and sunk a dagger into the Minotaur’s thigh, eliciting a roar from the audience. The beast-man slashed his whip around the first attacker’s waist and jerked to pull the man closer. He grabbed the criminal with one hand and slung him around, battering the other prisoner in the process, toppling him to the ground.

Dox was loading to deliver a punch to the prisoner in his clutches just as the barbarian uncoiled another swing with his club. The club struck the prisoner instead, dislodged the victim from the beast-man’s grip, and launched the prisoner across the pit like a stone shot from a sling.

“Ohh!” came a collective gasp from the crowd as another fighter was eliminated from the contest.

Half of the fighters were on their way to the afterlife, leaving two humans and the barbarian to face the Minotaur.

The Blood Dream still absorbed Dox. His warrior senses were heightened to new levels. He could smell the sweat streaming down the barbarian’s face. He could hear one of the prisoner’s sandals scrape against the gravel as he struggled back to his feet. The Minotaur could see the muscles flexing of the last convict’s hands and forearms as he gripped the spear.

But the beast-man’s logic and reasoning was absent, and in this moment he was driven by instinct and reflexes alone.

The Minotaur’s eyes caught movement to his right and without thinking he swung his arm and the bronze buckler on his forearm connected with a human’s skull. The blow ended the prisoner advance before he hit the ground, face first; his arms limp at his side.

Dox scanned the quarry for another opponent, as his rage-filled mind refused to process or celebrate the end of another opponent.

Only two left.

The last convict, however, retreated to the far side of the pit. The man still held onto his spear, but his knees shook and his eyes were filled with fright. The end was coming swiftly, and he was succumbing to the terror.

Dox took a step to pursue the human when a barbed chain lashed around his neck. It was the barbarian, clinging to both ends of the chain and tugging with his considerable strength to choke the life out of the Minotaur.

The beast-man should have seen the attack coming. The barbarian was a far more dangerous enemy than the retreating human. But in the Blood Dream there was no anticipation, no logic or deduction, and certainly no order or priority. There were only reflexes, instinct, and the most carnal of reactions. Dox had lost track of the barbarian’s location, and it was about to cost him.

The barbarian pulled again causing the steel barbs to lacerate Dox’s hide. The Minotaur reached up and grabbed the chain, attempting to release the pressure and reopen the airways in his throat. He coughed and gagged as the chain continued to tighten around his neck.

The beast-man dropped to one knee while the barbarian remained positioned behind him. Dox swung his head in all directions in the off-chance that his single horn would land a direct hit and do some damage.

It was the perfect opportunity for the remaining convict to come in and spear the Minotaur. Dox’s chest and stomach were completely exposed as his arms and hands were occupied with dislodging the chain around his neck. Even with the chants from the crowd demanding the convict to act, the human couldn’t. Instead, the prisoner remained in his position, cowering from the others. The barbarian was on his own to finish off the Minotaur.

The Blood Dream had an odd effect in the middle of Dox’s dire situation. With his oxygen supply rapidly diminishing and the thoughts of his demise creeping in, most creatures would be caught in the throws of panic. But the Minotaur had no such thoughts. If anything, he ventured even deeper into his anger and didn’t feel a single stab of pain.

The barbs on the chain also cut into the barbarian’s palms, and he was losing his grip. For one brief moment, he relaxed so he could secure his hold on the chain. The tension ebbed, and that was all Dox needed.

The Minotaur heaved on the chain and pulled it away from his throat, but the barbarian held on tight which caused him to slam against Dox’s back. The beast-man then unleashed a jab with his elbow and cracked his opponent’s rib in the process. But the barbarian would not let go.

Dox took a deep breath as the crowd cheered with excitement. He stood and the noise built even louder. The Minotaur was taller than the barbarian, and when he stood to his full height, the smaller fighter hung in the air by almost a foot. Still, the barbarian would not let go.

The beast-man spun and bucked, jumped and twisted but could not jettison his attacker. He kicked and flung his elbows, head butted and slashed with his horn, but the barbarian maintained his grip. Dox backed up and slammed the barbarian against the cliff walls, but the fighter took the blow again and again.

