Return of the Ancients

by Greig Beck

  ‘I liiike yourrr eyesss – daaark liiike the niiight. I thiiink I wiiill keeeep them.’

  Arn’s guts were churning. Suddenly, he doubled over, dragging the guards with him and almost throwing them to the floor. Embarrassed, one of them wrenched him upright by his hair, and the other buried his fist hard into Arn’s stomach—

  With a breaking of wind, a tearing of fabric, the beetle burst from Arn’s pants and flew around the inside of the tent.

  ‘Fleeet beeetle – he’sss beeeing trackeddd.’

  One of the guards ran to the entrance of the tent, and pushed up the flap, opening his mouth to yell an alarm. But no sound came. Instead, he fell backwards like a plank of wood, an arrow protruding from his neck.

  At the rear of the tent, a volcano of earth, teeth and fur erupted.

  *****

  Strom landed lightly on his feet, and shook the soil from his head. He raised his sword. In no more than a single breath, Sorenson sprang up out of the hole beside him.

  The Panterran guards were frozen. The Wolfen brothers charged forward, slashing and hacking anything that moved. The queen hissed a single command that had half of the guards crawling on top of her to create a living shield of flesh, their swords pointed outwards, so that they resembled some sort of spiked sea creature. It suited the Wolfen, as this took them out of the fight.

  Sorenson caught sight of Arn, hands bound behind his back, leashed by his throat to a bench in a corner of the tent. He fought his way towards him, slicing through the thick tether easily. Strom was now in the centre of a Panterran storm of swords and claws, and his own blade rose and fell, filling the tent with blood and shrieks of hatred from the furious Panterran.

  Arn called for a blade, but instead Sorenson dragged him to where Grimson crouched, rattling the door of his cage impatiently. In another moment, Sorenson had freed the young Wolfen as well, and was herding both of his charges towards the yawning hole in the ground. Just before he was pushed into the pit, Arn shouldered over one of the fire-filled braziers; its coals landed in the folds of the tent, which exploded into flames.

  The Panterran shrieked and fled the tent, dragging their grub-like queen with them.

  ‘The one thing Panterran dread more than drowning,’ Sorenson shouted over his shoulder as they hurried along the tunnel, ‘is a good fire!’

  As Arn dragged Grimson along with him, he looked down to see the female fleet beetle scurrying past them. Clinging to her back was the male.

  So far so good, he thought.

  *****

  Eilif held up her bow with the last arrow nocked, but immediately lowered it. The tent was a magnificent inferno, and the entire camp were running about like ants. The queen was dragged from the tent, and if not for the crowd of supplicants surrounding her, the temptation to shoot an arrow into her ugly bloated hide would have been irresistible.

  She could hear the others coming along the tunnel, and prayed that they were all unharmed. She took one last look back into the camp. The light was beginning to fade to a deep purple, and she saw that a group of the giant Lygon had thundered into the clearing, and began to push, shove and fight with each other, their roars outstripping the sounds of the panicked Panterran.

  Eilif pulled her bowstring back as far as it would go, aimed high into the sky and fired her arrow. The silent and poisonous projectile was too dangerous to take with her now that it had the vipod venom coating it . . . She hoped that it would land among the Lygon, seeming to have dropped from the sky itself.

  ‘A gift from Odin,’ she whispered, laughing softly as waited, crouched beside the tunnel exit.

  Chapter 31

  A Life Saved Is a Life Owned

  They ran through the forest in single file – Sorenson, Grimson, then Eilif, Arn, and finally Strom. They kept close together, with no more than an arm’s length between them.

  Strom had told them he estimated they had about thirty minutes before the fire in the tent died, and it was cool enough for the Panterran to enter . . . to find that there were no charred Wolfen bodies. The tunnel would also be found, and followed, and then all hell would be on their trail.

  It was dark now, and thankfully the moon had risen enough for Arn to see clearly. As before, the rising moon filled him with energy, which he needed after the ordeal of the previous night and day.

  Eilif had given him some water and dried beef. But there could be no stopping to enjoy his meal; they all knew that the night belonged to the Panterran, and until they were safe within the castle walls, they would run until they dropped.

