‘He has sent word to the far garrisons to bring in the scattered Wolfen tribes — in ten days their numbers will be powerful indeed. I suggest any attack takes place before then. The kingdom will be yours.’
The old sorcerer’s soft, rasping laugh was like a hiss of steam. ‘Yes, attack early. But I have also heard the scattered Wolfen are being recalled not in ten days… More like five. That doesn’t give us much time at all, does it, trusted friend Vulpernix?’
Orcalion glided closer. ‘It seems the information you bring is a little… stale. I have also learned that the king plans to send his young and old Canites away from the castle.’ The yellow eyes glared with an intensity that seemed to burn into the old Wolfen’s brain. ‘We will need them. It is a long journey back to the dark lands, and the Lygon will need plenty of food… live food.’ Again, there was the hiss of laughter.
Vulpernix recoiled in disgust. ‘You go too far, Orcalion. I’ll gladly sell you information, but I’ll not see the young ones taken captive… for food. That was never part of the deal.’
In the blink of an eye, Orcalion had a curved dagger up under the old Wolfen’s chin. ‘Small, young ones, soon grow to be big ones. We cannot have another army of Wolfen coming down from the far lands after the Lygon have gone home. Best if the Panterran solve all their problems at once — besides, as soon as you took our wealth, you became one of us… brother Vulpernix.’ He lowered the dagger and turned his back, stepping once more into the shadows of the small cave. ‘Make sure next time you bring us new information. You told me nothing that I didn’t already know, vile betrayer of your kind.’
A small leather bag hit the ground at Vulpernix’s feet. When he looked up again, he was alone.
Chapter 24
The King’s Mission
The evening was coming too soon for Arn.
Late into the afternoon, Eilif wanted to continue practising their sword skills, but he couldn’t find any enthusiasm for it. His stomach was knotted in fear, and no matter how she joked, or cajoled him, he felt like a zombie.
In the end she gave up and wished him good morrow. Arn reached out to take her hand, shook it, but then held it a little longer than usual.
She smiled at first, and then frowned. ‘What is it?’
He released her hand. ‘It’s nothing. It’s just that you’ve been a good friend to me.’ He turned away, not seeing her face fall at the use of the word friend again.
‘I can tell something is wrong, Arnoddr. You don’t look me in the eye when you wish to conceal something. Did you know there is a Wolfen saying that goes: the eyes allow one’s saal to reveal its true self.’
‘Huh, a what?’
She took his hand and placed it in the centre of her chest. ‘It’s something in here. Not the heart or the breathers, but something that cannot be seen that is the core of every righteous being. You have one too… and I think it’s a good one.’
Arn laughed and nodded. ‘Yes, I do. We call it, the soul. We have a similar saying — the eyes are the windows to the soul. So I guess you’re right; our races are more alike than we think.’
She placed her hand on the centre of his chest. ‘Yes, I believe I can feel it inside you — your soul. And do you know what else I believe? Inside, you’re really a Wolfen.’ She smiled and grabbed his vest and pulled him closer. ‘So, Man-kind… or maybe, Man-Wolfen, now that I look through the windows to your soul-saal, what is troubling you? No untruths.’
Arn knew he couldn’t tell her. She still didn’t even know that Grimson had been taken; she had been told that he was in some sort of training school for young warriors.
‘Tomorrow. Okay?’
‘You’ll tell me tomorrow?’
He looked at her solemnly. ‘Tomorrow, you’ll know… Promise.’
Eilif watched him walk away, kicking small stones out of his path. He was the strangest being she had ever known — and easily the most interesting, and… what? She didn’t know what he meant to her really. He confused her more than any other male.
She laughed at what she had called him — Man-Wolfen. Though there was no such thing, she really did believe he had the face of a man, but the heart and saal of one of her own kind. She felt safe with him, felt… nice, when he was near.
She drew her sword, and practised swinging and lunging at shadows as the sun began to go down. There was a soft footfall behind her, and she spun around, a smile on her face and her sword raised, expecting Arn to have returned.
‘I knew you’d…’ She lowered her sword, just managing to drop the vestige of the smile on her face. ‘You should not sneak up on someone brandishing a sword, young warrior. Even the best Wolfen may find themselves missing an arm.’
Bergborr bowed deeply, with one arm crossed in front of his waist and one behind. When he straightened, he brought his arm out from behind his back, revealing a handful of wildflowers.
Eilif looked at them and tilted her head. ‘So I bring a sword, and you bring flowers. Things seem to be the wrong way around, wouldn’t you say, friend Bergborr?’
The dark Wolfen laughed and pushed the flowers into her hand. ‘Forgive me, I’m a fool in the presence of such beauty.’
Eilif’s ears blushed pink; she relished the compliment, even though she knew it was flattery. She also knew of his ambitions, and although he would be considered a fine warrior mate, she had never been sure if it was she, or her father’s throne, that most attracted him.
Like magic, from his other hand he presented her with a dagger in a scabbard of the most finely detailed silver, encrusted with fiery green stones. She reached for it, her fingers closing around the hilt…
She let her hand fall, empty. ‘I am far too young to be receiving gifts from such a fine warrior as yourself. Perhaps there are more deserving ladies of the court, on whom you might lavish your attentions.’
‘Would you at least walk with me tonight after I have attended to my duties in the king’s court? Pay me that honour, at least.’
Eilif frowned slightly. Arn had an audience with the king that eve — Bergborr also? Strange things were happening.
She smiled innocently. ‘We’ll see. It has been a long day and I’m tired. Perhaps you can call on me in the morning?’
He drew in a deep breath of frustration, and bowed again. ‘I will not give up, young princess. Tomorrow morning it is.’
Eilif watched him leave, and then opened her hand to let the flowers fall to the ground.
Arn stood alone in the small chamber. On the table beside him stood a cup of water, a pot of honey, and a small box. The king had told him that now was the time to swallow the male fleet beetle, and with a shaking hand he opened the box. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, and then reopened one of them; it was probably just his imagination, but the bug looked even bigger than when he had seen it in its cage.
He put his ear to the door — he could hear raised voices outside. He’d be called soon, and nowhere else to hide the beetle if he changed his mind. He thought again of Grimson and snatched up the box again, upending it. The glossy beetle fell into his hand and lay there, unmoving. He looked hard at the creature, half wishing it was dead. Instead, he could see that all of its legs had been tied with a sort of fine, waxy string. The king had told him that his stomach acids would not harm the shell of the fleet beetle, but he guessed the string would eventfully be dissolved. He studied the small claws on the tips of its bound, spindly legs. It gave a whole new meaning to the expression, butterflies in the stomach.
He groaned, remembering his instructions. Here goes nothing, he thought. Dipping the bug into the honey, he squeezed his eyes shut, then placed it at the back of his tongue. He grabbed up the mug of water and began
