A Hero's throne

seems to be still open and unguarded by the yfelgopes.”

Freya felt like she was plunging downward already. “The Langtorr. . It’s been there all this time?”

“Indeed. I even did a quick scout of it myself.”

“You’ve been to the Langtorr? Recently?”

“Just to see if I could or if we had to arrange something else. There are scads of entrances if you know how to look for them. The Langtorr is the most direct one.”

“Would Ecgbryt have known about it? Even years ago?”

“Certainly. It’s one of the oldest gates.”

Freya turned her back to Vivienne. She could feel her face flushing with rage. There had been a direct exit from Ni?ergeard. They could have been sent home at any time at all. The only reason she’d agreed to go on that ridiculous quest was to get back home-something Ealdstan told her was impossible to do unless they destroyed Gad. She had known they were being used but had consoled herself by knowing that there was no other way through the terrible situation they were in. But it was another of Ealdstan’s lies-and one that all the other Ni?ergearders-Modwyn, Godmund, and Ecgbryt and Swi?gar included-were complicit in.

That settled it. She may not wholly be on Gad’s side, but she certainly wasn’t on the side of those who would manipulate small, helpless children into going on missions of assassination. Was he a revolutionary? Then she was too.

III

Kelm Kafhand sat on the hero’s throne. It was a chair made of rough-hewn stone and sat atop an irregular pile of rubble in the largest courtyard of Ni?ergeard. Coal fires burned in braziers at the base of the pile. It was difficult for him to heave his powerful but unwieldy form up the heap, but the view gave an appropriate perspective for his thoughts.

Kelm huffed in large, ragged breaths as his enormous chest moved up and down with a slow, inevitable regularity. His body may be still, but his mind was racing-running through exercises and evil thoughts to help while away monotony. His scowl was deep-he had been frowning for decades.

Occasionally he would sneer in pleasure at a particularly ugly thought, but even then the large jowls that anchored his face to his shoulders and chest would remain unstirred. His eyes were buried beneath a flabby brow that pressed down on his cheeks and created a series of folds that masked his eyes. His face, grotesque as it was, was not one without emotion. Long, shaggy eyebrows moved and twitched almost constantly, and his wide mouth had found nuance and subtlety in conveying fifty shades of displeasure unobtained by younger, more inexperienced faces.

He was doing what he always did, whether he was eating, drinking, dreaming, or just sitting: he was plotting. Plotting was as natural to him as breathing. Every minute of every day was filled with cooking up plots-small acts of meanness or large acts of cruelty, it didn’t matter. Most of his plots never went further than the grin on his own slimy lips, but that didn’t matter. Each plot kept his mind in shape for the next one.

Kelm’s lieutenant, a wretched little yfelgop with a large head and weak arms, slouched into view from around one of the buildings and began his address with a bored drone. “Your honour, my general, most exalted among all military leaders, illustrious master of the underground races and magnificent commander of the five unseen armies”-the lieutenant drew in a deep breath before finally getting to the point-“a messenger has arrived.”

Kelm glared at the miserable creature for almost a minute before nodding. During that time the lieutenant merely stood gazing vacantly at his esteemed general, breathing heavily through his mouth and drooling. Kelm decided that none of his soldiers could be as stupid as this man looked and therefore this one was trying to fool him, and therefore needed to be killed. He already had what must be a dozen plots to accomplish it, but he’d need to spend time selecting the most satisfying one.

For now, he signalled to the lieutenant, who turned away unceremoniously and shuffled back through the curtain. A moment later the messenger appeared.

He was dressed in white with a light, full-length travelling cloak made out of a thick, bleached hide. Kelm’s lip curled with pleasure; his breathing shifted into something that, in him, perhaps passed for a type of slow laughter.

The messenger frowned.

Kelm’s breathing slowed. “You look like him.”

“But I am not him. I am his mannequin. His fetch.”

Kelm wheezed. “And what message does Empty-Grinner send to me in your empty shell?” the enormous leader asked, contempt raw in his voice.

The messenger bristled at Kelm’s tone. “A wise man would advise you to be more respectful of your superior.”

The right side of Kelm’s mouth jerked upward, showing a flash of black and orange teeth. “Show me a wise man and I’ll consider his advice. Show me a superior and I’ll show him respect.”

The messenger gave a sly smile. “Wisdom and superiority are not mine to possess. I merely speak and listen for those who are greater than myself.” He gave a bow but kept his eyes on Kelm’s.

“Gad and I have an understanding,” the massive general said with a belch. “There is none other who can control his troops with the skill that I can.”

“No. You killed all those who might have.”

“It is right that it was thus. Power is undeniable-in me it is irrepressible. He who is strongest must lead, and none have proven to be my strategic equal. It is I whose strength and prowess allowed us to conquer this city. I raised this hero’s throne, and now, I rule.”

“None but Gad,” the messenger said quietly.

“What?”

“None but Gad have proven to be your equal.”

It may have been the fire that made Kelm’s eyes gleam viciously for a moment, but it was only for a moment, and when the gleam left, Kelm’s face had a fairly apathetic cast to it. “My ambition does not extend to Gad’s. .” His breathing caught and he let out a wheeze. “. . responsibilities. What Gad has, Gad can keep. I shall remain here.”

“That is very generous. I’m sure that Gad thanks you for such a consideration. But perhaps when Gad has more, then you will want more? I wonder, have you already numbered Gad’s days in your mind?”

Kelm’s face was expressionless for several seconds, and then he let out a loud, ugly snort. “Watch yourself, your words tread closely to outright sedition.”

“I had better do what I came to do then, hadn’t I? My master’s message is this: events are even now in motion. The two lifiende heroes have been reengaged and will shortly be on their way here. You are to resist them but not defeat or collaborate with them. Keep them alive. You are to bait the bear-to within an inch of its life-but not to kill it.”

“This is an inglorious assignment.”

“I imagine it would be harder to keep these overworlders safe while they’re running around down here rather than to just smite them outright. Consider it a test of skill-and one, despite your own convictions about your prowess, I personally doubt you’ll manage.

“In any case, they must be allowed to blow the horn. It is all over for them when they blow the Carnyx. It shall be the honeyed hook that, when pulled, will bring steel jaws rushing in on them.”

Kelm nodded. “I understand. It will be done.”

The messenger turned and beamed at Kelm. “Very good. And now with your permission, I may depart?”

He lazily flicked his hand. The messenger bowed and turned to walk away.

Kelm’s lieutenant appeared again, his face twisted into a question. Kelm narrowed his eyes and then nodded. The lieutenant lumbered off.

Kelm sat patiently for several moments, which turned into several minutes. His lieutenant did not return.