by Greig Beck
‘Can I be here when you do?’
Again, Harper looked at her sadly. ‘I’m sorry, Rebecca, but that’s something that will be restricted.’
Becky’s mouth dropped open in surprise. ‘Are you kidding? I need to be here! I’m his friend…’ She reached into her pocket and switched on her phone.
Harper had already turned away. ‘It’s because you’re his friend that you can’t be here. We must face the fact that where he went might be an airless vacuum, or hotter than hell, or have a crushing gravity… For all we know, Arnold Singer may have been dead for weeks.’
Chapter 22
Wait… It’s Arrived
Harper watched the test with bated breath.
The bicycle-wheel-sized craft lifted from the ground on four rotational fans, like a miniature hovercraft — noiseless and sleek. The aerial mobile camera was modelled on deep-sea technology, except its housing didn’t need to be armour-plated against water pressure, so strength and durability could be traded off for mobility and speed.
Harper almost applauded as the machine remained suspended about six feet from the ground.
The four near-silent fan-blades were recessed in a broad, flat housing that made it look like a bulbous stingray. Gyroscopic assistance gave it incredible stability — it could hover motionless, even in a near hurricane, and bank and fly as swiftly as a bird of prey… well, a very fast pigeon, anyway. The front housed a large glass lens behind which sat the camera with an illuminated ring around it. It looked like a floating eye, in which a bottomless glass pupil was ringed by an iris of light.
Its miniaturised battery pack contained enough energy to run a small building, and allow the craft to run for at least forty-eight hours. It also powered the digital image feed and recorders. There was no guarantee anything at all would be delivered back to them, or for that matter that the device would survive the trip, but they didn’t have a lot of options. This would have to do.
Harper grunted his approval. ‘Ready as we’ll ever be. Okay, let’s take her in.’
The pilot ran his hand over his keyboard, giving each of the fans some extra thrust, and the craft lifted higher into the air. He turned one of the twin joysticks slightly and it spun slowly to line up with the freshly cut hole in the wall, now a dark tunnel leading to a lighter exit. Another technician focused the camera, and the image zoomed to the far end of the small tunnel. The craft entered, navigating the space with ease, emerging to hover just beside the smudge that hung in the air like steam over an air vent.
‘On your order, sir.’
Harper rubbed his hands together and leaned forward on the desk. ‘Proceed, four knots.’
The small craft glided to within an inch of the smudge of nothingness. Harper held his breath. A slight push on the joystick… and the craft leapt forward, as if being snatched up and swallowed. The data screens showed the device was still moving at a leisurely four knots, but the image feed indicated acceleration that was beyond comprehension.
Harper found it hard to continue watching the screen, as vertigo was making him feel giddy and nauseous. He turned to yell over his shoulder, ‘Distance?’
‘Ah, you’re not going to believe this, but: three feet — it’s barely moved. Theoretically, it’s still in the tunnel.’
‘What?’ Harper shook his head. ‘It must have malfunctioned. Can we turn it around?’
‘Wait… It’s arrived.’
As if a brake had been applied, the sensation of speed dissolved, and the camera light came on automatically as it detected low light. Harper blinked in confusion, and his mouth dropped open. He got to his feet.
‘Oh my God.’
Chapter 23
Dark Times
Arn was shown into the main hall by one of the castle’s hundreds of attendants. The servant didn’t enter the hall, but merely opened the door and motioned with his arm towards the darkened interior. Arn stepped through, and paused to allow his eyes to adjust.
A single candle burned on the far side of the room, and he made his way towards it. The silence was unsettling. Even his cautious footsteps sounded heavy as he crossed from the polished stones onto woven rugs.
Arn slowed when he saw that someone was seated in a massive chair, their head resting on one of their hands. Another empty chair stood close by. The figure lifted his head, silver eyes shining in the dark.
‘Dark times, young Man-kind.’ Grimvaldr sat back and studied Arn carefully. ‘Dark times that require dark deeds.’ He sighed. ‘What would you do to save someone you loved?’