  In front of him, Eilif glanced over her shoulder, checking for signs of pursuit. Arn caught her eye; she smiled, slowing her pace a fraction so that they were running side by side. She nudged him with her elbow.

  ‘Someone must be looking out for you, Arnoddr. Rarely does one escape from the Slinkers. But you have managed it twice.’

  Arn laughed. ‘You came to rescue me this time. That makes you my guardian angel.’

  ‘Really, that makes us even,’ she said softly. ‘But a life saved is a life owned. Now I have a claim on yours as well.’ She looked away quickly, and Arn bet that if there was a little more light, he’d see that the inside of her ears had turned pink.

  *****

  Sorenson raced through the darkness, trying his best to retrace their path back to the castle. He knew that soon he’d have to carry Grimson, whose panting was growing ever louder. Sorenson knew why – the young Wolfen had to run twice as hard as his long-legged companions.

  Just a few moments earlier, Strom had passed word up to him that he could now hear the sounds of pursuit – the Panterran travelled fast in the dark, and their eyes were better suited to night hunting.

  Sorenson counted trees and familiar landmarks, trying to ignore the creeping fatigue in his limbs, and was comforted at least to know that they were following the right path. If they could just make it back into the open fields of Valkeryn, they would be safe.

  He slowed slightly, and stared into the darkness. There was a strange whirring sound up ahead – not something he had ever heard before, or could identify as a natural noise of the forest. As he rounded a tree into a small moonlit clearing, a horrifying beast reared up in front of him.

  Like a giant cobra, with a flattened body and a single, burning red eye, the thing gave off an insect-like hum as it hovered in the centre of their path.

  As Sorenson ground to a halt, a blinding light like a thousand candles flared from the beast’s eye. Grimson screamed, and Strom shouldered Arn and Eilif aside as he rushed forward to drag the young Wolfen out of harm’s way. The thing whined again, and rose up as though to strike. Strom snarled and raised his broadsword.

  There was another bright flash.

  *****

  Sorenson stared down at the broken beast. In one mighty swing, Strom had buried his blade deep into its head, the light of life fading from its eye as it fell heavily to the ground.

  Strom stood, rooted to the spot, hands still gripping his sword. The huge Wolfen shuddered and shook, his teeth chattering. The smell of burning fur and flesh filled the night air.

  Some type of venom, Sorenson thought, and dived at his elder brother, pushing him away from the beast. Pulled free at the same time, the sword slipped from Strom’s hands and clattered to the ground, and the beast bobbed up and floated away, leaving them once again in the silence and darkness.

  *****

  ‘What was that?!’ Arn crawled from the bushes where he had been thrown, and looked around warily. Strom lay on the ground, with the other Wolfen kneeling beside him. ‘Was it a jormungandr?’

  Sorenson shook his head. ‘They don’t come this far out of the caves. I’ve never seen, or have ever been told of any beast like that one.’ He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘It attacked Strom, and has poisoned him.’

  Arn looked at the giant Wolfen’s burned hands, and sniffed. Weird, he thought. It reminded him of when old Mrs. Heming’s Siamese cat chewed through the t
elevision cables.

  Sorenson cradled his brother in his arms, and poured some water across his lips. Strom spluttered.

  ‘Is it dead?’ He spoke weakly, without opening his eyes.

  Sorenson nodded. ‘Or soon will be. You split its skull.’

  Strom sat up with his brother’s help. Arn could tell he was in a lot of pain. The giant Wolfen looked at his blistered hands, and shook his head. ‘In a few hours, they’ll be swollen, raw and useless.’ His ears twitched and he sniffed the air. ‘They’re coming. Get me to my feet.’

  Sorenson and Arn helped him to stand, while Eilif pulled a small leather pouch from her belt. Inside was a paste, which she rubbed on his cracked and blistered hands. Feninlang, Arn hoped.

  Strom flexed the fingers, and nodded his thanks. He then dipped a finger in the paste and rubbed it onto his teeth, closing his mouth to work it around with his tongue. He shut his eyes for a few moments and breathed, seeming to swell with energy.

