Return of the Ancients (18 page)

Grimvaldr searched out Sorenson. ‘You are right, young warrior. They cannot be trusted, but we must consider all our options to save the heir to the Valkeryn throne. Go,’ he commanded them; ‘have the ironmongers work from this dawn to the next, turning out Wolfen steel. Have them roll the metals until they are hard enough to slice through Lygon bone. Go!’

The roar of assent resounded around the room, and the group began to leave. Grimvaldr raised his arm and gestured to Strom and Vulpernix. ‘A moment.’

As the last sounds of the disappearing Wolfen generals and counsellors echoed away down the long, stone corridors, the three Wolfen stood alone together in the great hall.

‘Strom, trusted champion of Valkeryn,’ said the king. ‘I feel this time we’ll need the mightiest Wolfen army that has ever stood. Bring me the maps of war, and then send word to the far edges of the kingdom. Assemble all the scattered Canite tribes, ready them and equip them. If we can hold back the first wave of the Lygon, and perhaps even damage them, then the Panterran will be easily repelled. Now is the time, my friend.’

Strom knelt and took the king’s hand, pressing it to his brow. ‘In seven days I will have them assembled; in eight, equipped and ready to fight. Or they’ll answer to me personally.’

Grimvaldr put his hand on the giant’s shoulder. ‘Thank you, my friend.’

Strom stood and banged his fist on his chest. ‘Long live Grimvaldr, and Valkeryn.’ He turned quickly and strode from the hall.

Grimvaldr watched him go, then said softly to Vulpernix, ‘Valkeryn has stood for centuries because we are strong. But a kingdom must also be smart . . . and so too its king.’ He looked into the old counsellor’s eyes. ‘Tell me, Vulpernix – you of all of my Canite advisers have spent your life studying the Panterran and other creatures of Valkeryn. Do you really believe these Slinkers can be trusted to secure Grimson’s release?’

The older advisor frowned. ‘It’s true that I have spent a lifetime studying these creatures. But their minds are so different to ours. They can scarcely stay loyal to each other for very long, and they have a history of deception. But I have heard Mogahr desperately wants the son of the humans . . . perhaps just as a pet. It would be in her nature to want to humble the old rulers of this world.’ Vulpernix paced as he spoke. ‘Maybe we can pretend to hand them the Arnoddr-Sigarr, and retake him at a later time. I’m sure he’ll be kept safe enough until the queen tires of him.’

He stopped pacing and turned back to the king. ‘It would at least buy us several more days to draft in and equip our scattered troops, and more importantly, learn more about the Lygon numbers, their strengths and, I’m sure, their weaknesses.’

Grimvaldr grunted, and after a moment he nodded slowly but continued to stare at the ground. ‘Send for Queen Freya. I must tell her of the capture of her son.’ Grimvaldr looked into the one good eye of his advisor. ‘Is there anything else you can recommend, Vulpernix?’

Vulpernix pondered the question. ‘Events are moving quickly; so much is still . . . unclear. But I do know that Queen Mogahr likes to be close when she smells a vulnerable king – if we could capture her, there may be no war at all.’

‘Think how we could make this happen, Vulpernix.’

So saying, Grimvaldr turned to leave. Vulpernix bowed, just as the king stopped and half turned. ‘Wait . . .’

‘Yes, my Lord?’

‘Valkeryn will not fall, of this I am sure . . . But I would be further comforted if our old, and very young, were taken up to the high garrisons at the far ends of the kingdom. If there is a siege, it would be better if they were . . . out of harm’s way.’

‘Very wise, sire. It will allow the Wolfen to focus on the battle.’

Vulpernix stayed bowed until the king had left the room. When he stood, a small smile played on his lips.

Days passed, and Arn spent most of his time out in the field in front of the main gate of Valkeryn, practising his sword skills, the techniques that Sorenson had shown him. His Wolfen instructor and mentor had been urging him on without actually telling him why. It was as if there was a test coming, and Arn was being forced to cram for it.

Eilif had joined him this particular morning, carrying with her an enormous cloth bag, which Arn assumed was food for a small picnic. She sat on a low stone wall, keeping up a running commentary on his footwork, his length of thrust, or any tiny fault she spotted in his style.

Today, Sorenson had kitted him out in some armour to get him used to moving with the extra weight, and after working for over an hour, he was feeling the heat of the steel across his back and shoulders. Even though Eilif laughed from time to time when he seemed about to lose his balance, he felt that he was improving quickly.