Arn stepped a little closer. ‘Anything… Everything.’
Grimvaldr nodded. ‘Yes, I too.’ He opened his hand and showed Arn the scrap of material bearing the crest of the silver wolf with red eyes. ‘Grimson has been taken by the Panterran.’
Arn felt a sudden surge of anger, and fear for the youth. The thought of the old sorcerer’s talons digging into Grimson’s flesh made him want to scream with rage. ‘Is he a hostage? Do they want a ransom?’ He stepped closer. ‘Can we get him back?’
The king nodded slowly. ‘I hope so. There is a ransom, but they want something that is not mine to give.’
Arn grabbed the king’s forearm. ‘Then you must get it, and do everything in your power to save your son. How can I help?’
The king stared at the floor, but his eyes were focused on something much further away. At last he looked up, the weight of all his years dragging his features down.
‘They want you, Arnoddr-Sigarr.’
Arn frowned, momentarily confused as he tried to make sense of the words. He stepped back, feeling his legs bump against the empty chair, and he sat down heavily.
‘They… They want me?’ Arn’s mind jumped back to being tied to the rack, the hooked claws piercing the flesh of his face, and the invasion of his mind. He also remembered the creature wanting to read the future in his entrails. It made his legs weak, and he shuddered and felt cold all over. ‘If they get me, will they… release Grimson unharmed?’
‘Perhaps they will.’ The king stared hard at him.
‘And did they say what they wanted me for?’
Grimvaldr shrugged his heavy shoulders. ‘Perhaps to be a pet for their queen.’ He paused. ‘Or it could be something… else.’
Arn felt a lump of fear in the back of his throat. In the short time he had known the Wolfen, he had found them to be the noblest race he had ever met. Eilif, Sorenson, Strom; they wouldn’t hesitate… He rose to his feet.
‘Then you must do anything you can to get your son back. And I will do everything I can to make sure it happens.’
The king stood and placed his huge hands on Arn’s shoulders, pulling the other towards him in a crushing embrace.
He stepped back. ‘Putting yourself in harm’s way for a friend is a noble thing.’
Arn nodded. He remembered Mr. Jefferson, the bus driver, saying the same thing. The lump in his throat grew bigger as he suddenly longed for his old life back. He nodded again, but still couldn’t speak.
‘Our races are very similar, Arn. It’s no wonder the legends talk of our enduring kinship.’ He walked over to a long table on which lay something covered with a soft cloth. He motioned for Arn to join him. ‘You asked me whether the Slinkers would release my son unharmed. I said, perhaps. But truly, I think not. I also think your fate will be far more unpleasant than to be some curio for the queen.’
Arn thought once again of the claws in his face. ‘I’ll still do it.’
The king lifted the cloth. Beneath lay two small cages side by side — one slightly longer than the other. He used a knuckle to tap the top of the larger cage, causing its occupant to fall from the side where it had been hanging, close to its mate. The creature looked like a beetle, but was the size of his fist, with its abdomen blazing like a light bulb. In the other cage, its mate was smaller, and emerald green in colour.
‘Fleet beetles.’ Grimvaldr pointed to the larger one. ‘The female fluoresces when close to the male. Th
ey mate for life, and even if you separated them by a thousand longs, she would still find him. The closer she is, the brighter she glows.’
Arn leaned over the cages. ‘How does she find him?’
‘By smell — the male fleet beetle gives off a unique odour that the female tracks. Only she can smell it, and once paired, the perfume he makes is designed to be just for her.’
‘I think I see.’ Arn saw the king’s plan in his head. ‘So, I hide the male beetle on myself, and then you use the female beetle’s homing light to come and find me.’
‘Yes… But the Panterran will most likely search you.’ The king smiled ruefully. ‘You will need to swallow him. The female will still be able to track him when he’s inside your gut.’
Arn grimaced, and looked hard at the smaller beetle. Smaller, but still the size of his thumb, and with six spindly, sharp-looking legs. Ugh. ‘When?’
‘Not yet. Just before we hand you over. It will take three days for the beetle to pass through your system, which should be time enough.’
