Return of the Ancients (22 page)

‘Ten thousand Wolfen elite, two hundred bowmen, five hundred fast riders . . . more than enough to roll over a million Slinkers, and just as many of their giants, sire. The Lygon caught our warriors by surprise in the fields. But it will never happen again. We’ll equip the front lines with lances – the great blunderers’ own body weight will carry them onto our pikes.’

Grimvaldr placed his hand on Karnak’s shoulder. ‘If only everything went to plan – we could win all our battles at the table.’

‘Yes, sire. The mists of war sometimes blur all.’

Grimvaldr turned to the other Wolfen and spoke in a loud and strong voice. ‘Valkeryn will not fall this season. Though I believe we have enough force to stop the enemy in their tracks, it is imperative that we hold them back for two, perhaps even three days, until our reinforcements begin to arrive. Then we will close around them like a fist.’

He turned back to Magnus. ‘The far troops need to be fully equipped and briefed – we can’t have thousands of Wolfen streaming into Valkeryn, unprepared. Ready some Wolfen to meet and organise them, so they are armed and ready for battle. Every Wolfen . . . and every second, will count. Go.’

The generals filed out, leaving only one remaining.

Grimvaldr sat heavily on a bench and rested an elbow on his thigh and his chin on his fist. He sighed long and wearily. ‘Do you think we can hold them? Could they possibly overwhelm us?’

Vulpernix sat down beside the king. ‘The Panterran have brought together every warrior in the land. All have been attracted by the thought of conquering Valkeryn.’ He looked off into the distance, as if gathering his thoughts. ‘The Lygon will come in their first attack – though Karnak may think we can spear the giants on our pikes, I fear that they will be ready with heavy armour. Their enormous strength will allow them to carry steel thicker than our weapons could ever hope to penetrate.’

He turned to Grimvaldr. ‘The pikes will break . . . but still, I believe we can repel them. All will depend on the reinforcements getting here in time. If not . . .’

The king nodded slowly. ‘If not, they will not be needed.’ He inhaled deeply and let the breath leak from his long snout. ‘I need to ask a favour of you, old friend.’ Grimvaldr gripped the forearm of the ancient counsellor and looked deeply into his eyes. ‘We cannot win this war, while our plans are being shared with the Panterran. Find me the traitor – find him quickly, before these devils are at our gate . . . and our throats.’

Vulpernix placed his hand over the king’s. ‘Trust me, sire.’

*****

Eilif bounced around her large room, pulling open drawers and opening boxes. The armour she chose wasn’t her standard heavy battledress of polished steel with the crest of the raised wolf’s head. Instead, she chose fire-blackened leather, toughened and hard enough to deflect arrows. Tight chain mail covered her arms and long legs – it too had been stained to blend into the shadows.

She belted a medium-length sword to her waist, paused, and then added several more blades. She then strung one of her shorter bows, looping it over one shoulder with a quiver of arrows over the other. She was about to bound from the room, when she stopped and went back to the shelf. She reached in among the bottles of potions and powders, and her hand closed on a small leather box. She rattled it and a hissing came from within. Nodding, she stuck the small box in a pouch that she had tied over the small of her back.

There was a knock on her door and she froze. She thought quickly and looked around her room at the disarray she had caused. If it was the queen, she could never explain her attire.

The knock came again.

Eilif went to the window and pushed it open. Without a second thought, she leapt out.

*****

The two brothers, Strom and Sorenson, moved quickly and quietly through the dark forest, making note of large trees and landmarks as they went. No moon meant tracking and travelling fast had to be accomplished with sharp night vision, smell, hearing – and caution. They needed to track their quarry, but not stumble into them. They also needed to find their way back, as they expected to be moving fast.

Both Wolfen knew that the Panterran’s night vision was twice as good as their own, and if they were detected, their mission would be a failure. It would also mean capture and a very unpleasant death.

After a while, Sorenson stopped and motioned for them to still. He moved his head slowly in an arc, listening. ‘Something,’ he whispered to his older brother.

