Frithfroth said no more and did not move away from the throne’s side.
“All right, well,” Vivienne said. “I believe I’ve got a fairly clear idea now of what happened here. Freya, would you agree?”
Freya nodded. “Yep. No questions here. Maybe a few later, but, um . . .”
“Good Frithfroth, keeper of the Langtorr,” Vivienne began in an officious voice. “May we, by your leave, obtain freedom to walk these halls?”
Frithfroth blinked. His brows contracted and his mouth twitched open. For a brief moment Freya saw the man he used to be, before Niðergeard fell. It passed, and the old man’s face slackened and his eyes turned to stare into the distance. He bowed his head, however, in response to the formal request.
Vivienne tugged at Freya’s shoulder and the two women made swift but careful tracks back up the stairs.
_____________________
II
_____________________
Daniel looked down from a window in the guest room floor hallway. At first sight, it was still and lifeless, but after a time he started to pick out small movements. He would see a dark shadow shift and roll over in its sleep—a yfelgóp. Studying it closer, he could see that it was lying next to others—maybe fifteen of them, all lying asleep in the second floor of a gutted, roofless building. They were so vulnerable and unaware. He wondered if there would be a way to kill them as they slept. To collapse the building, perhaps? Or slit their throats as they snored through their wretched dreams?
No.
Eyes on the prize,
he reminded himself. Even if he managed
it well and quietly, and nobody saw him, any stray activity would run the risk of putting Kelm on alert. And if Kelm had even the slightest degree of wariness as a result of such an action, then it would be too costly. He would simply have to strike quickly and slip away before he was discovered. Daniel could feel that this was what he should do; he had faith; he believed.
Now he just had to spot an opening. He continued to scan
the ruins below him, moving from window to window, becoming more adept at spotting the yfelgópes from his vantage. They seemed to be rather lethargically guarding the city, if indeed they were guarding it at all.
Occupying
it was probably the correct term, but in the laziest fashion imaginable. Those that were dotted along rooftops seemed more interested in squabbling with each other or playing games of chance than keeping watch. Years with no threat to give their vigilance worth left them lazy.
All the better for me,
Daniel thought.
He noted the familiar landmarks that were once his favourite places. It broke his heart to think that the fascinating stonework friezes on the buildings were now almost all damaged beyond repair. He looked for the blacksmith’s house where his sword had been named but couldn’t find it in the dark rubble. The marble courtyard with the intricate red and white paving was no longer empty but now contained a huge pile of rubble, presumably made with the debris of the collapsed buildings around it.
Was this the hero’s throne that Frithfroth had told them about? The courtyard was about midway between the Langtorr and the ruined wall of trees, but at his current height, it was hard for Daniel to make out what exactly was going on with the heap. He could see the back of what could be the throne, as well as a curve of what might be someone sitting on it, but he couldn’t tell for certain. There was yfelgóp activity around it—figures approached, stood for a while in what might be a deferential posture, and then left. They were obviously addressing or being addressed by something atop the pile. Daniel decided to sit and watch.
He watched for at least an hour before the curved edge of what was on the throne detached itself and hobbled down the stone heap—it looked massively overweight—and then started moving down the streets toward the Langtorr. As it came nearer, Daniel edged away from the window, so that he only peeked through the
very edge of the window pane. He doubted that he would be spotted this high up, at this distance, in a darkened hallway, but he didn’t want to chance it.
The more he watched the figure, the more Daniel became certain that it was Kelm. Although he walked the streets unescorted, he would often stop a moment here and there to abuse or issue instructions to one of his minions. He was not attended or, apparently, guarded in any way. How lazy had Kelm become, resting on his laurels? Overconfidence would be his downfall.
Kelm turned a corner and stumbled on a prone yfelgóp who was lazing against a wall. Daniel imagined that the victim’s leg must have certainly snapped, but he leapt up pretty quickly anyway.
The war chief passed out of his sight, and Daniel moved across to the next window, just in time to see him enter one of the few buildings in the city left whole. He stayed in there for some time and didn’t come out all the time that Daniel watched it.
