A Hero's Throne (An Ancient Earth) (36 page)
The grizzled hair and jutting brow were unmistakable, but his cheeks were sunken and his jaw hung slack. “Godmund. Godmund! Come on, get up. What’s going on here?”
Black eyes turned toward her and shied away when she brought the lantern up.
“It’s me, Freya. I came here when I was young, with Daniel. We went on a mission to destroy Gád, remember?”
Godmund didn’t move or take his eyes off of her.
“We’ve come back. The others are bringing an army. We need you and the other survivors—” Freya looked around the room, still appalled. They didn’t seem like survivors. “We need you to help us.” Her words were losing their passion and conviction as she listened to what she was saying. These people were traumatised. They couldn’t fight. Godmund was still staring at her, dumbly.
“The Carnyx,” she said. “Why didn’t you blow the Carnyx?”
Godmund made a sound that made her think that he was going to start singing again—but then she found that he was laughing.
“To save us would be to destroy us. That is as certain as the darkness. Our general has abandoned us. No, worse! He conspires against us. Our whole army, formed along a precipice, to do battle with the air. How do you fight the wind? To step forward is to perish. We are the walking fallen, still retreating, searching for a way out of the miserable reality. I have seen the hand that moves us in the darkness—a game of chess with all the pieces of one colour. A game of chance with a die that has just one side. A house on stone, but with walls of sand. What use has . . .”
Godmund continued babbling.
Egads,
thought Freya.
He’s completely lost it.
“Honourable Godmund,” Vivienne broke in. “We need you to fight now. We need you to rise up and chase away the invaders of the surface world. It’s . . . it’s being invaded, Godmund: trolls, goblins, dragons, were-bears, ogres, all manner of sprites and hobs . . . the time has come!”
Godmund spat. “I have no honour. And neither do you.”
Freya could only look down on the ancient being, who was once a brave, bullheaded warrior. Uncomplicated to a fault, if anything, he seemed, even to Freya’s young mind, as the ideal general—smart and capable, but largely unquestioning of his command, which at that time had been Ealdstan and Modwyn.
“I understand the disenfranchisement, Godmund, I do,” said Freya. “But please answer my question: why didn’t you blow the Carnyx when you could to end all of this?”
“You have no conception of that which you ask.”
“So tell us.”
Godmund grimaced and bared his teeth, like a wolf defending his territory. “The curses that object will bring upon the world are too many and deep to account. The breadth of evil it would bring would be incomprehensible. It would open a hole and blow out all the goodness and hope in all the realms of this world.”
“How do you know this?”
“It speaks to me. It tells me its secrets.”
“Right. Okay. So . . . does that mean that it’s close by?”
Godmund raised a hand and gestured to the darkness behind him. Moving the light of the lantern, Freya saw the large copper horn propped against the wall. When she had seen it last it had been securely fastened into the centre of a small fortress, a fortress that lay within the second wall of the hidden city and that was designed to keep it and it alone safe. But the brilliant copper that had once glowed like fire was now dull and dim. A black patina was spreading across it, turning to an oxidized green in many places.
“It’s been here how long? Was it—did you bring it with you when you came here? When you escaped?”
“Yes, I brought it. It’s been here with me this short while, and we shall grow old and crumble apart together.”
“But—why just sit here?” Vivienne said. “Why not escape? Why not fight, as you have done for centuries?”
He did not reply.
“What happened, Godmund?” Freya said, her voice straining with frustration and annoyance. “Why are you so scared of fighting now?” She looked to Modwyn, to include her in the tirade. “Both of you, seriously, what happened here? What’s changed?”
“Nothing changed. Nothing. Here I lie. Buried, forgotten. There is no war to fight—there’s nothing to fight against. There is no evil army rising against us. We were tricked.”
“What?” Freya said. “But the yfelgópes. Daniel and I found gnomes, an elf. Alex—the man who brought us back here—he’s been finding trolls, dragons.”
“A dragon?” Godmund said, his eyes darting to Freya with the first sign of the fire of his previous passion—anger mixed with joy—that she had seen yet. “Did
you
see the dragon?”
