A Hero's Throne (An Ancient Earth) (9 page)

He rounded back into the dark area between the boulder and the wall and slouched down to wait. As he focused on stilling his breathing, there was some part of his brain that was buzzing at him, trying to get his attention, telling him that something didn’t quite make sense, something was out of place.

What was it, exactly? The boulder, that was it—it was out of place. What was it doing here? It was too large to have come through the hole in the roof. It might have been rolled through the door, but why? It might always have been here, but again, why? That was a puzzle. And why did it feel like it moved just then?

A terrifying idea eclipsed Daniel’s mind like a storm cloud. He turned and looked at the rounded outcropping he had crouched behind.

It had a face—a bulbous, exaggerated face with rock-like
features, but a face nonetheless, with a nose, mouth, ears, and eyes that were looking directly at him.

Daniel very nearly had time to panic. He brought his sword up and was still in the process of taking a step back when the boulder shifted into a blur of motion and the world went completely dark.

^{_____________________}
IV
^{_____________________}

“You found the gap in my inner perimeter. Well done. In my defense, however, I didn’t seriously expect anyone to hop onto a troll’s head in order to exploit it. That was an exceptionally impressive display of stupidity—I truly wish I had been there to see it.”

The words were deep and thick and came to Daniel from a long way off. Somehow they managed to find their way through the whistling tumult around his head and into his ears. He was falling—falling fast, and it was this, more than the voice, that brought him out of his stupor. He blinked, brought up his head, and looked straight into light blue, sympathetic eyes.

His arms were twisted behind and above him, bound by what, he couldn’t tell yet. His left side was mostly numb and throbbed ominously in the places that he could still feel. That side of his face felt swollen and his teeth tingled. What had happened? Had the building fallen on him?

Then he remembered the face and he blinked but felt only one eye move. He tried to move his hand to feel it, but a metallic rattling reminded him that he was chained.

That was that, then. He tried to curse, but no words came out of his mouth; it was plugged up for some reason.

Daniel raised his eyes, making the world rock like a boat. He had to tilt his head upwards, for the person in front of him was at least six and a half feet tall, and huge—bulky like a wrestler or those men
on the world’s strongest man shows. He had the untoned physique of someone who carried immense, raw strength in his limbs. His chest was thick and barrel-like, but his stomach bulged out so far that it made his torso pear shaped. He was dressed in black leather that was studded in some places and covered with interlocking chains in others. His skin was dark grey. Behind him was the raised, altar-like pile of ruined stone, with the rough-hewn throne sitting atop it.

Daniel tried to focus on his slick, bullet head with piggy eyes and form his name. “Kuh . . . elmuh?” A thick stream of saliva and blood poured from his lip.

“Yes. Naturally. Groggy? I am not surprised. You got hit by a troll. You’re lucky she only hit you once. Twice or three times and you would have been a bag of skin filled with jelly.

“But she’s a tame troll. Trained. She knew to check her swing. All you took was a playful swat.” Kelm moved his hand across, as if shooing a fly. “You’ll live. Teeth don’t look so good, but maybe you’ll hold on to them. You’ve been hanging here for quite a time; I take your return to consciousness as an encouraging sign of your physical resilience.”

Kelm was illumined by a nearby brazier full of coal.

“Now tell me. Why
are
you here?”

Daniel’s words came as separate, mangled syllables. “Ah. Wuh. Ana. Jhu-oin. Oo.”

“You want to
join
me?”

Daniel nodded, a tilt of his head quickly downward and then slowly up. It was a long shot. That he came in “uniform,” as it were, dressed as a yfelgóp, was the only possible excuse he had of making it out of whatever Kelm had in store for him . . . Likely death, with a whole lot worse preceding it.

Kelm straightened. His thick lips pursed. “Join me? That’s certainly bold. You blacken your body and run around without your shirt on. You look the part; I’ll give you that.”

His lips shifted and drooped into an enormous frown. “Unfortunately for you, I am not so gullible as to believe that a man dropping through my roof with a sword, and a gun, is trying to be my friend, no matter how ridiculously he paints himself. And I still would not believe you even if your sword was not still sticky with the blood of a murdered yfelgóp. Which it is.”