The hours passed. Daniel kept his eyes trained on the hut. He became hungry and ate from his provisions. He was aware of Freya and Vivienne moving around in the tower, but he didn’t go to speak to them, and they didn’t come to see him.
He fought tiredness. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately—not at all, in fact. Not since he got back from Elfland. The last week or so, just as he’d been on the edge of sleep, he would feel a sudden terror and an abrupt feeling of plunging. Each time he jerked himself awake—once nearly falling out of his bed. He would lay awake, panting, in a sweat, gripping the mattress through the sheets, counting the minutes until morning.
Suddenly, Daniel tensed. He threw his arms out to brace himself against the edge of the windowsill. For a second he thought that he had fallen through it and was plummeting to his death. But the glass was still in front of him. His forehead hadn’t even
touched it. Just thinking about sleep made him tired enough to drift off.
He’d sleep when he was finished with the mission. It was all side effects of the anxiety of the situation, no doubt. Either that, or something mystical that would guide him toward completion of his new mission. Either way, it was good.
Daniel wondered why there were so few yfelgópes below him. The city should be flooded. But they were only scattered here and there, in clumps or singly. Where were the rest of them? Did the knights really kill as many as Frithfroth claimed, or were they off somewhere else?
Well, it wasn’t his problem now, and Daniel was tired of waiting. He had enough information. Now he needed to move. He pulled out a map of Niðergeard that Alex had made for him and studied the route he would take, comparing it to the streets outside, noting obstacles. He would have to memorise the route exactly. There would be no room for error, even the slightest mistake. As he contemplated his route, an idea struck him. He grinned gleefully, clenching and unclenching his hands in eager anticipation.
_____________________
III
_____________________
Daniel stood just inside the door, watching the flames of the fire flare up and then die down. He’d brought one of the moldy sheets down from the room he’d once stayed in and set it alight in the dining hall, out of sight of the main entrance. It gave off a few large billows of brown smoke and then died down into a ball of bright orange worms that chased each other over the black, charred ball.
Should he find Freya and Vivienne and tell them what he was
doing?
No, what good would come of that?
Best just slip out and surprise them later with his mission accomplished.
He had kept the gun he had been given in Elfland. It was oiled
now and loaded with new bullets from Alex’s armoury at his family manse. He had a belt holster for it and three other magazines clipped beside it. He only planned on using his gun during phase two of his plan—making it back to the Langtorr alive—and only if he had no other option. No doubt, at some point—unless he was very, very lucky—he’d be discovered, and the yfelgópes would learn he’d killed their leader, and if he had to blast his way back here, then he would.
He discarded his bag and coat onto a low iron table. Then he stripped off his shirt and T-shirt so his chest and arms were bare. Bending down, he rubbed his hands in the now fairly cool ashes of the burned bedding; it was a black, greasy soot—perfect. He rubbed it on his body in long, dark strokes, making sure to build it up good and dark. He propped up a metal serving platter against the wall and used it as a mirror in order to make sure he got his face and back as well.
When he was finished, he stepped back and looked at the dim, distorted image in the serving plate. At the most casual of glances, he’d make a passable yfelgóp, especially if he emulated their hunched posture and scrabbling gait.
He grabbed his sword, Hero-Maker, and drew it from its scabbard. With the remaining ash, he darkened its blade, covering the brilliant shine until it only reflected a dull, oily-grey sheen. His heart pounding, Daniel did a few warm-up stretches and then padded back into the main hall.
Time to be a hero,
he thought as he crossed to the door. He paused, watchful and alert. The air that came through the small crack was not cooler or warmer or fresher, it just moved more quickly. He gently pulled the door open. Thankfully, it did not squeak or creak, and, stepping over the brown patch left by Cnapa’s blood, he was able to slip through it, only to pause briefly in the shadow of the archway. The wide, shallow steps spread before him.
He noted what must be the remnants of Cnafa’s body, splayed out over several of the wide steps, the skin brown and drawn, like a Hollywood mummy, his clothes decaying, the blue threads of his shirt turned black.
