A Hero's Throne (An Ancient Earth) (6 page)

“The watch bell tolls for change. Godmund makes an excuse to leave. I stay. The old man finally arrives and gives his bitter
benediction. He no sooner lowers his hand before the alarm bells ring.

“Another attack!”

Frithfroth’s face was horror-stricken as he stared sightlessly in front of him. Daniel, Freya, and Vivienne just followed, wide-eyed and bewildered. They were afraid of what might happen if they interrupted him, just as they were afraid of what might happen if he were to continue.

“I leave in the company of the twice-cursed Cnafa and Cnapa—to go back to the Langtorr, to secure the tower, to protect the ruler, and to provide for the citizenry.

“Arrangements made, I climb the walls of the inner courtyard in order to observe the attack. I find Breca there, standing also. It is he who holds the responsibility of defending the inner court and the Great Carnyx. He is the last defense for the citizenry of Niðergeard, but his first responsibility is to the Carnyx.

“‘I do not see them. What are they doing?’

“‘They are making feints,’ Breca informs me. ‘They are masking their true numbers and movements. All we can do now is fend them off where we can and wait for the main body. But it could come from any angle—or several.’

“‘Where is Ealdstan?’

“Breca shakes his head. He does not know, but he is certain he will arrive. Ealdstan has always been our defender against the yfelgópes—he stood always on the first line against the attackers. He will not fail us.

“We stand there, gazing out at the sea of hostile besiegers, with one thought in my mind:
Where is Ealdstan?

“I feel a hand at my shoulder. ‘There,’ Breca says, pointing.

“I watch as yfelgópes come bubbling up over the wall, mounting it on ladders and scaffolding. Heaven save me, I am relieved. Finally, the fight has come at last. I hear the order to arms and my
heart rises within me. The lifiendes are on the move—Kelm and his army must be feeling the threat of it; that is the reason for their attack. It is desperation.

“We fight. Salt of sweat and tang of blood rich on our lips. For days our long argument rages, sometimes within the city, sometimes without. Often I held the wall with the other defenders, those of the townsfolk who suited up to force the enemy back.

“Time carries on. The enemy rarely flags. The only way to slay an yfelgóp permanently—as with the sleeping warriors—is to kill it by mortal hand, or to remove its head from its body and heart from its chest. But in the heat of battle there is not always time for these operations. Very rarely, in fact.

“There comes one of those eerie quiets that occasionally pass in battle—when warriors become fatigued in body and spirit, and, by what feels like mutual consent, withdraw from the field to regroup, recoup, and recover.

“Godmund decamps to the gap in the wall, which is still widening, crumbling away; it is a war council of sorts, come to meet. Those guards and citizens of Niðergeard who are still able to stand are doing so atop the outer walls and towers, but the battle is taking its toll.

“Modwyn is being summoned from the tower. She arrives, glorious in her silver and green enamel armour. She has brought a map of the city and spreads it onto a slab of stone.

“It is explained to us how the city stood, and plans are made for the next press of attack. For now the yfelgópes are unnaturally calm. We mean to press our advantage while there is power still in our limbs.

“It is just then that we hear the sound of digging—a harsh, grating, staccato of pickaxes and pounded chisels. In a city carved from the very stone that it rests upon, each strike of axe and tool reverberates through the whole and feels like a blow to the bones.
There is nowhere to escape the noise of it. The besiegers work ceaselessly, continuously. The noise is deafening, maddening, and terrifying. Sometimes, in the silence, I hear those noises again.

“We do not know why the digging has started just then, after so many years. Something must have changed, but we don’t know what. We wonder if it could be the lifiendes—could they be so successful so quickly? Could this be the final, desperate lunge of our all-but-defeated attackers? Or have the lifiendes failed and this was to be the killing blow?”

Frithfroth stopped and turned toward them, his eyes at last seeing them again.

“I never did find out the answer to that question. Did you succeed?”

“Yes,” said Daniel.

“Ah,” he said.

The farther down the Langtorr they went, the wider the stairs and expanse of their descending circle. They passed a few iron doors set in dark alcoves but did not explore them. There were other viewing holes that looked down to the city below, which grew closer and closer. They were able to pick out more details each time, evidence of the truth of Frithfroth’s tale—collapsed buildings, and then as they went farther, cracked walls; closer still, littered streets.

