Return of the Ancients

Chapter 24 The King’s Mission

The evening was coming too soon for Arn.

Late into the afternoon, Eilif wanted to continue practising their sword skills, but he couldn’t find any enthusiasm for it. His stomach was knotted in fear, and no matter how she joked, or cajoled him, he felt like a zombie.

In the end she gave up and wished him good morrow. Arn reached out to take her hand, shook it, but then held it a little longer than usual.

She smiled at first, and then frowned. ‘What is it?’

He released her hand. ‘It’s nothing. It’s just that you’ve been a good friend to me.’ He turned away, not seeing her face fall at the use of the word friend again.

‘I can tell something is wrong, Arnoddr. You don’t look me in the eye when you wish to conceal something. Did you know there is a Wolfen saying that goes: the eyes allow one’s sáál to reveal its true self.’

‘Huh, a what?’

She took his hand and placed it in the centre of her chest. ‘It’s something in here. Not the heart or the breathers, but something that cannot be seen that is the core of every righteous being. You have one too… and I think it’s a good one.’

Arn laughed and nodded. ‘Yes, I do. We call it, the soul. We have a similar saying — the eyes are the windows to the soul. So I guess you’re right; our races are more alike than we think.’

She placed her hand on the centre of his chest. ‘Yes, I believe I can feel it inside you — your soul. And do you know what else I believe? Inside, you’re really a Wolfen.’ She smiled and grabbed his vest and pulled him closer. ‘So, Man-kind… or maybe, Man-Wolfen, now that I look through the windows to your soul-sáál, what is troubling you? No untruths.’

Arn knew he couldn’t tell her. She still didn’t even know that Grimson had been taken; she had been told that he was in some sort of training school for young warriors.

‘Tomorrow. Okay?’

‘You’ll tell me tomorrow?’

He looked at her solemnly. ‘Tomorrow, you’ll know… Promise.’

Eilif watched him walk away, kicking small stones out of his path. He was the strangest being she had ever known — and easily the most interesting, and… what? She didn’t know what he meant to her really. He confused her more than any other male.

She laughed at what she had called him — Man-Wolfen. Though there was no such thing, she really did believe he had the face of a man, but the heart and sáál of one of her own kind. She felt safe with him, felt… nice, when he was near.

She drew her sword, and practised swinging and lunging at shadows as the sun began to go down. There was a soft footfall behind her, and she spun around, a smile on her face and her sword raised, expecting Arn to have returned.

‘I knew you’d…’ She lowered her sword, just managing to drop the vestige of the smile on her face. ‘You should not sneak up on someone brandishing a sword, young warrior. Even the best Wolfen may find themselves missing an arm.’

Bergborr bowed deeply, with one arm crossed in front of his waist and one behind. When he straightened, he brought his arm out from behind his back, revealing a handful of wildflowers.

Eilif looked at them and tilted her head. ‘So I bring a sword, and you bring flowers. Things seem to be the wrong way around, wouldn’t you say, friend Bergborr?’

The dark Wolfen laughed and pushed the flowers into her hand. ‘Forgive me, I’m a fool in the presence of such beauty.’

Eilif’s ears blushed pink; she relished the compliment, even though she knew it was flattery. She also knew of his ambitions, and although he would be considered a fine warrior mate, she had never been sure if it was she, or her father’s throne, that most attracted him.

Like magic, from his other hand he presented her with a dagger in a scabbard of the most finely detailed silver, encrusted with fiery green stones. She reached for it, her fingers closing around the hilt…

She let her hand fall, empty. ‘I am far too young to be receiving gifts from such a fine warrior as yourself. Perhaps there are more deserving ladies of the court, on whom you might lavish your attentions.’

‘Would you at least walk with me tonight after I have attended to my duties in the king’s court? Pay me that honour, at least.’

Eilif frowned slightly. Arn had an audience with the king that eve — Bergborr also? Strange things were happening.

She smiled innocently. ‘We’ll see. It has been a long day and I’m tired. Perhaps you can call on me in the morning?’

He drew in a deep breath of frustration, and bowed again. ‘I will not give up, young princess. Tomorrow morning it is.’

Eilif watched him leave, and then opened her hand to let the flowers fall to the ground.

Arn stood alone in the small chamber. On the table beside him stood a cup of water, a pot of honey, and a small box. The king had told him that now was the time to swallow the male fleet beetle, and with a shaking hand he opened the box. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, and then reopened one of them; it was probably just his imagination, but the bug looked even bigger than when he had seen it in its cage.

He put his ear to the door — he could hear raised voices outside. He’d be called soon, and nowhere else to hide the beetle if he changed his mind. He thought again of Grimson and snatched up the box again, upending it. The glossy beetle fell into his hand and lay there, unmoving. He looked hard at the creature, half wishing it was dead. Instead, he could see that all of its legs had been tied with a sort of fine, waxy string. The king had told him that his stomach acids would not harm the shell of the fleet beetle, but he guessed the string would eventfully be dissolved. He studied the small claws on the tips of its bound, spindly legs. It gave a whole new meaning to the expression, butterflies in the stomach.

He groaned, remembering his instructions. Here goes nothing, he thought. Dipping the bug into the honey, he squeezed his eyes shut, then placed it at the back of his tongue. He grabbed up the mug of water and began gulping furiously. He started gagging and gulped the water harder, painfully swallowing both the bug and, with it, some bile that was rushing up to try to escape.

