The Spook 9 - Slither's tale (20 page)

The employment of magic such as cloaking or changing size were forbidden in the arena. I hoped the witch’s use of it would go undetected. Otherwise I would instantly be declared the loser and my life – and those of the sisters – would be forfeit.

The judge signalled again by raising his arms. This time three Kobalos appeared. Together they walked towards the heavy
grille
and, in a well-rehearsed move, lifted it clear and carried it away, strutting self-importantly across the arena. Now the dark mouth of the pit was wide open.

The judge walked to each side of the triangular arena in turn, and bowed to the spectators ostentatiously. His fourth bow was to me – to the one who was about to die. And with that a low murmuring began, gathering slowly in volume.

I returned his bow and then straightened up again, maintaining eye-contact until he looked away. Then he left the arena and raised his hand high above his head. In answer to that gesture a loud trumpet blast was heard. It filled the auditorium, echoing from wall to wall.

At that sound, the several thousand spectators became absolutely silent again. At first, all that could be heard was the irritating sniffing of the youngest sister.

But then the Haggenbrood spoke to me from the darkness of the pit.

There came a crepitation, a rhythmical clicking and snapping that somehow seemed to be full of meaning; it was almost like speech, as if a withered old Kobalos had opened and closed his arthritic jaws while his bewildered mind searched the empty vault of his thoughts for fragments of memory. Then the noises sharpened into focus and became words that all present could hear and understand.

It spoke in Losta, the language used by Kobalos and humans. The voice had three distinct components which, even as I listened, fused so fully into one that they could not be separated; all three of the creature’s selves were speaking to me
simultaneously
, three mouths opening; one thinking mind teasing, taunting and testing the fibre of my resolve.

‘
You are a haizda mage
,’ it said. ‘
It is a long time since I last tasted one of your kind
.’

‘Talk not of eating. You have had your last meal!’ I cried. ‘Tonight I will carve your flesh into cubes and feed it to the carrion creatures in the sewers of the city. Then I will melt your bones in the furnaces so that they can be used for glue. Nothing will be wasted! You will prove a useful servant until the end!’

In response to my words the crowd gave a roar of approval. But I did not fool myself into thinking that they were now on my side. It was just the opposite – they were looking forward to my bloody defeat. But my words had given them hope that I would make a proper fight of it; that the spectacle would not be over quite as quickly as was the norm.

‘
You speak boldly, but soon you will start to scream, haizda mage. I will bite off your arms and legs, and lick the stumps to stop the flow of blood. Then I will give you a slow, painful death so that all can delight in your screams. Finally I will slice the soft flesh of your purrai very slowly, savouring each morsel
.’

Hearing those words, all three captives became even more hysterical, straining against their ties in vain, but I did not reply. We had talked enough. Action would speak much louder than words.

Then came the second trumpet blast. In the following silence I heard the Haggenbrood begin to move. As the creature dragged itself out of the pit, I registered a razor-beak and two murderously sharp-clawed hands. Within seconds, the first of
the
selves had emerged and was regarding me with hostile, hungry eyes.

I had never been so close to the unconfined Haggenbrood before, and it momentarily filled me with dismay. It was even more formidable than I had imagined. Despite the fact that each part of it had only four appendages and a long serpentine neck, they resembled nothing more than insects. Glistening as if smeared with some gelatinous substance, the sides and arms were covered in plates of bone like the ribbed armour worn in battle by Kobalos High Mages. It gave off a new stench now. I smelled its hunger and eagerness for battle.

I took a deep breath, straightened my back and gathered my courage. I was a haizda mage, an undefeated warrior. I would prevail.

Within moments its three selves were crouched on all fours, ready to spring, but they could not do so until the blast of the third trumpet was heard.

I prepared myself to cut the bonds of the human witch and thrust the blade into her hands as she had asked. I was reaching for it, but suddenly, at the last moment, I changed my mind and left it in my pocket – with good reason too.

OUT OF THE
previous trial encounters that I had studied, on only two occasions had the Haggenbrood concentrated its efforts on its opponent, waiting to attack and devour the sacrificial purrai until after he was dead.

In both cases the opponent had somehow managed to inflict the first wound on the Haggenbrood. In neither case had the trial lasted long, but the move had succeeded in changing the pattern of conflict. If I could get it to concentrate solely on me, then the intervention of the witch would be an even more effective surprise.

As the sound of the third trumpet echoed from the walls of the auditorium, the twelve limbs of the Haggenbrood
extended
, and the three selves each came up onto two legs, growling with battle-fury. Then it attacked. I was the target, not the purrai.

But a fraction of a second later I began to move too – directly towards it. In my left hand I held Old Rowler’s sabre; in my right my favourite dagger.

Five strides, each faster than its predecessor, brought me to the edge of the pit and within cutting range of my multi-selved opponent. The element of surprise was now mine. It had not expected me to be so bold. Teeth snapped towards me. Hot foul breath was in my face. Talons missed my face by the thickness of a rat’s whisker.

Then it was my turn.

I attempted two blows, one fractionally after the other. The scything cut with my sabre missed because of the amazingly rapid reaction of the self I’d targeted; my favourite dagger didn’t.