“Pr’ve. Muh-sulf.”

“You wanted to prove yourself?” Kelm chuckled. “Bravo. But no more games. I know your name, Daniel Tully, and I know what sort of person you are.”

Kelm slapped him across the face. There was an explosion of pain very far off, and equally as far off, a cry of pain somewhere between a growl and a howl.

“Who did you come with? How many are you? What are your objectives?” Each question was an angry bark. Daniel could only reel, his head spinning. He could feel the pit of unconsciousness open at his feet, the pit he would fall into if he did not stay awake.

Kelm wiped his hand on his chest. If he wanted answers to his questions, he seemed happy enough not to pursue them. He took a few steps back and settled his weight on the back of his feet.

“You
should
join us,” he said in a deep voice. “Niðergeard should be destroyed. You have no idea of the slavery that Niðergeard has subjected your country and your people to. The centuries of control that it has exerted on the course of this nation. The hold that it’s had on the neck of history.”

Kelm’s eyes flicked up and down Daniel. “I was told about you, young Master Tully. I was told about what they did to you and the girl. They picked you up, sharpened your resolve with their lies, and hurled you like a weapon straight at a target. I am a warrior, a very cunning and intelligent one, but I have never used children in a campaign, for any reason, much less turned a young boy and a young girl into assassins.

“And you still are an assassin, aren’t you? I can see it. Trapped, but an assassin nonetheless. They did their job well in shaping you.”

Daniel did not take his eyes from Kelm, even though they were watering and he wanted more than anything to close them and drift into sleep. But it was vital to look like he was taking it in, like he was being convinced of Kelm’s stories. The only way out was through. But it would be easier if he didn’t have to fight for each thought his mind developed.

“How long have you been living the lies of Niðergeard? Since you were how old? Thirteen? Twelve? What did you give up for them? And did they give you any thanks? Any reward?”

Daniel’s vision blurred and reeled. The words
thanks
and
reward
went straight to his heart. That’s the only thing that had hurt him, and it had hurt him deeply. He wanted to be acknowledged. Deep down, he wanted to be a knight, sleeping, rising in victory to fight the final battle . . .

Somewhere along the line it had gone wrong.

Kelm’s face wore an expression that Daniel might have guessed to be sympathy.

“You were nothing to them, Daniel. Do you thank a hammer once you have used it to pound in a nail? Do you thank a stick that spears a fish?”

Daniel set his jaw defiantly.

Kelm came close, close enough that Daniel could feel the hot, damp breath on his face.

“Who is with you? How many are you? What are your objectives?”

The questions snapped Daniel out of his self-pity. He had to stay strong. He had a mission here. He had failed the first directive, but there were others. Namely: find the Great Carnyx, and find Godmund.

Daniel made no reply.

Kelm just smiled in an easy, paternal way, straightened, slapped him viciously again, and then called into the darkness, “Lock him up.”

There was a heavy clinking to his right and his left arm went slack, renewing the waves of fire that swept through him. He heard himself cry out in his muffled way. Then his right went slack, and as Kelm disappeared into the darkness, the yfelgópes came to take him away.

^{_____________________}
V
^{_____________________}

Daniel had attracted a lot of attention on the way to the dungeons of Niðergeard. The cells under the northern part of the city had rarely been used, but they stood ready to impart damp, cold, and moldy misery.

Daniel shivered as the yfelgóp hoard pushed him down a dark little corridor.

His wrists were crossed in front of him, bound in very thick and coarse rope. His eyes still weren’t as accustomed to the lack of light as the yfelgópes’ were, so he walked in near total darkness. They were pushing him quickly down the passageways—quicker than Daniel thought he could go.

“Wuh—ate. Gemmee. Minnit,” he said, staggering but not falling. He was too bound in by yfelgópes to fall over completely. One of them gave him a shove and he toppled the other way, where he was shoved roughly back into the circle again.

They kept on like that for a while, treating him like a pinball, then finally stopped. Daniel heard the sound of keys clanking and an iron lock squeak, and then he was shoved sideways into the darkness. He sprawled and hit the ground on his right side—thankfully, not his bruised left—and rolled onto his stomach.