Strom’s ears flicked forward and then back, and in another moment he whispered in response, ‘I don’t sense Slinker. We must keep moving.’

Sorenson nodded, but he turned back again briefly, his brow furrowed with concern.

The two Wolfen crept forward, staying low and moving as fast as their senses would allow.

*****

Eilif had been tracking the Panterran for hours, and in the last few moments she had picked up the almost imperceptible sounds of another party – smaller, but moving stealthily beside the main trail.

She took to the trees, moving along the thick branches that were less crowded than the forest floor. If there had been strong moonlight, she would have been more exposed, but as the night was dark and the path was heavily overgrown, it suited her to be able to move at greater speed, unencumbered by bracken and fallen trees.

Eilif increased her speed, sensing she was closing on the small party. She knew they weren’t Panterran – she could not smell the acrid tang that the foul creatures left behind. If one of the creatures stopped to urinate . . . Even if covered, the smell was appalling. She shuddered as she remembered the disgusting creatures touching her face and body.

In another hour, Eilif knew she had managed to get ahead of the small party. She hesitated; she could outpace them and reach her quarry first, or she could wait to see who had been tracking them. She remembered an olden saying from Balthazar – something like,
my enemy’s enemy is my friend
. She hoped that the party turned out to be her friends and not those of the Slinkers.

Eilif pressed herself into the limb of a tree just over the path, her night armour blending perfectly into the background. She sensed them now – there would be two of them. She waited, unmoving, and unafraid.

A large figure appeared . . . but strangely, only one.

*****

Strom stopped in the centre of the path, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He waited, his senses focused. He knew there was another being close by. His instincts were as sharp as any in the kingdom, but his large frame meant that, as silently as he could move through a forest, it was not easy for him to vanish like some of the other warriors.

That was where his younger brother was second to none – he could become like a forest wraith.

*****

Eilif knelt in the crook of a large branch. The massive figure was frozen like a statue. She sniffed the slightly acrid tang of the Panterran, perhaps because they had recently passed through, but she also caught the scent of her own kind. She continued to stare at the being; it stood there, unmoving, but not concealing itself. She had the feeling that it sensed her, that it knew it was being watched. That it had come out into the open area of the path,
wanting
to be seen . . . And if it wanted to be seen, then it wanted to draw her attention away from . . .

The small blade came down along the side of her throat.

‘And what would the king say, young princess?’

She pushed the blade away from her face. ‘He’d say that he’s happy to give friends of Valkeryn to the hated Slinkers.’

Eilif dropped to the ground, with Sorenson landing lightly beside her. Strom had already sheathed his sword and joined them. He bowed slightly. ‘Not a good night for hunting, my lady; there is no moon.’

‘Depends what one is hunting. And what
are
you hunting, the two of you?’

Strom and Sorenson exchanged a glance. Nodding, Sorenson turned back to the princess. ‘You need to go back to the castle. There is important business afoot.’

Eilif placed her fists on her hips. ‘If that business of yours is rescuing the Man-kind, then I’m going with you. And if it isn’t, then I’m going by myself . . . and you’d better stay out of my way.’ She had raised her voice only slightly above a whisper, but still it seemed loud in the hush of the forest.

Sorenson reached forward and grabbed her snout and held it. ‘Silence, or the only thing we’ll find tonight is our way to the afterlife at the hand of the Slinkers.’

She pulled her nose free, and snapped at his fingers. ‘My father would have you whipped for that. Though I struggle to think of him as my father at all, after he has handed our good friend to those vile creatures.’ She walked a few paces further along the trail. ‘Well? With or without you?’

She heard Strom groan softly.

Sorenson turned to his brother and shrugged. ‘At least she knows how to track and hunt.’

Eilif started foward. ‘We need to hurry, or they’ll be lost once they get to into the tangle brush – without a trail, we’ll never find them.’

Strom motioned for the three of them to crouch, and he linked his large fingers across his knees. ‘We don’t have the time to explain what has and is occurring in the kingdom. But it is enough to tell you that the king risks everything by sending us out to rescue the princeling . . . and your friend.’

