princeling — that was our deal. Now who is the most deceptive?’
Strom kept both hands on his sword, and snorted in contempt as more and more Panterran crowded in around him. ‘You would never have released our prince.’
Orcalion grinned. ‘Now we shall never know. But history will record that the Wolfen provoked this war… and for that, we thank you.’
‘Wolfen don’t fear war, or death, you vile little creature. We will never fall to your steel and claw, or to your deceptions.’
‘You think not, berserker? You will fall, and fall this night, to us…’ He leaked a hissing chuckle. ‘… Or to our large and hungry brothers.’
So saying, he stepped to one side to allow three enormous Lygon to thunder onto the path. They held huge stone mallets in their taloned hands, and dagger-like fangs curved back from faces as ugly and fearsome as monsters from Hellheim itself.
Strom, snarling, backed up a step. Up close, the Lygon were more terrible than the clay model Balthazar had made at the castle. Their orange and black-striped fur rippled over massive columns of muscle. Like giant striped ogres, they roared and raised their weapons, bringing them down onto the ground with so much force, Strom could feel the impact through the soles of his feet.
Strom sucked in a huge breath, then let loose a roar that made the Panterran shrink back behind the Lygon. He pointed his sword at the brutes before him.
‘Know who you face this day. I am Strom, son of Stromgarde, descendant of the very first guardians! If I die this day, so will many of you.’
‘Kill him!’ Orcalion screeched at the three giant creatures, then slunk quickly out of sight behind them.
The Lygon each were twice Strom’s weight, but they hesitated in the face of his ferocity. They were used to warriors fleeing from them in fear, and never had they faced a being who would stand up to three of them.
In the end, it was Strom who charged.
When they came together, there was an explosion of muscle and steel that shook the trees around them. A severed Lygon head flew through the air as the Wolfen’s broadsword flashed in an arc. The Panterran shrunk back further into the brush as blood sprayed in all directions.
As Strom had expected, they were enormously strong, but slow.
Another of the Lygon suffered a deep gash to its arm, causing it to roar its pain to the sky, and pull back temporarily from the fight. Orcalion screamed until his eyes bulged and spittle flew from his black lips. The Panterran pulled his own curved sword, and prodded the giant beast in the back.
The huge Lygon wouldn’t budge. The remaining beast swung its stone mallet, striking the earth thunderously, splintering trees — but never once touching the Wolfen. For the first time, fear gripped the spine of the Panterran.
Orcalion dropped his sword, and snatched a bow from one of his cowering warriors. He nocked an arrow and fired it into the Wolfen’s leg. Strom grunted and sunk to one knee.
With the feninlang stimulant wearing off from his already battered body, Strom knew his fight was done. He lowered his sword and raised his face to the sky, smiling, knowing he had given his brother time to get his charges well away.
He opened his arms wide, and yelled with all the strength he could muster, ‘For Valkeryn!’
Emboldened at the sight of their stricken enemy, the two Lygon came at him with their weapons raised. With his last vestige of strength, Strom lifted his blade and plunged it deep into the gut of one of the charging giants, its own weight ensuring that it impaled itself to the hilt.
The dead creature fell on top of Strom, pinning him flat, while the other put one large foot on his free arm. Orcalion crept closer and stood cautiously over his prone body.
‘I’m glad you will be dead soon,’ he hissed. ‘You have slain many of my people, champion puppet of an old king. And one cannot be champion forever…’
Strom regarded Orcalion with glazed, staring eyes. ‘Another champion already rises, vile creature from the mire. And thousands more like me wait for you on the plains of Valkeryn.’
Orcalion laughed. ‘Valkeryn? You won’t see it again… but it might see you.’
He turned to the Panterran who had finally gathered enough courage to creep forward.
‘Take his head.’
Chapter 34
I Fear it Has Only Just Begun
They crashed through the last line of brush at the edge of the fields leading to the castle, its spires just visible over the rolling hillsides.
After running through the night and most of the day, they stumbled and shuffled forward. Fatigue weighed heavily on their bones. Sorenson put Grimson down onto the ground, and the young Wolfen woke as his feet touched the grass. ‘Are we home?’
‘Soon. Look.’ Sorenson pointed. ‘Riders already approach.’
Arn was half carrying Eilif, who was breathing raggedly.
‘Thank Odin, it’s over,’ she murmured, as the banner of the king’s riders appeared over the hill.
Arn looked at Sorenson, whose face looked grim. ‘It’s not, is it?’
Sorenson shook his head. ‘I fear it has only just begun. They had gravilents in their forward camp. They are hard to control, but very effective in breaking through an army’s front line. They wouldn’t have them so close to the kingdom, if they didn’t intend to use them… soon.’
Arn and Sorenson stood in silence. The Wolfen warrior’s eyes were glassy — and Arn wondered whether it was fatigue, or regret for leaving his brother behind.
Arn reached out to grasp his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry about Strom.’
Sorenson just grunted.
‘Do you think that he could still be…?’
‘No… they wouldn’t take him alive. Strom wouldn’t let them.’ He gripped Arn’s forearm. ‘You are a brave creature, Man-kind, and you have a good and strong heart. Worry not about Strom. He is crossing the rainbow bridge to sit with Odin and the other champions of Asgaard. When the time is right, his saal will return to us again.’
Arn turned and tilted his head. ‘You believe in an afterlife then, and ahh, reincarnation?’
Sorenson spoke without turning. ‘I don’t understand that word, but all Wolfen believe that a good spirit will be granted a place in Valhalla, and when Odin calls upon that sa?a?l again, he may be granted another life. Perhaps again as a Wolfen.’
He looked at Arn. ‘Perhaps you were once a Wolfen in a previous life… or maybe will be one in a life yet to come.’
Arn smiled, but could see no humour in Sorenson’s features — the Wolfen believed what he said.
The Wolfen riders were upon them then, and the first few leapt from their horses to run the last steps to embrace Sorenson. Arn saw that one young Wolfen, the dark-furred one he remembered from the king’s banquet, also dismounted and raced up to Eilif.
Arn was left by himself. He watched as Grimson was lifted onto one horse, and the tall dark Wolfen led Eilif to another. A horse was then brought for him, and Arn climbed up into the saddle, at first with difficulty, but finally he managed to sit upright.
Instead of simply lifting Eilif into the saddle, the dark Wolfen leapt up first and reached out his hand to her. Arn didn’t know why, but he suddenly felt awkward and intrusive for watching this moment of intimacy. It felt weird; he didn’t like it, and… what? He didn’t quite know what he was feeling. He turned away, but couldn’t help looking back.
Eilif eyed the offered hand, and then shook her head and waved it away. The dark Wolfen looked taken aback — humiliated, even.
Eilif glanced about, and then spotted Arn staring at her. She marched purposefully towards his horse. In a
