by Greig Beck
Anticipating Arn’s next question, Balthazar pointed to where the water flowed into the tunnel. ‘The river travels underground, and we have placed a gate across the tunnel. Have no fear: no Panterran will be sneaking up on us. Besides, they can’t stand water.’
Arn nodded, watching the river as it swirled away into the darkness.
*****
Once again Arn found himself seated before the sealed doors of the king’s main hall. He and Eilif sat together on a polished wooden bench, and Arn rested his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. He looked across at Eilif’s face – she seemed calm, but her breathing was rapid.
‘Are you afraid?’
The silver blue eyes turned to him. ‘Afraid?’ She seemed to think for a moment. ‘Of dying? No. Of living, yes, if it meant a lifetime of Panterran oppression.’
Arn starred at her for a few seconds, wondering at the depths of her people’s desire for freedom. He knew there were always things worth fighting for . . . and dying for – his own heritage had taught him that. He rubbed his face and then ran his fingers up through his long hair.
She put her hand on his shoulder, and shrugged. ‘Perhaps the Panterran were created to provide some sort of balance in the world – light against dark, good to bad, peace and war. She sighed and sat back. ‘Perhaps we are not supposed to know peace. Perhaps, from time to time, we Wolfen need war to remind us of where it was we came from – born of pain and fire. I think that ruling a land is not a right, and it must be fought for every single day. My father taught me that.’ She turned to him. ‘Did your people know peace, Arn?’
Arn thought for a moment before answering. ‘Mostly, but there was always conflict. We had world wars, and small wars, but we always wanted peace. We all lived in the hope that one day war would be a thing of the past.’
‘You had no Panterran, or Lygon, or even Boarex. Who did you fight?’
Arn snorted. ‘Other humans. Different countries – sometimes even within our own country.’
She frowned in confusion. ‘You fought other Man-kind – why? You would have been the same. Did you want to eat each other, or make slaves from your brothers? Did you not have shared dreams and goals and a common lore?’
‘No and no, we were a fractured race. I guess you could say, we were still evolving.’
‘Ha, it sounds like you were more warlike than the Wolfen or Panterran. You must have been fearsome warriors.’
Arn sighed and nodded. ‘Yes, but the problem was, we humans became very good at war – too good.’
Eilif screwed up her brow in confusion, and was about to say something else when the huge double doors pulled inwards. Vulpernix appeared, and with his single eye, looked from Arn to Eilif and then back again, before bowing slightly and motioning with his hand for Arn to enter.
Eilif got to her feet, but Vulpernix stopped her. Instead she mouthed something he couldn’t make out, which Arn assumed was a wish for good luck. Vulpernix watched Arn enter, but didn’t follow, and pulled the heavy door shut, leaving him alone in the large hall.
*****
The heavy doors closed shut behind him.
Arn stood alone in the large hall. He walked forward cautiously, his footsteps sounding heavy on the stones and echoing in the high-ceilinged room. The last time he had been here by himself . . . He just hoped that if the king was going to ask anything else of him, it didn’t involve eating insects.
It didn’t bode well that the hall was as dark as it had been the last time. Arn was beginning to wonder whether he really was alone in the room, when a slight scrape of a heel on the stones drew his eyes to one of the windows. He could make out a large figure leaning against the sill, and looking out into the dark night – a dark night with a rim of red on the horizon.
The figure spoke without turning. ‘Not long now. I would wish for more time, but there will be none given.’ He raised one large fist and pounded it onto the sill. ‘We need hold them for only a few days! Just until the Wolfen arrive from the far outposts. Only then, may I dare to believe that we can defeat them.’
Arn stepped a little closer. ‘But why don’t you just shelter behind the walls? Surely you have a better chance of staying safe and holding them off then.’
Grimvaldr shook his head, but kept his eyes on the red horizon. ‘We are Wolfen. The strength of the kingdom is not in her stone, but in her blood and flesh. We will face them in battle, eye to eye – our courage, our skill, and Odin’s will, will define our victory, not our ability to cower behind brick and mortar. The walls will be our last refuge, not the first.’
