Valkeryn 2: The Dark Lands (13 page)

Arn lifted his arms, staring down into the clear water. More and more of the orange-silver flashes started to swirl around his legs, their movements getting faster and more excited. Given he wore only his breechcloth, the thought of razor sharp teeth finding a hidden area of his body made his stomach, and lower parts shrivel. He covered his groin with his hands, turned and attempted a fast wade back to the shore. Pinches and nips accompanying him as he slipped in the slimy mud on the bottom of the pond.

He was closing on the bank, when there came a thud, and a shocking pain at his calf. Arn leapt the last five feet, and lay collapsed on the flat rocks beside the water. The fish had followed him right to its edge and boiled and tumbled in the shallows as though annoyed at his escape. He sat up and examined his legs – small grazes, nips and cuts pitted his thighs, but turning one leg over, he saw a good sized mouthful of meat had been taken from his calf. Luckily, they were all treatable with some of the remaining
feninlang
root, but he was glad he hadn’t been further out – he knew whatever had taken that last bite was a lot bigger than the smaller fish he had first seen.

He clamped a hand over the wound and looked to the other side of the pond. The woman stood with her hands on her hips and a smile on her face. She waggled a finger in the air and shook her head. Even from a distance, he could tell by her expression she thought him slightly dim. In a flash she turned and disappeared back into the jungle.

He sighed. ‘Well, you never get a second chance to make a first impression.’

Grimson came and knelt beside him. ‘And was that a good one, Arn?’

‘Not really, no.’ Arn looked at the young Wolfen. ‘Have you ever heard of Man-Kind living in the Dark Lands?’

Grimson shook his head. ‘No. No they don’t. I don’t think they’re really like you anyway.’ He turned to look at the water’s edge and the fish wrestling and tumbling in the shallows. ‘Now do you know why I don’t like fish – yech.’

Arn laughed and rubbed the youth’s head. ‘I’m sure they wouldn’t dream of taking a bite from a Wolfen prince.’

Arn opened a leather bag he had strung at his belt, and unrolled the waxy leaf that still held some precious red flowers. He squeezed some sap from one of the fleshy petals, and rubbed it onto his wounds, gritting his teeth as the sap sizzled against his skin.

Grimson threw a rock at the fish still loitering in the shallows. ‘What now?’

Arn kept applying the lotion. ‘Now? Now, we find a way to cross the river, and find our new friends.’

Chapter 16

Welcome From Hell, Pussy

Brunig half turned to Durok, one of his Lygon comrades and whispered. ‘There are so many, we can eat some. The old queen won’t miss them all.’

Durok grunted. ‘I have heard their meat is soft, and they are mostly already skinned. I agree, we can take half for Mogahrr, and eat the rest. But patience, we will wait until they come a little closer so they do not scatter when we attack.’

Brunig nodded and turned to whisper to the dozen enormous Lygon warriors hidden behind the trunks of the trees. They waited, green eyes focused on the approaching line of creatures, the orange and blacks stripes of their bodies rendering them nearly invisible in the dappled light of the forest.

*

Briggs’ Delta force team had rested amongst the crucified Wolfen. Sipping water and eating protein rations, none of them look the slightest bit fatigued, even though they had jogged for almost an entire day through dry desert. The colonel had chosen to rest them in amongst the forest of carcasses so they had their first chance to study some of the indigenous life forms up close.

The professional killers examined the bodies for strengths and vulnerabilities, noting the musculature, the long teeth, and predator’s eyes. They noted the position of vital organs, and felt the consistency of the flesh. They were satisfied in the knowledge that it was the same density as their own – bullets and knives would pierce them with ease. If the wolf creatures engaged or got in the way, they’d be exterminated. But every one of the soldiers knew the wolves were not the main danger, and the huge creatures that had taken out the Green Berets were the priority threat.

Briggs had them back on their feet quickly, and within an hour they were in sight of the forest edge. She held up her field glasses, moving the electronic dial for magnification. She smiled, and then pressed a stud, changing the vision to infrared. It was what she had expected – phosphorescent orange outlines of huge bodies in concealment. Good, she thought, their first test.

‘Well, well, we got ourselves a small war party lying in ambush.’

Samson pulled his gun from over his back. ‘Orders?’

