The Riders of Thunder Realm Read online

  The gorge narrowed until Joss brushed his knees and nicked his boots against the rock. The walls were so high it was as if they guarded a fortress, the sky now a sliver of blue that ran in a crooked line high over his head. The air was somehow different in here. It felt heavier, making it hard to breathe.

  But then the walls drew back to let the sunshine in, while the passageway split off in several directions. Joss slowed Azof to a stop, ignoring the raptor’s grunts of impatience. He focused instead on the dirt in front of them, studying it in the hope that it would show him which direction to take. If he were running the Gauntlet under his own name, he would aim to search out wherever the tyrannosaur was most likely to be lurking. But he knew he couldn’t risk that now, no matter how much it pained him to throw away any chance of winning.

  ‘This way,’ he muttered with a flick of the reins, guiding Azof down the only gulch where the ground hadn’t already been trampled. In doing so, he knew he was increasing his chances of setting off one of the many traps hidden throughout the maze. The greater threat, however, lay not only in being exposed, but also in running across Sur Verity. She was far more frightening than any hidden snare, or any set of jagged fangs.

  His musing was cut short as a sudden blur of motion jumped up in front of him. Ducking quickly, Joss rode beneath a wire that was strung between two spring-mounted posts. It scraped down the length of his back, tearing a hole in his coat.

  ‘Muck it!’ he cursed to himself and kept going, looking back just long enough to see the wire glistening like a spider’s web. Even with his frustration at damaging his coat, he still felt a rush of triumph at having navigated his way through the trap.

  ‘Ha!’ he exclaimed, grinning wide beneath his visor. In the 500 years since the first Tournament had been held, there’d never been a competitor as young as Joss. And here he was, dodging disaster and riding on. If luck weren’t muck, as Sur Verity had put it, he’d be thinking of himself as the luckiest prentice alive.

  Then, as he rounded a bend in the canyon, Joss was suddenly blinded.

  ‘Argh!’ he cried out, his eyes throbbing from the intense light reflecting off mirrors that had been nailed to the rock wall opposite him. The reins fell away as he pressed his hands to his face. A lesser mount might have grown nervous and bolted, but Azof had been too well trained. Without instruction, he guided his master through the Gauntlet until Joss’s eyesight cleared enough that he could take the reins again.

  ‘Good boy,’ Joss murmured, patting Azof ’s neck as they continued on. The raptor made a chuffing noise at the gesture, his feet belting a steady rhythm in the dried mudflat. Two obstacles now avoided, Joss speculated at what else the Gauntlet’s engineers might have in store.

  He remembered the first time he’d come to the Tournament. Though he’d already been a prentice for a year, he was embarrassed to think how little he’d known. He’d spent a whole afternoon searching supply tents for thunder lizard laxatives before the chortles of the older prentices tipped him off that they’d sent him on a fool’s errand. He’d still been burning red with embarrassment as he sat on the sidelines of the stadium to watch Sur Verity and the other paladeros of Round Shield Ranch run the Gauntlet, which always stood as the last event to be held.

  The illumicams had scarcely broken their coverage of Sur Verity as she’d swept through the playing field. That year, the Tournament had been held on the edge of the Dead Lands, with the Gauntlet itself staged on swampy terrain overgrown with weeping willows. Sur Verity had handled every trap thrown at her as if she’d designed them herself, knowing exactly how to avoid falling prey to their devices.

  When she’d finally found the tyrannosaur at the mouth of a mossy cave, she’d roped it like it was a quarter the size and had gums for fangs, her manner confident and effortless. Joss and the rest of the crowd had jumped to their feet to cheer her on, and the memory of that moment shone bright in his mind to this very day. Like a beacon, it lit the path to his own dreams of future glory.

  As if that path weren’t already under enough threat, it suddenly became far more perilous as the ground in front of Joss burst into flame. Before he had the chance to retreat, the fire traced a gas line that ran along the canyon walls, surrounding him and his mount. In an instant, they were both trapped behind a ring of smoke and blazing heat.

  ‘Easy, boy. Easy,’ Joss whispered in Azof ’s ear, doing his best to calm the beast as it bucked and shrieked beneath him. Thinking fast, he pulled his waterskin off his belt and weighed it in his hand. The water was stale and the bag half-empty, but hopefully it would be enough.

  Joss steadied himself as much as he could atop his panicking raptor and took aim at the gas line. He knew he would have only one shot at this, and only a second to take advantage if it worked. Steeling himself for what felt like the hundredth time that day, he threw the waterskin.

  It burst against the gas line like a balloon, spraying water everywhere and guttering the fire. Joss spurred Azof to jump across the weakened flames just as they erupted back into life. He didn’t look back as they hurried on. He simply shook the stinging sweat from his brow and kept riding. He would feel the fear later.

  Time blurred. Without a clear view of the sun it was hard to tell just how long he’d been riding through the maze. Surely someone would have encountered the tyrannosaur by now, would have taken it down, claimed the prize and brought the competition to a close. He was just starting to wonder if perhaps the contest had ended without him knowing when a scream came from further within the gorge.

