Return of the Ancients (32 page)

Bergborr whispered into Vulpernix’s ear, ‘What do I hope to accomplish, old fool? I do not just hope; I
will
accomplish Grimvaldr’s downfall, and in his place will rise King Bergborr, with Queen Eilif at my side. The king believes the Panterran can never be made into our allies – but he’s wrong. I’ve already done it.’

Vulpernix looked up to the sky, to the tiny pinpoints of light, which he knew to be the candlelight from Valhalla’s golden hallways. He’d be there soon.

A final thought drifted across his mind as his single clear eye began to cloud over.
Sorry, my king. I have failed you. May Odin give you luck and strength on the morrow.

Vulpernix sped to Valhalla.

*****

Bergborr slipped over the side of the bank, dragging the old Wolfen’s body with him. He paddled silently to where the river flowed into the arched, gated tunnel. Sucking in a few deep breaths, he ducked below the surface, dragging the body with him.

The slight murmur of the river masked the sound of heavy, ancient iron gates being unlocked and forced open.

Later, Bergborr would tie a length of dark cloth to a flagpole on the highest turret of the castle – that would be
the signal
. His job would then be done.

Orcalion bowed deeply and crawled forward on his knees. He knew that the queen was still furious for his role in allowing the Man-kind to escape.

He looked up into the golden, slitted eyes. ‘We are ready, almighty Mogahr.’

The eyes didn’t blink. ‘
And whaat offf the Wolfen traaaitor? Did heee open the hiddeen gate into the cassstle?’

‘The sign is there. The colours of Grimvaldr have also been taken, as well the Wolfen scouts we captured. They will be put to good use.’

‘And the Lygonsss – can we trussst thossse ssstuumbling bruutesss tooo hold tooogether long enough for the attackkk?’

‘The Lygon want flesh – but as long as we do not bring them up too soon, we may be able to hold them until the charge is sounded. Once they charge, anything in front of them will be destroyed.’

‘And wheeen theeere is no mooore Wolfen flesssh to consssume? Yesss, theen weee will  deal with them alssso. One world – one race to rule it, Orcalion.’

Orcalion nodded. ‘As you wish, my queen.’ He tilted his head. ‘I wonder: how exactly does our pet Wolfen imagine he will live to claim his prize?’

Mogahr’s mouth opened, revealing the decayed remnants of her long fangs. ‘
We promisssed him that he and the princessss would not be killed. We promisssed him that heee would rule over the remaining Wolfen. The Lygonss will need rationss for the long marccch back to their homeland. Perhapsss our traitor can be king of the prisonersss taken for fooood.’

Orcalion hissed out a laugh and bowed deeply. ‘But they shan’t meet their deaths at our hands. We Panterran
always
keep our word.’ He laughed again.

Mogahr raised her head and sniffed the air.
‘It will sssoon be the darkessst hour of the night – we
attack then.’
Her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward. ‘
If you fail me, Orcalion, at thisss, the most important hour for all Panterran kind, then the Lygonss will have more than Wolfen-kind for their fooood.’

Orcalion, cringing, got to his feet, but remained bent over. ‘King Grimvaldr will fall, and Empress Mogahr will rise and reign supreme over all of this unworthy world.’ He continued bowing as he hurried from the tent.

Once outside, he glided away, pausing only to cast a glare back over his shoulder. ‘You will not be queen forever, old witch.’ He continued muttering to himself as a giant figure emerged from the darkness in front of him.

The Lygon general towered nearly a head above his own kind, and dwarfed the smaller Panterran. With his battle-scarred face and ogreish physique, Goranx was a monstrous devil, to be sure. Orcalion was relieved that the beast fought on their side.

He looked at the newly taken heads hanging from the Lygon’s belt and frowned. ‘Man-kind? There are more?’

Goranx shrugged. ‘Perhaps. They were good . . . Soft and sweet.’

Orcalion’s eyes narrowed slyly. ‘There is another in the Wolfen castle. The queen wants this one alive, but in battle things become confused . . . and lost.’

Goranx stared for a moment, as if trying to pull the hidden meaning from the small Panterran’s words. His broad mouth twisted into a cruel smile.

