Valkeryn 2: The Dark Lands (7 page)

He had been expecting some sort of alligator, but he was only been partially right – a long body, thick around as a horse, extended far out into the river. It was a giant snake, sliding beneath the water. As Arn watched, he saw it begin to fold in on itself just below the surface – he knew what to expect… as soon as it had enough power wound in its coils it would launch itself at them. Arn grimaced; the size of the head meant its jaws would probable easily expand to accommodate both he and Grimson.

The curtain of light disappeared, and like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland, just the two yellow orbs remained, their baleful stare fixed on Arn.

Time, sound, his breathing, even the air around him, stopped dead. Arn waited, but not for long. The head exploded from under the water, the two-foot wide triangular head catapulting towards them like a scaled cannon shell.

The moon came back out from the behind the clouds, revealing the riverbank in a silvery illumination. In the shafts of light, Arn saw the huge jaws dropping open in anticipation of the feast. Rows of teeth crowded the mouth, curving backwards – more like a shark than a snake.

The inward-curving white blades were designed for gripping and holding on – once the creature bit down on something, there would be no pulling away without a massive chunk of whatever it held being separated from the body. Arn guessed the powerful predator was des
igned for attacking far larger and more formidable prey than them. They wouldn’t stand a chance.

The moonlight shot a jolt of lightning-like power through his limbs, and he leapt, flying ten feet to one side, taking the unconscious Grimson with him, his small body whipping like a loose doll in his arms.

The creature’s head smashed into the riverbank where they had just been standing, gouging a deep furrow. It recoiled as more of its enormous scaled body slid from the water.

Arn’s mouth dropped open in awe – the thing kept on coming, foot after foot, piling high, and yet still more of it trailed into the water. The coils smelled fishy, and dead, like a beached whale carcass, its body coated in some sort of slime. The most unsettling aspect of all was that the giant reptile never made a sound, other than the noise its plate-sized scales made as they ground against the soil of the riverbank.

Arn rolled, and came back to his feet, leaping again, as the thing exploded at him once more. He reached down to snatch up a tree branch and throw it over his shoulder as he kept running. The small log bounced off the scaled head, causing the thing to pull back momentarily, but it did no real damage.

Arn slid to a halt. ‘Oh no.’

He had managed to run blindly into a dead-end in the darkness. He found himself ringed by a dense wall of some sort of bamboo, its stems so closely grown together it created a line of prison bars. He felt he could break through, but he’d need to put Grim down, and turning his back on the creature  would be suicide.

Arn eased the young Wolfen down at his feet, and turned back to the creature sliding along the wet grass of the bank, most of its body now exposed and shining wetly in the moonlight. The yellow glowing eyes were unblinking in their concentration on its prey and Arn was mesmerized – he just stood and stared, momentarily becoming lost in their glow. He shook his head.
This is what snakes do
, he remembered – they hypnotize their prey. He stepped in front of the Wolfen, and pulled his blade free, still coated with the blood of the bat-like creature he had fought only hours before.
Welcome to Hell
, he thought.

He opened his arms wide and allowed the moon to bathe his sweat soaked body.

‘Okay then,
kicizapi wicate
– a fight to the death, and I won’t be so easy to swallow.’

The thing raised itself up, and as Arn watched, he felt the few brave words of his grandfather’s language start to shrivel in his throat. The thing was now twice his height, and a even more formidable than he had expected.

‘Well, looks like just a fight to my death then.’ He took a step forward: his only wish was that the thing would be satisfied with him, and would leave Grimson alone… at least until he regained consciousness. And if it didn’t, then he hoped the youth never regained his consciousness.

‘He-yeeagh.’ He slashed the blade back and forth in the air, and the thing started to draw back slightly, but Arn guessed it was in preparation of the next attack. Arn knew this time it would strike him – it had to, because if he leapt away, its strike would be upon Grimson.

Arn sucked in a huge breath, and drew his arm back. The massive head shot forward. Arn slashed down, and connected with… nothing. There was a thump that shook the ground beneath Arn’s feet as the head of the giant reptile slammed to the ground not three feet in front of him.

