king’s son. Only one stayed silent and brooding. The older Wolfen turned his one good eye on the king, waiting.
The king brought his fist down hard on the arm of his chair, silencing the others.
‘Speak Vulpernix. All voices are to be heard this day.’
Vulpernix nodded. ‘I suggest another option we must consider.’ He paused and walked forward. ‘We must think hard about handing them the Arnoddr-Sigarr.’
‘Never!’ shouted Sorenson. ‘The Panterran would kill the Man-kind, and then make war on us regardless. They can never be trusted.’ He banged his fist to his chest. ‘A Canite protects the pack, and the pack protects the Canite. He has already proved himself, proved he would fight for us… for your very bloodline, sire. Now we must prove the same.’
Vulpernix turned on him quickly. ‘He is not one of us! He is not a Canite, and he does not belong here. If he were truly one of the prophesised Old Ones, he would never have allowed the young prince to be taken. Where is his legendary magic of science? Where are his machines of war to protect us? By his own admission, he is here by accident… and all alone.’
He turned back to the king, his voice softening. ‘My king, I too like the Man-kind, but I would think hard about whether an idle friendship is worth the life of Grimson, and potentially every Wolfen and youngling in this mighty kingdom.’ He shuffled forward and went down on one knee before the king, taking his hand. ‘There is no other way, sire.’
Grimvaldr rose from his chair. ‘This kingdom has stood for a thousand years, and will stand for a thousand more. Many have tried to bring down these walls, and their bones now litter our battlefields.’ He scanned the assembled Wolfen.
‘Who here fears the Lygon? Who would run from the Panterran? Who would flee the kingdom of Valkeryn and hand it to these vile vermin eaters?’ The roars from the room were deafening; fists struck chests, and yells of fealty echoed around the stone chamber. Grimvaldr nodded. ‘And neither would I. Ambushing a few Wolfen in the dark is one thing, but they will find that facing an entire Wolfen army is another matter. Prepare yourselves and your garrisons. Every Wolfen, male and female, must be readied to fight. If these creatures from the dark lands want war, we’ll give them one until they choke on their own blood.’
Grimvaldr searched out Sorenson. ‘You are right, young warrior. They cannot be trusted, but we must consider all our options to save the heir to the Valkeryn throne. Go,’ he commanded them; ‘have the ironmongers work from this dawn to the next, turning out Wolfen steel. Have them roll the metals until they are hard enough to slice through Lygon bone. Go!’
The roar of assent resounded around the room, and the group began to leave. Grimvaldr raised his arm and gestured to Strom and Vulpernix. ‘A moment.’
As the last sounds of the disappearing Wolfen generals and counsellors echoed away down the long, stone corridors, the three Wolfen stood alone together in the great hall.
‘Strom, trusted champion of Valkeryn,’ said the king. ‘I feel this time we’ll need the mightiest Wolfen army that has ever stood. Bring me the maps of war, and then send word to the far edges of the kingdom. Assemble all the scattered Canite tribes, ready them and equip them. If we can hold back the first wave of the Lygon, and perhaps even damage them, then the Panterran will be easily repelled. Now is the time, my friend.’
Strom knelt and took the king’s hand, pressing it to his brow. ‘In seven days I will have them assembled; in eight, equipped and ready to fight. Or they’ll answer to me personally.’
Grimvaldr put his hand on the giant’s shoulder. ‘Thank you, my friend.’
Strom stood and banged his fist on his chest. ‘Long live Grimvaldr, and Valkeryn.’ He turned quickly and strode from the hall.
Grimvaldr watched him go, then said softly to Vulpernix, ‘Valkeryn has stood for centuries because we are strong. But a kingdom must also be smart… and so too its king.’ He looked into the old counsellor’s eyes. ‘Tell me, Vulpernix — you of all of my Canite advisers have spent your life studying the Panterran and other creatures of Valkeryn. Do you really believe these Slinkers can be trusted to secure Grimson’s release?’
The older advisor frowned. ‘It’s true that I have spent a lifetime studying these creatures. But their minds are so different to ours. They can scarcely stay loyal to each other for very long, and they have a history of deception. But I have heard Mogahr desperately wants the son of the humans… perhaps just as a pet. It would be in her nature to want to humble the old rulers of this world.’ Vulpernix paced as he spoke. ‘Maybe we can pretend to hand them the Arnoddr-Sigarr, and retake him at a later time. I’m sure he’ll be kept safe enough until the queen tires of him.’
He stopped pacing and turned back to the king. ‘It would at least buy us several more days to draft in and equip our scattered troops, and more importantly, learn more about the Lygon numbers, their strengths and, I’m sure, their weaknesses.’
Grimvaldr grunted, and after a moment he nodded slowly but continued to stare at the ground. ‘Send for Queen Freya. I must tell her of the capture of her son.’ Grimvaldr looked into the one good eye of his advisor. ‘Is there anything else you can recommend, Vulpernix?’
Vulpernix pondered the question. ‘Events are moving quickly; so much is still… unclear. But I do know that Queen Mogahr likes to be close when she smells a vulnerable king — if we could capture her, there may be no war at all.’
‘Think how we could make this happen, Vulpernix.’
So saying, Grimvaldr turned to leave. Vulpernix bowed, just as the king stopped and half turned. ‘Wait…’
‘Yes, my Lord?’
‘Valkeryn will not fall, of this I am sure… But I would be further comforted if our old, and very young, were taken up to the high garrisons at the far ends of the kingdom. If there is a siege, it would be better if they were… out of harm’s way.’
‘Very wise, sire. It will allow the Wolfen to focus on the battle.’
Vulpernix stayed bowed until the king had left the room. When he stood, a small smile played on his lips.
Chapter 20
A Girl — And What Is That?
Days passed, and Arn spent most of his time out in the field in front of the main gate of Valkeryn, practising his sword skills, the techniques that Sorenson had shown him. His Wolfen instructor and mentor had been urging him on without actually telling him why. It was as if there was a test coming, and Arn was being forced to cram for it.
Eilif had joined him this particular morning, carrying with her an enormous cloth bag, which Arn assumed was food for a small picnic. She sat on a low stone wall, keeping up a running commentary on his footwork, his length of thrust, or any tiny fault she spotted in his style.
Today, Sorenson had kitted him out in some armour to get him used to moving with the extra weight, and after working for over an hour, he was feeling the heat of the steel across his back and shoulders. Even though Eilif laughed from time to time when he seemed about to lose his balance, he felt that he was improving quickly.
‘Keep it up, mighty warrior. The next time the jormungandr strikes, it won’t be a sword of bone he’ll have to face. He should tremble in fear, when the Arnoddr approaches.’ She clapped as he thrust his wooden sword at the air.
Arn danced lightly with the blade, leaping up onto the wall, and then back down. He spun one way then the other, and finally brought his blade down on the thin branches of a tree, cutting away a good several feet of wood.
‘Ooh, once again the Arnoddr-Sigarr makes war on the peaceful plant folk of Valkeryn. No tree stump, twig or leaf is safe from his wrath.’ She laughed and clapped again as his face reddened.
Arn pointed his sword playfully at her throat. ‘Better than a girl could do.’
Eilif reached up slowly and pushed the wooden tip of the sword away, smiling as she did. There was a mischievous gleam in her eye.