“No. But he did,” Freya said with shaky conviction.
The fire died and Godmund’s gaze became blank again.
“I don’t understand,” Freya said to Vivienne. “If the horn is really as bad as he says—if it’s really so terrible—then why make it at all? And once it’s made, why go to so much trouble to make sure no one ever uses it?”
“I do not trust his grip on reality,” Vivienne said. “But we’ve found it now. There is no point in not using it.”
“Really, Viv? I thought you would be more cautious. I thought you might want to study it, or . . . or . . .”
“Or what, indeed? Now that Modwyn is awake, and anyone is free to enter the Langtorr once more, they could easily overrun us. With no easy way out of the tower—I’m not sure how long we’d have to wait for a portal to open, or how many may enter through it when we find it—I think that we are now in very, very deep trouble. I look around and I see yfelgópes in this very room, and I think we need help. Blow the horn.”
Freya was taken aback. It was unlike herself to actually minimize the danger of the situation that she was in, but Vivienne was right—they were in a tight spot.
She crossed slowly over to the horn and laid a hand on it. It felt cold and unremarkable beneath her fingers. She felt a moment of doubt.
“Seriously, Godmund,” she said, turning. “What actually, tangibly happens when the horn gets blown? No more philosophy.” Godmund lowered his brow, leaned forward, and said in a quiet, gravelly voice, “Destruction. The destruction of this realm.” Freya straightened. His voice was quiet enough that she was certain no one else had heard him, and he was holding her gaze in such an even and intense manner—was he trying to communicate something else to her? Did he want her to do it?
“Good enough for me.” Freya hoisted the heavy horn to her lips . . .
And blew.
_____________________
II
_____________________
Alex and Ecgbryt surveyed the town of Gudesberg through binoculars. They were north of the city, in a forest, their ragtag war band left behind in the mouth of the enchanted cave that had opened beneath a crevice to allow them egress.
They had not been successful in recruiting any more of the European knights to their cause since Blanik, and the Hussites were proving to be hard to integrate into the group.
“By what name did you call this land?”
“Germany. It’s Germany, Ecgbryt. This is supposed to be the resting spot of Charlemagne and his knights.”
“Charlemagne?”
“King Charles the Great. Or Emperor Karl.”
“You mean Karolus? The
Imperator Romanum
? I thought legend said that he was waiting in a well some distance north of here—Nürnberg is its name.”
“Yes, there or in Austria, or any number of other places. There are more than a few legends of mountain activity here, however, so I thought it would be worth looking into. It’s said to open every
seven years, but I’m not sure where . . .” He passed the binoculars to Ecgbryt.
“If it is as you say, then come the evening, it would be well to walk around the hill. Are you certain of this place? It looks a modern township.”
“No, quite the opposite,” Alex said. “It looks positively medieval.”
“The buildings are so large. I cannot tell—all looks modern to my eye. I am often saddened that naught from my time is still to be seen. It makes me feel as if I am in a different realm than the one I was born to. Only Niðergeard feels like home.”
“I think—”
“Hold! Do you hear that?” Ecgbryt swung a large arm out and smacked his palm down on Alex’s chest.
“Hear what?” Alex asked, winded.
“It is a call! A summons! We must go!”
“What? Wait!”
Ecgbryt had already turned and was charging through the woods, back to the enchanted crevice in the forest. Alex tore after him, trying desperately to keep up with the knight’s enormous stride.
Ecgbryt reached the entrance to the underground realms ahead of Alex and halted. Still sprinting, Alex nearly knocked into him.
“They are gone!” Ecgbryt exclaimed, stepping into the dark recess. “Retreated farther in? But what—
meotodes meahte!”
“What? What is it?”
“Do you see? Hanging in the air, it is—is that some sort of portal?”
Alex rounded a corner and saw what appeared to be a shimmering patch of air encircling the cavern. Some sort of strange optical effect was taking place—it appeared as if the tunnel in front of them was truncated somehow—squeezed in on itself
like a concertina—and also straightened. There were no winding paths, and at the end of the tunnel, he thought he could see the dim, twinkling lights of Niðergeard. He felt like he was looking down a distance of many miles—hundreds of miles if that really was Niðergeard—but that he could cross that distance in just a few steps.