‘Keep it up, mighty warrior. The next time the jormungandr strikes, it won’t be a sword of bone he’ll have to face. He should tremble in fear, when the Arnoddr approaches.’ She clapped as he thrust his wooden sword at the air.

Arn danced lightly with the blade, leaping up onto the wall, and then back down. He spun one way then the other, and finally brought his blade down on the thin branches of a tree, cutting away a good several feet of wood.

‘
Ooh
, once again the Arnoddr-Sigarr makes war on the peaceful plant folk of Valkeryn. No tree stump, twig or leaf is safe from his wrath.’ She laughed and clapped again as his face reddened.

Arn pointed his sword playfully at her throat. ‘Better than a girl could do.’

Eilif reached up slowly and pushed the wooden tip of the sword away, smiling as she did. There was a mischievous gleam in her eye.

‘A
girl
– and what is that?’

‘A female.’

She laughed. ‘And the female warriors are inferior in the land of Man-kind?

‘No, but—’

She cut him off. ‘All Wolfen, male or female, fight in the Valkeryn kingdom. I have been personally trained by the mighty Strom himself.’ She knelt beside the cloth bag she had brought, smiling at him as she reached into it and pulled forth two steel swords and two small shields.

It seemed to Arn that she had come prepared . . . for more than just a picnic.

‘Let’s see what you can really do, son of Man-kind.’ She handed him one of the swords, and he watched as she threaded her arm through the handle on one of the shields. ‘My weapon of choice is the longbow – I’m one of the best archers in all of Valkeryn, but . . .’ Eilif swung the sword in a loop, familiarising her arm with its weight, and then keeping her back to him, went through some practised moves, thrusts and blocks. ‘. . . This will do.’

She turned to him and bowed. ‘Time to take the training up to the next level, mighty Arnoddr.’

Arn swung the sword in his hand. It was only slightly heavier than the wooden practice weapon, but the blade’s edge was as sharp as a razor. He was immediately worried – he might really hurt her if he accidentally . . .

‘Ha!’ She lunged at him, and he only just managed to parry her thrust with his sword. ‘Keep your shield up. It’s used as much as a weapon as it is for defence.’

Arn was amazed; she was at least as fast as Sorenson, but with a lightness on her feet that was half dancer, half sword master. Suddenly his worrying about hurting
her
seemed just plain stupid.

He tried to apply the manoeuvres Sorenson had taught him, even managing to force her back a few steps.

‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘One day, you may even make a good Wolfen warrior.’

She came at him again, raising her sword high above her head, but when he lifted his own sword to parry her attack, she had already danced away, ducking under his guard and sweeping her blade, back-handed, lightly across his throat. It nicked him, and it hurt.

‘Ow!’

‘Pay attention,’ she scolded him. ‘I could have taken your leg if I wished. Don’t watch my blade; watch my shoulder and my eyes. Anticipate my moves. Come on, you’re better than this. I’ve been watching you practise.’

‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ Arn protested.

She scoffed, ‘Hurt me? I’ll have you in pieces, small nose.’ She spun and caught him again on the cheek.

After another five minutes, Arn could feel blood running down both his legs, both cheeks and his throat, into his armour. It made him feel sticky and even hotter. He wished it was evening, so he could feel the surge of energy brought about by the moon. Here and now, she was making him feel and look like a slow, stupid child.

Her angry words started to become taunts.

‘Pathetic. Maybe it would have been better if a female warrior had come to visit us from your time.’

He gritted his teeth.

‘Or maybe if you were older, more a full-grown?’

Defeated, Arn dropped his sword and stared at the ground between them. Then he tilted his head, as if catching sight of something. Eilif followed the line of his gaze for only a moment – but it was enough.  Lunging forward, he smashed his shield into hers, knocking her onto her back. He leapt and landed on top of her.

‘I could have taken your leg off, young Wolfen. You’re better than that.’

Touché
, he thought.

She was breathing hard, and looked deeply into his eyes. ‘Like two dark, mysterious pools.’ She smiled and raised an eyebrow. ‘Feel that?’

He did. Arn looked down slowly; in her hand she held a small dagger, pressed into his groin.

She laughed and licked his nose.

Blerk
. He stuck out his tongue and rolled away, also laughing.