Orcalion knew that the queen would not get everything she wanted this day.

Onwards they ran – females, males, young and old – all those strong enough to wield a weapon. Foam flecked at the corners of their mouths, and tongues hung from fatigue.

Some ran in full armour, some in a leather battledress that was little more than a vest and a belt with a scabbard. Small bands in their dozens joined up with others, to form groups in their hundreds. The hundreds then joined together, until a bristling, jostling horde poured down from the hills, down into the outskirts of Valkeryn.

A howl echoed through the night air – then another, and another. From one side of the hills to the other, thousands were answering the call.

Some miles ahead of them, past the forests at the very foot of the hills, the fields crawled with the slow surge of bodies pushing through the long grass. Thousands of almost silent creatures snaked their way forward, and at a designated point they fanned out.

Prisoners were brought forward; their mouths tied shut and hands bound behind their backs. Grimvaldr’s colours were raised, and stakes were quickly hammered into the ground.

The prisoners were readied and then the horde sank down and waited for the coming tide of warm Wolfen bodies.

Grimvaldr watched the approaching line of fire as it devoured the far hills beyond Valkeryn. The air rang with the sound of large drums beating out their advance, and from the stamping of thousands upon thousands of feet upon the hard-packed earth.

The king now wore his full armour, and the silver shone in the moonlight. He turned to his assembled generals.

‘The halls of Valhalla will be full tonight, and blessed are those who are first to make their way to sit before Odin.’

As one, the generals strucks their fists against their armour-plated chests.

‘Our enemy is not like us. Where we show mercy, they are cruel. Where we hold out our hand, they clutch the assassin’s blade. They have no sáál, and Hellheim waits for their twisted minds and bodies.’

In response, the generals beat their chests again.

‘If a Wolfen king falls, the pack will fight on. If he falls, Valkeryn lives on. For inside every Wolfen, the spirit of Fenrir burns like the Great Fire at the beginning of all things.’

The fists were now beating continuously.

‘But the Panterran – if their Queen falls, they will be like a serpent with no head. Our goal is to capture Mogahr, or take her head. Even if we fail in this, the Panterran will fall back to defend her – and give our far Wolfen warriors time to swell our ranks. The dark is their friend, so they will attack when the moon sets and before the sun rises. If they like the dark, then we will be the light.’ He smiled grimly and looked slowly around the room. ‘We will be Fenrir’s fire with all its blessed light and heat, and we will give them war.’ His voice rose, and he crushed his hand into a fist before them. ‘We will give them a war to end all wars!’

Grimvaldr bared his long teeth and roared, and the Wolfen responded in kind, their roars a deafening cacophony in the large throne room.

The king held up his fist. ‘Generals of the Wolfen pack, assemble your warriors. The hour is here.’

Swords were drawn and shouts for Valkeryn, Grimvaldr, and death to Mogahr echoed around the room as the Wolfen departed to prepare their troops. Grimvaldr watched them go, and waited for the heavy doors to be closed. Then he turned to the remaining figure, standing silently in the room.

Queen Freya, dressed in her own battle armour, smiled at her husband. He walked towards her and removed one of his heavy gauntlets, so he could reach out to stroke her cheek where it showed beneath her helmet.

‘Freya, beautiful Queen Freya. I remember when I chased you through the castle grounds when we were both little more than younglings. You have been my blood and sáál, my fire for an eternity.’

She reached up to take his hand, and hold it against her chest. ‘If this day we are to travel to Valhalla, then I have no regrets. Mighty king, you have given me everything I could have ever wished for.’

Grimvaldr reached inside a pouch at his side and drew forth a small box, which he opened to reveal a tiny painted likeness of himself, and one of Freya, Eilif and Grimson. ‘Give this to our son. Send him away with the Man-kind now, before he is trapped here by the horde. I fear if these walls fall, then none will survive.’

Freya took the small pictures, looked at them for a moment, her lips turning up in a small smile. She pressed the box to her lips, as a single tear rolled down the fur on her face. ‘I pray, one day he returns to take Mogahr’s head . . . To take all their heads.’

