Return of the Ancients (23 page)

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
.

Arn was sitting on the bus, wearing a new shirt. The collar was too tight, and it chafed uncomfortably. He hated it when new shirts did that.

He saw Becky get up from her seat. She turned briefly to wink at him, and then began walking down the crowded aisle between the other students and towards the doors. He tried to get up from his seat to follow her.

It hurt. Every time he tried to stand, he was dragged back down, and his collar chafed even more. Steve Barkin was pinning his hands behind his back. It occurred to him that he should tell someone, but Edward sat beside him, absorbed in his comic book. Typical – when he was engrossed in his fantasy world, nothing else mattered to him.

Edward stopped reading to sip from a can of soda – it was grape, his favourite.

Arn had never felt so thirsty in his life. ‘Can I have a sip?’

Edward ignored him.

‘Can I have a sip there, buddy?’

Nothing. Nothing but the chafing of his neck, Steve Barkin pinning his arms, and that relentless, diabolical thirst.

‘Enlarge.’

Albert Harper sipped his twentieth cup of coffee for the day, and stared hard at the large screen. They had been following the boy’s footprints through the desolate wasteland for what seemed like hours, and they had seen nothing to give him hope that Arn could have survived for any period of time.

The observation area was crowded with scientists, technicians, and military specialists. Several additional screens had been set up, and for the last four hours nobody had moved.

The sun had risen a while back, and, at any moment, Harper expected to come across his body – dehydration, sunstroke or a dozen other elemental or bacterial afflictions could have brought him down. But as their hope had begun to wither, the flat, unbroken line of the horizon rose up into a series of jagged peaks. There was something out there after all.

‘It’s a forest.’ Harper punched the air in triumph. ‘Give me full scope.’

The lens rotated, and a panorama was revealed that looked a combination of the Amazon jungle and a redwood forest. There were grass-covered hills, trees climbing hundreds of feet into the sky, and, beyond that, mountain peaks.

Takada, smiling, handed Harper another cup of coffee. ‘Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.’

Harper grinned. ‘Life, but not as we know it, Jim. Increase speed,’ he said to the technician, then turned back to Takada. ‘If the kid made it this far, he’d have made it to the forest. We’re not that far behind him.’

After another twenty minutes, Harper called for the probe to slow as they came to the colossal tree line. The camera switched from its illuminated strobe to red-light vision as it swivelled under the dark and dense forest canopy, continually adjusting its focus to capture the detail.

Something burst from between the boughs and flew past the screen, startling everyone in the room.

‘What the . . .? Did you see that?’

Takada spoke evenly to the technicians. ‘Stay focused. Anything else on the motion sensors?’

‘Are you kidding? There’s
too much
on the sensors. This place is crawling with life.’

Harper clicked his tongue in frustration. ‘Okay, push it forward, but be careful now; we can’t afford to get the probe snagged on anything – can’t exactly send in a maintenance team.’

It was mid morning on
Singer
World
, as some were now calling it in deference to the missing young man. Shadows darted past them – creatures, some revoltingly weird, only partly recognisable, which crept, scuttled or flew in the semi darkness. None were particularly large, but already they had come across the torn carcass of an animal the size of a goat on the forest floor. Something even bigger must have taken it down, judging by the bite marks.

The hovering camera floated about five feet from the ground. Its single lens glowed a deep red, indicating that it was only monitoring the environment in infrared for the time being. Harper had refused all requests to go back to strobe in the event it startled the wildlife.

Harper held up his hand. ‘Stop. Pan ninety degrees.’

The camera slowly swivelled.

‘Angle down right here . . . Let me see the forest floor.’ He squinted as the camera tightened its focus.

There, on the ground, lay something half buried in the leaves.

‘Is that a silver dagger?’

The Wolfen dug fast. They encountered no roots or heavy stones, and after a few hours, by Eilif’s judging, were shy of the tent by only two lengths. At the rate they were digging, they’d be underneath Mogahr’s tent in only a few more minutes.

The plan was to complete the tunnel and wait until Arn was taken inside. Then everything was to happen quickly – they’d break through, praying they didn’t do so right at the feet of an alert guard, or under a brazier of glowing coals – a lot could go wrong. Strom was to subdue any resistance, then release Arn, while Sorenson would see to Grimson. They would then drop back into the hole and escape.

If everything went as they hoped, the brothers, Arn and Grimson would return to where Eilif was waiting for them at the other end of the tunnel, and then together they would make their way back to the castle. Stealth would be irrelevant, and there would be no time to stop for sleep or food. Their lives would depend on their speed – and a lot of luck.

Eilif lifted her head slightly and peered through the branches of the thick brush. The Panterran guards were still in the trees, but like most of the Slinkers during the day, they were sluggish, inclined to doze rather than keep a keen eye on their surroundings.

Eilif reached for her quiver of arrows, and laid it on the ground beside her. Then she dragged the leather pack from her back, and reached inside to pull free the small box she had brought with her. Instead of rattling it, this time she was careful removing the lid. She peered inside at the occupant – a small multi-armed creature that could have been an octopus, except its body was dry and spikily armoured. Its head pulsated, and many black eyes turned to look at her. It coiled itself as though about to spring, and she picked up one of the arrows and dipped its tip into the box. There was a hiss, and she pulled her head back slightly, only peering in after a second or two. The arrow’s tip came away covered in a greenish yellow liquid. She smiled; the vipod’s venom was one of the most deadly substances known to the Wolfen, and would stop a Panterran’s heart before he even knew he’d been struck – and certainly before he had time to raise an alarm.

Eilif repeated the process with six of her arrows, laying them side by side on the soil. She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, mouthing a silent plea to Odin, for good fortune.