A rope handrail suddenly sprouted from the wall, which some basic spiral carvings ran above. Both Freya and Daniel recognised the pattern, and they knew to look for the door to Ealdstan’s study. When they came upon it, however, they found the door warped—almost bent in two—and lying against the wall. Inside, they could see a large stone table had been upended.

“What happened here?” Vivienne asked.

Frithfroth came back up a few steps and looked at the ruined portal. “Godmund decides it is time for answers, and so he comes looking for the person he believes has them. Ealdstan has not
shown a whisker of himself since the battle, and no one has been able to spare the time to search for him. Some of the tower guard, Modwyn, and I search the entire tower. Every room but this is searched—Ealdstan’s metal door is shut tight. We pound and kick at it, but to no avail.

“Godmund brings smiths in to cut and pull the door apart from the wall. He thinks to dig the worm out of its lair, but it is too late. Ealdstan has departed. And still the digging continues. The grains of sand of Niðergeard’s fall are continuing their trickle down.

“Our situation is most desperate. And is about to become worse.”

^{_____________________}
III
^{_____________________}

The four of them reached the ground floor of the Langtorr and looked over the rail of one of the two wide staircases into the grand central foyer. Apart from being dusty and dark, it was much as they remembered it. It had been badly kept up—two tapestries were hanging on the wall at an odd angle—but otherwise it was not ruined or ransacked in any way.

“Incredible,” Vivienne said, pressing a hand against her chest. “In all my days, I could never imagine . . .”

Frithfroth continued down the stairs below them. He stood in the centre of the reception room, where Daniel and Freya had once been welcomed by Modwyn.

“This is where we are overcome,” he said. “This is where I am betrayed. While I collapse in exhaustion—I who should be most watchful—two guards are murdered and the gates of the inner keep unbarred. The doors of the Langtorr itself open in a wide and warm welcome to our enemy.

“Something has changed in the air. I can’t think what until I
realise that the bone-shivering sound of the tunnelling has ceased. I am still cursing Cnapa for not waking me when I see his body lying in the door of the Langtorr, bleeding his life blood out onto the ground.

“I run to him and kneel, but I know before I am within a pace of him that he is gone. I put a hand beneath my faithful servant’s head and feel a knife at my neck.” Frithfroth raised his hand and tilted his head upward.

“It is Cnafa. His dagger drips dark blood down my chest—not my own, but that of his brother. I demand to know the reason.

“‘I serve the ruler of Niðergeard,’ he tells me insolently. ‘His wishes are my orders.’

“I spit on his orders. A swarm of yfelgópes envelop me and I am taken to Kelm, also called Kafhand, who stands beneath the arch of the inner wall. It is the first time I have seen him. He is massive and terrible, like the face of God’s wrath. Behind him stands the yfelgóp forces, and before them, pushed into the ground, are the people of Niðergeard.

“Kelm the conqueror looks at me with killing eyes. ‘Where is the woman Modwyn?’ he demands.

“‘By now she will be safely far away,’ I answer.

“‘Remove his left hand.’”

Vivienne gasped as Frithfroth stretched out his stump of a left arm. “A sword and a fire are brought; the one heats the other until it is red hot. The swordsman is skilful and strong, his cut swift and clean.” His eyes poured tears as he retracted his arm.

“Through the fog of pain, Kelm speaks to me once again. ‘Where is the woman, Modwyn? Where is the man, Godmund? Tell me.’

“For the second time, I spit on his wishes.

“‘Remove his right hand.’”

Frithfroth raised his other arm. “It is strange. I can feel my fingers, feel my fists clench, but neither are there.”

The door out of the Langtorr was open, just a crack, perhaps not even wide enough for one person to slip in. The patch of stone just inside of it where Breca and Cnapa had died was stained dark. They looked out to the deserted city. Silver lamps from building fixtures, half buried in rubble, threw light onto ruined streets and buildings.

“What happened then?” Vivienne asked.

Frithfroth swallowed, blinked, and then looked at them all. He had returned to them from the past. “There is a mighty shaking. All of those within the inner courtyard, all of those except for me, fall instantly dead. Those holding me drop to either side, just as my severed hands had, and as lifeless.