  At last, he disengaged himself from Arn and Sorenson, and then stood swaying slightly in the dark. ‘They’re coming . . . and you must go now. The feninlang will give me energy for another hour; after that . . .’

  Sorenson grabbed his brother’s arm. ‘Run for that hour, then the Man-kind and I will carry you.’

  Strom slowly shook his head. ‘And Grimson? My brother, you must get back and tell them of the Panterran camp, of their war beasts, and of Mogahr being so close to our kingdom. Get your charges to safety. I will only slow you down, and then we will all die.’ He looked across Eilif, Grimson and Arn, and then back into Sorenson’s eyes. ‘And some more quickly than others.’ His meaning was clear – death was not the worst thing that could befall you at the hands of the Panterran.

  They all knew the giant warrior was right. Sorenson cursed and banged his fist against Strom’s chest, then buried his face there for a few seconds, until Strom pushed him gently backwards.

  ‘Go, brother.’

  Sorenson gazed sadly up into the large face, and placed his hand on the crest of the wolf on Strom’s chest. ‘My strength to you, my brother.’

  Strom nodded. ‘And my speed to you, beloved brother.’

  Sorenson turned away, and called to the others to follow him. Eilif looked up at Strom and placed her hand against the mark of the red-eyed silver wolf on her chest – the royal house crest.

  ‘You were our finest champion, Strom.’

  Sorenson called to her again, and she turned on her heels and followed, leaving the giant figure alone in the dark.

  Chapter 32

  Please Tell Me You Got that?

  ‘Something coming at us fast – biological – go to strobe, sir?’

  The room fell silent as the technicians pressed buttons and shifted joysticks to keep the camera hovering in the darkness.

  Harper folded his arms and tried to remain calm, but his heart was racing. ‘Not yet; we might frighten it off, and never actually see what it is.’

  ‘Could it be Singer?’

  Harper ignored the question, but kept his eyes on the screen. ‘Recorders running. Prepare for evasive.’ He turned briefly to another screen showing pulses of radar waves, bending around the approaching object. It was nearly on top of them. ‘Hold at six feet vertical.’

  ‘It’s too dark; at the speed it’s moving, it’ll run right by us and we won’t see it. We’ve got to light it up.’

  ‘Negative. Hold . . .’ Harper got to his feet, his wide eyes flicking from screen to screen. ‘Hold . . .’

  Shapes appeared as the radar blip converged with their position. In night-vision mode, everything was a ghostly green. But the apparition that emerged from the darkness was unmistakable:

  ‘It’s a freakin’ giant wolf!’

  For a moment, a second, human face was exposed by the greenish light, and then there was a ferocious snarl as a giant wolf creature, even more terrifying than the first, loomed up in front of them.

  ‘Go to strobe!’ The forest lit up – but for less than a few seconds, as something came down hard on top of the camera. The screen immediately melted into snow.

  The entire room was on its feet. No one could speak, and the only sound was the static from the destroyed camera.

  Harper turned to the recording engineer. ‘Please tell me you got that.’

  The engineer nodded. ‘Yep, all of it.’

  The loop was replayed for the first of many times, the technicians staring in wonder at the beasts’ faces. And Arnold Singer was clearly there too; he looked frightened and thin, but otherwise seemed healthy.

  Harper leaned back and smiled. ‘Welcome back, son.’ He spun in his seat and eyed the army personnel hovering over him. ‘And now . . . we go and get him.’

  Chapter 33

  Know Who You Face This Day

  Strom stood in the centre of the path, between two large boulders. This made it hard for his adversaries to creep up on his flanks, but still didn’t mean he couldn’t be overwhelmed by a frontal attack. He doubted the Panterran had the stomach for it.

  He had torn his tunic free, and used the leather to wrap his hands; the blistering was painless due to the feninlang root balm, but was starting to weep. He would need a firm grip on his sword.

  He stood staring into the dark, legs spread, holding his blade ready as the approaching horde bore down on him.