  ‘AAARGH!’ someone cried, their voice overpowered by a ferocious roar that made the crowd’s earlier efforts seem puny by comparison.

  Joss froze. He could feel the blood rushing through him, could feel his stomach tightening and his heart kicking like a caged beast.

  The fear was back, and this time it would not be ignored.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A CRY OF TERROR

  THE scream grew louder. It echoed over the canyon walls, sounding both distant and unnervingly close, crying out in pain and horror before being silenced by a loud, crunching snap. Joss sat up high in his saddle, listening more intently than he ever had in his life, but all he could hear now was a terrible silence. It filled the air like a frost, making him shiver.

  ‘Oh dear!’ Merry Merl barked from the stadium, rattled yet somehow still upbeat. ‘Looks like that’s it for Sur Tiberius Redsleeve of Axehead Flats! A grisly defeat in the Gauntlet today! Can’t say his sponsors at Muddlemore and Murk Feedstores will be happy about that.’

  The crowd responded in a mix of chatter, clearly unsure of how to react. Joss paused, holding Azof ’s reins so tightly that his knuckles ached. All he’d wanted to do in running the Gauntlet was to make sure Edgar didn’t lose his place at Round Shield Ranch. Surely the best thing to do now would be to remain here, or possibly even double back, and leave someone else to confront the monster that lurked just around the corner. Though what would people say of Sur Wallace if the illumicams spotted him acting so cowardly, and where would that leave Edgar?

  Sur Verity would know what to do, he thought in desperation. Where is she?

  He was still trying to work out his next move when Merry Merl chimed in again.

  ‘That leaves Sur Luther Zadkille of Zadkille Station
alone and vulnerable before the King of the Thunder Lizards, injured from the fall he took off his cycle. He appears to be employing the tactic of stealth to evade the beast, keeping as still and silent as he can. But as they say, “The favourite meal of a tyrannosaur is paladero, served raw.” So the question is: will we see a second serve of raw paladero being dished up here today? Viewers of a sensitive disposition are advised to look away now!’

  A rumble emanated from behind the rock face, followed by a deep inhale. The tyrannosaur must have been snorting the air as it searched out its prey. Joss hoped for Sur Luther’s sake that the thunder lizard’s sense of smell was lacking, but then a cry of terror rang out to crush any chance of that. Without thinking, Joss snapped Azof ’s reins and charged around the curve of the gorge, readying himself for whatever nightmare he was set to encounter.

  ‘Sir Wallace Wundamore of Round Shield Ranch now enters the fray! Is he in time to help, or will he be added to the list of the fallen?’ Merry Merl’s voice echoed from both of the tinny speakers on the illumicam and from the stadium beyond. Joss ignored him as he came into a long, sandy canyon.

  Massive rocks were piled high and wavering on the plateau overhead, threatening to tumble down at any moment, while the King of the Thunder Lizards stood at the far end, its immense tail swaying from side to side. A scrap of red material hung from between its lips as it scrutinised the wrecked jet-cycle and the boulder before it, failing to notice the paladero from Zadkille Station hiding behind them.

  The paladero was dressed in sleek acrylic armour and purple padded vestments. His leg was twisted beneath him as he hunkered on the ground, the faceplate on his helmet drawn back to reveal the face of a bearded young man with wide, frightened eyes.

  He was staring across the canyon at the spot where his weapons had fallen. There would have been no way for him to reach them without drawing the beast’s attention even if his leg hadn’t been injured. He seemed to be weighing up his chances when he caught sight of Joss. At first he was shocked, but then his expression softened. With nothing more than his eyes, he implored Joss for help.

  And then the tyrannosaur roared, and Joss looked up to see it staring at him.

  The creature licked its lips, snorted, then charged. Pebbles bounced down the canyon walls with every movement, loosening the boulders overhead. If Joss’s mind had been racing before, it was absolutely sprinting now. Eaten alive or buried alive. His options were grim.

  Acting on instinct, he steadied Azof and removed his first bola to swing over his head. The tyrannosaur was gaining ground at an alarming rate, surprising Joss with its speed and making him wonder why he had ever thought this was a good idea. Letting the bola fly, he offered a silent prayer as he watched it glide towards the tyrannosaur.

  The bola swept past the thunder lizard’s ankle and kept going, sliding through the sand at the far end of the canyon.

  ‘Muck!’ Joss swore as Merry Merl chose this moment to pipe up yet again.

  ‘Sur Wallace’s first bola goes wide! He now has only one left and precious few seconds to use it. Once again, if young children or anyone easily offended is watching, I urge you to shut your eyes and plug your ears. This is sure to get ugly!’

  Cursing Merry Merl to the Ever After, Joss pulled loose the second bola and began whipping it around as fast as he could. The tyrannosaur was only seconds away. The bola would no sooner be airborne than it would be whacking uselessly into the creature’s ankles, if Joss even got the angle right to hit them. Knowing it was too much to risk, he looked around in desperation for any other possibilities and saw the avalanche of rocks that the King Lizard was shaking loose. Joss knew immediately what he had to do.

