Return of the Ancients

Chapter 12 At Last a Worthy Foe

Grimvaldr sat at his long table, with a circle of his most trusted warriors gathered close around him. Spread before him were the recovered remnants of the massacre of his warriors — smashed armour, torn chain mail, a punctured shield. It came as no surprise to him that Ragnar, brave and impetuous by nature, was first to break the silence.

‘We must hunt them down, sire. The Wolfen pack must have been ambushed and overwhelmed. Give me one hundred warriors and I guarantee I’ll bring you back the heads of these Panterran assassins.’

Grimvaldr looked at the faces of the Wolfen surrounding him — all tall, strong, and scarred many times over — the greatest warriors in his kingdom. They had never known defeat in battle, and now hungered for revenge. Blind revenge, he thought.

‘Brave Ragnar, I know you would fight to the very gates of Hellheim for your Wolfen brothers, but sometimes it is better to know your enemy first. You will have your justice — we all will. But we need to know who it is that has declared war on us.’

The king rose slowly to his feet. ‘I want six of our best scouts and hunters to track our enemy back into the dark forests. A group large enough to bring down so many of our best fighters must be either large or extremely formidable. And no matter how stealthy, they must have left a trail that can be followed.’

‘My lord, there is talk that they are wraiths, and…’

‘Silence those words, Bergborr!’ The king pounded the table, his stentorian voice echoing around the stone room. He threw the punctured shield to the floor at the gathered warriors’ feet.

‘Could a wraith do that? No, the attackers were real. And if real, they can bleed… and die.’

Bergborr dropped to one knee. ‘Forgive me.’

Grimvaldr looked down at the warrior. ‘Rise. The unknown is our enemy now. There will be no talk of wraiths, or werenbeasts, or monsters from the darkness. What we seek will be made of flesh and blood and bone. It will be brought down by Wolfen steel, like all those who have made war on us in the past. But first we must know who or what it is we fight.’

The king motioned to the large double doors of the chamber. ‘Let us hear from the sciences. Bring them forth to show us what they have learned from the print we found at the battle site.’

The king sat back down as the massive oak doors swung wide and a broad, low cart was slowly hauled before him. Standing on the cart, a tall figure, draped with a heavy cloth, towered over the Wolfens’ heads as it was dragged past them, towards the king’s throne.

Shuffling up next to it, an elderly Canite in flowing robes bowed deeply. The king motioned for him to rise. He looked up at the cloaked figure.

‘So, Balthazar, it seems you have been busy.’

The other nodded. ‘We thought at first you gave us only a little to work with, but it turned out to be more than we needed, my king. The print was of the Panterran line — its shape is unmistakable. We have all the biological information we need on Slinkers, and know that a Slinker print of a certain size will determine the height and weight of the one who made it. The average size of one of their adult warriors is roughly a little over half as tall as a Wolfen, and their weight about fifty pounds, give or take.’

Turning, Balthazar reached towards the figure, then grabbed the sheet and tugged. It fell away, and the king’s eyes widened. The assembled warriors either cursed or gasped at the strange sight.

The king couldn’t help baring his teeth, and his strong fingers curled around the arms of his throne, splintering the hard wood.

The decloaked figure had been crafted from clay, and stood about nine feet in height. It was similar in shape to a Panterran, but had a heavily muscled torso, leading up to a head that was both terrifying and ferocious.

The king spoke slowly. ‘The head and fangs; how could you know this detail, just from the single print in the mud?’

Balthazar looked from the figure back to the king. ‘Not from the print, sire, but from other clues in the remains of the armour before you.’

Grimvaldr gazed from the punctured shield up to the giant creature’s fangs. He felt a moment of dread, but he knew he could not show it. Any display of fear or indecision on his part would sow seeds of doubt and despair among his warriors.

He stood and grinned at his assembled Wolfen.

‘So, mighty warriors, it looks like we may at last have a worthy foe to fight. We now know their shape, but we need to know their mind. Send the scouts immediately — they are to report back in two days. In the meantime, to all my generals, I command you to assemble your Wolfen warriors, and be ready to march after we have learned a little more from the field.’

The Wolfen bowed and banged their fists against their chests, and then headed for the large double doors that had been thrown open — each of them glaring at the clay giant as they passed by it.

Grimvaldr called softly to the last of them, ‘Karnak, wait a moment.’

The tall, heavily scarred warrior stopped and turned. The king strode around the table and took his friend’s arm. He nodded up towards the snarling figure. ‘What say you, son of the House of Karnak — could they be real?’

Karnak grunted. ‘I have heard talk of a race of terrible creatures from the far dark lands. Things that look like Slinkers, but are more powerful and brutish, and a hundred times more deadly. Do I think they are real? Who else could bring down our warriors so easily?’

The king sighed and stared off into the distance. ‘I have also heard those tales of the dark and unknown lands of the giants. I thought… I had hoped they were little more than legends… just like the rumoured sightings of the Old Ones every few generations. But we saw one, didn’t we, my friend?’

Karnak raised his eyebrows. ‘Two myths, seeming to take flesh at the same time, and the Panterran hordes pushing into our lands — do you believe there could be a connection?’

‘The Old Ones reappearing at the time of our greatest need? It is the oldest of our prophesies.’ He stared up into the clay figure’s snarling face. ‘And we have faced monsters before. Valkeryn has stood for a thousand years, and it will it stand for a thousand more.’ He turned back to Karnak. ‘I do not fear these giants… and I do not fear the Panterran hordes… but I pray that the two are not in league with each other.’