gulping furiously. He started gagging and gulped the water harder, painfully swallowing both the bug and, with it, some bile that was rushing up to try to escape.
Yecch! He doubled over, coughing, and his eyes watered. There was an acidic, almond taste in his mouth. He leaned over the table, breathing hard.
‘I will never complain about brussel sprouts again, I promise.’ He dipped his fingers into the honey, licking more of the sweet sticky nectar to mask the aftertaste of the bug.
There was a thump on the door. He wiped the tears from his eyes.
‘I’m ready.’
Eilif slowly leaned out, far over the stone balcony, and peered down into the closed courtyard. It appeared to be a small party of hooded Panterran, flanked by a larger group of Wolfen. Some of the guards were snarling, but the Slinkers sat as still as stones, ignoring them.
They weren’t prisoners — had they come to the castle under a flag of truce? Something secret was happening, something her father hadn’t told her. But why? she wondered? Why wouldn’t he tell me?
The doorway outside which they waited led to the main hall — where Arn was supposed to be meeting with the king that very eve…
Arn entered the throne room. It was already half filled with the Wolfen generals, trusted warriors and counsellors. The king sat on his throne, and flanking him were Sorenson and Strom. Sorenson looked Arn in the eye and gave him an almost imperceptible nod. Strom just continued to look along the lines of assembled warriors and advisors.
Arn heard the heavy doors close behind him as he walked slowly to the centre of the room. He tried hard not to let his chin quiver, or his knees buckle as he neared the Wolfen.
The Wolfen warriors dipped their heads as Arn passed them, and the king rose from his throne. He held a huge broadsword by its hilt, its blade sheathed in a heavily patterned scabbard, its tip touching the stones at his feet. He lifted it, then brought it down onto the ground three times. The room immediately fell silent.
He looked across the assembled warriors, and then to Arn. ‘An honour has been bestowed upon you, young Man-kind — to sacrifice your liberty for that of the young child of the crown, Grimson, first-born prince of Valkeryn. Will you accept this honour?’
Arn could feel the wall of silence pressing in around him, as every eye was trained on his face, his eyes, his lips, waiting for them to form the words:
‘I will.’
The king’s shoulders slumped with relief. ‘The kingdom thanks you. Know that whatever occurs, we owe you a debt.’ He gave a small bow, and drew in a deep breath. His face grew stern. ‘Bring in the Panterran emissary.’
The crowd of Wolfen warriors fanned out, looking back towards the doorway as the heavy wooden doors were pushed open. The small familiar figure of Orcalion glided in, grinning.
He bowed deeply to the king, then looked across at Arn. The excitement was plain on his flat features. ‘You are to be our guest again, Man-kind. But fear not, we wish to be friends with you, and any previous misunderstandings will be quickly forgotten.’ He glanced at Arn’s hands. ‘Bind him… for his own safety.’
Arn’s wrists were tied together with a strip of leather, a further length of which trailed at least six feet from the knots — a lead. Orcalion picked it up, and pulled Arn a few stumbling steps closer.
‘Please let me know if the binding is too tight; I do not wish you… discomfort.’ He let out a small wheezing laugh, and tugged again on the tether, obviously relishing the moment.
‘Two days.’ The king watched the small creature with barely controlled fury on his face. His eyes went to Arn, and then back to Orcalion, who shrugged.
‘Yes, two or three days. When we are back safely at our encampment, we will release the young princeling. No… accidents must befall us — you must guarantee our safe passage.’
The king nodded, once. His head remained bowed.
Oraclion began to drag Arn from the room, and Sorenson moved quickly to stand at the hall’s huge double doors. As Arn passed and he looked him in the eye, there was just the hint of a wink, a small smile on his lips. Arn tried to smile in return, but his face was frozen, as he felt more like a condemned man heading to the gallows.
Once outside, a small band of Wolfen escorted them down the stone steps and across the lower entrance hall. Orcalion spoke to Arn over his shoulder, ‘Have you anything concealed that I should know about, Man- kind?’
Arn felt a jolt of fear run through him. The king had said that there were spies in the castle; if they had learned of the fleet beetle inside him, then the rescue plan would fail even before it started. The Panterran stopped and looked briefly over his shoulder.
Arn shook his head.
Orcalion yanked the leash again. ‘It matters not; we will search you, once we have reached the forest. But for now… lean forward.’ Orcalion reached inside his cloak as Arn stooped slightly. The Panterran pulled a bag over Arn’s head. ‘Some say you have the strength of ten Panterran, and can see even better in the dark. Best to ensure you have as few advantages as possible, then. Be warned: there’ll be a sword at the back of your neck the entire journey.’
Arn could soon feel the cool night air on his skin. After another few hundred paces, he guessed they were at the castle walls. A few of the Wolfen escorting them called out words of encouragement, and then there came a slamming of heavy wood, and he knew he was alone, with the Panterran, in the dark.
From her vantage point on the stone balcony, Eilif watched as the small party led its captive towards the outer walls. The prisoner was taller than his Panterran captor, but shorter than the Wolfen escort, who kept their distance. As they neared the walls, the moon broke through the clouds, and by its light she could just make out the prisoner’s pale, tied hands — they were hairless.
The breath caught in her throat, and she had to jam a knuckle into her mouth to stifle her scream of outrage. First Grimson disappearing, and now Arn being secretly spirited away… Her teeth came together with a snap.
She’d need to move quickly. Darting back into her room, she set to work fastening her night armour. She knew the Panterran; if they had Arn, it wasn’t because they just wanted to talk to him.
Anger flared in her chest, and again she bared her teeth in the dark.
Chapter 25
It’s Another World
‘Is that a tunnel? I mean, our tunnel?’
Albert Harper felt his heart thumping in his chest as he strained to take in the detail that was just visible from the probe’s camera feed. Data ran up the side of the screen — atmosphere: 78.09 % nitrogen, 20.95 % oxygen, 0.93 % argon, 0.039 % carbon dioxide, 0003 methane… A little high on the methane, he thought. Ambient temperature: 73 degrees, water vapour content, air pressure, and on it ran. All fairly normal.
Jim Takada leaned closer to the large screen. ‘It’s in ruins… and not just burned or blown apart. That’s antiquated ruination. So if it is ours, then when the hell is this happening?’
‘Good question. Swivel 360 degrees; I want to see what’s around us, and also what we just came through. Is the sound on?’
The technician keyed in some commands, and then carefully thumbed one of the twin joysticks. ‘Sound on, swivelling.’ The image slowly panned to the right.
A soft mewling came from somewhere in the dark.
Takada flinched. ‘What was that?’
‘Forget about it. We’re recording, so we can play it all back and analyse it later. For now, we need to get our bearings and see if we can find the kid.’
The camera continued to pan around until it was facing back towards their entry point.