As Dox delivered another blow against the wall, a section of the brittle shale stone gave way and crumbled to the arena floor. The small landslide revealed a new pillar of salt. It was a pillar of a thousand sharp edges of hardened minerals.

The chain tightened again around the Minotaur’s neck. Dox stumbled as his airways closed. He snorted, trying to take a deep breath, but it was too late. The barbarian dug his knee into his enemy’s back to increase the leverage and pull on the chain.

Dox stumbled again, toward the salt pillar. He twisted his torso and spun the barbarian around as his full weight crashed into the crystallized mineral. The chain around the Minotaur’s neck slid and dropped to the ground. The beast-man looked over his shoulder. The barbarian hung, his legs still twitching, from the salt pillar with a dozen formations punctured into his back.

The Minotaur should have responded to the crowd’s roar as they celebrated his victory and his escape from death. He didn’t hear a single shout or clap of applause, but turned to zero in on his final opponent.

“Please don’t hurt me,” pleaded the prisoner as Dox approached. “You win, you win!” he said as he realized he was still holding onto a spear. He dropped the weapon which resulted in a wave of boos from the crowd.

“Please! Put me back in the salt mines. I don’t care. I’ll do whatever you wish, just get me out of here!” the prisoner shouted in the direction of the Warden. The human took his eyes off Dox for just one moment.

Suddenly, the boos from the crowd ceased. The unarmed human stopped in mid-sentence and looked down at his belly. He stared at Dox’s horn protruding from his abdomen. The Minotaur had not hesitated to gore the last prisoner. Unarmed or not, it didn’t matter.

The man slid off the Minotaur’s horn, curled into the fetal position, and closed his eyes. Dox had ‘unleashed the beast’, and the Blood Dream had claimed another victim.

There was some applause, a few cheers, and laughter mixed in, but it was far from the rousing response most would expect. The beast-man’s battle to the death with the barbarian had been incredible, and in a way honorable, if there was such a thing in a pit fight. But the ending of the last combatant felt gratuitous and senseless.

What Dox did next, however, elicited the loudest response from the crowd all evening. With the Blood Dream beginning to ebb, the scent of the salt was too much for the Minotaur to resist. The mighty, powerful, and fearsome Minotaur was lapping up salt as fast as he could. It took almost a dozen slaves to pry him from the pillar and return him to the staging area of the ramp.

The Warden had to shout his loudest to be heard over the laughter of the crowd as the Minotaur was drug away and the next fight was introduced.

Navarro was the next scheduled combatant, then Magnus.

The bard was pitted against seven swamp foxes, annoying little creatures with high pitched barks and mouths full of tiny, sharp teeth. The musician was armed with a single saw-toothed dagger. Not his weapon of choice, but it was sufficient enough to get the job done, though he suffered a number of bites. His left leg in particular had three foxes clamped on it at once, all digging in with their needle-like fangs.

The crowd got a kick out of it. Watching Navarro run around trying to avoid a constant onslaught of fur-balls was amusing to young and old alike. The fighter looked like he was swept up in the middle of an orange furry tornado. He would throw one fox off of him, only to have two more latch on in its place.

Even the Warden laughed when the musician received a hard bite to his rear. “That alone was worth the price of admission,” he said as he wiped a tear from his cheek from laughing so hard.

“Take that, you nasty little buggers!” said Navarro as he dispatched the last two swamp foxes. He gave Magnus a wink as he walked up the ramp and back to his shackles.

Although the lumberjack’s performance had eased the tense atmosphere of the arena, Magnus was not much amused. He had watched the other fights from his cage and dreaded what lie before him. He had no wish to fight… any creature. There was no fight in him, or anger, or any emotion for that matter. He was a shell of what he once was and numb to feeling anything.

The young wolf walked to the center of the arena as the audience cheered. Then he saw two tank badgers enter, and his head sank. If the swamp foxes had been annoying and ill-tempered, the tank badgers were worse. They scuttled close to the ground and made terrible hissing noises as they approached.

The Shade Wolf jumped and skipped out of their way as they darted in and snapped their jaws. Magnus was much quicker than the badgers, but he had no interest in tangling with his ornery opponents.