Immediately there was an explosion of movement, as the giant creature coiled and thrashed, its attention totally drawn away from the two small creatures. Arn didn’t wait for an explanation, instead reaching down for Grimson and pulling him roughly out of the way, down along the tree line, to shelter behind some thick trunks. He peered back as the sound of the turmoil was becoming thunderous. He could now see why the giant reptile was reacting the way it did – where its tail had still trailed in the water, it had gone tight. Either it had snagged itself below the water line, or…

The answer revealed itself as there came an almighty tug, and the snake was dragged back some twenty feet towards the river. Whatever had hold of it beneath the surface was big and strong enough to prey on the monstrous snake.

Arn remembered Vidarr’s words in their first meeting, and how he had been told to give the waterway a wide berth. Because of what lives in the lake, the old archivist had said.

As he watched, another twenty feet of the reptile was pulled backwards. Arn stepped out, now confident that whatever was dealing with the snake would certainly hold its attention long enough for them to escape. He looked down along the bank; he still needed the blood-red
feninlang
flowers.

He sprinted down and grabbed a handful, immediately feeling the oozing sap bathe his injured fingers and delivering the stinging sizzle as it burned into his wounds. There was no fear this time; he knew it was healing him.

With one last look over his shoulder he saw the snake pulled fully back into the river, and then something mountainous humped at its centre, its coal-black body shining briefly in the moonlight, before it sank below the surface. There was nothing to show for the battle, except a few large swirls on the surface.

Arn grunted. ‘Note to self – never cross deep water.’ He reached down for Grimson and lifted the youth, quickly moving back into the jungle.

Chapter 8

Your Job is Not Yet Done

Orcalion lay prone at the feet of his queen, his mind working furiously. He could hear Mogahrr’s long talons raking the wood of Grimvaldr’s throne, gouging deep furrows in the old dark wood as she stared down at him.

‘I wanted the ssseed of Grimvaldr oblittterateddd. Youuu could not give thisss to me. I wanted the Man-Kind, aliiive, and yeett, you could not even bring meee hisss body.’

Orcalion kept his face pressed firmly down on the floor, and spoke into the wood. ‘But I have given you more Wolfen heads in a day than any Panterran has taken in a hundred generations, my beautiful queen.’ He raised his head a fraction. ‘And the castle of the Valkeryn is now yours. Do you not sit now on the throne of the dead Wolfen king?’

She screeched, and many of the Panterran tending to the Queen stopped grooming her putrid body and froze. ‘You thiiink I care for cold ssstone, and empty hallsss?’

Orcalion’s head dropped to the floor again. ‘But I have delivered Grimvaldr the Great and his beloved Queen Freya into your jaws.’

Mogahrr’s eyes narrowed. ‘If not for thattt, piecesss of your worthlesss body wooould be ssscattered over every field to the far horizon.’

Orcalion kept his head down, and swallowed, but his black lips had pulled back into a hint of a smile. He knew the Lygon were charged with securing the rear of the castle – it was about time those blundering oafs felt some of the queen’s wrath for themselves.

‘We Panterran did as you bid, but it was the task of the Lygon to ensure the rear of the castle and the surrounding fields were secure. I’m afraid it was this task that was not done. I only wish now that you had given me this job also, my queen. You would be dining on young royal Wolfen meat now, if it were so.’ His smile widened as he pressed his face into the stone.

The queen’s yellow eyes slid across to Goranx and the other Lygon generals, who stood like a small group of colossus at the rear of the room.

Goranx snorted. ‘No creature passed us.’

Orcalion rose on one elbow from the floor. ‘But how could you tell mighty Goranx? You were amongst the battle in the forecourts. I do not accuse you, but, perhaps Goranx did not have the information from his warlords that a general in battle deserves.’

Another Lygon thundered forward and held out a hand half the size of the Panterran, claws bared, and shook it at the smaller creature. ‘You dare question our skill. No one passed our troops, no Man-Kind, no Wolfen.’

Orcalion got to his feet, confident now the conversation was heading in the direction he wanted. ‘And yet, Hogar the brave, they all escaped, and right by… you.’ He lifted a small hand and pointed one long talon accusingly at the giant creature.

The queen turned to whisper something to one of her attendants who nodded, and then quickly returned with a small box, which he placed beside her on the throne. She lifted the lid, and dipped in her hand, setting off a scuttling and hissing from inside.

Orcalion noticed the box and stepped back and to the side of the queen. The giant Lygon roared his fury at his ability being questioned. The small Panterran’s grin split his face revealing the small needle sharp teeth inside his mouth. His eyes glowed with excitement and he kept pointing at Hogar’s chest.

‘Not everything can be won by brute strength alone, Hogar. Perhaps some better judgement, and concentration, might be of more use to all of us.’

