Return of the Ancients
Page 18
Strom smiled grimly. ‘So . . . we dig.’
*****
Eilif listened as Strom explained the plan to her, and what he expected her to do. She didn’t like it, but she saw no sensible alternative – after all, her suggestions started and ended with her running across the open ground, sword raised, screaming a war cry . . .
The tunnel would need to be at least twenty longs, and deep enough so that it wouldn’t collapse if walked upon, but shallow enough so that they could break through the surface, up into the tent. When she had asked how they might know they were directly beneath the tent, Sorenson had pulled free the glowing fleet beetle, and grinned. She had smiled back grimly. The fleet beetle was magnificent when it came to general directions, but they it was hardly a precisely calibrated compass.
For her part, the task was quite simple. When the brothers burst out of the ground, there would be pandemonium in the tent, and they would have to rely on the element of surprise to overwhelm the guards. From her position at the edge of the clearing, she was to ensure that no one else entered – her arrows were to stop anyone or anything from joining the battle.
And then? From there, it didn’t sound so very different to her plan – they’d need to flee through the forest while being followed by hundreds of angry Panterran . . . and probably a few Lygon for good measure. Simple.
Chapter 28
Grape, His Favourite
Arn was sitting on the bus, wearing a new shirt. The collar was too tight, and it chafed uncomfortably. He hated it when new shirts did that.
He saw Becky get up from her seat. She turned briefly to wink at him, and then began walking down the crowded aisle between the other students and towards the doors. He tried to get up from his seat to follow her.
It hurt. Every time he tried to stand, he was dragged back down, and his collar chafed even more. Steve Barkin was pinning his hands behind his back. It occurred to him that he should tell someone, but Edward sat beside him, absorbed in his comic book. Typical – when he was engrossed in his fantasy world, nothing else mattered to him.
Edward stopped reading to sip from a can of soda – it was grape, his favourite.
Arn had never felt so thirsty in his life. ‘Can I have a sip?’
Edward ignored him.
‘Can I have a sip there, buddy?’
Nothing. Nothing but the chafing of his neck, Steve Barkin pinning his arms, and that relentless, diabolical thirst.
Chapter 29
Life, but Not As we Know it, Jim
‘Enlarge.’
Albert Harper sipped his twentieth cup of coffee for the day, and stared hard at the large screen. They had been following the boy’s footprints through the desolate wasteland for what seemed like hours, and they had seen nothing to give him hope that Arn could have survived for any period of time.
The observation area was crowded with scientists, technicians, and military specialists. Several additional screens had been set up, and for the last four hours nobody had moved.
The sun had risen a while back, and, at any moment, Harper expected to come across his body – dehydration, sunstroke or a dozen other elemental or bacterial afflictions could have brought him down. But as their hope had begun to wither, the flat, unbroken line of the horizon rose up into a series of jagged peaks. There was something out there after all.
‘It’s a forest.’ Harper punched the air in triumph. ‘Give me full scope.’
The lens rotated, and a panorama was revealed that looked a combination of the Amazon jungle and a redwood forest. There were grass-covered hills, trees climbing hundreds of feet into the sky, and, beyond that, mountain peaks.
Takada, smiling, handed Harper another cup of coffee. ‘Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.’
Harper grinned. ‘Life, but not as we know it, Jim. Increase speed,’ he said to the technician, then turned back to Takada. ‘If the kid made it this far, he’d have made it to the forest. We’re not that far behind him.’
After another twenty minutes, Harper called for the probe to slow as they came to the colossal tree line. The camera switched from its illuminated strobe to red-light vision as it swivelled under the dark and dense forest canopy, continually adjusting its focus to capture the detail.
Something burst from between the boughs and flew past the screen, startling everyone in the room.
‘What the . . .? Did you see that?’
Takada spoke evenly to the technicians. ‘Stay focused. Anything else on the motion sensors?’
‘Are you kidding? There’s too much on the sensors. This place is crawling with life.’