Yecch! He doubled over, coughing, and his eyes watered. There was an acidic, almond taste in his mouth. He leaned over the table, breathing hard.

‘I will never complain about brussel sprouts again, I promise.’ He dipped his fingers into the honey, licking more of the sweet sticky nectar to mask the aftertaste of the bug.

There was a thump on the door. He wiped the tears from his eyes.

‘I’m ready.’

Eilif slowly leaned out, far over the stone balcony, and peered down into the closed courtyard. It appeared to be a small party of hooded Panterran, flanked by a larger group of Wolfen. Some of the guards were snarling, but the Slinkers sat as still as stones, ignoring them.

They weren’t prisoners — had they come to the castle under a flag of truce? Something secret was happening, something her father hadn’t told her. But why? she wondered? Why wouldn’t he tell me?

The doorway outside which they waited led to the main hall — where Arn was supposed to be meeting with the king that very eve…

Arn entered the throne room. It was already half filled with the Wolfen generals, trusted warriors and counsellors. The king sat on his throne, and flanking him were Sorenson and Strom. Sorenson looked Arn in the eye and gave him an almost imperceptible nod. Strom just continued to look along the lines of assembled warriors and advisors.

Arn heard the heavy doors close behind him as he walked slowly to the centre of the room. He tried hard not to let his chin quiver, or his knees buckle as he neared the Wolfen.

The Wolfen warriors dipped their heads as Arn passed them, and the king rose from his throne. He held a huge broadsword by its hilt, its blade sheathed in a heavily patterned scabbard, its tip touching the stones at his feet. He lifted it, then brought it down onto the ground three times. The room immediately fell silent.

He looked across the assembled warriors, and then to Arn. ‘An honour has been bestowed upon you, young Man-kind — to sacrifice your liberty for that of the young child of the crown, Grimson, first-born prince of Valkeryn. Will you accept this honour?’

Arn could feel the wall of silence pressing in around him, as every eye was trained on his face, his eyes, his lips, waiting for them to form the words:

‘I will.’

The king’s shoulders slumped with relief. ‘The kingdom thanks you. Know that whatever occurs, we owe you a debt.’ He gave a small bow, and drew in a deep breath. His face grew stern. ‘Bring in the Panterran emissary.’

The crowd of Wolfen warriors fanned out, looking back towards the doorway as the heavy wooden doors were pushed open. The small familiar figure of Orcalion glided in, grinning.

He bowed deeply to the king, then looked across at Arn. The excitement was plain on his flat features. ‘You are to be our guest again, Man-kind. But fear not, we wish to be friends with you, and any previous misunderstandings will be quickly forgotten.’ He glanced at Arn’s hands. ‘Bind him… for his own safety.’

Arn’s wrists were tied together with a strip of leather, a further length of which trailed at least six feet from the knots — a lead. Orcalion picked it up, and pulled Arn a few stumbling steps closer.

‘Please let me know if the binding is too tight; I do not wish you… discomfort.’ He let out a small wheezing laugh, and tugged again on the tether, obviously relishing the moment.

‘Two days.’ The king watched the small creature with barely controlled fury on his face. His eyes went to Arn, and then back to Orcalion, who shrugged.

‘Yes, two or three days. When we are back safely at our encampment, we will release the young princeling. No… accidents must befall us — you must guarantee our safe passage.’

The king nodded, once. His head remained bowed.

Oraclion began to drag Arn from the room, and Sorenson moved quickly to stand at the hall’s huge double doors. As Arn passed and he looked him in the eye, there was just the hint of a wink, a small smile on his lips. Arn tried to smile in return, but his face was frozen, as he felt more like a condemned man heading to the gallows.

Once outside, a small band of Wolfen escorted them down the stone steps and across the lower entrance hall. Orcalion spoke to Arn over his shoulder, ‘Have you anything concealed that I should know about, Man-kind?’

Arn felt a jolt of fear run through him. The king had said that there were spies in the castle; if they had learned of the fleet beetle inside him, then the rescue plan would fail even before it started. The Panterran stopped and looked briefly over his shoulder.

Arn shook his head.

Orcalion yanked the leash again. ‘It matters not; we will search you, once we have reached the forest. But for now… lean forward.’ Orcalion reached inside his cloak as Arn stooped slightly. The Panterran pulled a bag over Arn’s head. ‘Some say you have the strength of ten Panterran, and can see even better in the dark. Best to ensure you have as few advantages as possible, then. Be warned: there’ll be a sword at the back of your neck the entire journey.’

Arn could soon feel the cool night air on his skin. After another few hundred paces, he guessed they were at the castle walls. A few of the Wolfen escorting them called out words of encouragement, and then there came a slamming of heavy wood, and he knew he was alone, with the Panterran, in the dark.

From her vantage point on the stone balcony, Eilif watched as the small party led its captive towards the outer walls. The prisoner was taller than his Panterran captor, but shorter than the Wolfen escort, who kept their distance. As they neared the walls, the moon broke through the clouds, and by its light she could just make out the prisoner’s pale, tied hands — they were hairless.

The breath caught in her throat, and she had to jam a knuckle into her mouth to stifle her scream of outrage. First Grimson disappearing, and now Arn being secretly spirited away… Her teeth came together with a snap.

She’d need to move quickly. Darting back into her room, she set to work fastening her night armour. She knew the Panterran; if they had Arn, it wasn’t because they just wanted to talk to him.

Anger flared in her chest, and again she bared her teeth in the dark.