by Greig Beck
Briggs gritted her teeth and spoke at the screen. ‘Military Rule-1 – when pushed, push back harder. Brigg’s Rule-1 – if you want something done right, do it yourself. This time I’m going too.’ She looked across to where Harper knelt beside the shivering soldier. ‘I mean, we’re going too.’
She smiled at the chaos and destruction on the screen. ‘Thank you. Now I have no reason to play fair with you at all. I’m coming, and I do not come in peace.’
Chapter 40
At This Most Dire Time
Bergborr entered the gatekeeper’s armoury, and called loudly to the key master. A short, brutish-looking Wolfen ambled out, covered in soot and wearing a leather apron. His hands were scarred from working with fire, hammer and steel his entire life.
‘Drengi.’ Bergborr bowed slightly. ‘I’ve come to conduct an audit of the castle keys. All must be double checked and secured.’
The ironmonger stared hard at Bergborr. ‘Where is the order? I have already secured all vital keys in the heavy vault.’
Bergborr raised his voice slightly. ‘I am charged by Grimvaldr himself.’
Drengi lifted a rag and wiped his hands. ‘I will need to see—’
Bergborr exploded in rage and roared into the squat Wolfen’s face, ‘By Odin’s wrath, we are at the moment of war, and you want a bureaucrat’s signature? Retrieve the keys for audit immediately. Or at this most dire time, do you want Grimvaldr himself to come and beg you personally?’
The squat key master grunted, nodded, and disappeared for several moments, returning with several wooden boxes. He opened one lid after the other, displaying large ancient keys, almost identical except for engraved Wolfen words on their shafts, which identified what they opened and where.
Bergborr ran his gaze over them, and then pointed to the boxes. ‘Count them off.’
Drengi nodded again, and performed a quick audit, knowing each key by heart, having kept them in order and in good care. He went from one box to the next, and as he moved down the line, Bergborr placed his hand in the boxes, lifting out one key after the other and turning it over in his hand. He stopped and held one up to the light, noting its deeply etched lettering.
‘Please sir, keep them in good order, in the event we need to reach for one, or all, in haste.’
Bergborr placed his hand back in the box. ‘Of course. Carry on; I have other tasks to complete before this day is ended.’
Drengi continued his count.
Bergborr had replaced a key in the box, but he had used his other hand, and this key had no lettering on it.
*****
Arn stuffed clothing into a leather bag, leaving room for some food. Eilif had baked him a loaf of bread, and he took a small bite. It was dry and tough, but he savoured the yeasty flavour and smiled at her effort. He next packed spare boots and a flask of water.
He had dressed in a leather jerkin and pants, boots and a vest. He looped a belt around his waist, from which he hung his dagger and several pouches. Lastly, he tucked his pocketknife inside one of the pouches.
He lifted the sword he had been given by Sorenson and half pulled it from its scabbard, admiring the gleam and sharpness of the blade. He laid it on the bed. Next, he picked up a heavy cloak, trying to decide whether he would take it – they’d need to travel light and fast. Once outside the castle walls, the son of Grimvaldr would be fleeing for his life. Still, the targets on their backs would hardly keep them warm . . .
He held onto the cloak as he walked to the window, and looked out. Within the walls of the castle, thousands of Wolfen were forming up into ranks. They were orderly and without panic. They made him feel both sad and proud.
But from his vantage point, he could see beyond the walls, where smoke was curling high into the air over the ruined earth. The smudges of light he had seen on the horizon, from the distant forges of countless Panterran, had now become thousands upon thousands of surging bodies.
In among these, he could make out larger animals – the gravilents, he presumed. The whole scene reminded him of the carcass of a dead animal being consumed by maggots and carrion beetles.
Arn breathed slowly, closing his eyes and trying to blank it all out. But the whining and hissing of the approaching army of merciless creatures made his blood run cold.
Then another sound, behind him, made him jump.
Eilif stood in the doorway, regarding him curiously. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. The sheen of her polished metal armour was startling in the candlelight. The raised crest of the red-eyed wolf adorned her breastplate, and her silver war helmet was pushed back, its wolf-faced visor snarling at the ceiling. He remembered something similar when he had first seen Grimvaldr on the hill. It seemed so long ago.
She walked forward slowly with her hand on the hilt of the sword. The armour moved perfectly with her, the chain mail fitting snugly to her body. She looked athletic, and fearsome, and . . . beautiful.
Eilif looked him up and down. ‘Why aren’t you ready?’
Arn threw the cloak over his bag, and sat down on the bed.
Eilif frowned and moved a few paces closer. ‘Do . . . Do you need help getting into your armour? I can do that for you.’
Arn shook his head. ‘I’m okay. I can do it. Just had a few things to prepare, and I guess I got distracted. Still a lot on my mind right now.’
‘Is it the homesickness spell that ails you again?’
He smiled at her. ‘Sure, a bit.’
‘Father said you cannot fight by his side, as he needs his generals close. I’m sorry.’ She looked away for a moment, then turned back quickly. ‘But when the battle starts, I’ll look for you. I want you by my side. Fighting together, it will be glorious – no one shall best us.’
He took her hand. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘But I want to look out for you.’
Arn was filled with such a sadness then, it threatened to well up inside him and pour forth in a wave of tears and confession. This amazing creature – this amazing race of beings – all could be gone in another day.