‘And . . . if you can’t hold them?’
Grimvaldr turned and looked at him with weary eyes. ‘A king may fall, but a kingdom may not. While a single Wolfen lives, then so too will Valkeryn.’ He smiled. ‘We will hold them.’ He turned and stared once more at the glowing horizon. ‘I must call on you again, young friend. All Wolfen must fight when the kingdom is threatened – not just because it is our duty, but because it is in our blood.’
‘All?’
The king nodded. ‘Male, female, old, young. All who are strong enough to wield a sword, axe or pike will heed the call. The very young, the sick and very old have already been spirited away to somewhere safe, but there is one who must also be kept safe – one who is the soul and future of this mighty kingdom.’
‘You mean Grimson.’
The king nodded solemnly. ‘In the short time you have been here, you have proved your courage, honour and skill – all things that are valued and needed now. Grimson must be taken from the castle and hidden. No one must know where he is . . . not even me.’ He glanced at Arn again. ‘The Panterran have methods of interrogation that go beyond physical torture. But they found it difficult to drag secrets from your mind, a human mind. It is enough for me.’
Arn remembered the claws digging into his mind, and how the old sorcerer had been unable to clearly read his thoughts. But this thing the king asked, the responsibility of it, made him feel overwhelmed.
‘What about Sorenson? He is better able to find his way through the forests. And besides, I want to fight as well.’
‘Yes, I hear that your skills grow rapidly, and I would have valued your sword. But after Strom fell to the Panterran, it would take a brave Wolfen indeed to tell Sorenson that he is not to fight them, and gain an opportunity to avenge his brother.’
‘And Eilif?’
‘Will fight at my side.’
‘But . . . I was planning to take her with me to—’
‘To the dark lands. Arnoddr, you could not stop her from entering the battle even if you wanted to. But you must take Grimson there; it might be the one place the Panterran will not follow. But I do not want to know any more, in case . . .’
Grimvaldr tugged a ring from his finger and held it out to Arn – a large silver wolf’s head, its ruby red eyes glowing. ‘There is not a Wolfen on this world who will not recognise this ring. Please . . . take it, and you will have passage anywhere. And when the time is right, give it to Grimson.’
Arn looked at the ring, then reached into his pocket and pulled forth the ring that Eilif had given him when they first met. ‘There is no need, sire. I have one.’
Grimvaldr’s stared down at the small piece of jewelled silver. ‘I should have known. What did the princess tell you when she gave you this?’
‘That it would keep me safe – as you have told me.’
‘And that is all?’ The king stared at him, hard.
Arn just nodded, feeling a little confused.
Grimvaldr turned away. ‘It is of no consequence. There are other more pressing matters. Tell Grimson . . .’ He searched out the words. ‘Tell him . . . any Wolfen, servant or king, would be proud to call him his son. Tell him . . . I will always be looking over him.’
Arn nodded even though the king couldn’t see him. ‘I’ll keep him safe.’ He turned to leave, then stopped, silently regarding the large figure, silhouetted against the glowing red horizon
.
‘My strength to you, great king Grimvaldr.’
*****
Eilif sprang to her feet as Arn slipped quietly back out into the corridor. No sooner had he closed the doors, when an eerie howl echoed behind them. Concerned, she tried to push past him, but he grabbed and held her fast.
‘He is sad about the coming battle. He just needs . . . some time alone.’
He felt her muscles relax, but couldn’t bear to look her in the eye. Keeping his eyes fixed on the ground, he spoke softly as he led her away from the door. ‘You’re going to fight, then?’
She squeezed his hand tightly. ‘Oh yes! I can’t wait for the battle to begin. Will you fight by my side, Arnoddr?’
Arn frowned. ‘What if you’re killed?’
‘I will acquit myself honourably – if I die, many Panterran will die first. Besides, all Wolfen have no greater wish than to die in love, or in battle.’ Her voice softened. ‘I can do both.’