‘Grimson? They’ve got Grimson?’ Eilif tried to stand, but Sorenson grabbed her and pulled her back down.

‘Captured by the Slinkers several days ago,’ he said. ‘Spirited away. Arnoddr-Sigarr offered to be part of an exchange – the Man-kind for the prince. We hope that they are taking the Man-kind to where they have Grimson. We have little more than a day.’

But why just the two of you? Why not the entire Wolfen army? Grimvaldr would normally not rest until he had rescued my brother – I don’t understand what is happening.’

‘No princess, you don’t. There is war coming, and if he sent out his legions now, there is a chance they could be ambushed and pinned down, days from the castle . . . at a time when all of Valkeryn will need them. But Strom and I might be able to find the camp and infiltrate it.’

‘I smell Slinker.’ She flashed the brothers a questioning glance.

Sorenson held up a leather bag tied at his waist. ‘The hide of a dead Slinker – it will at least cover
some
of our scent. Hopefully long enough for us to get close.’ He dropped the bag and reached inside his vest, pulling forth a small cage. He gave it a little shake, and it started to glow. He held it up, facing back the way they’d come, and the beetle glowed dully. But when he held it in the direction they were heading, the glow intensified.

‘A female fleet beetle.’ Eilif snorted, nodding as understanding dawned on her. ‘And Arn has its mate on him.’

‘Hmm, not really
on
him, but he certainly has it
with
him. But we only have limited time – just over another day and night until we lose the beetle’s guidance.’

Strom got to his feet. ‘If you follow our instructions, then you may accompany us. Agreed?’ In answer, Eilif started to move off down the path, and Strom grabbed her shoulder. ‘Wait. You won’t need all of these. We need to travel light.’ He pulled a few of the daggers from her belt and cast them aside.

‘I’d much prefer to see those buried in a Panterran, than in the dirt of the forest floor.’ Muttering, Eilif headed off into the dark.

Strom shook his head, and Sorenson just chuckled softly.

Arn’s knees were bruised, and his neck chafed even though the rope had been looped around the outside of the bag over his head. The air inside was stiflingly hot.

From time to time, he felt something sharp prodding his rear, and he hoped the Wolfen brothers weren’t too far away. Arn also knew what would happen if one of their sorcerers took the opportunity to probe his mind again – whether he wanted to or not, he might alert them to the fleet beetle, and betray his would-be rescuers.

He had no idea how long he had been forced to march, but as it was early evening when he was taken from the castle, and there was faint warmth touching his skin now and then, he thought that the sun must have been coming up. He felt fatigued, but he did not yet crave sleep – adrenaline must have been coursing through his system.

They marched on and on, and the rubbing of his boots became a damp, stringing throb –
burst blisters
, he bet. The hours passed, and finally there came a push in his back, and he was pulled roughly to his knees, the sack dragged from his head. Even though it was only mid morning, the weak sunlight blinded him and made him screw his eyes shut in pain.

Arn blinked several times, and his vision swam for a few seconds until at last his eyes adjusted enough for him to make out his surroundings. They were in a clearing with a large domed tent set up at one edge, and smaller tents scattered throughout. There were also cooking fires dotted in just about every vacant space. Black banners flew from the top of the tents depicting the head of a cat with yellow eyes and the familiar, merciless gaze of the Panterran.

Panterran and Lygon moved about the clearing. Arn watched as Orcalion swaggered over to the largest tent. Outside, a ring of guards in loose black robes watched as he approached. Two heavily armed Panterran at the entrance stepped forward to meet him. He spoke briefly to the pair, motioned to Arn and then to himself, before nodding and returning to their group.

Arn was still on his knees, and Orcalion reached for the tether around his neck and yanked it roughly. With his arms bound, Arn fell forward into the dirt.

‘Mogahr sleeps. But do not worry, ugly one, I’m sure she will wish to see you when she wakes.’

Arn spat dirt from his mouth and struggled back up to his knees, ‘Can I have some water?’

The corners of Orcalion’s lips twisted in a cruel, disbelieving sneer. ‘Water?’ He grabbed the tether again, and yanked hard.