A Hero's throne

“It’s been here how long? Was it-did you bring it with you when you came here? When you escaped?”

“Yes, I brought it. It’s been here with me this short while, and we shall grow old and crumble apart together.”

“But-why just sit here?” Vivienne said. “Why not escape? Why not fight, as you have done for centuries?”

He did not reply.

“What happened, Godmund?” Freya said, her voice straining with frustration and annoyance. “Why are you so scared of fighting now?” She looked to Modwyn, to include her in the tirade. “Both of you, seriously, what happened here? What’s changed?”

“Nothing changed. Nothing. Here I lie. Buried, forgotten. There is no war to fight-there’s nothing to fight against. There is no evil army rising against us. We were tricked.”

“What?” Freya said. “But the yfelgopes. Daniel and I found gnomes, an elf. Alex-the man who brought us back here-he’s been finding trolls, dragons.”

“A dragon?” Godmund said, his eyes darting to Freya with the first sign of the fire of his previous passion- anger mixed with joy-that she had seen yet. “Did you see the dragon?”

“No. But he did,” Freya said with shaky conviction.

The fire died and Godmund’s gaze became blank again.

“I don’t understand,” Freya said to Vivienne. “If the horn is really as bad as he says-if it’s really so terrible- then why make it at all? And once it’s made, why go to so much trouble to make sure no one ever uses it?”

“I do not trust his grip on reality,” Vivienne said. “But we’ve found it now. There is no point in not using it.”

“Really, Viv? I thought you would be more cautious. I thought you might want to study it, or. . or. .”

“Or what, indeed? Now that Modwyn is awake, and anyone is free to enter the Langtorr once more, they could easily overrun us. With no easy way out of the tower-I’m not sure how long we’d have to wait for a portal to open, or how many may enter through it when we find it-I think that we are now in very, very deep trouble. I look around and I see yfelgopes in this very room, and I think we need help. Blow the horn.”

Freya was taken aback. It was unlike herself to actually minimize the danger of the situation that she was in, but Vivienne was right-they were in a tight spot.

She crossed slowly over to the horn and laid a hand on it. It felt cold and unremarkable beneath her fingers. She felt a moment of doubt.

“Seriously, Godmund,” she said, turning. “What actually, tangibly happens when the horn gets blown? No more philosophy.” Godmund lowered his brow, leaned forward, and said in a quiet, gravelly voice, “Destruction. The destruction of this realm.” Freya straightened. His voice was quiet enough that she was certain no one else had heard him, and he was holding her gaze in such an even and intense manner-was he trying to communicate something else to her? Did he want her to do it?

“Good enough for me.” Freya hoisted the heavy horn to her lips. .

And blew.

II

Alex and Ecgbryt surveyed the town of Gudesberg through binoculars. They were north of the city, in a forest, their ragtag war band left behind in the mouth of the enchanted cave that had opened beneath a crevice to allow them egress.

They had not been successful in recruiting any more of the European knights to their cause since Blanik, and the Hussites were proving to be hard to integrate into the group.

“By what name did you call this land?”

“Germany. It’s Germany, Ecgbryt. This is supposed to be the resting spot of Charlemagne and his knights.”

“Charlemagne?”

“King Charles the Great. Or Emperor Karl.”

“You mean Karolus? The Imperator Romanum? I thought legend said that he was waiting in a well some distance north of here-Nurnberg is its name.”

“Yes, there or in Austria, or any number of other places. There are more than a few legends of mountain activity here, however, so I thought it would be worth looking into. It’s said to open every seven years, but I’m not sure where. .” He passed the binoculars to Ecgbryt.

“If it is as you say, then come the evening, it would be well to walk around the hill. Are you certain of this place? It looks a modern township.”

“No, quite the opposite,” Alex said. “It looks positively medieval.”

“The buildings are so large. I cannot tell-all looks modern to my eye. I am often saddened that naught from my time is still to be seen. It makes me feel as if I am in a different realm than the one I was born to. Only Ni? ergeard feels like home.”

“I think-”

“Hold! Do you hear that?” Ecgbryt swung a large arm out and smacked his palm down on Alex’s chest.

“Hear what?” Alex asked, winded.

“It is a call! A summons! We must go!”

“What? Wait!”

Ecgbryt had already turned and was charging through the woods, back to the enchanted crevice in the forest. Alex tore after him, trying desperately to keep up with the knight’s enormous stride.

Ecgbryt reached the entrance to the underground realms ahead of Alex and halted. Still sprinting, Alex nearly knocked into him.

“They are gone!” Ecgbryt exclaimed, stepping into the dark recess. “Retreated farther in? But what- meotodes meahte!”

“What? What is it?”

“Do you see? Hanging in the air, it is-is that some sort of portal?”

Alex rounded a corner and saw what appeared to be a shimmering patch of air encircling the cavern. Some sort of strange optical effect was taking place-it appeared as if the tunnel in front of them was truncated somehow-squeezed in on itself like a concertina-and also straightened. There were no winding paths, and at the end of the tunnel, he thought he could see the dim, twinkling lights of Ni?ergeard. He felt like he was looking down a distance of many miles-hundreds of miles if that really was Ni?ergeard-but that he could cross that distance in just a few steps.

It must be the Carnyx, Alex thought. They must have found it and used it.

“I hear the call,” Ecgbryt said. “I must answer,” and he stepped forward and vanished from sight.

This is it! Alex drew a deep breath, and then he too stepped over the threshold.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Blowing of the Horn

I

The horn emitted a low, tremulous note that reverberated in the very stones around them.