The enormous Lygon lunged forward, even as Goranx roared at him to hold his place. Hogar swung a huge fist, with Orcalion easily ducking out of his way, and moving again closer to the queen… and in reach.

As the huge Lygon swung back around, Mogahrr flicked her hand out and scratched his forearm. Her long black talons were coated in a sticky green fluid.

The Lygon’s eyes bulged and he gasped, grabbing his wrist. Immediately, his lips turned black and pulled back from his long teeth. He coughed and as the room watched in silence, he brought his hand to his throat as his breathing became ragged. Hogar’s eyes dropped back in their sockets as though he was suffering the dehydration of a month in the desert. He dropped to his knees, his arms falling to his sides, and his head drooped. He seemed to shrink, and while they watched, his huge orange and black body collapsed in on itself, finally falling forward like a giant empty sack.

The room remained silent. No one needed to ask if was he dead.

Mogahrr was handed a goblet, dipped her hand inside and swirled her claws around in the fluid. Her eyes slid to Goranx. The stare burned viciously yellow and the entire gathering held its breath, waiting.

Goranx held the gaze, and bared his teeth, his chest moving like enormous bellows under his armor.

‘Undersssstanddd?’ Mogahrr never blinked, the golden yellow eyes like small windows to some horrid world of pain, torture and corruption.  ‘Underssstanddd?’ He held her gaze for another few seconds, and then finally he nodded and lowered his eyes. The silence stretched as Mogahrr searched out any who would challenge her. There were none.

Then, floating in through the windows, from somewhere out on the dark, far hillsides, there came a sound, rising and falling on notes that caused the queen to bare rotten teeth. The Lygon’s heads moved on their trunk-like necks, the confusion clear in their luminous green eyes.

The recognizable howl continued for many long seconds. It pulled Mogahrr’s eyes towards the open window and she hissed in return. She spun back to the room, fury burning like a cauldron behind her eyes.

‘Seemsss all the Wolfen are not dead. Your job is not yeeet done, miiiighty Goranx.’ She turned to glare at Orcalion, ‘Fiiind me the Man-Kind, fiiind me the offssspring of Grimvaldr. Killll all the Wolfen onccce and for all.’

She leaned in close to Orcalion’s face, making him wince at the putrid breath. ‘But the Man-Kind, the Arnoddr, mussst be alive, or you wiiill be the next disgusssting sssack of ssskin lying at my feeeet.’

Orcalion nodded and backed away, bowing all the way to the door.

*

Sorenson raided the dead bodies of his warrior kin. He knew that their
sáál
would long have left their crushed remains, but still, he said a small prayer over each. The brave battle fallen would have been gathered up by the Valkeryies, and together they would be crossing the bridge to Valhalla. He thanked each of them for their goods, promising to make their armor and blades repay the gift with rivers of Panterran and Lygon blood.

On a farthest hillside Sorenson turned to look back at the castle – he could still make out fires burning, and a miserable smoke hung over its once majestic walls and turrets. It was still his home and kingdom, but for now, a vile vermin had overrun it. The moon had risen behind him, and its silver light showed massive forms on the plain dragging the remaining bodies of the dead either into the castle or off to the camps of the Lygon to become another feast.

Sorenson, son of Stromgard and trusted warrior of the once great king Grimvaldr, felt a ball of rage rising up within him. His entire body almost vibrated with the fury and the pain and the burning desire for vengeance until he could hold it inside no longer. He threw his head back and howled, the long notes tumbling down the hill and valleys to crash against the castle walls. His hands crushed into fists and he held the note for many long minutes, letting whoever was inside know that the heart and
sáál
of the Wolfen was not yet extinguished.

With a snap of his jaws he bit off the sound and spun away into the darkness. He had many miles to travel if he was to find the Man-Kind or either of the heirs of Valkeryn.

Sorenson charged into the brush. He had rolled his armor into a pack and tied it over his shoulders. His sword was belted at his waist. The toughened leather garment he wore protected his frame as he smashed through the undergrowth; he couldn’t afford to follow any of the known tracks with so many Lygon in the area.

He slowed as the forest opened out into a clearing, and he softened his tread. There were many Lygon and Panterran about, searching for survivors or picking over the dead bodies of the fallen Wolfen. The great orange and black brutes had no trouble with carrion, and a rotting corpse was just as palatable as fresh meat to them.