Ross Lawhead - A Hero's throne

“He’s the Langtorr’s sort of. . housekeeper person,” Freya said a little uncertainly. “But when we knew him, he wasn’t-” Freya didn’t have to describe the unfortunate man in order to make her point clear. The long, gaunt face was definitely that of Ni?ergeard’s ward and the Langtorr’s protector, but he was wasted away, almost literally a shadow of the already slight and wiry man whom they had first met. His eyes were sunken and his cheeks collapsed in on themselves. He kept advancing, and now Freya could see his hunched shoulders and thin limbs. He held his arms up to his chest, but he had no hands-only two terrible-looking puckered scars at the end of his wrists. He wore a dusty, fraying tunic that had decayed through in places. Leather garments beneath his shirt were similarly deteriorating and, she believed, rotting.

Daniel and Freya both retreated back a step. Daniel found his voice first.

“I remember,” Frithfroth said then, in a voice that came from a very long way away. “I remember. . Daniel and Freya, the lifiendes. Have you come to destroy this place?”

Yes , thought Freya. Perhaps.

“No,” said Daniel.

“Pity.” Frithfroth looked down at his scarred wrists. “So what do you want?”

“We want to help,” Daniel said, turning back to Frithfroth, whose face was impassive, showing no thought or emotion. “We’re here to liberate you. We’re here to run the yfelgopes right out of the city.”

“First, however, we want answers,” said Vivienne firmly.

“Answers,” Frithfroth repeated, staring into nothing. “Answers depend on questions.” He turned and started walking awkwardly down the stairs-a slow, unbalanced walk, halfway between a lurch and a limp. He led them down the corkscrewing stairs into the Langtorr, the last stronghold at the centre of Ni?ergeard.

They hadn’t gone far before they passed a small hole in the thick wall that afforded a view down to the city. Daniel was the first to pass by it, and he stood, looking wordlessly through it. Freya joined him and crowded her face near the window as well. Frithfroth, aware that they were no longer following, waited silently a few steps below.

“Let me have a look,” Vivienne said, and Daniel stepped back to allow her room at the window to look through.

The plunging feeling in Freya’s stomach wasn’t caused just by the dizzying height, but by the familiar sight of the city. Far below them, Freya could make out the dim lights that illuminated the streets and what looked like a perfectly curved pile of rubble.

“The wall is gone,” Daniel lamented. “Crumbled away into nothing.”

“And there are other ruined buildings,” Freya said, spotting irregular piles of stone in the square stone buildings below them.

“They attacked. ." Frithfroth said, continuing his slow, awkward gait down the stairs. “They attacked. . It is hardly what they. .” Frithfroth paused and put the stumps of his wrists to the temples of his head.

“I see it all as if before me every moment: The girl-now, the girl I judge to have a good head on her. But the boy is too skinny by half-he looks sickly. A boy of that age should already be filling out and gaining strength. And his eyes are constantly wide and goggling-eager though they may be, he has not yet seen the sights that turns a boy into a man, much less a warrior.

“I hear Godmund giving final cautions and advices-they fall on inattentive ears, and I fancy even he does not mark fully what he is saying. That’s of little matter. We are all just marking time until Ealdstan deigns to grace us with his presence.

“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 Ni?ergeard, 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 yfelgopes-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 yfelgopes 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 yfelgop 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 Ni?ergeard 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 yfelgopes 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?”