  The first Panterran runners that broke through the forest onto the path were quickly cut down, and their squeals of surprise alerted the rest to be cautious. In a few more seconds, more of the small warriors had appeared, but stayed back, just out of reach of the large Wolfen’s sword.

  Strom held his position – he didn’t really care if they fought him; he just needed to slow them down.

  The snarls and hisses of the tangle of Panterran built quickly. Strom bared his teeth.

  ‘Craven worms of the night, your cowardice is why you will never truly defeat the sáál of the Wolfen.’

  The snarling fury of the Panterran quietened, and the boiling mass of flat-faced creatures parted to allow Orcalion to glide through.

  ‘Ah, of course . . . mighty Strom. We thank you.’

  Strom frowned in confusion, and Orcalion nodded and continued.

  ‘You broke the agreement, champion of the Wolfen – made in the presence of your king: the Man-kind for the princeling – that was our deal. Now who is the most deceptive?’

  Strom kept both hands on his sword, and snorted in contempt as more and more Panterran crowded in around him. ‘You would never have released our prince.’

  Orcalion grinned. ‘Now we shall never know. But history will record that the Wolfen provoked this war . . . and for that, we thank you.’

  ‘Wolfen don’t fear war, or death, you vile little creature. We will never fall to your steel and claw, or to your deceptions.’

  ‘You think not, berserker? You will fall, and fall this night, to us . . .’ He leaked a hissing chuckle. ‘. . . Or to our large and hungry brothers.’

  So saying, he stepped to one side to allow three enormous Lygon to thunder onto the path. They held huge stone mallets in their taloned hands, and dagger-like fangs curved back from faces as ugly and fearsome as monsters from Hellheim itself.

  Strom, snarling, backed up a step. Up close, the Lygon were more terrible than the clay model Balthazar had made at the castle. Their orange and black-striped fur rippled over massive columns of muscle. Like giant striped ogres, they roared and raised their weapons, bringing them down onto the ground with so much force, Strom could feel the impact through the soles of his feet.

  Strom sucked in a huge breath, then let loose a roar that made the Panterran shrink back behind the Lygon. He pointed his sword at the brutes before him.

  ‘Know who you face this day. I am Strom, son of Stromgarde, descendant of the very first guardians! If I die this day, so will many of you.’

  ‘Kill him!’ Orcalion screeched at the three giant creatures, then slunk quickly out of sight behind them.

  Th
e Lygon each were twice Strom’s weight, but they hesitated in the face of his ferocity. They were used to warriors fleeing from them in fear, and never had they faced a being who would stand up to three of them.

  In the end, it was Strom who charged.

  When they came together, there was an explosion of muscle and steel that shook the trees around them. A severed Lygon head flew through the air as the Wolfen’s broadsword flashed in an arc. The Panterran shrunk back further into the brush as blood sprayed in all directions.

  As Strom had expected, they were enormously strong, but slow.

  Another of the Lygon suffered a deep gash to its arm, causing it to roar its pain to the sky, and pull back temporarily from the fight. Orcalion screamed until his eyes bulged and spittle flew from his black lips. The Panterran pulled his own curved sword, and prodded the giant beast in the back.

  The huge Lygon wouldn’t budge. The remaining beast swung its stone mallet, striking the earth thunderously, splintering trees – but never once touching the Wolfen. For the first time, fear gripped the spine of the Panterran.

  Orcalion dropped his sword, and snatched a bow from one of his cowering warriors. He nocked an arrow and fired it into the Wolfen’s leg. Strom grunted and sunk to one knee.

  With the feninlang stimulant wearing off from his already battered body, Strom knew his fight was done. He lowered his sword and raised his face to the sky, smiling, knowing he had given his brother time to get his charges well away.

  He opened his arms wide, and yelled with all the strength he could muster, ‘For Valkeryn!’

  Emboldened at the sight of their stricken enemy, the two Lygon came at him with their weapons raised. With his last vestige of strength, Strom lifted his blade and plunged it deep into the gut of one of the charging giants, its own weight ensuring that it impaled itself to the hilt.