Wiggins had him off the back of the thing in a second, in a half-nelson in a second more. The sound of the rider’s neck breaking was loud in the confines of the tunnel. The raptor was still coughing and wheezing, all thought of attack gone in its discomfort. Banks stood, turned his back on it, swiveled on his heel, and aimed a high kick at the center of its chest. It fell back towards the pit, realized its predicament as gravity started to take it backwards and scrambled, talons gouging runnels on the lip.
Wiggins stepped forward and rammed the rider’s spear down its throat until his hand met its teeth. He let go of the spear and the raptor fell away. There was a single echoing wail of terror then two moist thuds.
Banks stepped to the rim of the pit and looked down. The raptor was mostly dead, impaled through body and neck, its life draining away into black earth below.
Banks took the bloodied spear from Wiggins, walked out of the tunnel, and stood where he could clearly be seen. He raised the spear above his head, showing it to the king high up at the far end of the arena. He let out a yell of triumph that was the only sound in a deathly quiet arena. As the last echo faded, the crowd moaned in despair.
Wiggins joined him in the sunlight and they immediately sidled back against the wall. Banks retrieved a pebble to replace the ones he’d thrown away.
“Nothing’s changed, Wiggo. We still need to get the fuck out of here. I don’t think they’ll take too kindly to us killing one of their wee pets, never mind the poor lad riding it.”
“They’ll send more?”
“I would.”
But for the next ten minutes, they moved in total silence. Both of them were waiting for the creak of rope, the wood on wood noise of the cogs straining as the gate opened to let another raptor gain entry. But none came.
They kept to their strategy of veering right where possible. Twice they arrived back to horizontal scores they’d made on the wall, added a vertical score, and moved on. Banks was starting to think they were making progress when they came out of an alley and arrived back in the central chamber. The crowd caught sight of them and laughter and jeering rang around the arena.
“That’s why they haven’t sent another one in,” Banks said.
“What’s that, Cap?”
“They don’t expect us to pass their test. They think the labyrinth is inescapable. And for all we know, it is. There might not be a way out except to go back to the gate and they’ll be expecting us to do just that when we get desperate enough.”
“In that case,” Wiggins replied, “let’s get back up on top of the wall. What have we got to lose?”
“I should have thought of that myself. I must be getting auld.”
“Hey, you’ve kept me alive this long. You’re doing just fine.”
“Well, thank you very much, Corporal. Now get your arse up on this wall. We’re getting out of here.”
The spear helped as a tool for Wiggins to use to pull Banks up. The view from on top of the wall was much the same as before with one exception—they could see the far end away from the king’s seat much clearer. There appeared to be another series of buildings outside the maze but separated from the main town by the arena itself. Banks decided to head in that direction for want of a better idea.
The crowd jeered as the two soldiers moved along at a brisk pace. Banks showed them the spear again. They threw more fruit but Banks and Wiggins were out of range of even the best throwing arms.
“Are you sure you don’t have a fag, Cap?” Wiggins said. “I’m gasping here.”
Lack of smokes wasn’t the only thing that had them gasping. They hadn’t had a drink since before dawn and the sun was now getting high in the sky; he felt it start to bake the top of his head. Fatigue was going to be a problem if they didn’t get a break soon.
The jeers got louder as they approached another gap that had to be jumped but they negotiated it easier than the last time; practice was making perfect and as long as the gaps were no more than eight feet, Banks was confident they’d be able to cross them.
He was getting a better view of the far end of the arena now. It looked like a series of holding pens, perhaps cages. When the breeze turned to come from that direction, he smelled a heavy animal odor he recognized immediately.
It’s where they keep the raptors.
It was probably the last place the king and the crowd expected them to make for.
Banks went straight for it as the jeers rang in his ears.
The crowd noise got louder the closer they approached the edge of the arena. Banks saw that they were running out of a clear way across the top; the gaps were getting larger the farther from the center they came. But he thought he could see the route they’d have to take to reach the animal pen area.
“Time to go down again, Wiggo,” he said. “Not just because we’re running out of path, but if we’re going to get out of here, we need to get out of sight. So down it is. Three rights and left should bring us out right at the pens if my reckoning is correct.”
They dropped off the wall to the sound of more jeers ringing around them and hugged the stone in the shadows for three right turns.
“Spot on, Cap,” Wiggins said as they arrived at a left-hand junction and heard the yep and bark of raptors above the crowd noise. Banks peered ’round the corner.
They faced what at one time had been a gate at the opposite end of the arena to the one they came in. They had solved the maze. But the raptor pens beyond were out of sight. The gate had been filled in with loose stone and rubble.
Banks didn’t hesitate. He strode out of the alley, once again into full sight of the crowd, and began shifting the larger stones as fast as he could throw them aside.
“With me, Wiggo,” he said. “If we don’t get through this shite in the next two minutes, they’re going to be all over us.”
He already noticed that guards were running around the top level of the arena, heading in their direction. If they reached the top of the crater rim before Banks and Wiggins had cleared the way, then spears would be raining down on their heads and they’d be sitting ducks.
He worked harder.
- 18 -
The raptors came on cautiously. Davies had moved so that the five members of the WHO team were all behind him. He had his weapon raised, but if he took out one of the beasts, the other was ready to leap in. Hynd turned to Wilkins.
“The bodies. Throw the bodies over the wall. These bastards are after easy food, so let’s give them some.”
“We cannae do that, Sarge,” Wilkins said, but the doctor had already moved and was heaving the smaller of the guards, the youth Hynd had killed, over the wall. The body landed with a thud five yards to the right of Davies and the WHO team. The nearest raptor raised its head, looked at Hynd then at the body, and decided the food was worth the risk. It moved in with jaws already open in anticipation. The second raptor looked at Davies then at the body. It saw that its partner was getting the easy part of the deal and went to join it at the body.
“The doc and I can handle this, Wilko,” Hynd said. “If we can’t get the folks down there up on the winch, we’ll have to get them through the gate. Go and see if you can get it open.”
The next few minutes were among the grisliest of Hynd’s’ long career. They tossed the bodies over the side—he taking the legs, the doc the arms—swinging them over as if they were throwing a pal into the river as kids. But there was no soft landing for these poor sods, only the prospect of ending in the bellies of the beasts. The raptors fed with gusto and the bodies attracted interest from two more of their kind who came, seemingly without any fear or trepidation, to join the first pair. These two were smaller and more vocal, and Hynd wondered if these were the females. Either way, their gender wasn’t having any appreciable effect on their appetite or ferocity.