by Ross Lawhead
And then the spell was broken. She had no more breath, and the horn ceased its call. Time and the world snapped back into its normal pace and motion. All of those in the Beacon turned to look at each other—yfelgóp and Niðergearder alike. Freya herself collapsed, the Carnyx falling atop her.
“What have you done?” Modwyn asked.
Another horn sounded, seeming small and distant. It came from outside, from the niðerplane itself.
“The next army!” Vivienne said. “Freya, quick—let’s get back to the Langtorr. We can see what is happening from there.”
The two women dashed out of the Beacon. No one followed them as they made their way through the pockets of dead bodies and raced up the stairs of the Langtorr, through the entry hall, and up to the guest floor. They stuck their heads out of the nearest window and looked out into the darkness. They strained their eyes but could see nothing. The horn call ended and another answered it from the left. And then another from the right. And then two more.
“Do you see them?” Freya asked. “The next army?”
They could see nothing in the blackness beyond the dim lights of Niðergeard, but they could see the effect that the horns had on the yfelgópes below—they started running in all directions, flooding out of houses, streaming into the streets, and jostling into one another. A few fights even broke out between them.
A large yfelgóp was bellowing instructions to all of those around him and arranging them into some sort of order. “That has to be Kelm,” Vivienne said. “That means Daniel failed in his assassination attempt.”
“I hope Daniel’s okay,” Freya said sadly. “I hope he’ll be safe until we can find him.”
Kelm was agitated but authoritative, and he shouted at any yfelgóp in hearing and swatted at any in reach. Those that stopped and fell into the ranks he was arranging twitched neurotically, as if still fighting the urge to run; they seemed ready to scatter at the slightest provocation, despite Kelm’s threats and abuses. Just once, he paused in his efforts at command in order to look up at the Langtorr. Freya and Vivienne drew back slightly as he seemed to be looking straight at them. It was a measured stare that seemed to slow time once again, Freya thought. Then he turned his attention back to his immediate surroundings, the Langtorr gone from his considerations.
Shouts came from beyond the buildings. The feral cries of the yfelgópes, Freya thought, but also the cries of men.
Kelm stood with his ranked yfelgópes—there were about fifty of them before him. He stood, listening to the sounds of invisible skirmishes happening around him. Then he seemed to make a decision and gave orders for one block of his assembled army to station themselves where they were as the rest of them marched off into the darkness.
“He’s going west,” Vivienne said.
From the darkness ahead of them burst a line of a dozen or so knights, fully armed, the fury of battle on them. They broke into the square beneath the Langtorr, which attracted the defending yfelgópes who streamed around several buildings in an obvious attempt to ambush them.
“There’s Alex!” Freya exclaimed, pointing him out.
“God save him! Look at him go!”
Alex fought confidently and viciously, swinging his large sword in wide, well-placed, deadly arcs. When he didn’t have an enemy, he was shouting orders to the others and lending assistance to those who needed it. Ecgbryt fought near him, raising his axe in the air and pulling it down in devastating strikes that broke through spears, swords, shields, and skulls.
The knights made short work of them. Only about half were killed—the rest ran off when they saw the way the fight was turning. Alex shouted to the knights not to pursue but to regroup, and then they continued their sweep through the city.
But they were not the only ones fighting. In other parts of the city, Freya could see other shadows clashing.
After perhaps half an hour, the sounds of ringing steel and cries of exclamation grew less frequent. The movement of the knights slowed, and instead of swarming, they started to cluster in groups heading toward the centre of the city, toward the Langtorr.
“Is it safe to leave, do you think?” Freya asked.
“I should hope so. While the knights are still on their guard and the yfelgópes are running scared, there won’t be a better time to declare our presence.”
“Then let’s go.”
They went down the stairs and found Frithfroth, peeking through the small gap between the large iron doors. He turned a startled, rabbit-like expression up toward them as he saw them descend. Modwyn stood behind him, looking poised, ready to welcome visitors.
