Valkeryn 2: The Dark Lands (38 page)

Teacher turned to Arn, his eyebrows raised. Without doubt, the youth seemed even taller and broader than before. There was no doubt he was different now, and once again his eyes shone in the darkness.

Arn looked up to the parapets where they could see Mogahrr and her private guard and watched the one sided battle. He spoke softly.

‘Cut off the head of the snake.’

Teacher followed his eyes. ‘Worth a try.’

Eilif came and stood beside him. ‘Where you go, I go my Arnoddr.’ Like Arn, her eyes shone as they caught the moonlight.

Becky’s lips compressed as she watched Eilif before they slid back to Arn.

Arn opened his arms to Edward and Becky. ‘Thank you, my friends for coming for me. I owe you a great debt. Get the diamond back to Harper, and tell him I’m sorry – for everything.’

Edward shook his head. ‘You can tell him yourself – we’ll be waiting on the other side.’

Becky rushed over and hugged him close, and whispered in his ear. ‘I love you, that’s why I came. Promise me you’ll come back… for me.’ She gripped him tighter, her eyes moving to Eilif, and her lips curling in a small smile. ‘Promise me.’

Arn nodded and then she kissed him hard on the lips, her eyes on Eilif, whose face was taut with barely contained fury.

Vidarr tugged her away. ‘We must leave.’

Becky waved, throwing another kiss before she and Edward disappeared back into the dark passage. The stone door closed and once again became part of the wall.

Arn sighed and looked up at the parapets. Eilif pointed. ‘I know a way that will get us to her quickly.  Follow me.’

Arn turned to Teacher and saluted. ‘Good luck.’

Teacher returned the salute ‘Whatever happens, it’s been an honor to meet you.’ He raised the hood up over his head. Grimson drew his silver sword, and Balthazaar leaned out to peer at
the gate entrance.

‘Just three Panterran archers by the drawbridge mechanism. We’ll need to send them to Hellheim first.’

Grimson placed his hand on the Valkeryn crest on his armor. ‘Let me.’  Before Teacher or Balthazaar could stop him, he pulled the snarling wolf helmet down over his face and broke into a run.

*

Goranx shouldered the other Lygon aside, and stood over the downed Delta soldiers. Hanging over his shoulder was the dead body of Simms, crushed to a boneless bag in his CL suit. The huge Lygon had been unable to open the lattice matrix to take the head of his prize, and now he glared at the similar mesh on Brown and Sharp and growled. In his hand was a huge axe, which he spun and gripped.

Goranx knew the old witch Mogahrr didn’t want any more Man-Kind as pets, so these two would be nothing but food and entertainment. He wished they had more fight left in them, but he would at least take pleasure in crushing the life from them… slowly this time.

He moved the axe from one hand to the other. One of the Man-Kind tried to cover the other with his body, defending it, the swords in each hand that seemed to grow from the wrists – he’d take that one first, crush it from the legs upwards, letting the other see what fate awaited it.

He gripped the huge axe, but then paused, his head whipping around. Horns – deep, sonorous, the like of which he had never heard before. The Lygon around him grumbled, their green eyes searching the horizon. Goranx roared and they silenced, and stood, waiting.

One by one their huge heads turned to the far hillside. A lone Wolfen in battle armor appeared on the rise. Soon more Wolfen joined him, and these strange warriors wore leather, wood and shaved bone for armor plating. They were big, half a head taller than the Valkeryn Wolfen. Each carried spears, axes and heavy iron swords. They were a new breed of the hated creature – or perhaps a very old one. While Goranx watched, hundreds more appeared.

Goranx opened his arms and roared, turning now to face them. It mattered not, he thought. He’d destroy them all, just as he had done to the Valkeryn Wolfen. He snorted in contempt – they were still puny compared to the Lygon and their numbers were not enough to challenge them.

He turned and roared again, and immediately the Lygon began to form up into their battle ranks, forgetting the Delta soldiers.

Goranx threw his head back, letting his voice carry over the battlefield, letting his challenge be heard, letting these new Wolfen know he did not fear them.

In return came the raised voices of the Wolfen, and something deeper, made by a throat many times the size of the creatures on the hilltop. Goranx’s brow furrowed in confusion, as another silhouette appeared, twice the height and width of the Wolfen – and taller than Goranx himself.