Arn nodded slowly, still feeling queasy at the thought of something that large, alive in his stomach. ‘And then the Wolfen army will find me, and when they do, hopefully I’ll be at the same place where the Slinkers have taken Grimson.’
The king lifted the smaller cage, and shook it slightly as he peered through the tiny bars. ‘That’s what we hope. But I’m afraid there will be no army. The Panterran scouts would alert them to a large force approaching long before it got anywhere near you. No, it will need to be a small party.’
This did nothing for Arn’s confidence. ‘So, ahh, fifty Wolfen elite?’
The king shook his head.
‘Twenty? Ten?’
Grimvaldr just shook his head again.
‘So how many?’
The king held up two fingers.
‘Two? Just two? Oh, great…’
‘Do not fear, Man-kind — I will send Strom and Sorenson. They are an army in themselves, and the best warriors and trackers this land has seen in many generations. They will find you… and bring you both to safety.’
Arn knew the king was right about the size of the force needed — the Panterran could probably hear a blade of grass bending in the darkest forest, so would certainly know if even a small force of Wolfen were making their way towards them. Besides, he thought, the king won’t risk perhaps his only chance to rescue his son.
‘Good as it gets, I suppose — when can I expect to go?’
‘Tomorrow eve. Say nothing of this to anyone, young Man-kind. Even in the court of the king, there are those — a very few, thank Odin — who prefer the reward of riches to the brotherhood of the pack.’
‘Traitors… Spies? Is that why we’re meeting in private? Do you have any idea who they are?’
The king draped the cloth back over the cages. ‘We have suspicions, but nothing we can prove. Just the same, we must be cautious. If the Panterran discovered our plan, they would remove the beetle — with a blade.’
This didn’t do much for Arn’s confidence either.
* * *
Vulpernix had travelled alone through the dark forest for many hours. He sought out a secret passage only he knew — a cave that led under the fields and open spaces, emerging in a small valley at the very edge of Valkeryn.
Even as he approached, he could sense the being waiting just inside the hidden mouth of the cave. His nose twitched at the familiar, unpleasant smell.
‘Vulpernix, betrayer of the Canites, friend to the Panterran.’ Orcalion glided from the dark hole and sat with his hood pulled up over his head, his yellow eyes glowing.
Vulpernix turned away for a moment, to throw off the look of distaste that had spread across his features. He smiled indifferently at the Panterran. ‘Greetings, wise Orcalion — and please, not a betrayer, but a saviour of the Canites. I bring good news: the king has agreed to hand over the Man-kind.’
Orcalion got to his feet. ‘Good news for the king, I think. What else, brave Wolfen?’
Vulpernix frowned at the other’s indifference to news he had thought critical to the queen of the Panterran. ‘He has sent word to the far garrisons to bring in the scattered Wolfen tribes — in ten days their numbers will be powerful indeed. I suggest any attack takes place before then. The kingdom will be yours.’
The old sorcerer’s soft, rasping laugh was like a hiss of steam. ‘Yes, attack early. But I have also heard the scattered Wolfen are being recalled not in ten days… More like five. That doesn’t give us much time at all, does it, trusted friend Vulpernix?’
Orcalion glided closer. ‘It seems the information you bring is a little… stale. I have also learned that the king plans to send his young and old Canites away from the castle.’ The yellow eyes glared with an intensity that seemed to burn into the old Wolfen’s brain. ‘We will need them. It is a long journey back to the dark lands, and the Lygon will need plenty of food… live food.’ Again, there was the hiss of laughter.
Vulpernix recoiled in disgust. ‘You go too far, Orcalion. I’ll gladly sell you information, but I’ll not see the young ones taken captive… for food. That was never part of the deal.’
In the blink of an eye, Orcalion had a curved dagger up under the old Wolfen’s chin. ‘Small, young ones, soon grow to be big ones. We cannot have another army of Wolfen coming down from the far lands after the Lygon have gone home. Best if the Panterran solve all their problems at once — besides, as soon as you took our wealth, you became one of us… brother Vulpernix.’ He lowered the dagger and turned his back, stepping once more into the shadows of the small cave. ‘Make sure next time you bring us new information. You told me nothing that I didn’t already know, vile betrayer of your kind.’