Freya grabbed Grimvaldr and clung to him, rubbing her cheek against his. He held her close for a moment, before pushing her gently away.

She nodded. ‘I’ll see you on the field, my lord. The enemy will pay a heavy price this day.’

*****

Bergborr was the last of the Wolfen to leave the throne room. The dark warrior felt nauseous. Fear, perhaps . . . or was it guilt? He couldn’t tell anymore, as things were so jumbled in his head.

He wanted to fight, and fight for Valkeryn – home to his ancestors for countless generations. But as he walked down the corridor, looking at the pictures of the kings past, he knew that his likeness would never grace the walls while Grimvaldr lived. Or for that matter, while Eilif thought she had a choice of suitor.

He grimaced at the thought of the attention she had been giving to the Man-kind. His hairlessness and short face were repulsive. It was unnatural and it was sick.

He was walking heavily down the corridor, cursing beneath his breath, when Eilif suddenly appeared in his path, making him start. She threw back her head and laughed at him, and the sound made his heart melt within his armoured chest. He had loved her since he had first seen her in the king’s court, and now that she was at the cusp of being an adult female Wolfen, he wanted her even more as his life mate.

He devoured her with his eyes – her tall form, strong and lithe in her battle armour. Her eyes, that were large and shining pools of both flashing silver ice, reflected his own image back at him.

She raised her chin. ‘You look like you have seen a wraith, brave Bergborr. One so large should not be so afeared, especially on the eve of a great battle.’ She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow.

He laughed in return and took her hand. ‘I would fear a single harsh word from you, over a thousand Lygon death warriors, my beautiful Eilif.’

Her smile evaporated, and she pulled her hand away. ‘I’m no Wolfen’s Eilif.’

‘Of course, I just meant—’

‘I’m to see the king now.’ She nodded. ‘Until the battle, then.’

He stepped towards her. ‘Are you . . . Are you fighting close to the king? I shall look for you.’

She turned away. ‘No need; I already have someone to fight by my side this day. Look to your own Wolfen brothers, Bergborr. And may Odin protect you.’

‘May Odin protect us all,’ he replied automatically. He bowed as she danced lightly away down the corridor.

Already have someone to fight by my side
. The words burned him deeply. Any stirring of guilt he had felt earlier was swept away with the loathing he felt for the Arnodrr-Sigarr – from the moment he arrived, everything changed. And in turn, Bergborr had been forced to change his plans to suit the circumstances.

The queen of the Panterran had ordered that none were to harm the Man-kind. She now wanted him even more than she wanted Grimvaldr to fall. Bergborr shivered in anticipation. He couldn’t imagine what the vile queen would do to the Arnoddr when she finally had him in her taloned grip, but it soothed his bitter heart to know it would undoubtedly be bloody.

*****

Eilif entered the throne room and was surprised to find her mother there. She walked quickly to the queen, took her hand, bowed, and then turned to her father.

‘You called for me?’ She looked up into his face, noting that the strong features looked slightly drawn, as though a great pain was burning inside his breast.

‘Yes, Eilif. This one last time I call.’ He took her hand and led her to a large throne-like chair, sitting her down and staring at her, as though collecting his thoughts. Freya came to stand beside him, and placed one hand on his shoulder.

Eilif looked up into his eyes; his solemnity was making her nervous.

At last, the king drew in a deep breath and spoke.

‘Grimson will be safe.’

Eilif nodded and waited. She already assumed that Grim would be kept away from the battle. But this couldn’t be why they had called her on the eve of war.

‘He’ll be taken to the far lands, then?’ she asked.

The king smiled sadly. ‘You are very perceptive. Yes, he will go to the far lands . . . and well beyond them. In fact, he is leaving now. I apologise for not allowing you your farewells. But time is not something we have to spend freely. In fact, time is something that is controlled more by our approaching enemies.’

She nodded and smiled at the queen. Freya smiled sadly in return.

What of it, Eilif wondered? The battle would be decided quickly, and when the mighty Wolfen were victorious, Grimson would be sent for, and then he and his escort . . .