More joined the first, and then still more. They wore helmets of twisted horn, leather breast plates studded with iron, and huge swathes of tree bark as armor over enormously powerful bodies. These new creatures had the face of a Wolfen, but jaws that carried teeth larger than his own.

Frustration and confusion boiled in Goranx’s gut and he swallowed it down hard. Could it be? No, it could not… he had heard the stories of the massive Ursa of the deepest part of the Dark Lands. While he watched one of the massive creatures came and stood by the Wolfen in the Valkeryn armor and placed one huge clawed hand on his shoulder. In turn the Wolf
en raised his hands, making fists and then throwing his head back to howl at the giant moon above them.

The howl stretched to then become two words: ‘For Valkeryn.’

It died away, and silence descended. Even the grumbling of the Lygon quieted. The silence stretched, only broken by the stealthy sound of many of the Panterran sneaking away, fleeing, away from the castle, and into the forest.

His own Lygon began to shift uneasily. He had one option – Goranx pointed his huge axe, roared, and charged.

*

Towering over Sorenson, the huge Ursan, Kodian, reached down to place a large clawed hand on his shoulder.

‘Stay close to me, little brother. We Ursa will blunt their initial attack. We know of the Lygon; they only have brute force – and we will give them all they can chew.’ He grunted, keeping his eyes on the Lygon army. ‘They will make nice furs for our lodges this winter.’

‘There is one who I have a score to settle with.’ Sorenson closed the snarling wolf visor over his face with a clank and drew his sword. He then roared his battle charge, raised his sword and began to run. Behind him the Far Wolfen and Ursa followed.

There was an explosion of iron, leather, flesh and bone as the two armies met in the middle of the already bloody field. Screams and roars filled the air as bodies were hacked and slashed. No quarter was asked or given.

The battle raged for several hours – the moon was high, and seemed to take on a red hue as a blood-mist hung in a cloud over the battlefield.

Ursa and Lygon stood toe to toe, but in a test of bulk and ferocity, the Ursa were easily a match for the black and orange giants. Eventually the Lygon began to be beaten back, only their mad ferocity driving them on, their luminous green eyes now round with an insane rage.

Sorenson hacked left and right, searching, looking for the one his heart ached for him to find. The one he had seen torment his Wolfen by taking the head of the king and his beloved brother, the mighty Strom. Amongst the maelstrom of brutality, he caught sight of another in Wolfen armor; the dark crests, the black tail flowing from the top of the snarling helmet– Bergborr.

Sorenson fought his way towards the traitor, hackles rising, and felt a surge of hate fuel him. The Wolfen traitor slashed out at Ursa, who became confused, thinking it was a fellow fighter acting against them. Far Wolfen who had turned their backs believing him to be an ally were also struck down.

Bergborr’s sword arm fell again towards another of the Far Wolfen, but this time it met not flesh, but instead Sorenson’s blade as he caught its blow.

Sorenson grabbed him close. ‘So, living with the enemy was not enough. Now you wish to die with them?’

Bergborr pushed Sorenson away, kicking him in the chest. ‘Better to live in the shadow of Mogahrr than be invisible under the nose of a decrepit old king.’ His sword slashed back and forth, making Sorenson leap back.

Sorenson moved around the dark Wolfen, his own visor still down, the snarling helmet now streaked with blood. ‘We have saved the Man-Kind, the Arnoddr... and we have saved the prince, and the princess, Eilif. All you have done, all your scheming, all your betrayals… all for nothing.’

Bergborr charged, his fury making him rush forward. ‘All your heads will be on pikes before the moon sets this night.’ Bergborr came again. This time he drew a dagger and threw it, the small steel spike clanging off Sorenson’s visor, making him raise his sword. The distraction created enough time for the dark Wolfen to cross the few feet that separated them, and to sweep his sword at Sorenson’s legs.

Sorenson blocked the blow, but left his upper body unguarded. Bergborr kicked out, making Sorenson stumble. As he staggered back a few steps, Sorenson noticed the dark Wolfen didn’t follow to press his attack. Instead, he lowered his weapon, his grinning face an expression of victory.

Sorenson was confused by Bergborr’s inaction, until he felt a blow to his back, like being struck by a battering ram. His armor dented from the force of the blow, and he was thrown off his feet to land twenty feet away in the red mud. He rolled to see Goranx, the giant Lygon, the killer of the king and his brother, standing over him like a gore-streaked colossus.

