He was sweating profusely, tiring.
And Lily began to recall a movie she’d watched with Zoe once—a documentary about a boxing match between Muhammad Ali and George Foreman in Africa. Foreman had been bigger, stronger, and younger than Ali —but Ali had just weathered his punches for eight whole rounds, letting Foreman grow tired in the process, and then Ali had pounced—
Zoe pounced.
As Warano lunged wearily in another attack, quick as a flash, Zoe dodged out of the way and plunged her short-bladed sword into his fleshy throat, right through his Adam’s apple, all the way up to the hilt.
The big man froze where he stood.
The entire crowd gasped.
The chief leaped to his feet.
The warlock turned to his priests and nodded. Some priests dashed away.
Warano wobbled unsteadily on the Fighting Stone—alive but incapable of movement, speechless on account of the sword lodged in his throat, his bulging eyes staring incredulously at her, at this woman—this woman! —who had somehow bested him.
Zoe just stood in front of the paralyzed giant, looking him right in the eye.
Then, slowly, she took his sword from his useless right hand and held it in front of his horrified eyes.
She addressed the crowd: “That sword in his throat is for all the little girls this man has ‘married’ over the years.”
Diane Cassidy translated in a quiet voice.
The crowd watched in stunned silence.
“And this is for the friend of mine he killed today,” Zoe said, grabbing the grip of the sword lodged in Warano’s throat and gruesomely pushing on it, driving him back toward the edge of the Fighting Stone, where he fell, landing on the very edge.
Zoe then kicked his useless legs out over the rim, allowing Warano to watch in paralyzed terror as the nearest crocodile saw them. With a fearsome lunge, the croc launched itself out of the mud and brought its jaws down on Warano’s feet with a crunching sideways bite.
A second croc joined in, and before he was dragged into the muddy pool, Warano got to watch as the two crocodiles ripped two of his limbs from his body, literally eating him alive.
His blood washed across the Fighting Stone before the crocs took him under and the muddy waters were still once again.
“Holy fucking shit,” Alby gasped, breaking the stunned silence that followed.
The chief stood in his box, speechless with rage. His firstborn was dead, killed by this woman.
But the warlock beside him still had his wits about him. He called out in his native tongue, shouting in a shrill voice.
Diane Cassidy translated: “A member of the royal clan has been slain! All know the punishment for such an outrage! The murderer must face the maze.”
ZOE’S CHALLENGE: THE MAZE
PLANKS were thrown down onto the Fighting Stone and Zoe was suddenly surrounded by warrior-monks. She dropped her sword and was immediately shoved at spear point off the Stone toward the temple-fortress, the only point of entry to the giant maze on the other side of the lake.
The warlock stood beside Zoe at the gate to the temple-fortress.
“This woman has taken royal blood!” he called. “Her sentence shall be as follows: she will be condemned to the maze, where she will be hunted by dogs. Should the gods in their eternal wisdom allow her to emerge from the other side alive and unscathed, then it is not for us to deny the great gods their will.”
“Such an old conceit,” Wizard spat. “Since she can’t escape the maze, the gods will be assumed to have sanctioned her death. It’s like dunking a woman accused of witchcraft in a river and saying if she drowns, she’s not a witch. It’s a no-win situation for her and an all-win situation for the priest who claims a connection with the divine.”
Standing at a discreet distance, Diane Cassidy said formally to Zoe, “The maze has two entrances, one to the north, another to the south. It also has many dead ends. Both entrances have separate routes that lead to the center. You will be thrown in at the northern end—a few minutes later, four warrior-monks with hyenas will enter behind you. To live, you must navigate your way to the center of the maze and from there, successfully negotiate the southern half to the south entrance. That is the only way to survi—”
The warlock barked something at Zoe. Cassidy translated: “The warlock asks if you have any final requests.”
Zoe gazed out from the gate of the temple-fortress. She looked out at Lily and Wizard on their platforms, their eyes wide with horror, and at Alby as well—when suddenly she spotted something hanging from Alby’s neck.
“As a matter of fact, I do have a request,” she said.
“Yes?”
“I would like one of my group to accompany me in the maze: the boy.”
Wizard and Lily both blurted,“What?”
Alby pointed at his own chest. “Me?”
