by Ross Lawhead
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 yfelgop, 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 yfelgop. 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. “Ni?ergeard should be destroyed. You have no idea of the slavery that Ni?ergeard 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 Ni?ergeard? 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 yfelgopes came to take him away.
V
Daniel had attracted a lot of attention on the way to the dungeons of Ni?ergeard. 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 yfelgop 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 yfelgopes’ 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 yfelgopes 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 yfelgopes 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 Gad 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 Ni?ergearders, 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?”
Daniel decided to chance it. “Liber. . ation. We wish to. . defeat Gad. . once and. . for all.”
There was a short muttering from the other side of the door. “Do you wish for another question?” he was asked.
Daniel thought. Who was it who could help him in this situation? “Where’s. . Godmund?”
“We do not know. His presence is completely unknown. Those who have gone to seek him have not returned.”
“What. . happens now?”
“A question out of order!” shrilled one voice.
“But a vital question-most vital.”
“A good question indeed. We break you out-abscond. We search for the survivors of Ni?ergeard and wage righteous war on our erstwhile comrades.” There were grunts of agreement from those with the speaker.
“Good. Let’sh. . do it.”
VI
“We must be methodical, Freya,” Vivienne told her, nodding her head in earnestness. They stood in the Langtorr greeting hall. “Floor by floor, room by room, and always together.” Freya had thought this went without saying, but she nodded anyway.
The dining hall and the adjacent kitchen had revealed nothing of interest. The long hall was just as Freya remembered it, with the metal tables and benches perfectly aligned-bare and waiting to be used. The kitchen was just as barren. It was a sort of tragedy, even when she’d first visited it. She’d never seen any Ni?ergearder eating anything-that was something that they sacrificed along with their mortality, their right to die and their need to eat.
And yet, here was a kitchen, fully equipped, but not manned by any cook or chef.
There was a pantry with dry, stone walls and barrels that contained salt and some sort of dry, thick-sliced meat that was not rancid, as far as either of them could tell. Freya had remembered it from her first trip, and after Vivienne had seen Freya gnaw off a piece, she tried some as well. There was also some dry, dark, cracker-like bread in a wooden box on a shelf. They both selected some meat and bread and stuck them in their backpacks.
Back in the kitchen, they went to an iron pump that was set into a wall. They gave the handle a few turns and were surprised to see it cough up clear, cold water that jetted out and soaked Vivienne’s leg. They took turns pumping and cupping the icy water to their faces to sip it. The water was slightly sweet beneath a metallic taste, but it was very refreshing. When they had drunk their fill, they emptied their warm water canteens and refilled them.
They continued up the tower. The next floor was made up of several curved reception rooms. Freya had not been in these before. There were large fireplaces that would have held Ealdstan’s enchanted fire, but they were cold and dark. It was then that Freya realised she hadn’t seen any of the pale, s
lightly lifeless flames anywhere in the tower’s hearths. The lamps still burned, but not the fires, and this allowed a frigid, penetrative damp to invade the tower.
On the next floor were the guest rooms, nine of them, which included the rooms that she and Daniel had stayed in, long untouched. She even recognised the way she had folded the top bedspread at the foot of her mattress. Eight years of mold and dank dominated the room. They passed on to the next floor. More rooms. Just as well furnished but of more utilitarian designs. Servants’ quarters? There had to be twelve rooms on this level. Freya had only ever seen Frithfroth and Cnafa and Cnapa around the Langtorr. Were there more, once, or had the total vision for the tower remained yet unrealised?
The fifth floor up contained the map room as well as other adjoining rooms, connecting through wide arches. Stone tables and metal chairs. Meeting rooms? Again, for whom and for what reason?
The double-helix stairway ended here-the corkscrewed design had been narrowing and coming close together and actually met to finish in a round hole. The next level was not immediately above the fifth. In fact, neither Freya nor Vivienne properly thought of it as a level since it was just a single room with two smaller ones attached. There was an iron bed, an iron washstand, a cold fireplace, and a metal stool, appearing as if they’d never been used.
Following a single, rough stairway, they arrived at Ealdstan’s rooms, which brought them to a stop. They had not taken a break in their long explorations, but before they did so, they decided to right the large stone table that Freya, Daniel, Modwyn, and the knights had sat at eight years ago. Then they sat and started going through the scattered documents.
Bundles of paper were piled on the top shelf of a thin bookcase carved into an alcove next to the window. She pulled one of them down. It was a stack of thick, brittle pages-vellum-bound with string, or more likely, dried gut, with two wooden panels for covers. There were hundreds of them.