Ross Lawhead - A Hero's throne

“All that remained was the hero of the dragon’s helm. They disarmed him, cut him so that no muscle moved any bone, and then divided him up amongst themselves so that each could have a talisman to show their defeat of the greatest hero in the western kingdoms. Two had his jawbone, many had his teeth, the fingers of his hands, so, too, the bones of his shins. .”

Frithfroth started back toward the stairs, through the bodies and writhing shapes on the floor.

“Those left in Ni?ergeard could only watch in dread. Godmund had armed the citizenry and given them all instruction, but when the army of the enemy marched upon us, they did not last an hour.

“Kelm himself claimed the dragonhelm. And once he had, he threw it over the Langtorr wall just to spite. I recovered it and moved it here.” He indicated a silver helmet traced with gold that lay on the throne in the centre of the dais. It had a winged dragon mounted on it, its arms and legs clutching at the sides, its wings joining around the back.

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 Ni?ergeard 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.

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 yfelgop. 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 yfelgopes 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 yfelgop 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 yfelgop 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 yfelgopes 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 Ni?ergeard 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.