Words were shouted at him, but through the pain he couldn’t arrange them into meaning. He lay there for a few moments, pressing the hot, throbbing side of his face against the cool, damp stone floor. Then he started to shiver, so he got up and, feeling his way awkwardly with his bound hands, found the sides and corners of the room he was in. The walls were roughly carved and, it seemed, almost perfectly cubic. There was a flat ridge opposite the narrow, iron door that ran the length of the wall. It was probably meant as a bed, but there was no matting on it.

He sat and hunched over, moaning softly, his fingers gently touching and inspecting his face. Nothing seemed to be broken, apart from his skin. It was hard to tell sweat and saliva from blood in the darkness. He moved his jaw open and from side to side to stop it from tightening up and then started probing the rest of him. Everything seemed pretty much intact, but it was hard to feel his ribs with his hands, bound as they were. He had taken quite a blow, though. How could he tell if he had a concussion? What were the tests for that? What was the treatment? He stretched out on the stone slab and closed his eyes but tried not to fall asleep.

It was hard to do. He fought to keep his eyes open, but already he could feel the slide into sleep that brought the terrible falling sensation. Maybe he should just go ahead and embrace the feeling—it couldn’t be very long before he slipped into unconsciousness. But there was something at the end of the fall that he could feel waiting for him, so he resisted it.

It may have been as much as an hour before he heard footsteps in the corridor again. He sat upright and stilled his breathing, listening to try to guess how many approached. His eyes had adjusted slightly to the darkness, but he still couldn’t see the inside of the cell. He could make out the cutaway sections of the iron door, a dull, dark grey against pure black.

It was the yfelgópes again. He could hear the slaps of their thin leather shoes. He tried to prepare himself, but he didn’t anticipate the apologetic whisper that issued from outside his door.

“Hsst! You in there.”

The whisper was an enquiry, not a shout or an order.

“Hello?” he ventured, his mouth still swollen but thankfully numb.

“You are Daniel, the lifiende. Daniel the quest-finisher.”

“Yessh,” he answered. “An’ you?”

“Incorrect,” the voice responded. “Incorrect order. Please listen and answer. We will ask four questions and then answer four of yours. What was your intent in coming here?”

Daniel paused for a moment. Was this another trick?

“Can . . . trust . . . you?”

“Incorrect! You must answer—”

“It is a valid query,” another voice piped up. “All answers he may provide are reliant and conditional on the answer to his.”

“Valid! A turnaround, then! You may ask three questions, and then we ask.”

Daniel swallowed in agony. “Who . . . are . . . you?”

“Disloyals,” the voice said with a sort of angry pride. “Rebels, mutineers, dissidents. We started following Gád because it made sense, or so we thought. However, reason cannot now condone his actions. We have begun . . . to doubt.”

“What . . . mean . . . doubt?” Daniel asked.

“Incongruences. Incongruences in spoken rhetoric, and inconsistencies in action. At first niggling irregularities, but on investigation turn out to be vast disconnects—rifts in reason. Bad logic. Undeniable, unconscionable. For those of us who believe, there is only one option: resist.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. This was an interesting development.
“Why . . . still . . . here?” he asked, mentally registering his third question.

“Where else to go? We do not know much of the caves of the Niðergearders, and would we be able to explain ourselves to those who found us? Would we be given the opportunity? Best to wait until better circumstances. These circumstances.”

“How . . . many . . . of you . . . are there?”

“That was your last question.”

“One more.”

“No! Us first. Who else is here with you?”

Daniel thought and framed his reply, sucking in saliva. “Just me. But more . . . on way.”

“Reinforcements? An army?”

Daniel thought. “Yes.”

“Is it Godmund?”

“No.”

“That is three,” said a third voice from the door. “He shall have more, and then we. One each, until the finish.”

“How . . . many . . . of you . . . are there?”

“Thirty-seven,” the voice answered promptly. “That we are in contact with—that we know of. There may be others whose system of logic has led them to doubt. It is often hard for us to find who those may be. Now we ask: what were your intentions in coming here?”