‘We take ‘em head on. Time to show them who the boss really is from now on.’ She lowered the binoculars and half turned to the giant soldier beside her. ‘Give me a wedge formation – you and Teacher lead ‘em in.’

Samson spun and shouted instructions to the team, and they moved into a triangle, Samson and Teacher in front, a soldier at each of their shoulders,  and so on.  The sound of weapons being locked and loaded snapped back along the line.

Samson roared over his shoulder and started to run. ‘Stay in formation – standard meet-and-greet – double time.’

The wedge went with him. Briggs jogged at their rear, doing her best to keep pace with the long strides of her elite Delta team.

When the soldiers were just a hundred feet out from the tree line, several huge bodies stepped forward. Any normal human would have been dumbstruck by the sight of the fearsome giants. But the elite soldiers had reviewed the footage of the Green Beret attack so many times, they knew how, who, and exactly what to expect.

Samson and the team kept up the sprint pace. The lead creature roared, making a sound that rolled across the sand towards them with an almost physical wave of power.  It swung a huge club back and forth.

The Lygon was protected by sheets of hammered iron many inches thick, and wore on its head a heavily studded and armored helmet. It would deflect bullets with ease – as the earlier GBs had found to their misfortune. But this time the Delta force had come prepared – uranium tipped rounds, grenade launchers and enough gas to choke a city block.

The huge beast roared again, took a thundering step forward and drew his trunk-thick arm back, preparing to fling the deadly missile at the approaching figures. It would be a flying battering ram, and carry enough force to shatter anything it struck.

Samson increased his pace and raised his rifle to his shoulder. His face was an expressionless mask. He fired a single round.

*

Beside Brunig, Durok’s battle roar was cutoff as his head snapped back. The giant Lygon seemed to stare skyward for a moment, a trickle of blood running down from under his helmet, below a tiny hole in the fire-hardened iron. The uranium tipped round had easily passed through steel and bone, and now continued to sizzle in his brain. Durok’s knees bent, the club fell from his hand, and, like a colossal tree coming down, he fell backwards, dead.

The small group of Man-Kind continued their rapid advance, still holding the tiny black sticks before them. There were more popping sounds, followed by the clank of metal-on-metal, and more of Brunig’s Lygon warriors fell. Brunig felt confusion, frustration, and something else in the pit of his stomach – something he had never felt before – fear.

He moved a fraction, just as a searing pain needled his shoulder. He reached up his large hand, and felt the tiny hole in his armor, the surrounding iron hot to touch. Blood spurted from either side of his shoulder. Whatever had struck him had punched a hole clean through his body – armor, flesh and bone.

A soft mewling whine escaped his lips. Confusion wracked him with indecision. These were not the soft-bodied creatures he had expected. They were nothing like the two Man-kinds they had captured only hours before. These were different; they were larger, and showed no fear. These must be the true warrior class of the Ancients.

Brunig backed up – he must escape and warn his clan – bring back more warriors and war beasts. He turned and lifted his axe, intending to throw the enormous weapon and then flee. But as he lifted his arm, there came a small puff of smoke from the lead Man-Kind, followed by a whooshing sound that grew louder in his ears.

His arm never finished its arc as his world turned white-hot and his body exploded in a plume of fire and huge gobbets of burning flesh.

That quickly, Brunig ceased to exist.

*

Marion Briggs stood over one of the dying creatures and turned her head slowly, surveying the landscape. Armaments were field appropriate, all enemy down, no casualties or even a single scrape to her team. A good day’s work.

She looked down at the giant beast at her feet, which was watching her with a single large green eye. She put her boot on its thick neck and drew her revolver, pointing it at the centre of the orb.

‘Welcome from hell, pussy.’ She pulled the trigger.

Chapter 17

Strong but Easily Manipulated

Bergborr crouched down, examining the ground. He exhaled with relief. The climb down the cliffs had been costly – six Lygon had fallen, the path crumbling under their broad and clumsy feet. Several Panterran were plucked from the cliffs by flying daemons that simply plucked them from the rock like ripe fruit and either spirited them away or dropped their bodies thousands of feet to the ground.

He hated them all, but for now he needed them. He could feel Orcalion watching him, knowing that the Wolfen were natural trackers, and it would be Bergborr that could find the fleeing offspring of Grimvaldr or the Man-Kind.