An old quote from his literature class floated into his mind, and before he knew what he was doing he spoke it aloud:
‘Every parting is a form of death . . .’ He paused as his voice threatened to crack. She seemed spellbound by the words, and he managed to finish. ‘. . . As every reunion is a type of heaven.’
She placed her hand over his. ‘That’s beautiful. What is a heaven?’
He smiled again, and swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘It’s our Valhalla. A place of peace where all good spirits go.’
She nodded. ‘I would go to heaven, because I am a good warrior. So will you.’ She drew her sword and raised it.
‘Death to the Panterran! Death to the Lygon! And long live Grimvaldr and all the mighty Wolfen!’ Her eyes glowed with excitement. Then she sheathed the sword and headed for the door.
‘I’ll find you on the field.’ She paused as if waiting for something, and Arn rose from the bed, meaning to shake her hand, or hug her, or something.
As he drew close, he saw her lips just curve into a shy smile, and the inside of her ears darken to a shade of pink. She grabbed hold of him, and pulled him to her. He felt her face against his cheek as she hugged him hard. She pulled back, and made a fist over her chest as though grabbing something.
‘My heart . . .’ She moved her closed fist from her chest to his, and opened the fingers. ‘. . . Is now your heart.’
She quickly pressed her lips to his for a second, and then spun away without another word.
Arn watched her go.
Chapter 41
Not All Can Be Honourable
The figure moved silently along the cobbled street. It wore no armour or clothing of any type, and if it had stepped out of the shadows, the moonlight would have shone on a coat of dark fur.
As it made its way to the edge of the stone channel that carried the stream through the castle, another, older figure emerged from the gloom.
>
‘A Wolfen without clothes – either you go to meet your love, or you do not wish to have your family crest seen by others. Which is it, young Wolfen?’ The older figure stepped closer. ‘Ah, Bergborr of the house of Bergrinne.’
Bergborr straightened, but kept one hand behind his back. ‘Vulpernix.’ He bowed. ‘Lurking in the shadows could get one into trouble.’
‘Only with those who look for trouble. You haven’t answered my question.’
Bergborr nodded. ‘I go to meet Eilif.’
Vulpernix laughed softly. ‘She would rather marry a Lygon than be in your embrace.’ The old Wolfen lowered one of his hands to the hilt of his sword. ‘If I was a traitor, I might be tempted to give an enemy a way into the castle. Perhaps . . . by unlocking the river gates?’
Bergborr bared his teeth and growled. ‘You dare accuse me? It is your own plan of which you speak. Besides, Panterran will never go near water.’
Vulpernix nodded. ‘That is very true. But unfortunately for the kingdom, we are not just at war with the Panterran. Everyone knows the Lygon have no such fear of water. You are cunning, Bergborr – but do not take me for a fool.’
Vulpernix drew his sword, pointing at the chest of the younger Wolfen. ‘I have been watching you for days. You slip out to meet with the Panterran. I know the secret meeting places, for I have used them too. I know those creatures better than you, young fool. I feed them useless information, and watch for it to be used to the detriment of their accursed Panterran queen. You also deliver them Wolfen knowledge, but it is solely for your own betterment, and to the detriment of our great race.’
Bergborr lifted his chin. ‘Not all Panterran are as you believe, there are . . .’
Vulpernix suddenly leaned forward. ‘Fool! What is it you think you will accomplish? They don’t make deals with Wolfen – they use them, and then crush them, as they surely will do to you . . . and the Princess Eilif.’
Bergborr fell to his knees and reached out his hand, beseeching the older Wolfen noble, ‘You are right, and I am a fool, and perhaps made more so by love. Do you know what it is like to love another, who barely knows you exist? What it is like to be the perfect suitor, but then be scrubbed from your love’s consciousness by a creature that shouldn’t even exist? If I am a fool for love, then I am one rendered deaf, dumb and blind to everything and anything but that love.’ He shook his head. ‘Perhaps it is a sickness.’
Bergborr beat his chest with one hand, punishing himself, over and over, his face a mask of humiliation and sorrow. Vulpernix kept his sword up, the point only a few hand spans from the young Wolfen’s torso.
‘Love makes fools of some, and heroes of others. Get up.’ Vulpernix watched as the young Wolfen’s hand beat his chest again harder, and he made a sound of disgust deep in his throat, at the dark Wolfen’s lack of dignity. He was about to order Bergborr to his feet again when on the next motion, instead of the hand striking his body, it shot out and grabbed the tip of the sword. The razor sharp edge would have bitten deeply, but the weapon was locked, only momentarily, in a steel grip.
It was enough.
Bergborr gritted his teeth from the pain, and stared into the old Woflen’s eyes as he spoke. ‘But if there is a chance for that love, then would I not be a greater fool not risking all for it?’ He lunged forward, swinging his other arm up from behind his back, the full length of the metal key protruding between his knuckles. The blow struck Vulpernix in the neck, piercing deeply, and crushing his windpipe so that no sound other than a strangled hiss fell from his gaping mouth.
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.
Chapter 42
One World, One Race to Rule
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 ever
ything she wanted this day.
Chapter 43
Come the Far Wolfen
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.
Chapter 44
The Long Night of War
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.