A small leather bag hit the ground at Vulpernix’s feet. When he looked up again, he was alone.
Chapter 24
The King’s Mission
The evening was coming too soon for Arn.
Late into the afternoon, Eilif wanted to continue practising their sword skills, but he couldn’t find any enthusiasm for it. His stomach was knotted in fear, and no matter how she joked, or cajoled him, he felt like a zombie.
In the end she gave up and wished him good morrow. Arn reached out to take her hand, shook it, but then held it a little longer than usual.
She smiled at first, and then frowned. ‘What is it?’
He released her hand. ‘It’s nothing. It’s just that you’ve been a good friend to me.’ He turned away, not seeing her face fall at the use of the word friend again.
‘I can tell something is wrong, Arnoddr. You don’t look me in the eye when you wish to conceal something. Did you know there is a Wolfen saying that goes: the eyes allow one’s sáál to reveal its true self.’
‘Huh, a what?’
She took his hand and placed it in the centre of her chest. ‘It’s something in here. Not the heart or the breathers, but something that cannot be seen that is the core of every righteous being. You have one too… and I think it’s a good one.’
Arn laughed and nodded. ‘Yes, I do. We call it, the soul. We have a similar saying — the eyes are the windows to the soul. So I guess you’re right; our races are more alike than we think.’
She placed her hand on the centre of his chest. ‘Yes, I believe I can feel it inside you — your soul. And do you know what else I believe? Inside, you’re really a Wolfen.’ She smiled and grabbed his vest and pulled him closer. ‘So, Man-kind… or maybe, Man-Wolfen, now that I look through the windows to your soul-sáál, what is troubling you? No untruths.’
Arn knew he couldn’t tell her. She still didn’t even know that Grimson had been taken; she had been told that he was in some sort of training school for young warriors.
‘Tomorrow. Okay?’
‘You’ll tell me tomorrow?’
He looked at her solemnly. ‘Tomorrow, you’ll know… Promise.’
* * *
Eilif watched him walk away, kicking small stones out of his path. He
was the strangest being she had ever known — and easily the most interesting, and… what? She didn’t know what he meant to her really. He confused her more than any other male.
She laughed at what she had called him — Man-Wolfen. Though there was no such thing, she really did believe he had the face of a man, but the heart and sáál of one of her own kind. She felt safe with him, felt… nice, when he was near.
She drew her sword, and practised swinging and lunging at shadows as the sun began to go down. There was a soft footfall behind her, and she spun around, a smile on her face and her sword raised, expecting Arn to have returned.
‘I knew you’d…’ She lowered her sword, just managing to drop the vestige of the smile on her face. ‘You should not sneak up on someone brandishing a sword, young warrior. Even the best Wolfen may find themselves missing an arm.’
Bergborr bowed deeply, with one arm crossed in front of his waist and one behind. When he straightened, he brought his arm out from behind his back, revealing a handful of wildflowers.
Eilif looked at them and tilted her head. ‘So I bring a sword, and you bring flowers. Things seem to be the wrong way around, wouldn’t you say, friend Bergborr?’
The dark Wolfen laughed and pushed the flowers into her hand. ‘Forgive me, I’m a fool in the presence of such beauty.’
Eilif’s ears blushed pink; she relished the compliment, even though she knew it was flattery. She also knew of his ambitions, and although he would be considered a fine warrior mate, she had never been sure if it was she, or her father’s throne, that most attracted him.
Like magic, from his other hand he presented her with a dagger in a scabbard of the most finely detailed silver, encrusted with fiery green stones. She reached for it, her fingers closing around the hilt…
She let her hand fall, empty. ‘I am far too young to be receiving gifts from such a fine warrior as yourself. Perhaps there are more deserving ladies of the court, on whom you might lavish your attentions.’