  He threw the bola. It arced high over the tyrannosaur’s head and kept flying. The tyrannosaur loomed over him, its lips curling in a growl. Azof trembled. The paladero hiding behind the boulder looked away. Joss held his breath and closed his eyes.

  Striking the rocks that were piled atop the canyon walls, the bola sent them rolling. One caught the tyrannosaur on the brow, another on its nose. Shaking its massive head, it looked up just as a boulder came bounding down the canyon wall to smash into the middle of the creature’s face.

  ‘Rrreee!’ the giant thunder lizard screeched in shock as it tumbled to the ground, crashing onto its belly and kicking up a cloud of dust. As the red dust clouds parted, Joss saw the beast lying still, knocked out cold.

  Even with the aching relief that he felt at not being tyrannosaur chow, Joss couldn’t help sparing a thought for the big dumb animal. It hadn’t asked to be a part of any of this. All it had done was act on instinct, just the same as he had. He didn’t think at all of what he’d just accomplished. Not until a sudden blaring noise made him jump in his saddle.

  ‘He’s done it!’ Merry Merl shrieked over the squealing speakers. ‘With an unprecedented strategy and a good dollop of luck, Sur Wallace Wundamore of Round Shield Ranch has brought down the King of the Thunder Lizards! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the champion of this year’s Gauntlet!’

  And though the stadium was nearly a league to the west, Joss could still hear the excited screams and the rapturous applause of the crowd as they cheered on his victory. Allowing himself this moment, he tilted his head back and raised his arms in triumph, just the same as Sur Wallace would. He had done it. Somehow, despite his best efforts, he had actually won. Whatever happened now, he didn’t dare to guess.

  The sounds of adulation were cut through by the shriek of afterburners, signalling the arrival of another jet-cycle. Only one paladero order favoured cycles over living mounts. Only one was wealthy enough to afford them. Sure enough, the vehicle was painted in the familiar black and purple of Zadkille Station, its rider dressed in the same synthetic armour and padded leather as the injured paladero, his face hidden by a similar glossy black helmet.

  ‘Luther! Are you all right?’ the rider asked as he jumped from the back of his cycle. Though he had the Zadkille Station emblem embossed on his chestplate, he had no personal markings to distinguish himself – meaning this was a prentice rather than a paladero. No doubt he’d been given the honour of serving as support staff in the Gauntlet the same way that countless prentices had before him, through the benefit of wealth and privilege. Unsurprisingly, few prentices from Round Shield Ranch had ever served.

  ‘Do I look “all right” to you, you lackwitted carbuncle?’ the injured paladero grunted, struggling to his feet. ‘Maybe if you’d done a better job at servicing my cycle, it wouldn’t have crashed.’

  ‘But you never let me near your cycle –’ the helmeted prentice protested.

  Sur Luther only glowered. ‘Don’t argue. Just be grateful that Sur Wallace here was able to step in when he did and make up for your incompetence.’

  Sur Luther gestured to Joss, while the other prentice hit a button on his collar that retracted his helmet. He didn’t look like most paladero folk. He wasn’t sunburnt or weatherworn. He wasn’t crusted in sweat or mud. Instead he seemed to glow, his golden hair catching the sunlight like a crown.

  Though Joss had just proven himself in the Gauntlet, this stranger somehow made him feel small, insignificant, dirty, just by the power of his presence. Or maybe that had more to do with the name they were calling him, and the consequences he now faced at having to reveal the truth.

/>   ‘Sur Wallace!’ the prentice said, stepping forward to offer his hand. ‘Allow me to be the first to congratulate you, sur – that was quite the victory. And more than that, my family thanks you. My brother would have surely perished if not for your timely intervention.’

  ‘Uh, no. I’m sorry. There’s been a mistake, you see …’ Joss didn’t know what to say. For one crazy moment, he wondered if he could somehow keep his identity concealed. Perhaps he could find a way of escaping back to Sur Wallace’s tent and trussing the old paladero up in all this plate armour and riding gear before anyone was the wiser. Then his drunkenness could be seen as a misguided celebration of his win, and Edgar’s position would still be secure.

  But Joss knew better than that. There was no getting out of here unmasked, no way to evade what had just happened, so it was better to drop the charade, take responsibility and deal with whatever difficulty was sure to come. Ignoring the prentice’s outstretched hand, he reached instead towards his own helmet. ‘My name? It’s not Wallace Wundamore.’

  ‘It’s not?’ The prentice looked from Joss to Sur Luther, his confusion plain to see.

  ‘No,’ Joss said. He pulled off his helmet with trembling hands, a tangle of black curls falling in his eyes. ‘It’s Josiah Sarif.’

  ‘Josiah?’ someone else exclaimed from behind them. Joss spun around to see Sur Verity sitting astride Levina’s back at the far end of the canyon, staring at him in shock.

  ‘Aw, muck,’ Joss cursed again, and dropped his helmet into the sand.