Harper clicked his tongue in frustration. ‘Okay, push it forward, but be careful now; we can’t afford to get the probe snagged on anything – can’t exactly send in a maintenance team.’
It was mid morning on SingerWorld, as some were now calling it in deference to the missing young man. Shadows darted past them – creatures, some revoltingly weird, only partly recognisable, which crept, scuttled or flew in the semi darkness. None were particularly large, but already they had come across the torn carcass of an animal the size of a goat on the forest floor. Something even bigger must have taken it down, judging by the bite marks.
The hovering camera floated about five feet from the ground. Its single lens glowed a deep red, indicating that it was only monitoring the environment in infrared for the time being. Harper had refused all requests to go back to strobe in the event it startled the wildlife.
Harper held up his hand. ‘Stop. Pan ninety degrees.’
The camera slowly swivelled.
‘Angle down right here . . . Let me see the forest floor.’ He squinted as the camera tightened its focus.
There, on the ground, lay something half buried in the leaves.
‘Is that a silver dagger?’
Chapter 30
Soon it Would Be the Panterran’s Time
The Wolfen dug fast. They encountered no roots or heavy stones, and after a few hours, by Eilif’s judging, were shy of the tent by only two lengths. At the rate they were digging, they’d be underneath Mogahr’s tent in only a few more minutes.
The plan was to complete the tunnel and wait until Arn was taken inside. Then everything was to happen quickly – they’d break through, praying they didn’t do so right at the feet of an alert guard, or under a brazier of glowing coals – a lot could go wrong. Strom was to subdue any resistance, then release Arn, while Sorenson would see to Grimson. They would then drop back into the hole and escape.
If everything went as they hoped, the brothers, Arn and Grimson would return to where Eilif was waiting for them at the other end of the tunnel, and then together they would make their way back to the castle. Stealth would be irrelevant, and there would be no time to stop for sleep or food. Their lives would depend on their speed – and a lot of luck.
Eilif lifted her head slightly and peered through the branches of the thick brush. The Panterran guards were still in the trees, but like most of the Slinkers during the day, they were sluggish, inclined to doze rather than keep a keen eye on their surroundings.
Eilif reached for her quiver of arrows, and laid it on the ground beside her. Then she dragged the leather pack from her back, and reached inside to pull free the small box she had brought with her. Instead of rattling it, this time she was careful removing the lid. She peered inside at the occupant – a small multi-armed creature that could have been an octopus, except its body was dry and spikily armoured. Its head pulsated, and many black eyes turned to look at her. It coiled itself as though about to spring, and she picked up one of the arrows and dipped its tip into the box. There was a hiss, and she pulled her head back slightly, only peering in after a second or two. The arrow’s tip came away covered in a greenish yellow liquid. She smiled; the vipod’s venom was one of the most deadly substances known to the Wolfen, and would stop a Panterran’s heart before he even knew he’d been struck – and certainly before he had time to raise an alarm.
She opened her eyes and looked up at the sky – the day was rapidly drawing to a close. Soon it would be the Panterran’s time, and things would shift in their favour.
*****
Deep in the tunnel, Strom slowed his digging, and then stopped. He placed his ear to the soil above his head. Sorenson had just returned from dumping the last load of dirt, and Strom reached out to take his arm.
‘We’re here, brother. Less than a length straight up.’ He tightened his grip; by the light of just the fleet beetle, he stared hard into his younger brother’s face. ‘Odin, give us strength this day.’
Sorenson placed his free hand over Strom’s. ‘And every day yet to come.’
Strom nodded. ‘Now we wait.’ He pulled some dried meat from his tunic and offered some to Sorenson. Both Wolfen leaned back in the dark tunnel and chewed, imagining their first actions when they emerged into the heavily guarded tent.
Sorenson held up the fleet beetle, its glow now making him squint. ‘And thank you, my lady. Your job is done.’ He opened the cage, and placed it in a little alcove he had dug in the tunnel wall.
