Return of the Ancients

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 television 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.