Return of the Ancients

Chapter 40 At This Most Dire Time

Bergborr entered the gatekeeper’s armoury, and called loudly to the key master. A short, brutish-looking Wolfen ambled out, covered in soot and wearing a leather apron. His hands were scarred from working with fire, hammer and steel his entire life.

‘Drengi.’ Bergborr bowed slightly. ‘I’ve come to conduct an audit of the castle keys. All must be double checked and secured.’

The ironmonger stared hard at Bergborr. ‘Where is the order? I have already secured all vital keys in the heavy vault.’

Bergborr raised his voice slightly. ‘I am charged by Grimvaldr himself.’

Drengi lifted a rag and wiped his hands. ‘I will need to see—’

Bergborr exploded in rage and roared into the squat Wolfen’s face, ‘By Odin’s wrath, we are at the moment of war, and you want a bureaucrat’s signature? Retrieve the keys for audit immediately. Or at this most dire time, do you want Grimvaldr himself to come and beg you personally?’

The squat key master grunted, nodded, and disappeared for several moments, returning with several wooden boxes. He opened one lid after the other, displaying large ancient keys, almost identical except for engraved Wolfen words on their shafts, which identified what they opened and where.

Bergborr ran his gaze over them, and then pointed to the boxes. ‘Count them off.’

Drengi nodded again, and performed a quick audit, knowing each key by heart, having kept them in order and in good care. He went from one box to the next, and as he moved down the line, Bergborr placed his hand in the boxes, lifting out one key after the other and turning it over in his hand. He stopped and held one up to the light, noting its deeply etched lettering.

‘Please sir, keep them in good order, in the event we need to reach for one, or all, in haste.’

Bergborr placed his hand back in the box. ‘Of course. Carry on; I have other tasks to complete before this day is ended.’

Drengi continued his count.

Bergborr had replaced a key in the box, but he had used his other hand, and this key had no lettering on it.

Arn stuffed clothing into a leather bag, leaving room for some food. Eilif had baked him a loaf of bread, and he took a small bite. It was dry and tough, but he savoured the yeasty flavour and smiled at her effort. He next packed spare boots and a flask of water.

He had dressed in a leather jerkin and pants, boots and a vest. He looped a belt around his waist, from which he hung his dagger and several pouches. Lastly, he tucked his pocketknife inside one of the pouches.

He lifted the sword he had been given by Sorenson and half pulled it from its scabbard, admiring the gleam and sharpness of the blade. He laid it on the bed. Next, he picked up a heavy cloak, trying to decide whether he would take it — they’d need to travel light and fast. Once outside the castle walls, the son of Grimvaldr would be fleeing for his life. Still, the targets on their backs would hardly keep them warm…

He held onto the cloak as he walked to the window, and looked out. Within the walls of the castle, thousands of Wolfen were forming up into ranks. They were orderly and without panic. They made him feel both sad and proud.

But from his vantage point, he could see beyond the walls, where smoke was curling high into the air over the ruined earth. The smudges of light he had seen on the horizon, from the distant forges of countless Panterran, had now become thousands upon thousands of surging bodies.

In among these, he could make out larger animals — the gravilents, he presumed. The whole scene reminded him of the carcass of a dead animal being consumed by maggots and carrion beetles.

Arn breathed slowly, closing his eyes and trying to blank it all out. But the whining and hissing of the approaching army of merciless creatures made his blood run cold.

Then another sound, behind him, made him jump.

Eilif stood in the doorway, regarding him curiously. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. The sheen of her polished metal armour was startling in the candlelight. The raised crest of the red-eyed wolf adorned her breastplate, and her silver war helmet was pushed back, its wolf-faced visor snarling at the ceiling. He remembered something similar when he had first seen Grimvaldr on the hill. It seemed so long ago.

She walked forward slowly with her hand on the hilt of the sword. The armour moved perfectly with her, the chain mail fitting snugly to her body. She looked athletic, and fearsome, and… beautiful.

Eilif looked him up and down. ‘Why aren’t you ready?’

Arn threw the cloak over his bag, and sat down on the bed.

Eilif frowned and moved a few paces closer. ‘Do… Do you need help getting into your armour? I can do that for you.’

Arn shook his head. ‘I’m okay. I can do it. Just had a few things to prepare, and I guess I got distracted. Still a lot on my mind right now.’

‘Is it the homesickness spell that ails you again?’

He smiled at her. ‘Sure, a bit.’

‘Father said you cannot fight by his side, as he needs his generals close. I’m sorry.’ She looked away for a moment, then turned back quickly. ‘But when the battle starts, I’ll look for you. I want you by my side. Fighting together, it will be glorious — no one shall best us.’

He took her hand. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘But I want to look out for you.’

Arn was filled with such a sadness then, it threatened to well up inside him and pour forth in a wave of tears and confession. This amazing creature — this amazing race of beings — all could be gone in another day.

An old quote from his literature class floated into his mind, and before he knew what he was doing he spoke it aloud:

‘Every parting is a form of death…’ He paused as his voice threatened to crack. She seemed spellbound by the words, and he managed to finish. ‘… As every reunion is a type of heaven.’

She placed her hand over his. ‘That’s beautiful. What is a heaven?’

He smiled again, and swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘It’s our Valhalla. A place of peace where all good spirits go.’

She nodded. ‘I would go to heaven, because I am a good warrior. So will you.’ She drew her sword and raised it.

‘Death to the Panterran! Death to the Lygon! And long live Grimvaldr and all the mighty Wolfen!’ Her eyes glowed with excitement. Then she sheathed the sword and headed for the door.

‘I’ll find you on the field.’ She paused as if waiting for something, and Arn rose from the bed, meaning to shake her hand, or hug her, or something.

As he drew close, he saw her lips just curve into a shy smile, and the inside of her ears darken to a shade of pink. She grabbed hold of him, and pulled him to her. He felt her face against his cheek as she hugged him hard. She pulled back, and made a fist over her chest as though grabbing something.

‘My heart…’ She moved her closed fist from her chest to his, and opened the fingers. ‘… Is now your heart.’

She quickly pressed her lips to his for a second, and then spun away without another word.

Arn watched her go.