Arn was horrified, but she went on. ‘After all, we all die, and is it better to die old and sick, or to cross the rainbow bridge to Valhalla as a young warrior?’ She was almost skipping like a child.
‘But we could . . .’ He stopped, remembering the wishes of the king.
‘Together we will make the Panterran quake in fear. They will sing about us for a hundred generations – the great Arnoddr and Princess Eilif.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘I need to prepare my battledress and weapons. The war should be upon us by morning – I shan’t be able to sleep tonight.’
Arn watched her skip down the stone corridor.
And neither will I, he thought dismally.
Chapter 39
Reconnaissance Mission-1
Colonel Marion Briggs had taken over the command centre, and now walked up the line of five rod-straight men and one woman. All wore green fatigues and cradled M16s. The six elite Green Berets stood like statues as she gave them their final briefing.
‘This is a reconnaissance mission: take a look around, get me some intelligence on the terrain. If you see the kid, grab him. But I also want . . . samples.’ She paused. ‘The indigenous inhabitants are approximately human-sized, and have little more than knives and swords. But I don’t need to tell you not to underestimate them – if you’re threatened, shoot to kill.’
Briggs stopped and stared at Albert Harper, her expression hard enough to break stone, her voice lethally soft.
‘Once we confirm that my team has survived the jump, your man will be going through.’ Her eyes challenged him to object. When he didn’t, she turned to look at the bank of screens beside him; each of the six small displays showed an image of her – taken from the corresponding cameras mounted on the helmets of each of the soldiers.
The vision was clear – her team was ready. Satisfied, she shouted, ‘Good to go, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s do this.’
*****
The Panterran camps were advancing on the castle. Trees had been felled for their fires and war machines, and huge swathes of forest had been flattened as the main army moved forward like a living mass of fangs and steel. Behind them was a wasteland, crushed and burned to ashes.
Advance parties of Panterran and Lygon scouted ahead. Goranx led his party of ten Lygon up a hill, atop which stood a single tree. At close to nine feet in height and weighing more than a thousand pounds in his battle armour, he was a fearsome sight, even to his own kind.
He held up one large, clawed hand, signalling for the patrol to halt. He could sense something – a vibration deep in his gut. In the dark, his eyesight was exceptional, but he could find no cause for this strange feeling anywhere on the barren hilltop.
But there was something coming. His giant warriors, sensing it too, began to breathe heavily. Six-inch claws extended from the ends of their thick fingers, tightly gripping axes and clubs that were nearly as long as most creatures they battled.
Then, from out of the dark, six strangely dressed bipeds crested the hill, pointing small metal sticks, the other ends of which they cradled against their shoulders. One of the Lygon shifted, his huge belt clanking at his waist. The creatures froze in surprise.
‘Man-kind,’ Goranx muttered.
One of the creatures fled back down the other side of the hill. Goranx roared at the sudden movement, drawing back an arm thicker than a tree, and flung his club at them.
The humans screamed in a tongue he couldn’t understand, and then a noise like thunder roared from the ends of the small sticks they carried.
Goranx responded with his own roaring scream as he felt the small projectiles bounce off the plates of his armour, or embed themselves in his thick hide. The Lygon reacted in kind: they charged.
*****
Captain Chris Masters was first through the rift, as they were now calling it. The sensation was unpleasant and disorientating, but not debilitating. Jumping from a bright white laboratory room, to the darkness of the dank tunnel . . . It was a surreal experience, to say the least.
The team moved quickly to the hole in the ceiling, and Masters pushed his M16 up over his shoulder. He pulled a long-barrelled hand gun from his belt and aimed it up the shaft, firing a tungsten-tipped bolt straight up, which embedded itself in the rock wall, a rope trailing behind the spike. He tugged it once to see if it held, and then turned. ‘Fuentes, you’re up first with Doctor Takada. Jenson, you’re last. Let’s move, people.’