Freya stepped past them both and opened the door, then paused. “Wait,” she said. “I forgot something.” She dashed back down to the Slæpereshus and came back a minute later.
“Did you get what you need?” Vivienne asked.
“Yes. Shall we go?” Freya paused with one hand on the iron door and looked back at Modwyn. “Are you coming?”
Modwyn took a step forward and then stopped immediately. She was obviously torn. Without waiting for her to make up her mind, Freya pushed open the door.
“Freya! Aunt Viv!”
She looked up and saw Alex running toward her. He gripped her by the arms and then immediately hugged and kissed her, then drew back as if he couldn’t believe their good fortune.
“Hello . . .” Freya said.
“We heard the horn and came as quick as we could. You wouldnae believe all the places we’ve been to! Would you believe we were in Germany when we heard the call? We came instantly. I mean instantly! There was a sort of shimmering, telescoping, tunnelway-thing . . .” He made some vague and hurried motions with his hands. “I can’t describe it. But here we are!”
“Yeah, I blew the horn and something weird happened to time,” Freya explained, instantly feeling ridiculous.
“I’m so proud of my young nephew,” Vivienne said. “Such a fighter! It looks as though you’ve liberated the city.”
“Aye, and it does at that, doesn’t it? But we had an easy time of it. Those yfelgópes didn’t put up much of a fight. Is that all there is to it?”
“No, I don’t think we’re going to be that lucky. Did you run into Kelm? A big guy shouting orders? He headed off down that direction.” Freya pointed across the city; more knights were making their way toward them through the darkness. How many of them were there? What were they going to do now?
“A big man, you say? I don’t think so. I’ll ask my lads when we regroup. In fact . . .” He turned and called over his shoulder, “Ecgbryt!’
The large knight had been instructing some of the others in how to take the heads off of the yfelgópes. He looked up at Alex’s shout and saw Freya.
“Little aetheling!” he shouted and bounded toward them in long strides. He picked Freya up and squeezed her in an embrace that robbed her of air. “Vivienne!” He hugged her no less exuberantly.
“Have you run across the yfelgóp leader, Kelm?” Alex asked.
“He’s very large, as tall as you, and fat,” Freya said.
Ecgbryt pulled his beard and then shook his head. “I remember talk of him—he is Gád’s héreheafod, is that so?”
“Right. He took a bunch of yfelgópes and went that way.”
Ecgbryt pulled on the arm of one of the knights who had come from that direction and conferred with him for a moment.
“He hasn’t been seen,” Ecgbryt reported as he turned back. “He must have fled. Remember the western well? That portal lies in just that direction.” The knight’s eyes wandered to the Langtorr. “My lady richéweard,” he said with a slight bow.
Modwyn stepped out of the doorway of the Langtorr.
“Wes ðu hale, good Ecgbryt,” she said imperiously, descending the steps in a smooth glide. Her sudden self-possession reminded Freya of when they had first met her. “Thank you for coming to aid our city. I am sorry you do not find us in better preparation for you.”
“My queen!” Ecgbryt said.
“He is not with you?” Alex said.
“No, he left to try to kill Kelm, almost as soon as we got here. You haven’t found his . . . his body? Is there somewhere that they might have locked him up?”
“Ecgbryt, help me with this,” Alex said. The knights had now collected in a large group around them. There were perhaps sixty of them and they were still regrouping. They all looked different, but some shared certain peculiarities—the same shaped shield, a certain type of padded armour, a style of helmet—but no two looked alike. Some looked very much as Swiðgar and Ecgbryt had looked when they first woke up; some looked more like Freya always thought knights should look, with big triangular shields, long swords, and bright tunics worn over chain mail. Others of them, however, looked very much more basic, in simple leathers and wielding large weapons.
