with Wolfen — they use them, and then crush them, as they surely will do to you… and the Princess Eilif.’
Bergborr fell to his knees and reached out his hand, beseeching the older Wolfen noble, ‘You are right, and I am a fool, and perhaps made more so by love. Do you know what it is like to love another, who barely knows you exist? What it is like to be the perfect suitor, but then be scrubbed from your love’s consciousness by a creature that shouldn’t even exist? If I am a fool for love, then I am one rendered deaf, dumb and blind to everything and anything but that love.’ He shook his head. ‘Perhaps it is a sickness.’
Bergborr beat his chest with one hand, punishing himself, over and over, his face a mask of humiliation and sorrow. Vulpernix kept his sword up, the point only a few hand spans from the young Wolfen’s torso.
‘Love makes fools of some, and heroes of others. Get up.’ Vulpernix watched as the young Wolfen’s hand beat his chest again harder, and he made a sound of disgust deep in his throat, at the dark Wolfen’s lack of dignity. He was about to order Bergborr to his feet again when on the next motion, instead of the hand striking his body, it shot out and grabbed the tip of the sword. The razor sharp edge would have bitten deeply, but the weapon was locked, only momentarily, in a steel grip.
It was enough.
Bergborr gritted his teeth from the pain, and stared into the old Woflen’s eyes as he spoke. ‘But if there is a chance for that love, then would I not be a greater fool not risking all for it?’ He lunged forward, swinging his other arm up from behind his back, the full length of the metal key protruding between his knuckles. The blow struck Vulpernix in the neck, piercing deeply, and crushing his windpipe so that no sound other than a strangled hiss fell from his gaping mouth.
Bergborr whispered into Vulpernix’s ear, ‘What do I hope to accomplish, old fool? I do not just hope; I will accomplish Grimvaldr’s downfall, and in his place will rise King Bergborr, with Queen Eilif at my side. The king believes the Panterran can never be made into our allies — but he’s wrong. I’ve already done it.’
Vulpernix looked up to the sky, to the tiny pinpoints of light, which he knew to be the candlelight from Valhalla’s golden hallways. He’d be there soon.
A final thought drifted across his mind as his single clear eye began to cloud over. Sorry, my king. I have failed you. May Odin give you luck and strength on the morrow.
Vulpernix sped to Valhalla.
Bergborr slipped over the side of the bank, dragging the old Wolfen’s body with him. He paddled silently to where the river flowed into the arched, gated tunnel. Sucking in a few deep breaths, he ducked below the surface, dragging the body with him.
The slight murmur of the river masked the sound of heavy, ancient iron gates being unlocked and forced open.
Later, Bergborr would tie a length of dark cloth to a flagpole on the highest turret of the castle — that would be the signal. His job would then be done.
Chapter 42
One World, One Race to Rule
Orcalion bowed deeply and crawled forward on his knees. He knew that the queen was still furious for his role in allowing the Man-kind to escape.
He looked up into the golden, slitted eyes. ‘We are ready, almighty Mogahr.’
The eyes didn’t blink. ‘And whaat offf the Wolfen traaaitor? Did heee open the hiddeen gate into the cassstle?’
‘The sign is there. The colours of Grimvaldr have also been taken, as well the Wolfen scouts we captured. They will be put to good use.’
‘And the Lygonsss — can we trussst thossse ssstuumbling bruutesss tooo hold tooogether long enough for the attackkk?’
‘The Lygon want flesh — but as long as we do not bring them up too soon, we may be able to hold them until the charge is sounded. Once they charge, anything in front of them will be destroyed.’
‘And wheeen theeere is no mooore Wolfen flesssh to consssume? Yesss, theen weee will deal with them alssso. One world — one race to rule it, Orcalion.’
Orcalion nodded. ‘As you wish, my queen.’ He tilted his head. ‘I wonder: how exactly does our pet Wolfen imagine he will live to claim his prize?’
Mogahr’s mouth opened, revealing the decayed remnants of her long fangs. ‘We promisssed him that he and the princessss would not be killed. We promisssed him that heee would rule over the remaining Wolfen. The Lygonss will need rationss for the long marccch back to their homeland. Perhapsss our traitor can be king of the prisonersss taken for fooood.’
Orcalion hissed out a laugh and bowed deeply. ‘But they shan’t meet their deaths at our hands. We Panterran always keep our word.’ He laughed again.
Mogahr raised her head and sniffed the air. ‘It will sssoon be the darkessst hour of the night — we attack then.’ Her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward. ‘If you fail me, Orcalion, at thisss, the most important hour for all Panterran kind, then the Lygonss will have more than Wolfen-kind for their fooood.’
Orcalion, cringing, got to his feet, but remained bent over. ‘King Grimvaldr will fall, and Empress Mogahr will rise and reign supreme over all of this unworthy world.’ He continued bowing as he hurried from the tent.
Once outside, he glided away, pausing only to cast a glare back over his shoulder. ‘You will not be queen forever, old witch.’ He continued muttering to himself as a giant figure emerged from the darkness in front of him.
The Lygon general towered nearly a head above his own kind, and dwarfed the smaller Panterran. With his battle-scarred face and ogreish physique, Goranx was a monstrous devil, to be sure. Orcalion was relieved that the beast fought on their side.
He looked at the newly taken heads hanging from the Lygon’s belt and frowned. ‘Man-kind? There are more?’
Goranx shrugged. ‘Perhaps. They were good… Soft and sweet.’
Orcalion’s eyes narrowed slyly. ‘There is another in the Wolfen castle. The queen wants this one alive, but in battle things become confused… and lost.’
Goranx stared for a moment, as if trying to pull the hidden meaning from the small Panterran’s words. His broad mouth twisted into a cruel smile.
Orcalion knew that the queen would not get everything she wanted this day.
Chapter 43
Come the Far Wolfen
Onwards they ran — females, males, young and old — all those strong enough to wield a weapon. Foam flecked at the corners of their mouths, and tongues hung from fatigue.
Some ran in full armour, some in a leather battledress that was little more than a vest and a belt with a scabbard. Small bands in their dozens joined up with others, to form groups in their hundreds. The hundreds then joined together, until a bristling, jostling horde poured down from the hills, down into the outskirts of Valkeryn.
A howl echoed through the night air — then another, and another. From one side of the hills to the other, thousands were answering the call.
Some miles ahead of them, past the forests at the very foot of the hills, the fields crawled with the slow surge of bodies pushing through the long grass. Thousands of almost silent creatures snaked their way forward, and at a designated point they fanned out.
Prisoners were brought forward; their mouths tied shut and hands bound behind their backs. Grimvaldr’s colours were raised, and stakes were quickly hammered into the ground.
