carved with runes, and its polished surface threw back a distorted image of his face. I look sick, he thought.
Arn turned and walked back to the stumps. He carried his axe in one hand, and even managed to spin it slightly in his grip. Strom raised an eyebrow and stepped back to give him room. He placed his hands on his hips, and a smile broke across his face. He looked like he was enjoying the challenge.
Arn rested the axe head on top of the stump, and took a few deep breaths. Sorenson’s words drifted back into his head: use the force of the swing… and beware the impact.
He felt calm; he was ready. He looked to the king.
Grimvaldr was smiling, and Eilif now stood behind him, her hand gripping his shoulder in anticipation. The king nodded once.
Arn turned back to the stump. In his mind, he saw himself lifting the axe and swinging it with all the strength he could muster. It would be just like being at a carnival and swinging the wooden mallet to try to drive the puck all the way to the bell at the top of the pole.
I can do this, he thought. I can ring the bell.
He raised the axe over his head, and swung.
It passed cleanly through the stump and buried itself deep in the floor beneath it. The clang of steel on stone was startlingly loud, and many of the warriors leapt to their feet to obtain a better view.
The two halves of the large stump teetered, then toppled over.
Arn let go of the axe handle and stepped back, as surprised as anyone else. No one said a word; perhaps they were waiting to see how Strom would react to being beaten, and by a creature much smaller than himself.
A single pair of hands applauded him — it was Eilif. Arn felt a small hand on his forearm, and looked down to see Grimson staring wide eyed up at him.
‘I knew you could do it. You must teach me this baseball magic, Arnoddr.’
A huge hand grabbed his other arm and raised it into the air. Strom turned him to the king and roared, ‘A mighty arm on this one indeed!’
Strom felt the muscles up and down Arn’s arm and shoulder, as if searching for some secret, some hidden muscles. He gave up and leaned forward. ‘And you must teach me as well, Man-kind.’
At last the crowd found their voice, and one by one the Wolfen got to their feet and clapped. Many rounded the table to speak to Arn, or to Strom, or simply to see the axe embedded in the stone floor.
Grimvaldr also nodded his approval, and the queen hung onto Eilif to ensure she didn’t run over in a manner that might have been undignified for a daughter of royalty.
But there was one Wolfen who remained seated. The dark-furred Bergborr looked sullenly over his mug. It had been a mighty blow to the stump, but a mighty blow to his purse as well.
Strom still hadn’t released Arn’s arm, and gave it one last tug, almost lifting the other off his feet. He slapped Arn on the shoulder and said to the room, ‘Imagine if we could get this Man-kind to wield a sword?’
Eilif, at last breaking away from her mother, shouted, ‘He would be a mighty warrior in the defence of Valkeryn!’
The king scratched his chin. ‘Hmm, just so. What say you, Arnoddr-Sigarr; would you wish to learn more about the Wolfen ways — learn to become a brother warrior?’
The room fell silent again. Everyone waited for Arn’s response.
‘I’m not sure — I mean, I guess. I’m not really a fighter. I might just get in the way…’
The king raised his hands. ‘We are born with two strong arms, fang and claw, and more importantly with honour and courage. But what good are they, if they are never used to defend your home, your kin, or your Wolfen pack? We all must fight — the safety of the realm depends on it.’
Arn nodded, and the king stood up. ‘Then it’s settled; we will teach you our ways, and in return you will teach us yours.’
Arn watched as the attendants dragged away the axes and stumps, and three of them leaned on the handle of his buried axe, finally levering it free after several attempts. Teach them my ways? What could I possibly teach them here and now? he wondered.
Eilif skipped around the outside of the huge table, clapping as she skipped, and stopped beside him, grabbing his hand. Arn felt something cold and wet press against his cheek, and turned to see her pulling her head back. The inside of her ears had gone pink, and she looked away with a shy smile.
‘You are already a champion, Arnoddr-Sigarr — king of the Man-kind.’
Arn smiled at her, but before he could thank her for the compliment, the queen dragged both her and Grimson from the room. As they left, Eilif looked back at him, mouthing something he couldn’t understand.
A mug of the vile ale was thrust into his hand, and he raised it in a toast, but only pretended to drink. Throwing up might not have been a good look at that moment. He now felt welcome among the Canite Wolfen — well, among most of them, anyway. The older Wolfen, Vulpernix — the milky-eyed one — sat staring stonily at him.
Arn stared back into the milky eye. So maybe not everyone’s a fan of baseball, he thought.
Chapter 17
Under the White Flag
Orcalion listened as the tall, hooded figure spoke softly from the shadows. The Panterran only interrupted him from time to time to ask a question, but for the most part he was struck silent by the recent occurrences in the Canite castle.
It seemed the Man-kind was growing in influence and support with each passing day, and once more Orcalion cursed the guards for allowing it to escape. He wished they were still alive, so he could torture and execute them all over again.
The tall figure stopped speaking, and waited. Orcalion could feel the other searching his face, perhaps looking for signs of deceit or treachery.
‘Remember our bargain, Orcalion — when the time comes to pass, I alone am to rule Valkeryn, with the Princess Eilif at my side.’
The old Panterran stared off into the distance. In turn, the tall figure reached out a hand, on which he wore a silver ring depicting a snarling wolf with emerald eyes. Quick as lightning, Orcalion turned on him, holding a wickedly curved blade up to his throat.
‘Never try to touch me again. I hear your words, and I remember our bargain well. You would open the deep gates and deliver up Grimvaldr to us. In return, we would give you his throne, and ensure all rivals for your new… queen, are gone. Just make sure you remain alive to claim them.’
He lowered the blade and glided a few steps away. ‘There is more work for you to do. The Man-kind makes things more… complicated. My queen wants this creature alive.’ He turned back to the hooded figure. ‘And you will assist in making that happen.’
‘That was not our bargain. Beware, little no-blinker, my desire for the throne does not make me your thrall, to be ordered about at will.’
The Panterran bared his needle-like teeth. ‘Since the Man-kind and the young female Wolfen escaped, the entire kingdom must now know of the approach of the Lygon.’ He rubbed his chin, his large yellow eyes slitted in contemplation. ‘Perhaps it is time to pay a visit, give them a reason to hand over the Man-kind… willingly.’ He laughed in an oily, wheezing fashion. ‘See that the Man-kind is not in the throne room when I arrive.’
Orcalion turned away then, but added over his shoulder, ‘This night passes, but I will be back soon… travelling under a white flag.’ He threw back his head and laughed.
Chapter 18
Fenrir’s Gift