*****
Steve Barkin tightened his relentless and painful grip. If Arn could only get one arm free, he’d be all right. But Barkin was too strong.
Didn’t someone see? Didn’t anyone care? He’d had enough. He craned his head around to look over his shoulder, just as Barkin leaned forward.
His teeth were like needles, his eyes yellow slits. Arn screamed.
He opened his eyes. Hours had passed, and his wrists, tied together behind his back, felt like they were on fire. Blood from the wound on his face had dripped onto the soil in front of him, and he noticed that a few of the carnivorous butterflies had arrived, to pick at it like a scab.
He lifted his head, and blinked to try and clear his blurred vision. Standing in exactly the same spot was the solitary Panterran figure. Its unblinking, golden eyes still fixed on him. From within the cowl Arn had an impression of its head turning slightly towards his guards. The figure then glided forward and knelt down in front of him.
Arn chuckled mirthlessly. ‘Nice place you got here.’
The Panterran reached into its robe and pulled free a small wooden bottle that it uncapped and lifted to Arn’s lips.
‘Drink this.’
At this point, Arn didn’t care if it was poison, or some revolting Panterran concoction, as he knew his body would soon shut down without moisture. He immediately drained the mouthful of liquid and then surprisingly, the creature reached forward with one clawed hand to wipe his forehead. Arn could smell the vinegary smell of the Panterran as it leaned in close to him, its golden eyes looking deep into his own.
‘Do not hate all of us, as all of us do not hate you.’
‘Who . . . are you?’ Arn tried to make out the thing’s face, but it pulled back, and then stood.
‘The ones who watch.’ The figure turned and glided away.
‘Thank you.’ Arn licked his still dry lips and watched as the figure disappeared among the trees. The ones who watch? The ones who untie would be better. He sat back to straighten his spine. It was cooler now, and the shadows were lengthening. Further down the camp, more Panterran were milling about, having appeared from wherever they had been resting, preparing for the coming evening. Many shot him hostile glances, their faces pulled into ugly masks of disgust, but only one took the trouble to spit at him.
A strange sound that started as a deep rumbling, and finished in an elephantine squeal, made him turn to look towards the far end of the camp. Arn thought he had seen enough weird wonders in this world, but this made his mouth fall open. A monstrous beast swung its head towards Arn, and emitted another squealing roar. Had Arn’s hands been free, he would have covered his ears. The almost bovine eyes peered out from under a hood of scales, and a metal ring was buried deep into the flesh of its temples. Arn couldn’t work out whether the thing had evolved from some sort of giant armadillo, elephant, or perhaps even a weird blend of both.
Its size and appearance was terrifying, but the thing that worried him most was that on its back there were fixed structures – simple T-shaped posts about three feet in height. He knew what they were; he had seen similar things in pictures, fixed to the decks of ancient wooden ships about to enter a war – they were there simply to give an archer or cavalry man something to hold onto as the pitching ship – or in this case, lumbering beast – advanced into battle.
A Panterran threw a thick rope over the beast’s head, and ducked underneath to pull it through the metal loops on each side of its face. Then he leapt up onto its neck, yanking at these reins as he rode it further down into the camp.
The armoured tank of the future, Arn thought. He could picture this lumbering mountain tearing through the Wolfen lines. He lowered his head again, feeling a sense of doom wash over him.
Arn was losing track of time – was it minutes or hours later that Orcalion reappeared? Beside him scurried a portly Panterran carrying an ornate wooden stool. He placed it down next to Arn, and Orcalion sat on it and faced him.
‘Are you well rested, hairless bag of meat?’ His mouth twisted in a malevolent, needle-toothed grin.
Arn ignored him and concentrated instead on trying to blank out the pain in his shoulders and wrists, and also the odd fluttering he felt deep down in his belly – very deep down in his belly.
He wondered where Strom and Sorenson were, and hoped that if they did manage to stage a rescue attempt, he would be able to move quickly, or at all, after being hobbled and tied to a stake in the ground for so many hours.
