A Hero's throne

would be the most impressive, make the greatest impact. And yet it was quite a trick to manage it. There were twenty-eight of them in all; twenty-eight traitorous heads of enemy agents. And it was no easy task getting the heads off of the shoulders. It had become easier after the first few when he knew more what he was doing, but then he’d had to work out some way to carry them all back. He’d struck upon taking a few spears and skewering them onto it, threading them on top of one another like beads on a needle. That took unique skill as well. Then he’d taken all the belts and bands he could find and tied the spears together so that he could drag the heads behind him.

It wasn’t easy work. They kept getting caught on rocks and outcroppings, and he had to stop and free them. It was possible he had lost one or two heads on the way. And if they were smelling worse, at least they’d become less messy, the blood and entrails already long gone.

At least it was easy enough to find his way back to Ni?ergeard; he just had to follow the light and keep himself low, out of sight.

“Sticky. Sticky. Lengthy. Length. Stick. In a pocket. In a pocket. In a pocket.”

When he got to the pile of dust that once used to be the outer wall, he thought he’d announce himself. It would be better not to let any yfelgopes see him without some sort of announcement, especially since he was dragging over two dozen of their heads behind him.

“Kelm! Kelm! I want Kelm!” he called at the top of his voice. He was surprised at how ragged and quiet it sounded.

At first there was no response, and then the terrible idea occurred to him that he might be alone down here in a deserted city. What would he do then? Just as he began to fret in earnest, tears springing to his eyes, a yfelgop poked his head over the top of a roof. Looking around, he saw others as well, standing in archways, leering around the corners of buildings. One or two of them ducked away; a few of them started moving cautiously toward him.

He pulled the heads up onto the pile of rubble and then stopped. His arms ached so badly he thought that they’d just pop off. Yfelgopes were now surrounding him, looking at the heads, looking at him, weapons drawn. Keep it sticky, keep it sticky and folded down, he told himself. He gave them what he hoped was a winning smile and then casually rubbed his eyes. They were so puffy it was a constant effort of will to keep them open.

And then Kelm was there. Right in front of him, lumbering toward him with a puzzled look on his face. And well he should be puzzled, Daniel thought. He obviously wouldn’t have guessed that I could have tumbled to his little pantomime so quickly. Try to pump information out of me by sending some yfelgopes to “break me out” of prison and trick me into thinking I’m their friend and telling them everything I know. You’ll have to get up earlier in the morning than that to catch me out.

Daniel realised he wasn’t talking, just thinking loudly. “Hello, Kelm. I’m back. Did you miss me?”

“Scarcely. I didn’t even know you’d gone. Where have you been?”

“Recognise who I’ve got here with me?” Daniel bent down and hoisted one of the spears up. It had eight heads on it, each one pierced above the jaw and resting cheek-to-cheek next to the others. Daniel thought that one of them might be Argument. Something started to drip on his hand.

Kelm looked at the heads and Daniel, blankly.

Daniel almost laughed-or maybe he actually did. Kelm was putting on a good act. He really did act like he didn’t have a clue as to who his own double agents were.

“I’ll help you out with a hint: these are the ones that released me from prison.”

If Kelm had said anything at that point-questioned, commented, or even just opened his mouth in surprise- then Daniel might not have doubted himself in that moment. As it was, Kelm just stood, looking at him, his face still blank, his eyes searching for context in Daniel’s expression.

Does he really not know? Daniel asked himself. Or is he that good at pretending? Perhaps Gad sent them, unknown to Kelm. Maybe I’m doing this the wrong way; maybe I should play along. It was like a game of chess, each player making their move, doing the best with what they had. A player with fewer pieces on the board could still easily win, so long as they were smarter than their opponent.

Then Daniel was hit with a brain wave. There was already a lie in play that he could run with. His eyes lit up. “These are traitors, Kelm. They released me, thinking that I would help them to overthrow you, but as you can see, I’m loyal. I present these tokens as offerings to you of my intent. I–I want to help. Do you believe me now?” Daniel gave his best smile again.

Kelm took another moment to study Daniel head to foot. Daniel did his best to stand up to the scrutiny- Keep smiling, head and shoulders back, mind that posture, keep your arm steady, try not to let your knees jiggle, and keep everything, above all else, completely folded down. Stay sticky.

“No. No, I don’t think I do trust you,” Kelm said. “Not in the least. Take him back to the cell and put six guards in the corridor. We’ll hope that he actually has killed everyone who might try to rescue him again, but I would rather not take the risk.” He gave the orders with a flick of his hand and then stayed to watch them carried out, an eyebrow raised in amused disbelief.

Daniel dropped the spear with the heads on it and drew his sword. He looked at the circle of yfelgopes, already bristling with weaponry, closing in on him and then dropped it and raised his hands with a smile of resignation. He felt hands on him and a punch that winded him and nearly doubled him over. Then he was being pushed and shoved back toward the dungeon, back toward his cell.

“Thank you for coming back to me, Daniel,” Kelm said as he passed. “You have saved me from making a very unpleasant report back to Gad.”

Daniel nodded amiably at Kelm as he passed, happy, in a way, that he was going back to the cell. It would give him some time to analyse his situation and plot his next move. The game continued.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Pious Kings

I

Backing away from the enchanted image, Freya turned to the other mirror that showed herself as she was now. Then she turned again and looked into the mirror directly opposite that showed her wearing the crown. The third mirror reflected her image as she was at thirteen. She gasped and raised a hand to her mouth.

She appeared as she had when she first came to Ni?ergeard. The bedraggled school uniform she wore was all dirty and dishevelled from walking through tunnels and swimming in icy streams. A chill went through her. Why was the mirror showing her this instance in her childhood and not any of the earlier, happier ones?

So, three mirrors. One showed the present, one showed the past, one showed the. . future? Seeing the past, as reality, made her think this other held a measure of reality too. But what was she doing in that gown? With that crown on?

She turned again to the mirror that showed the future. She went right up to it. It was an incredible effect-her older face mirrored every tilt of the head and twitch of her face. Her eyes went to the crown and the reflection’s eyes went to her own bare head. She raised her hands and watched them in the image as her reflection lifted them to her head. Carefully, Freya mimed gripping the crown and then taking it from her head. The reflection followed the movement of her hands and removed the crown.

She turned the image’s crown over in her hands, studying it, watching how the light played across it. And then, as the light danced upon the silver surface, her eye fell on the reflection of the mirror behind her. When she looked at it before, it showed her as a child, but now it showed something different. It looked like two people standing in the mirror.