He groaned and tried to sit up, but could not. He knew his body was probably damaged behind the steel. He looked up at the red moon, begging.
Please Odin, just one more hour to fight.
He wished away the Valkeryies who he knew would be descending in preparation to take his
sáál
across the rainbow bridge.

A wave of arrows descended from above, as the remaining Panterran archers on the castle walls fired volley after volley into the Far Wolfen and Ursan ranks. Through the slits in his visor, he saw that his army was being pushed back. He felt the weight of his injuries heavily upon him. Goranx came forward, and pointed an axe at his head.

The Lygon’s voice was deep and triumphant. ‘I could have taken your head before. But I wanted to see your face before I remove that thick Wolfen skull. I will it hold high and laugh as I eat your flesh, and crack the marrow from your bones.’ He laughed, showing enormous teeth. ‘You will not come back from the dead twice, little Wolfen.’

An unearthly scream came from the castle parapets and the few remaining Panterran froze, turning to their battlements, confused. The arrows stopped as the huge drawbridge of the castle flew open and standing in the massive doorway were two more of the strange Man-Kind, plus three more Wolfen, two in the most magnificent royal armor.

Bergborr held out a hand, his face in agony. ‘My princess.’ His face grew dark. ‘And the Arnoddr. Die!’ He sprinted away towards the small group.

While Goranx stared open mouthed, Sorenson managed to get slowly to his feet. The Wolfen laughed when he saw what one of the Man-Kind held, and then raised up – it was the dripping head of the Panterran queen.

A howl went up from the remaining yellow-eyed Panterran, and in another few seconds, those that hadn’t already left the battle simply melted away, following their kin into the forest.

There came another sound, rising in volume and ferocity – the war cry of the Far Wolfen, gathering themselves up, their spirits buoyed by the sight of the vanquished Panterran queen and also the crested armor of Valkeryn royalty.

Sorenson looked to the moon again. ‘Thank you, Father Odin. Now hear me.’

His eyes were round as he stared at the shining disc in the sky. ‘Come, all the Wolfen kin who this creature has taken.’ A mist lifted around his feet, and then began to swirl around him. It quickly separated into long streaks that moved faster and faster. Sorenson held his arms wide. ‘Join me brothers and sisters. Lend me your
sáál
.’ The streaks became vapor-ghosts that Sorenson drew into his mouth. He shuddered and then slumped.

Goranx laughed softly. ‘Fear makes some mad.’ He pointed his axe. ‘I will even eat your bones this night.’

Sorenson rose up and then turned slowly, lifting the face-plate of his helmet, and roared out his words. ‘Goranx the Slayer, know who you face this day. Not just Sorenson, son of Stromgard. Not just the brother of Strom. But you face the last Wolfen elite of the line of Grimvaldr. This day is your last.’

He leapt. Goranx, confused, swung his axe, but he was unbalanced by the ferociousness the attack, and stepping back, his heel caught on the body of a fallen Far Wolfen. He went down, and before he could rise, Sorenson was upon him, running his long sword in through his neck.

Goranx reached for the blade, blood spurting, but Sorenson pushed harder. The sword sank in deeper, and as the blade continued on, he drew nearer to Goranx. He stared hard into the Lygon’s eyes, right up until their noses almost touched.

‘It is your head that will be raised up this day.’ He twisted the blade, opening the wound wide. The final gurgle of the giant beast was cut off and his hands fell away from the sword.

*

Teacher leapt forward, slashing and hacking at anything that dared turn to face him. Arn bounced from one giant creature to the next, stabbing and ripping, the moon giving both men the strength of a half dozen, and easily a match for the larger Lygon.

A gunshot rang out and Arn spun, shocked to hear the modern weapon so close. The entire battlefield seemed to stop and turn to watch. Briggs stood with a handgun up, pointed at Teacher, her two handed grip and stance giving her rock solid balance as she lined up her former soldier.

Teacher held up his hands, but she fired again. The bullet whacked into his chest dead centre and blew him back into the mud.

Teacher got to his feet rubbing his sternum. The CL suit had deflected the bullet and defrayed much of the impact, but it still felt like a mule-kick. She fired again, but this time Teacher held his ground.

Briggs’ face remained emotionless, dead, but the words that leaked from her mouth were like those from an open crypt.

‘This world is not for Man-Kind. Your doorway to our world will have been breached by now.’