She nodded and smiled at the queen. Freya smiled sadly in return.
What of it, Eilif wondered? The battle would be decided quickly, and when the mighty Wolfen were victorious, Grimson would be sent for, and then he and his escort…
The thought ended abruptly, as if it had fallen off a steep dark precipice in her mind. She turned to the king.
‘Who accompanies our prince on his journey?’
Grimvaldr didn’t respond.
Eilif rose slowly from the chair. Her knees shook, but she stared unwaveringly into the king’s eyes.
Grimvaldr reached out for her as he murmured, ‘The Arnoddr-Sigarr.’
Her breath momentarily locked in her chest, and then exploded in a howl that pierced the long throne room. She batted his hand away. ‘No! He was to fight by my side. He is…’ She balled her fists. ‘There were a hundred others you could have chosen — why him?’
‘There were others, but Grimson trusts him — and I trust him. He has already proven his willingness to risk all for us. Who better to protect our future, than one brave saal from the past?’
Eilif howled again and fell to her knees. She let her head fall and closed her eyes. ‘Was there no one else to go with him?’
Grimvaldr knelt down next to her. ‘As you said, Eilif, I could have sent hundreds, thousands. But I believe that stealth will succeed, where force would not.’ He paused, and then lifted her chin. ‘You know, there is a strength in that one, the likes of which we have not seen for an eternity. He is the right choice.’
Eilif got slowly to her feet. He was right. Grimvaldr was always right.
The king tried to embrace her, but she pulled away and ran towards the doors.
‘He’s already gone, Eilif. He will return when the time is right, and the land is safe once again.’
‘And who will keep him safe?’ Eilif cried, pushing through the doors, leaving the king and queen standing in silence.
Perhaps he had left something for her, something telling her where they had gone? She tore through the stone corridors, her armour clanging like cymbals as she barged through doorways, bounced off walls, not slowing until she came to his room, and shouldered open the door.
‘Arn, my Arn!’
The room was empty. She rushed about, searching, rifling through drawers — there was nothing. She balled her fists and squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to give her suffering a voice.
Every parting is a form of death, he had said. Now the words made sense — that was his message to her. Eilif sank down onto the bed, burying her face in the sheets and drawing in his scent. Through the window, the moonlight washed over her.
She lifted her head and screamed her agony.
Chapter 45
There Will Be No Saviours
The first wave of the far Wolfen burst through the trees into a large clearing. They skidded to a halt, their eyes wideneing first in disbelief, and then in triumph.
Several Wolfen elite stood waiting for them, their hands tight on their sword hilts, with bodies nobly erect, and their demeanour calm. The banners of Grimvaldr fluttered in a breeze beside them.
A roar went up from the travelling warriors, who were now piling up in the expansive clearing, dozens deep, each craning over the other, to see the armoured warriors they would soon be joining.
‘Grimvaldr comes to meet us. Long live the king!’ A roar went up and they rushed forward. It was only when they were within a dozen paces of the motionless warriors did they see them for what they were — caricatures of living beings. Their mouths were sewn shut, and blood leaked from under armour where they had been pierced a hundred times. In addition, the elite warriors had been lashed upright, with even their necks bound to hidden stakes, giving them a proud posture.
The far Wolfen, confused, slowed, but only for a second as a screech tore through the air, followed by the hiss of hundreds upon hundreds of arrows in flight.
By the time a warning was roared, hundreds of bodies lay twitching on the grass. The same scene was repeated along a dozen slopes.
There would be no far Wolfen joining the battle this day.
Chapter 46
To the Dark Lands
‘I could have fought. I’m big enough.’ Grimson trailed behind Arn as they threaded their way along the winding path. He pulled his sword free and slashed at a hanging vine.
Arn spoke over his shoulder. ‘Stay quiet. There are Panterran about. And I know — I’ve seen you practise — you’re very good. But I am on a quest, and I needed the help of a stout heart. The king said you were the best man — ahh, Wolfen — for the job.’
‘A quest? Yes, I’m the best one for that!’ Grimson sheathed his sword and ran to catch up with Arn. ‘What is the quest?’
‘It’ll be long and arduous… and very dangerous.’ Arn looked down at Grimson. ‘I guess you could say, we’re looking for me.’
Grimson frowned in confusion.
Arn patted him on the shoulder. ‘We’re looking for traces of my people. I don’t believe that they all flew away one day… or that our spirits did. Some would have stayed; some would have hidden from whatever happened. I need to know what that was. I just need to prove I didn’t cause…’ Arn swallowed hard, but that voice in his head wouldn’t be silenced. You just need to prove it wasn’t you who caused the extinction of humanity, that’s all…
Grimson nodded. ‘I wish Eilif could have come.’
The name felt like a dagger wound. ‘Me too, Grim.’
‘My name’s Grimson. Only Eilif is allowed to call me Grim.’ The young Wolfen thought about it for a moment, and then said, ‘But you can call me Grim, too, I guess.’ He nodded, satisfied with his decision.
Arn didn’t hear him. He stared distractedly into the distance, where Eilif stood, sword raised, facing down a horde of Lygon that pounded across the ground towards her.
‘Arnoddr, did you hear me?’
Arn shrugged, not wanting to talk anymore. He felt tired and depressed.
‘This quest — where will it take us? Arnoddr, this quest — where will it take us?’ This time, Grimson tugged at his arm.
Arn glanced down at him and blinked, seeming almost surprised to find that he wasn’t alone. He reached instinctively for Vidarr’s map, folded in a pocket sewn into his vest. ‘The dark lands, and you will need to help. You will need to tell me if there is anything you recognise as being dangerous. I might not see it. This is your world now, Grim.’
The young Wolfen sighed, and then nodded. ‘I can do that.’ He thought some more. ‘The dark lands — I wish we had more Wolfen with us. I wish we had Strom with us.’
Strom’s head bobbed above the slavering crowd, his staring eyes towards the distant castle. Goranx stood at the front of the horde and shook his grisly trophy. Both Panterran and Lygon cheered.
Mogahr raised an arm to silence them. She looked at the pike with the Wolfen champion’s head impaled upon it, and her lips parted in a grotesque smile.
‘By the time of theee next sssun’ss risssing, I want a thousssand, thousssand more Wolfen headsss upon my ssspikesss.’ She held out her hand and a Panterran thrust something into it. This, she held up to the horde.