“You! Tu! Everyone, listen!” Alex yelled. “We’re looking for a man, a warrior, like me, but younger and thinner, with dark hair. He may be dead, hiding, or imprisoned. Go through the city and look for him, as well as any others that might be living—enemy or ally alike. Bring them here. Ecgbryt?”
Ecgbryt shouted out the same instructions, but in a different language, and some of them relayed the instructions in several other languages, and so gradually the knights dispersed.
“Okay, good. Now, what else?” Alex said. “Did you find Ealdstan? Any sign of Gád?”
“No, we didn’t but . . . we did find some things out.” Freya looked to Vivienne for support and Vivienne nodded.
“We found a great deal out about Niðergeard’s founder,” Vivienne said. “As well as the history of this place. As noble as its original intention may be, and that of those who work here, we may assume the heart of the leader to be corrupted, and the city was led into danger and the sad state you found upon arriving. There is evidence of Ealdstan making dark alliances throughout history with the enemies of Britain, not least of which were the Nazis.”
“He also sent more than Daniel and me on that bizarre mission,” Freya put in. “We don’t know how many children, but Modwyn has admitted that they failed—that they died—where we only barely succeeded. They tricked us all—everyone in the city was complicit in those deaths. Not just her,” Freya said, pointing at Modwyn, who was still clutching her cloak at her breast where the dagger had been. “But Godmund, Frithfroth . . . and you, Ecgbryt,” Freya said.
“Is this true, Ecgbryt?” Alex said, turning to him in confusion. “How much did you know about this?”
“In truth,” Ecgbryt began, and then faltered. His face had grown sterner as he listened to Freya, and now he looked at her with an even, steady gaze. “In truth, I knew little then and know little more now. When we first arrived, while you slept, we were bound to secrecy by Ealdstan and by Modwyn on revealing certain knowledge to you—but we did not know, Swiðgar and I, we never knew that you were being used for any purpose other than what Ealdstan told. We had been asleep, after all.”
“So, Modwyn,” Freya said, her voice as dry and cold as the stones around them. “Do you know Ealdstan’s true plans?”
Modwyn finally managed to choke out a reply. “I—I—he never revealed anything to me other than the next step to be taken. But I trust him. Although his intent may be clouded to us now, I believe it must have been good, true.”
“Good enough to send children to their deaths?” Freya spat out.
All were quiet for a moment. The air around them was like dried amber; to move would have been to shatter everything.
“Alex,” Freya said, turning to him. “Instruct your knights to arrest Modwyn, and find somewhere to lock her up.”
“Me?” Modwyn said, horrified. “You would lock me away?”
“Somewhere out of the way and somewhere safe. There must be a building around here that still has walls and no secret tunnels out of it.”
Modwyn was agog. Her eyes were watery and wide. I’m the same height as her, Freya realised just then.
“Young Freya,” said Ecgbryt, reaching toward her. “I do not believe—”
Freya knocked his hand away. It was like hitting a tree branch, but the shock of the action made Ecgbryt withdraw nonetheless. “Don’t! This woman has lied. She has admitted that she is complicit in murder. Her allegiance and motives are unknown and she has knowledge now of our forces and our power! She is a threat, and in order to secure this recently liberated city, I mean to have her detained until we can find out what to do with her!”
The force of Freya’s response surprised even her. It was like something had opened up inside of her. Instead of a doorway back into Fear, she had found another doorway into an empowering and emboldening Strength. She felt excited, heightened, but her arms and legs were steady. This was the make or break time. If she could pull this off . . .
She looked around at everyone gathered around her, which included many of the new knights. As she spoke her last words she fixed on Alex, who looked back at her with raised eyebrows, then he looked to Vivienne.
“It’s true,” Vivienne said. “It would be better for Modwyn—for her own protection—if she were . . . put in a place more secure.”
He thought for a moment, obviously torn, and then said, in a loud and strong voice, “Take her.”
Two knights stepped forward and firmly but tenderly laid strong hands on Modwyn’s slender shoulders. She looked appalled rather than angry.
