Read Online A Hero's Throne (An Ancient Earth) by Ross Lawhead - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ross Lawhead
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Langtorr,” Vivienne began in an officious voice. “May we, by your leave, obtain freedom to walk these halls?”
Frithfroth blinked. His brows contracted and his mouth twitched open. For a brief moment Freya saw the man he used to be, before Niðergeard fell. It passed, and the old man’s face slackened and his eyes turned to stare into the distance. He bowed his head, however, in response to the formal request.
Vivienne tugged at Freya’s shoulder and the two women made swift but careful tracks back up the stairs.
_____________________ II _____________________
Daniel looked down from a window in the guest room floor hallway. At first sight, it was still and lifeless, but after a time he started to pick out small movements. He would see a dark shadow shift and roll over in its sleep—a yfelgóp. Studying it closer, he could see that it was lying next to others—maybe fifteen of them, all lying asleep in the second floor of a gutted, roofless building. They were so vulnerable and unaware. He wondered if there would be a way to kill them as they slept. To collapse the building, perhaps? Or slit their throats as they snored through their wretched dreams?
No. Eyes on the prize, he reminded himself. Even if he managed it well and quietly, and nobody saw him, any stray activity would run the risk of putting Kelm on alert. And if Kelm had even the slightest degree of wariness as a result of such an action, then it would be too costly. He would simply have to strike quickly and slip away before he was discovered. Daniel could feel that this was what he should do; he had faith; he believed.
Now he just had to spot an opening. He continued to scanthe ruins below him, moving from window to window, becoming more adept at spotting the yfelgópes from his vantage. They seemed to be rather lethargically guarding the city, if indeed they were guarding it at all. Occupying it was probably the correct term, but in the laziest fashion imaginable. Those that were dotted along rooftops seemed more interested in squabbling with each other or playing games of chance than keeping watch. Years with no threat to give their vigilance worth left them lazy. All the better for me, Daniel thought.
He noted the familiar landmarks that were once his favourite places. It broke his heart to think that the fascinating stonework friezes on the buildings were now almost all damaged beyond repair. He looked for the blacksmith’s house where his sword had been named but couldn’t find it in the dark rubble. The marble courtyard with the intricate red and white paving was no longer empty but now contained a huge pile of rubble, presumably made with the debris of the collapsed buildings around it.
Was this the hero’s throne that Frithfroth had told them about? The courtyard was about midway between the Langtorr and the ruined wall of trees, but at his current height, it was hard for Daniel to make out what exactly was going on with the heap. He could see the back of what could be the throne, as well as a curve of what might be someone sitting on it, but he couldn’t tell for certain. There was yfelgóp activity around it—figures approached, stood for a while in what might be a deferential posture, and then left. They were obviously addressing or being addressed by something atop the pile. Daniel decided to sit and watch.
He watched for at least an hour before the curved edge of what was on the throne detached itself and hobbled down the stone heap—it looked massively overweight—and then started moving down the streets toward the Langtorr. As it came nearer, Daniel edged away from the window, so that he only peeked through thevery edge of the window pane. He doubted that he would be spotted this high up, at this distance, in a darkened hallway, but he didn’t want to chance it.
The more he watched the figure, the more Daniel became certain that it was Kelm. Although he walked the streets unescorted, he would often stop a moment here and
Frithfroth blinked. His brows contracted and his mouth twitched open. For a brief moment Freya saw the man he used to be, before Niðergeard fell. It passed, and the old man’s face slackened and his eyes turned to stare into the distance. He bowed his head, however, in response to the formal request.
Vivienne tugged at Freya’s shoulder and the two women made swift but careful tracks back up the stairs.
_____________________ II _____________________
Daniel looked down from a window in the guest room floor hallway. At first sight, it was still and lifeless, but after a time he started to pick out small movements. He would see a dark shadow shift and roll over in its sleep—a yfelgóp. Studying it closer, he could see that it was lying next to others—maybe fifteen of them, all lying asleep in the second floor of a gutted, roofless building. They were so vulnerable and unaware. He wondered if there would be a way to kill them as they slept. To collapse the building, perhaps? Or slit their throats as they snored through their wretched dreams?
No. Eyes on the prize, he reminded himself. Even if he managed it well and quietly, and nobody saw him, any stray activity would run the risk of putting Kelm on alert. And if Kelm had even the slightest degree of wariness as a result of such an action, then it would be too costly. He would simply have to strike quickly and slip away before he was discovered. Daniel could feel that this was what he should do; he had faith; he believed.
Now he just had to spot an opening. He continued to scanthe ruins below him, moving from window to window, becoming more adept at spotting the yfelgópes from his vantage. They seemed to be rather lethargically guarding the city, if indeed they were guarding it at all. Occupying it was probably the correct term, but in the laziest fashion imaginable. Those that were dotted along rooftops seemed more interested in squabbling with each other or playing games of chance than keeping watch. Years with no threat to give their vigilance worth left them lazy. All the better for me, Daniel thought.
He noted the familiar landmarks that were once his favourite places. It broke his heart to think that the fascinating stonework friezes on the buildings were now almost all damaged beyond repair. He looked for the blacksmith’s house where his sword had been named but couldn’t find it in the dark rubble. The marble courtyard with the intricate red and white paving was no longer empty but now contained a huge pile of rubble, presumably made with the debris of the collapsed buildings around it.
Was this the hero’s throne that Frithfroth had told them about? The courtyard was about midway between the Langtorr and the ruined wall of trees, but at his current height, it was hard for Daniel to make out what exactly was going on with the heap. He could see the back of what could be the throne, as well as a curve of what might be someone sitting on it, but he couldn’t tell for certain. There was yfelgóp activity around it—figures approached, stood for a while in what might be a deferential posture, and then left. They were obviously addressing or being addressed by something atop the pile. Daniel decided to sit and watch.
He watched for at least an hour before the curved edge of what was on the throne detached itself and hobbled down the stone heap—it looked massively overweight—and then started moving down the streets toward the Langtorr. As it came nearer, Daniel edged away from the window, so that he only peeked through thevery edge of the window pane. He doubted that he would be spotted this high up, at this distance, in a darkened hallway, but he didn’t want to chance it.
The more he watched the figure, the more Daniel became certain that it was Kelm. Although he walked the streets unescorted, he would often stop a moment here and
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