It must be the Carnyx,
Alex thought.
They must have found it and used it.
“I hear the call,” Ecgbryt said. “I must answer,” and he stepped forward and vanished from sight.
This is it!
Alex drew a deep breath, and then he too stepped over the threshold.
_____________________
I
_____________________
The horn emitted a low, tremulous note that reverberated in the very stones around them.
The air filled up with the sound, as if with water. Time slowed, and also sped up. Freya kept her lips on the horn as the note spread from moments to hours to days.
And all around her was still, the horn the stillest of all, fixed in the air, as immovable as a star. She was not holding it; she was
hanging
from it. Everything else revolved around Freya as slowly as the movement of the planets. She could sense time moving quickly, many hours in just one second.
And then the spell was broken. She had no more breath, and the horn ceased its call. Time and the world snapped back into its normal pace and motion. All of those in the Beacon turned to look at each other—yfelgóp and Niðergearder alike. Freya herself collapsed, the Carnyx falling atop her.
“What have you done?” Modwyn asked.
Another horn sounded, seeming small and distant. It came from outside, from the niðerplane itself.
“The next army!” Vivienne said. “Freya, quick—let’s get back to the Langtorr. We can see what is happening from there.”
The two women dashed out of the Beacon. No one followed them as they made their way through the pockets of dead bodies and raced up the stairs of the Langtorr, through the entry hall, and up to the guest floor. They stuck their heads out of the nearest window and looked out into the darkness. They strained their eyes but could see nothing. The horn call ended and another answered it from the left. And then another from the right. And then two more.
“Do you see them?” Freya asked. “The next army?”
They could see nothing in the blackness beyond the dim lights of Niðergeard, but they could see the effect that the horns had on the yfelgópes below—they started running in all directions, flooding out of houses, streaming into the streets, and jostling into one another. A few fights even broke out between them.
A large yfelgóp was bellowing instructions to all of those around him and arranging them into some sort of order. “That has to be Kelm,” Vivienne said. “That means Daniel failed in his assassination attempt.”
“I hope Daniel’s okay,” Freya said sadly. “I hope he’ll be safe until we can find him.”
Kelm was agitated but authoritative, and he shouted at any yfelgóp in hearing and swatted at any in reach. Those that stopped and fell into the ranks he was arranging twitched neurotically, as if still fighting the urge to run; they seemed ready to scatter at the slightest provocation, despite Kelm’s threats and abuses. Just once, he paused in his efforts at command in order to look up at the Langtorr. Freya and Vivienne drew back slightly as he seemed to
be looking straight at them. It was a measured stare that seemed to slow time once again, Freya thought. Then he turned his attention back to his immediate surroundings, the Langtorr gone from his considerations.
Shouts came from beyond the buildings. The feral cries of the yfelgópes, Freya thought, but also the cries of men.
Kelm stood with his ranked yfelgópes—there were about fifty of them before him. He stood, listening to the sounds of invisible skirmishes happening around him. Then he seemed to make a decision and gave orders for one block of his assembled army to station themselves where they were as the rest of them marched off into the darkness.
“He’s going west,” Vivienne said.
From the darkness ahead of them burst a line of a dozen or so knights, fully armed, the fury of battle on them. They broke into the square beneath the Langtorr, which attracted the defending yfelgópes who streamed around several buildings in an obvious attempt to ambush them.
“There’s Alex!” Freya exclaimed, pointing him out.
“God save him! Look at him go!”
Alex fought confidently and viciously, swinging his large sword in wide, well-placed, deadly arcs. When he didn’t have an enemy, he was shouting orders to the others and lending assistance to those who needed it. Ecgbryt fought near him, raising his axe in the air and pulling it down in devastating strikes that broke through spears, swords, shields, and skulls.
The knights made short work of them. Only about half were killed—the rest ran off when they saw the way the fight was turning. Alex shouted to the knights not to pursue but to regroup, and then they continued their sweep through the city.