Arn’s lips were split from dehydration, but he knew that a request for more water would just give the wizened little Panterran more enjoyment, and another opportunity to goad or beat him. He lifted himself slightly, determined to try to stretch the muscles in his legs, and get some blood back into them.
Perhaps thinking Arn was trying to get to his feet, Orcalion grabbed at the tether hanging from his neck, just as the flap of the tent was thrown back and a tall figure appeared. The warrior, dressed in highly decorated black robes, fixed his yellow eyes on Arn, then Orcalion. He nodded.
Orcalion laughed. ‘Time to perform, son of Man.’ He dismissed the two Panterran who had been guarding Arn, and unwound the tether from the stake, dragging him to his feet and leading him like a broken horse.
Arn stumbled and fell twice, before his cramping legs supported his weight. He tried to blink away the dizziness as he was led toward the dark mouth of the black tent. Nightmarish images of what was to come danced in his feverish mind.
The fetid air at the tent’s entrance was like a shot of smelling salts. The acrid ammonium smell made his eyes burn and his head snap back. Inside, there were braziers burning dimly, but still it was hard to make out anything more than shapes.
As his eyes slowly adjusted, he looked around. There were perhaps twenty Panterran standing guard – taller than any he had seen in the camp, and all with long curving swords hanging from their waists. Some held long-handled brushes, like brooms, which they constantly swept up and down the length of the most grotesque animal Arn had ever seen.
The tether around his neck was fixed to a metal ring at one end of a low bench in a corner of the tent. Orcalion sunk to his knees in front of the lumpy, sagging body of the queen. The horrific creature turned its luminous golden eyes on Arn, and yawned widely. A few blackened teeth showed in its cavernous mouth, but Arn winced and had to turn his head as the fug of its disgusting breath hit his face and made him want to retch violently.
‘Arnoddr – I knew you’d come to save me!’
Arn recognised the small voice immediately. He searched the other corners of the tent; tucked away to one side, in a cage no bigger than a small packing crate, sat a cross-legged Grimson. His face broke i
nto a wide smile as he reached through the bars to wave. Arn could see blood on his fur, and anger boiled within him.
‘Arnoddrrrrr-Sigarrrr.’ The words wheezed towards him in a long slow hiss.
Arn looked back at Mogahr, but had trouble maintaining eye contact. He felt as if even the sight of her might infect him with her corruption.
Orcalion, seizing him, forced him to his knees. ‘Bow in the presence of Queen Mogahr the Magnificent, you disgusting hairless creature.’
Mogahr waved her hand at Orcalion. ‘Leeavve usss.’
Orcalion started to protest, but a glare from the queen sent him bowing, back-pedalling from the tent.
The queen sniffed. ‘Youu ssstink of Woolfen, asss muuch asss the youung priiinceliiing.’ She turned briefly to Grimson. ‘Youung tenderrr priinceliiing.’ She smacked her lips together over her blackened teeth, making Arn shudder.
Her golden eyes slid back to him. ‘Wheere are the waar machinesss of Mann-kind? Wheere are the treesss of fire that reacched the sssky, and burnnned the land from mountain to sssea? If you teach usss your secretsss, we can be . . . friendsss.’ She paused, her head weaving back and forth like a cobra, as though trying to see him from many different angles at once. Her look became furtive. ‘Whaat havve you taught the Woolfen? Did you also bring them . . . gifts?’
Her hand went to her robe and pulled it open revealing a pair of sagging, leathery breasts and the magnificent diamond, now chained and clasped in silver. The blood red stone swung forward and she stroked it lovingly.
Mogahr’s eyes seemed to stare right through to the marrow of his bones. Arn gulped and shook his head. A sound like a wet cough was hacked at him, and given the curve of her lips, Arn guessed she had just laughed.
‘Wordsss doo not need to comme from the tongue, ssstupid ape. You wiiill tell usss . . . or your waarm innardsss wiiill.’ She motioned with an arm, and two of the guards moved quickly to take hold of him.