Silver lamps lit every step, making this one of the brightest areas of the city, but if he stuck by the wall, he could move in relative darkness. Skirting past the elaborately carved and highly textured wall, moving slowly, he circumnavigated the courtyard and made it to the inner wall’s gate.
He paused a moment to catch his breath; he was already panting anxiously. From this angle, the debris pile in the courtyard didn’t seem as haphazard as it had from the window above. There were two lines of silver lamps that bisected it from the top, the ridges of what could have been stairs, and the outline of a large chair on top of it.
That must be the hero’s throne.
There were no yfelgópes in view, but he knew that a group of them were lounging on the rooftop above the building opposite the gates. Unfortunately, there were no buildings closer than thirty feet to the inner wall to provide cover. And the dark buildings might contain any number of hidden eyes. To his advantage, however, there was plenty of rubble and detritus in piles against the wall; he wouldn’t be a stark shape against a plain background, at least.
He made his way quickly through the pile of dry corpses that lay across the gateway, trying not to think too much about what was beneath his feet, and began following his route along the outside of the Langtorr wall. He kept his back hunched, head up, and body tense and poised, trying vaguely to emulate the yfelgóp stance.
He encountered his first yfelgóp after only a dozen or so paces. It was sleeping with its back against the wall, and Daniel found it very easy to thrust his sword through its throat and upward into the brain stem. Its eyes flicked open briefly and Daniel wondered if it was looking at him or if it was just an autonomic response.
Then the eyes clouded, and the moment was gone. Not having time to wipe his blade, Daniel just gave it a few good shakes to get most of the blood off and continued his prowl.
There were no other yfelgópes along his path, and it wasn’t until he started navigating the streets of Niðergeard that he saw any more of them—and luckily they were just forms and silhouettes glimpsed in side streets or chattering in buildings. A group of them passed twenty feet ahead of him, but he simply staggered slowly to a pile of rubble and hunkered down until they moved on.
Daniel was getting close to the hut now—he could see the cluster of listless guards sitting in front of it. They didn’t worry him too much, since he had already figured out a way to get past them. He knew from looking down on it from the tower that there was a hole in the roof that could not be seen from the street. The rubble on the far side of the building was high enough, he had judged, to allow him entry to the roof. If he was quiet, no one would hear him, and if he was quick, the yfelgópes on the other rooftops wouldn’t see him either.
Now was the time. He sheathed his sword and, darting forward, hurried around the side of the building to scrabble up the fallen masonry. He moved on all fours, trying to spread his weight evenly, anchoring himself on the largest chunks to support himself. Providence favoured him, and he made it up the single story without anything beneath him shifting so much as a centimeter.
The roof was completely flat, with a slight ridge around it at the wall’s edge. A dark, shifting shadow floated above the hole in the opposite corner. In the low light it took Daniel a few moments to recognise it as smoke. Crouching, he stayed near the wall to avoid causing more of the roof to cave in, and reached the hole.
The floor below was almost completely dark and still except for an orange glow emanating from one corner of the room and a brown, peaty smoke wafting through the hole—a makeshift
chimney. He couldn’t see Kelm. If he was down there, it’d be over quickly. If he wasn’t, then Daniel would wait for him to return and ambush him from the shadows.
There was a large boulder directly beneath him and it came up nearly halfway to the ceiling. It was the work of a moment to hop down from the roof directly onto it and then slide down into the corner, out of sight of the rest of the room.
Daniel had been completely silent and was therefore hopefully undetected, but he sat behind the boulder for a few long moments, just listening. He could hear no sound except for the hiss of the fire and the distant bickering of some passing yfelgópes.
Drawing his sword, he moved around the large, lumpy rock, pressing himself into it to lighten his footfalls. He crouched behind a low outcropping that afforded him a view of the rest of the room. There was indeed a coal fire burning on the other side of the room and near that, an elaborate, wrought iron chair, currently unoccupied. Daniel released his breath in a sigh. He would just have to sit tight and await Kelm’s return, however long that would be.