“Kelm, standing just feet away on the other side of the gate, is taken aback. As I rise to my feet and run back to the tower, I hear him give an order to pursue. I leap over the body of the traitorous Cnafa on my flight back to safety, straining for every inch.

“Only when I reach the tower’s doors and hear no sound of pursuit do I risk a look back. Those who had followed Kelm’s orders had fallen upon crossing the threshold. Kelm just stands, frozen, not sure if he himself should risk crossing. I come in, push the doors together with my shoulders, and fall senseless.”

Frithfroth’s head tilted downward. “I have been here in the years since. Ealdstan is departed now—this is the age of Gád Gristgrennar. The city is in ruin. They ravaged it after their victory. I could hear them . . . collapsing buildings, attacking the statues. The first thing they did was to raise a hero’s throne—to elevate it higher than the buildings around it. And they cheered Kelm as he mounted it.”

Frithfroth fell silent. After a time it became clear that he was finished.

“So what about Godmund?” Freya asked. “Where is he?”

Frithfroth shook his head. “Truly, I do not have any notion. He is not in the tower. I assumed he escaped and that he would
return after rousing an army, but time passes and he remains unseen . . . Perhaps he was slain after all.”

"What was it that killed everybody—that stopped them from entering the tower?" Daniel asked.

"That was Modwyn's power. Her last gift before she left."

"She's gone too?"

"Yes," said Frithfroth despondently. "She, too, is gone."

“You said ‘the age of Gád’ just now,” Vivienne said. She had been inspecting the large tapestries that were hanging off the wall but turned to face Frithfroth. “What do you mean by that?”

“Is that not apparent? He rules here.”

“No,” Daniel said. “Frithfroth, I’m sorry for not returning earlier, but . . . Gád’s dead. I killed his heart. Freya saw him die. Right, Freya? Tell him.”

Frithfroth turned his lifeless eyes toward her. She nodded. “Yes, that’s right,” she said, meekly lying.

“Is Kelm still out there?” Daniel asked.

“Yes,” Frithfroth said in a low tone.

“Who else commands the yfelgópes besides Kelm?”

“Where are you going with this, Daniel?” Vivienne asked.

“Information. We came here for information, right? What about it, Frithfroth?”

“Kelm is the only one who orders them. There are no captains or lieutenants, as far as I can make out.”

Daniel was walking back and forth in the entryway, craning his neck to see more of what lay beyond the large doors. “Is there any chance that he would know that we’re here?” he asked.

“If you entered by the upper door, I do not know of one.”

Daniel turned, excited, his hands opening and closing at his side. “We can take him off guard!” he exclaimed in a hushed voice. “We can defeat the yfelgópes by cutting off their head—killing their leader!”

“I’m not sure, Daniel . . .” Vivienne said.

“No,” said Freya, as firmly as she could, turning and coming back to the centre of the room. “We should stay here. There’s more going on than we know; we should find out what it is.”

“We know enough. We know how Niðergeard got taken; we know that Kelm’s here. If we go fast, we can find him, kill him, and hole up back here and wait for Ecgbryt and Alex to arrive.”

“But then what would the yfelgópes do?” Freya asked. “There’s no telling how they’d react. They could completely flip out—run away, chase after us—it’s not in the plan.”

“The plan is to liberate Niðergeard, and this is a way to do it.”

“No, we’ve got to wait here for help.”

Daniel smirked at her. “I guess people don’t really change,” he said after a moment. “Viv, you agree with me, right?”

Vivienne looked from Daniel to Freya and then back. Her concerned, puzzled face was a rigid mask. “Actually, no,” she said. “Daniel, there’s no rush. We can look around here, and—”

“There’s every reason to rush! We’ll have him off guard! We can get a start on liberating the city. This is why we
came
here.”

“No, it’s not. We came here for information, first and foremost,” Vivienne said forcefully. “Everything else happens afterward.”

Daniel turned to look out into Niðergeard again. “Well, I’m going to do it. I don’t care what you say.”

“Daniel, please,” Freya pleaded. “It’s really too dangerous out there. You don’t know—”

“I’ll be fine, Freya, really,” Daniel said condescendingly. “It’s sweet of you to worry, but I can handle myself.”

No,
Freya thought,
people really don’t change.
She recognised a crazy look in his eyes. He’d caught the scent of the quest again. He wanted to do something heroic.
This is getting out of hand . . .