Return of the Ancients

Chapter 27 You Are the Monster Here

Arn’s knees were bruised, and his neck chafed even though the rope had been looped around the outside of the bag over his head. The air inside was stiflingly hot.

From time to time, he felt something sharp prodding his rear, and he hoped the Wolfen brothers weren’t too far away. Arn also knew what would happen if one of their sorcerers took the opportunity to probe his mind again — whether he wanted to or not, he might alert them to the fleet beetle, and betray his would-be rescuers.

He had no idea how long he had been forced to march, but as it was early evening when he was taken from the castle, and there was faint warmth touching his skin now and then, he thought that the sun must have been coming up. He felt fatigued, but he did not yet crave sleep — adrenaline must have been coursing through his system.

They marched on and on, and the rubbing of his boots became a damp, stringing throb — burst blisters, he bet. The hours passed, and finally there came a push in his back, and he was pulled roughly to his knees, the sack dragged from his head. Even though it was only mid morning, the weak sunlight blinded him and made him screw his eyes shut in pain.

Arn blinked several times, and his vision swam for a few seconds until at last his eyes adjusted enough for him to make out his surroundings. They were in a clearing with a large domed tent set up at one edge, and smaller tents scattered throughout. There were also cooking fires dotted in just about every vacant space. Black banners flew from the top of the tents depicting the head of a cat with yellow eyes and the familiar, merciless gaze of the Panterran.

Panterran and Lygon moved about the clearing. Arn watched as Orcalion swaggered over to the largest tent. Outside, a ring of guards in loose black robes watched as he approached. Two heavily armed Panterran at the entrance stepped forward to meet him. He spoke briefly to the pair, motioned to Arn and then to himself, before nodding and returning to their group.

Arn was still on his knees, and Orcalion reached for the tether around his neck and yanked it roughly. With his arms bound, Arn fell forward into the dirt.

‘Mogahr sleeps. But do not worry, ugly one, I’m sure she will wish to see you when she wakes.’

Arn spat dirt from his mouth and struggled back up to his knees, ‘Can I have some water?’

The corners of Orcalion’s lips twisted in a cruel, disbelieving sneer. ‘Water?’ He grabbed the tether again, and yanked hard.

Arn pulled back on leather, defiance in his eyes. ‘I won’t be a pet for some monster. You’ll be sorry for this one day.’

Ocralion used all his strength to pull Arn down over, and this time swiped him across the face, raking the skin with his needle-like claws. ‘Monster? You are the monster here. You are the disgusting freak.’ He kicked Arn, hard. ‘A pet? She already has the princeling as a pet.’ There was the hissing laugh, and he stepped in close and crouched to look into Arn’s face. ‘You won’t need water, Man-kind. You won’t need anything soon.’

Orcalion motioned to one of the Panterran that had accompanied them from the Wolfen castle. ‘Stake him here, and make sure you guard him well.’ He narrowed his eyes at the guard. ‘Your life depends on it.’

The guard nodded jerkily, and bowed while Orcalion glided away. Then he hissed something inaudible, and probably treasonous, at the departing sorcerer’s back, and spoke quickly to two of the other Paneterran, who scurried off and then returned with a wooden spike and mallet. They hammered the spike into the ground, and tied one end of the tether to it. The two Panterran retreated to the shade of some trees, and turned their backs on him to laze in the dappled light.

Arn sat cross-legged in the dirt. He had no shade, and already thirst was beginning to weigh heavily on him. He was hot, but had stopped sweating. Not a good sign, he thought. He bowed his head and felt the fatigue of the march catching up with him. His long hair fell forward over his face, and he felt himself about to doze. His eyelids drooped, and he swallowed painfully, forcing the dry lump of his fear down his throat, where it settled in his belly… and fluttered.

Oh, God no, he thought. Not now, you stupid beetle.

The feeling settled, and as Arn’s eyes began to close, he caught sight of a single Panterran standing silently watching him, its golden eyes shining from under its cowl. Arn’s head lolled forward, and he was asleep.

Sorenson pushed the female beetle back within the folds of his vest. Even in the morning light, the glow from the bulbous insect was becoming blinding.

They crept forward, towards the sounds of the large encampment. Sorenson led, followed by Eilif and then Strom. All kept low to the ground, and moved stealthily through the heavy foliage.

Sorenson raised his hand, and his two companions froze. He pointed up at the tree line, and then held up two fingers — there, in the branches, were a pair of Panterran guards. Luckily, they were focused on something in the opposite direction, and the three were able to crawl past them.

In the heavy brush at the edge of the clearing, they stared into the busy camp. Eilif let out a small gasp at seeing Arn staked out in the sun. He was covered in dust, and there was blood on his face and along his throat from the rubbing of the tether. She snarled at the sight of it, but Strom placed his hand on her shoulder to keep her quiet and calm.

‘The queen’s forward encampment — heavily guarded.’ Sorenson turned to Strom, who grunted but kept his eyes on the Panterran soldiers milling about.

Eilif curled her hands into fists. ‘We have the element of surprise. I say we rush them now — they are less active during the day.’ She looked from Strom to Sorenson. Neither acknowledged her.

Strom spoke in a low growl, ‘I would like nothing more than to enter that camp, with sword in hand… But first we must locate the prince. Besides, a frontal assault would either result in three dead Wolfen, or if we somehow managed to free the Arnoddr, and dragged him beyond the perimeter of the camp, what then? Being chased by several hundred fully armed, fleet-footed Panterran are odds that not even I like.’

A deep snuffling grunt took their eyes beyond Arn, to the far edge of the clearing.

Sorenson cursed. ‘Gravilents — heavily armoured. At speed, almost impossible to stop. They will decimate our front lines.’

A mountain of scale-covered flesh pulled on a chain holding it in place. The enormous creature stood two and a half times their height, on four column-like legs. Broad and flat, the creature had a hide of shingle-like scales so tightly fitted together that they formed an interlocking set of natural armour. The Panterran had further added spikes and blades to its body to make the beast more formidable and ill tempered, as the base of the weaponry looked to be embedded deep into the thing’s flesh.

‘And there are Lygon,’ Strom spat. ‘A war party, numbering in the hundreds — probably one of many spread across the outer rim of the kingdom. They’ll converge on us from many different angles, all at once. We need to tell the king and the generals.’

There was a yelp from within the large tent.

Eilif’s mouth dropped open. ‘That was Grimson.’ Her face was a mix of panic and anger.

Strom turned to the black dome and narrowed his eyes. ‘Good. That’s means he’s alive.’

‘We can tell my father of the war party, but first…’ Eilif looked as if she was about to get to her feet, when Strom grabbed her again.

He pointed at the tent. ‘Queen Mogahr — Orcalion said it was she who wanted Arn. That vile night-creature will sleep for many hours yet, and when she finally wakes, she won’t leave her tent. Instead, they will take the Man-kind inside.’

‘So?’

‘There are hundreds of Panterran outside the tent, but I expect there will be only a few inside the tent. Much better odds, don’t you think? We just need to wait until they have him in the tent, and then we attack.’

Eilif frowned impatiently, but eventually nodded.

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.