Its tip penetrated an eye. The crowd roared. Three throats gave a simultaneous delicious scream. Each self felt the pain. That was good to know.

Now the Haggenbrood only had five eyes left.

Then I leaped across the pit, landing safely on the other side. My tail was parallel with my back and ready. I needed it for balance.

The selves scuttled towards me, jaws open wide, faces twisted in fury. But they didn’t leap over the pit. They kept to the edges – two on my left, one on my right. I waited until the very last moment, then did a back-flip, returning to the
opposite
side. Quickly I ran towards the post where the witch in the shape of Nessa was secured, and cut her bonds.

As I handed her the blade, a huge gasp went up from the crowd. This had never been done before, but there was no mention of it in the rules. It was perfectly legal.

We stood side by side facing the pit. Once again the three selves of the Haggenbrood circled it slowly, five eyes signalling their fierce intent.

Sometimes in battle we act instinctively. The thrust of a blade, the avoidance of a spear is automatic and faster than thought. One enters a trance-like condition in which the body moves of its own volition, far faster than any action can be planned.

So it was now. And there was something else: when I fought alongside the witch, it was as if we shared one consciousness. Whether she employed some human magic to achieve that, or whether, in the heat of battle, we somehow became transcendent, elevated to a fighting ferocity where our two bodies were controlled by one joint mind, I didn’t know. But it seemed to me that the way we two fought was similar to the Haggenbrood’s coordinated selves.

My concentration was total and I no longer heard the baying of the excited crowd. I fought with Grimalkin in a pocket of silence.

One touch was enough to cause kirrhos, the tawny death, but as we attacked, taking the battle to the Haggenbrood, its claws missed my face by inches. I felt its collective corrosive breath singe the skin of my face, but our blades flashed and the creature screamed. We cut it and it bled.

I was aware of Grimalkin’s cuts and thrusts as if they were my own; no doubt she too felt my strikes at the enemy that confronted us. It was as if I were floating just above my body, watching us do battle below. I remember briefly wondering how the fight appeared to the spectators on their tiers of seats. Surely they would not see it as I did?

For how could the purra, Nessa, fight with such consummate ferocity and skill? Somehow the witch must be cloaking that from their gaze, making it seem as if the brunt of the battle was all mine. In truth, it was hard for me to judge which of us made the greater contribution. As I said, we were like one. My arms were her arms; her blades were my blades. It was a pleasure to share combat with such a warrior.

Within moments two of the Haggenbrood’s selves had been cut to pieces, their body parts scattered across the arena floor. Victory was almost ours, but then, with victory almost in sight, there was a small reversal of fortune.

The last of the enemy selves broke away from us and scuttled straight towards Susan, the elder of the two bound sisters. This took me completely by surprise: the creature had hitherto shown no interest in the captives, who had their eyes shut in terror. The creature was defeated, and could not have achieved anything by such an act unless it could slay both purrai – but it would not have time for that. Perhaps it was sheer spitefulness.

I intercepted it, slaying it on the spot by burying a blade deep within its left eye. It twitched, jerked and went into a death spasm. Seconds later all life had left its body! We had defeated the Haggenbrood. I had won!

My unexpected victory caused an uproar which came close to a riot. Over a hundred stewards rushed in, and immediately set about the foolish spectators with clubs and maces. I watched heads break and bleed as the stewards laid about them, clearly enjoying their task. Soon more blood flowed there than had ever graced the combat area itself. It was enjoyable to watch and I savoured every moment. But all too soon the unruly spectators had been forced back into their seats.

After order had been restored and the bodies removed, the trial judge climbed up into the arena and formally announced my win. He did not look happy at my unexpected and unorthodox triumph. I could see that he was struggling to conceal his shock and dismay. But what could he do other than confirm my victory?

This time he did not read aloud. No doubt he had prepared only one statement – that announcing my expected defeat and death. But he spoke slowly and ponderously, as if weighing each phrase in his mind before uttering it.

‘The haizda mage who stands before you has triumphed in combat and proven his case beyond refute. Both the Shaiksa Brotherhood and the Triumvirate must acknowledge and abide by this outcome. He is free to leave the city and may take his purrai with him. They are now officially his lawful property. That is the law and none are above it.’

All that remained was for me to seize my property, return to my quarters and leave as soon as possible. I cut the youngest purra, Bryony, free, but when I approached the stake to which Susan was bound, I suddenly realized what had happened.

As I’d intercepted the third self of the Haggenbrood, unknown to me, the tip of its claw must have penetrated the skin on Susan’s forearm. That had sealed her fate. Her skin had become yellow-brown in colour and as dry as ancient parchment. Her face was distorted and she was gurgling deep in her throat, obviously in the grip of terrible pain. Even as I reached her, she took her dying breath, a great rattling sob. I could do nothing to help her. There is no antidote, no cure for kirrhos.

The youngest sister screamed in horror and grief as, within seconds, Susan’s eyes fell back into her skull and her skin began to flake and crack. Within that crust of skin her flesh had melted like soft yellow butter, and her tissues began to ooze out of the widening rifts in her skin, dissolving, dripping down her bones to form a noxious stinking puddle at her feet.

She had succumbed to the tawny death.