“Treason,” Modwyn said, rallying her wits. “This is treason. By what authority do you act?”
“I act by the authority of the hero’s dragonhelm,” Freya said, pulling the crown from inside her coat. It sparkled in the darkness. She held it up for all to see and then placed it on Alex’s head. “The liberator of Niðergeard has the right claim to this honour.”
Alex must have been very taken aback, but to his credit, he did not falter.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he muttered to Freya, barely moving his lips. To everyone else, he said in a loud voice, “I accept the burden of this rule, until such time as a true ruler may be found.”
“My lord,” a knight called from outside the Langtorr courtyard gates. Five knights with long beards that tapered into a single braid were approaching, and something about them was making those around them talk loudly to one another.
“Haefod,” one of them said to Alex. “We have come across . . .” He paused and looked uncertain.
“Yes?” Freya said. “What have you come across? Is it Daniel?”
The knight switched to address her. “I beg pardon. We found . . . these.”
He stepped aside, and those around him did likewise. And he revealed, behind him, a group of children, between the ages, Freya guessed, of ten and thirteen.
“Um, hello,” a girl at the front said. She was taller than the rest and had straight brown hair, a jutting forehead, a dark blue jumper, and black trousers. She looked uncertain and apprehensive, but it seemed as though the others deferred to her.
Freya stepped forward, and this time her legs shook; it felt as if she had taken a step into an ocean wave. “Where did you come from?” she asked.
“Um. We’re not sure. I mean, we’re all from somewhere, but, um, we’re not sure why we’re here. We seem to have been, um, summoned.”
“‘Summoned’? What do you mean?”
“Well, um.” She looked around briefly at the other children clustering closely to her. “We heard a sound, a low sort of humming—”
“Like a tuba or something,” one of the boys behind her said eagerly. He was the smallest of them all.
“Yes, like a tuba or a horn. We heard it and we sort of . . . followed it. It was calling to us, sort of pulling us. We went through different places, different caves, and gradually, um, met up, on the way here.”
“Tell her about the voice,” the small boy said to the big girl at the front.
“Um, yes. We heard a sort of voice as well.”
“I
t was a voice inside the horn. I heard it the clearest,” the small boy said.
“What did it say?” Freya asked.
“It said to us, each of us, ‘You are the next army. You are summoned.’”
The eight children looked up and around at the warriors and underground ruins that towered over them.
“Do you know what that means?” the girl asked.
“Perhaps,” Freya said, dread falling upon her like a dark shadow. Just when she thought she was getting a handle on things, a new wrinkle. “What are your names?” Freya asked.
“Um. My name’s Gretchen. Gretchen Baker.”
“I’m Fergus,” said the small boy. “This is my brother Kieran.” He pointed to a taller, dark-haired boy standing next to him.
“David Murray.”
“Amanda McCullough.”
“I’m Michael Page.”
“Gemma Woodcotte.”
“Jodhi. Jodhi Gale.”
Freya nodded. “Okay. Everything’s going to be fine, now. We’re going to get you home as soon as possible, okay?”
“My lady!” called a knight from the edge of the group. “We’ve found the man Daniel.”
“Where? Is he all right? Is he alive?”
“We cannot tell. There are dungeons here; he was locked inside one of them. We found the key and opened the door. He is sleeping, but he cannot be roused. He is in a very bad way. They are bringing him here even now.”
“Okay, good. Good.” Freya raised a hand to her mouth. She thought for a moment, looking around at everyone, who seemed to be waiting for her. Taking control of Niðergeard was easier than advertised, it seemed.
“Right, first things first. Get these children into the Langtorr. It’s safe now. There is some food and water in the kitchen. Let them rest a little while, then I’ll take them back up to the top myself. Try not to let them see Frithfroth. We don’t want to freak them out too much.”
She turned on Modwyn. “Now—”
“Excuse me,” the girl said.
“Yes?”