Bergborr snorted softly. He had no reason to leave the Lygons or Panterrans until he knew what they were up against. The Dark Lands were a place of myth and legend, frightening tales of monstrous beasts, sucking bogs, and strangling vines, all of which he could never overcome alone. Best to use the brute strength of the Lygons as his shield, and have the sly Panterrans keep the brutes in check.

He would put up with the Panterran Orcalion’s arrogance a little while longer. He looked to the soil again. The tracks and spoor were faint, but unmistakable – the pair weren’t far ahead of them. The Lygons wanted to rest, but there would be time for that later.

Orcalion glided up next to him, and placed one small clawed hand on his shoulder. ‘An expensive climb Wolfen; we lost many brother warriors, and we have only just set foot in this most dangerous place. Let us hope we have something to show for it, hmm? Do you have them yet?’

Bergborr turned to look at the disgusting creature, and after a moment nodded. ‘Of course, but they’re moving fast, and we should to, or you will lose them… and it will be you that has to explain that to Queen Mogahrr.’

Orcalion smiled, extending and then digging his claws into the Wolfen’s shoulder. ‘The Lygons need to rest. They are a disagreeable force, and not one to be pushed too hard, even by me, or you, last of the brave Wolfen warriors.’

Bergborr stood, shrugging off the small hand, while trying to conceal the disgust he felt for the small devious creature. ‘Tell, your brother warriors, we need to move away from the base of the cliffs, lest we suffer a rock slide that may dent even their thick skulls.’

Orcalion briefly looked up, then smiled and nodded. ‘Very good, clever Wolfen, you are thinking more like a Panterran every day.’

He turned away to mingle with his own kin, before moving in amongst the Lygon. The huge creatures bent closer to listen, and after a few glances up at the steep cliffs the huge beasts straightened, and gathered their weapons.

Strong, but easily manipulated, Bergborr thought with interest and satisfaction.

*

Sorenson dropped to the ground from the trees to examine the spoor of the Man-Kind. He had already found the spot where they had made the jungle, and he had obliterated as much as he could. Still, he knew that Bergborr would be able to track them as he did.

He could tell by the impressions that the Man-Kind still carried the Valkeryn Prince. He prayed to Odin that the young Wolfen’s injuries were not mortal. He leapt back into the trees and continued on.

*

Bergb
orr pushed, slid or wriggled his way through the dense jungle. The green vines, branches and fronds were thick and tough, and many times he had to slow down to drag in deep breaths of the humid air. Around him, the Panterran navigated the tangled vines and thick undergrowth with ease, but the lumbering Lygon brutes had to hack and slash every grinding step of their way. Many had pulled free their heavy armor and discarded it, trusting their own muscles and thick hides to protect them.

He had been following the tracks of the Man-Kind. There were none for Grimson, but he could tell by the depth of the human’s tracks that he carried something heavy. Even though the man-creature staggered and fell as he travelled, they were making better time than he, since they weren’t dragging a small army of dumb brutes with them. He couldn’t help crushing his eyes shut for a moment and showing his teeth: every time he thought of the Man-Kind, he was torn by a rage that threatened to consume him. It was Eilif’s fault – she had strangled his heart. Still, he would give her another chance, and probably another after that. She would love him eventually, and she would come with him, freely. What choice did she have? They were the only ones left.

If she still refused him? He punched a dangling vine out of his way. Then he would kill her. His
sáál
could never survive the insult to his honor.

Bergborr stopped and frowned. He backed up, and then walked in a circle. He looked at the tracks, confused For a moment it seemed like there was another amongst them – a Wolfen. A very large Wolfen.

In an instant Orcalion was beside him – the small creature was always watching him closely. His eyes
moved from Bergborr’s face, to the ground, and then back.

‘The trail is not so clear after all, wise warrior?’ The slit of a mouth hung open in a grin.

Bergborr continued to pace, and then crouched down to look at the ground. He moved aside some twigs and leaf litter and examined the last few footprints. ‘The mankind and the young prince continued on, but…’ he stood up, and raised his head, looking up at the green canopy high above him. Dots of light showed through the dense foliage like stars in a black night. For the most part the upper canopy was high overhead, but lower at mid-height, secondary branches, some with limbs a body-length across, intertwined and overlapped, creating an overhead highway.

He frowned and shook his head. Ghosts perhaps, he whispered. He continued to circle, spiraling outwards, his eyes moving from the ground to the branches overhead.