In a few minutes they had pulled themselves up out of the deep shaft. Masters checked his compass, and was relieved to see it still worked.
Fuentes offered Takada some water, which he refused. ‘Take it, Doctor,’ she said. ‘This party has only just started.’
Masters motioned towards the sterile landscape and led them out in a jog. It would be many hours until they saw the lines of trees signalling the start of the forest.
Time passed, along with the miles of sand beneath their boots. Night had already begun to fall when the horizon rose up into an enormous green, buzzing, slithering presence around them. The forest dwarfed anything Masters was used to back home, and though this was a recon mission, personally he would be happy with just locating Singer and evac’ing immediately. He’d leave the sightseeing for the next guys.
He heard a soft wheezing behind him, and turned to see Takada bent over with his hands on his knees – the man had done well, but desperately needed to catch his breath. ‘Let’s get to the top of this hill for a look-see, and then we can take five. Okay there, Doc?’
Takada nodded.
‘Good man.’
They moved to the top of the small hill with a large tree at its apex. Masters raised his hand and they slowed.
Fuentes sniffed. ‘Phew, what the hell is that smell?’
Takada straightened and frowned. ‘Like ammonia – cauxin, I believe – it’s in cat urine.’
Masters still had his hand up, and now made a fist – the team stopped. Watery clouds passed across the moon and then cleared, bathing the hillside in a silvery glow.
Fuentes looked up. ‘That is one big mother of a moon.’
The trees shifted slightly. Masters sucked in a breath. There was a metallic clank. They froze.
‘Holy Christ – tighten up, people. We got company.’
The giant creatures were armed with clubs and axes, and armoured with what looked like thick metal sheeting – way too heavy for even a large man to carry.
Masters cursed – he and his team had packed standard rounds – not tipped for armour piercing.
So much for human-sized inhabitants, he thought. Typical crap military intel.
No one moved, or even breathed. The large, luminous green eyes locked onto them, and some of the ogreish creatures growled.
Chris Masters, captain in the Green Berets, had thought he was afraid of nothing.
‘Oh God, oh God, oh God.’ It was Jenson, behind him. ‘We need to evac, now.’
‘Hold your ground!’ Masters hissed. ‘Don’t move a muscle . . .’
Jenson ignored the order and
sprinted back down the hill.
The sudden movement caught them all off guard, and the lead creature opened its mouth wide enough to fit Masters’ entire head inside. Teeth like a bear trap flashed in the moonlight as the thing roared. The noise was so loud, it chilled Masters and his team down to their very marrow.
Something struck Fuentes, who was standing beside him, and she jerked backwards with a grunt and a sound of crunching bone. Fear shot up Masters’ spine, but his training took over.
‘Engage! Engage!’ The four remaining M16s sprayed streams of lead.
*****
Colonel Briggs watched with cool detachment. One by one, the cameras were destroyed by things that could have torn themselves from the pages of a horror story. In the darkness, their features were unclear, but what was clear was how little effect the M16s had on these massive, fur-covered creatures.
She couldn’t tell what happened to the scientist, as he hadn’t been wearing a helmet-cam. But when Fuentes was taken out, he had been standing there with his hands to his head, and his face ripped with shock. She doubted there’d be any need for a rescue mission.
She looked across at Jenson who had come back through the rift, and her mouth curled slightly in distaste. He was still shivering uncontrollably. Some Green Beret, she thought.
She turned to her military aide. ‘Three things: one, get an armed guard on that rift – heavy-calibre weapons – I don’t want anything paying us a visit unannounced.’ The aide nodded. Briggs jerked her thumb over her shoulder. ‘Two, get that pathetic, gutless worm out of my sight . . . and out of my army.’
Jenson looked up for a second, then buried his head in his hands and sobbed.
‘And three, I want two squads of Delta Force, and some bigger ordinance. And make sure you get Samson on the team.’ She half saluted, dismissing the aide. Her lip curled slightly as she rewound the image loop. ‘We’ll shown ’em we’ve got our own monsters.’
