moment, she was beside him.
‘Scoot forward.’ Arn did as he was told, and she leapt nimbly up into the saddle behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist.
He cast a furtive look at the dark Wolfen. The expression, if looks could kill, came to his mind as the spurned warrior’s eyes burned into him like twin flamethrowers. At that moment, Arn knew that not all in Valkeryn were happy to have him as part of their inner circle.
Arn tore his eyes away and spoke over his shoulder. ‘Who’s the dark rider? Is he a special friend?’
‘No one but an ambitious warrior.’ Eilif snorted dismissively and kicked her heels into the horse’s flanks. ‘Let’s go — I need a bath.’ She pretended to sniff Arn’s neck. ‘… And so do you, phew.’ She laughed and hugged him tighter.
Arn smiled. He couldn’t help it — he liked her.
Chapter 35
What Happened to My People?
After returning to the castle, Arn was led to his room, and found it filled with food. He suddenly remembered he hadn’t eaten in days, and gorged himself until his stomach felt like it was going to split. Then he undid his belt and lay on the bed.
He breathed deeply. Safe… again, he thought. Then his thoughts turned to home, and he wondered about his parents, Edward and, of course, Becky. He imagined her long hair, and as she turned and smiled at him, he saw her eyes were silver blue, and her face was covered in fur…
Arn shook the image from his head and rubbed his face, feeling the dirt and grease on his skin. His clothes itched, and looking across to a low bench near the window, he saw that there was a cloth and a large bowl of water.
I should at least wash my face, and under my arms, he thought. He closed his eyes for a second. Maybe, I’ll just wash my face…
He slept for nearly a day.
He awoke to find Morag removing the remains of his meal, and wishing him a good day. The sun was already high in the sky and Arn reckoned it must have been close to noon. He sat up and eyed the cold leftovers as they were taken away, feeling hungry once again.
Morag returned with a pile of towels. ‘And now, sir… Bath.’ She dropped a sack onto the ground. ‘And please put all your clothes into this bag.’
Arn laughed. ‘Do I smell that bad? Are you going to burn them?’
Morag laughed in return. ‘Yes, and yes.’
He stopped laughing, suddenly feeling a little awkward. He had no idea how he really smelled to the Wolfen. They had an undoubtedly excellent sense of smell, so for all he knew, his odour was totally repulsive. He started peeling off layers and dropping them into the open sack.
Morag watched him carefully, seeming to sense his embarrassment. ‘It’s the Slinker smell. We can’t stand it.’
Of course, he thought. Just as the Slink… Panterran couldn’t stand the smell of the Wolfen.
‘Can I ask you something? Have the Wolfen and the Slinkers ever been friends? Have you ever tried to make peace with them?’ Arn wrapped a small towel around his waist.
Morag’s face grew dark and she stared for a moment as if thinking carefully. She nodded slowly.
‘Yes, we have tried. We have tried treaties, sent emissaries, entire peace delegations; for many centuries we have tried, but nothing has worked. Nothing ever works with them.’
‘What happened?’
‘Wolfen die. Always the Wolfen die.’ She hefted the bag and straightened. ‘Their hatred runs deep. They do not want peace; they want only one thing — a world without us.’
‘I’m not so sure. I think there may be some…’ Arn closed his mouth. He saw the sadness in her eyes, and wondered whether she had lost someone in their eternal war. And we thought we had differences, Arn thought.
Morag pushed open the door and held it for him, waiting to lead him to the bath chamber.
Arn raised his hand. ‘I know the way. Thank you.’
She smiled, then headed in the opposite direction down the stone corridor. Arn passed a few other Canite females in the corridor, who stopped to stare, or held hands up over their faces to titter at his hairless body.
The bath chamber was once again filled with steam, and a large tub filled with soapy water. New clothes were laid out once again — he noticed this time there was a dagger already hanging in the scabbard.
Someone cleared their throat from within the cloud of mist, and Arn’s eyes were drawn to the other side of the chamber. Balthazar emerged from the steam like an apparition made solid. He bowed to Arn, then smiled and stepped to one side, gesturing to another figure standing mute behind him.
Arn gasped — it was him — moulded from clay. Just like the mould of the Lygon, Balthazar had crafted a likeness of him in fantastic detail. Arn winced.
The likeness was naked.
‘What do you think, Man-kind? Is it not like an image in a looking glass?’
Arn bobbed his head from side to side. ‘It’s really good — the best I’ve ever seen. But where are my clothes?’
Balthazar looked confused for a second, then pointed to the pile laid out for Arn nearby.
‘No, I mean on the likeness?’
The court counsellor shrugged. ‘It is as you are, and as I observed you. Is it not correct in its anatomical detail?’
Arn pointed to the model’s middle. ‘Yeah sure, but I don’t really like that everything about me is on display. Can you… Uh, can you put some clothes on it?’
‘I suppose so. But the King and his family approve of it. They want it in their private gallery.’
‘The king?’
Balthazar nodded. ‘And the Queen.’
Arn screwed up his face as if in pain, and spoke the next words slowly. ‘And… Eilif?’
Balthazar nodded again, this time more vigorously. ‘Of course — she liked it the most. She said it was…’ He searched his memory for her exact words. ‘… Exciting.’
Arn groaned. ‘Just put some clothes on it… please. We Man-kind have a thing called modesty, and don’t like to walk around naked.’
Balthazar shrugged again, and gave a small surprised laugh. ‘And I thought that was just to stay warm without fur. Well, as you wish, young sir.’ He threw a sheet up over the statue, and sat down. ‘But until you arrived, we only had legends, and some old artefacts from the caves in the dark zones.’
Arn climbed into the bath, keeping his towel wrapped around his waist until the last moment. He wasn’t keen to give the counsellor any further glimpses of his anatomy, which might make for future art or science exhibitions.
He relaxed into the hot water, closing his eyes and sighing as his knotted muscles unwound. His eyes flicked open.
‘Caves, artefacts?’ He turned to look at Balthazar. ‘You mentioned those before, and… Vidarr, the archivist. I need to speak to him — find out what really happened.’
Balthazar had the sheet off the model again, and was making some adjustments to Arn’s… bits. He spoke over his shoulder while he sculpted.
‘I can take you to him — or at least I can take you to where he should be. Actually finding him is another matter.’ Balthazar laughed and stood up. ‘Bathe, rest, and then eat. After that, if you still wish it, we shall try our luck.’ He nodded a farewell, and then left.
Arn sank lower in the water, and looked again at the clay model. ‘And you put some pants on as well.’ He