Eilif sat up. ‘You have potential, Arn. And your strength and cunning will give you an advantage. Are all Man-kind like you?’

Arn started stripping off his armour. ‘We’re all the same, and we’re all different, I guess.’ He used his undershirt to wipe his brow, and then stared off into the distance.

Eilif watched his face for a moment. ‘You miss someone?’

He shrugged. ‘Sure, I miss my family. I miss my home. I miss . . .’

She moved a little closer, and nudged him with her foot. ‘Miss . . . who? Do you have someone back home? Someone special who . . . cares for you? Who you care for?’

Arn continued to stare into the distance. He shrugged again. ‘Not really. Well, I’m sure she cares
about
me, but I don’t think she cares
fo
r me.’

She nudged him again with her toe, and he grabbed her foot and lifted it, tipping her onto her back. She laughed and rolled onto her stomach, coyly fiddling with a blade of grass. She spoke without looking back at him. ‘I would care about you – and for you, Arnoddr-Sigarr.’

Arn smiled at her. ‘Thanks. You’re a good friend, Eilif.’

She turned her head for a moment, and he saw what he thought was a look of disappointment on her face. He also saw that her ears had gone pink again. It suddenly occurred to him that this might be the Wolfen version of a blush. She looked back at the grass, continuing to examine it as if it was the most interesting thing she had ever seen.

‘I saw you in a vision many years ago,’ she murmured. ‘I knew you would come for me.’

‘What was that?’

She sat up. ‘I said, I brought some food for you. Remember how you told Morag and Birna that you liked sam-widges? Well, we made you some. We could only find grass seeds, but . . .’ She reached into her bag and lifted out what looked to be a small plate wrapped in cloth. She unwrapped it and handed it to him.

‘Heey, not bad.’ The bread looked to be the flat, unleavened kind – a little hard and overcooked, but when he lifted it to his nose, it smelled wonderful.

‘Don’t worry, it’s okay to eat. I tested it on one of the servants, and they’re still fine. I also tasted it myself . . . but I didn’t really like the brett.’ She waved both her hands at him, as though she was trying to shoo it into his mouth. ‘But you try it.’

‘It’s
bread
. . . and it looks great. But no more taste tests on the servants, okay?’ She nodded and watched him carefully as he raised the sandwich to his lips.

Arn bit down, hard. The bread was as tough as it looked, and had a slight acidic taste to it. Eilif had filled the sandwich with thin slices of beef, which was salty and tender. He chewed and swallowed and closed his eyes, and then sat still for a moment.

‘What’s the matter? Is it okay?’ Eilif placed her hand on his forearm.

Arn opened his eyes and smiled. ‘It’s good . . . No. No, it’s better than that – it’s great.’

‘Yes!’ She threw both her arms around his neck – then quickly let go, and looked over either shoulder as if to make sure no one had seen them. She leaned in close to him. ‘I knew you’d like it.’

Arn broke the sandwich in half. ‘It’s too much for me; here, you have some too.’

‘No, Arn. This is your private meal.’

‘I insist.’ He saw she was about to object again. ‘Where I come from, being asked to share someone’s lunch is a great honour.’ He looked at her solemnly.

Eilif looked at him, then the sandwich, and nodded. ‘Then I would be truly honoured to share your sam-widge.’ He handed her one of the halves, and noticed that she pulled out the meat, leaving the bread on the grass beside her. She nibbled at it daintily, obviously trying to mimic his slower style of eating.

He turned to her. ‘I’ve been asked to attend a meeting with the king tonight. Will you be there?’

She stopped chewing and frowned at him. ‘I know nothing of it. My father is very busy at the moment, as is my mother. Even Grimson I haven’t seen for days. I
have
heard that my father sent runners out to the far corners of the kingdom, to bring in all the scattered warrior tribes . . .’ She frowned and looked off into the distance, then turned back quickly, smiling. ‘Maybe he has a special task for you?’

Arn ignored her flattering, and thought instead of the Wolfen tribes being summoned back to Valkeryn. ‘Do you think there’ll be a war?’

She jumped to her feet. ‘I hope so. It’ll be my first chance to fight in battle, now that I’m old enough. We Wolfen are good fighters . . . and have
never
lost a war.’ She offered him her hand. ‘And with the mighty Arnoddr-Sigarr by our side, we’ll be victorious yet again.’