foot and a half. So fifty longs was about seventy five feet. But the military base would surely stretch deeper than that…
Vidarr must have seen the indecision on his face. ‘At least stay in light the entire time. Deep in the dark earth, there are things that have crawled up from Hellheim itself. Maybe they were surface dwellers once… but no more.’
‘Sir.’ The Wolfen messenger poked his head in through the heavy doors. Vidarr rolled the map, and pressed it into Arn’s hand.
‘May Odin protect you, Master Arnold Singer.’ Vidarr stepped back and ambled slowly to the rear of the large room. Arn thought he glimpsed the ghost of a smile on the old archivist’s lips as he melted into the gloom.
Chapter 38
The Forges of the Enemy
It was dark outside when the Wolfen messenger led them through the narrow laneways, up onto a small stone bridge over a river that ran through the castle grounds. The river flowed deep and swift, and provided much of the drinking water for the castle inhabitants.
The small party had to stand aside as dozens of Wolfen warriors ran past carrying shovels and picks. ‘Preparations,’ Balthazar explained grimly.
The warriors rushed towards the main gate, and then out onto the plains in front of the castle. In the distance, Arn could make out a glow on the horizon. He frowned and turned to Balthazar. ‘Wrong place for the sun to set… Looks more like a forest fire.’
Balthazar’s face grew dark. ‘Hundreds, thousands of fires, I’m afraid. It is the Panterran. Listen.’
Arn concentrated, and could hear a faint, rhythmic clunk-clang of something heavy and metallic being smashed together.
‘What is it?’ He looked to Balthazar, but it was the tall, thin messenger who answered.
‘The forges of the enemy. They are making weapons in readiness for their attack.’
The Wolfen, too, were preparing themselves. Some of the castle’s smaller gates had already been closed, and masons worked to brick them up. The main gates were reinforced with crisscrossed wooden beams, locked together with massive iron studs. When it came time to close them, a metal bolt as thick as Arn’s leg would be threaded through several large iron rings.
‘Could they lay siege to the castle and starve us out?’
Balthazar chimed in. ‘Doubtful. We have plenty of supplies, and we also have the river. Though we can’t stand the flesh of fish, we can survive on it. Also, as the far Wolfen join us, we will grow stronger while, hopefully, the enemy weakens.’
Arn looked down into the water. The river was deep and flashes of silver glinted in its depths. It rushed beneath them, and disappeared through an arched tunnel into the ground.
Anticipating Arn’s next question, Balthazar pointed to where the water flowed into the tunnel. ‘The river travels underground, and we have placed a gate across the tunnel. Have no fear: no Panterran will be sneaking up on us. Besides, they can’t stand water.’
Arn nodded, watching the river as it swirled away into the darkness.
Once again Arn found himself seated before the sealed doors of the king’s main hall. He and Eilif sat together on a polished wooden bench, and Arn rested his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands. He looked across at Eilif’s face — she seemed calm, but her breathing was rapid.
‘Are you afraid?’
The silver blue eyes turned to him. ‘Afraid?’ She seemed to think for a moment. ‘Of dying? No. Of living, yes, if it meant a lifetime of Panterran oppression.’
Arn starred at her for a few seconds, wondering at the depths of her people’s desire for freedom. He knew there were always things worth fighting for… and dying for — his own heritage had taught him that. He rubbed his face and then ran his fingers up through his long hair.
She put her hand on his shoulder, and shrugged. ‘Perhaps the Panterran were created to provide some sort of balance in the world — light against dark, good to bad, peace and war. She sighed and sat back. ‘Perhaps we are not supposed to know peace. Perhaps, from time to time, we Wolfen need war to remind us of where it was we came from — born of pain and fire. I think that ruling a land is not a right, and it must be fought for every single day. My father taught me that.’ She turned to him. ‘Did your people know peace, Arn?’
Arn thought for a moment before answering. ‘Mostly, but there was always conflict. We had world wars, and small wars, but we always wanted peace. We all lived in the hope that one day war would be a thing of the past.’
‘You had no Panterran, or Lygon, or even Boarex. Who did you fight?’
Arn snorted. ‘Other humans. Different countries — sometimes even within our own country.’
She frowned in confusion. ‘You fought other Man-kind — why? You would have been the same. Did you want to eat each other, or make slaves from your brothers? Did you not have shared dreams and goals and a common lore?’
‘No and no, we were a fractured race. I guess you could say, we were still evolving.’
‘Ha, it sounds like you were more warlike than the Wolfen or Panterran. You must have been fearsome warriors.’
Arn sighed and nodded. ‘Yes, but the problem was, we humans became very good at war — too good.’
Eilif screwed up her brow in confusion, and was about to say something else when the huge double doors pulled inwards. Vulpernix appeared, and with his single eye, looked from Arn to Eilif and then back again, before bowing slightly and motioning with his hand for Arn to enter.
Eilif got to her feet, but Vulpernix stopped her. Instead she mouthed something he couldn’t make out, which Arn assumed was a wish for good luck. Vulpernix watched Arn enter, but didn’t follow, and pulled the heavy door shut, leaving him alone in the large hall.
The heavy doors closed shut behind him.
Arn stood alone in the large hall. He walked forward cautiously, his footsteps sounding heavy on the stones and echoing in the high-ceilinged room. The last time he had been here by himself… He just hoped that if the king was going to ask anything else of him, it didn’t involve eating insects.
It didn’t bode well that the hall was as dark as it had been the last time. Arn was beginning to wonder whether he really was alone in the room, when a slight scrape of a heel on the stones drew his eyes to one of the windows. He could make out a large figure leaning against the sill, and looking out into the dark night — a dark night with a rim of red on the horizon.
The figure spoke without turning. ‘Not long now. I would wish for more time, but there will be none given.’ He raised one large fist and pounded it onto the sill. ‘We need hold them for only a few days! Just until the Wolfen arrive from the far outposts. Only then, may I dare to believe that we can defeat them.’
Arn stepped a little closer. ‘But why don’t you just shelter behind the walls? Surely you have a better chance of staying safe and holding them off then.’
Grimvaldr shook his head, but kept his eyes on the red horizon. ‘We are Wolfen. The strength of the kingdom is not in her stone, but in her blood and flesh. We will face them in battle, eye to eye — our courage, our skill, and Odin’s will, will define our victory, not our ability to cower behind brick and mortar. The walls will be our last refuge, not the first.’
‘And… if you can’t hold them?’
Grimvaldr turned and looked at him with weary eyes. ‘A king may fall, but a kingdom may not. While a single Wolfen lives, then so too will Valkeryn.’ He smiled. ‘We will hold them.’ He turned and stared once more at the glowing horizon. ‘I must call on you again, young friend. All Wolfen must fight when the kingdom is threatened — not just because it is our duty, but because it is in our blood.’
‘All?’
