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 scan the ruins below him, moving from window to window, becoming more adept at spotting the yfelgopes 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 yfelgop 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 the very 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 there to abuse or issue instructions to one of his minions. He was not attended or, apparently, guarded in any way. How lazy had Kelm become, resting on his laurels? Overconfidence would be his downfall.
Kelm turned a corner and stumbled on a prone yfelgop who was lazing against a wall. Daniel imagined that the victim’s leg must have certainly snapped, but he leapt up pretty quickly anyway.
The war chief passed out of his sight, and Daniel moved across to the next window, just in time to see him enter one of the few buildings in the city left whole. He stayed in there for some time and didn’t come out all the time that Daniel watched it.
The hours passed. Daniel kept his eyes trained on the hut. He became hungry and ate from his provisions. He was aware of Freya and Vivienne moving around in the tower, but he didn’t go to speak to them, and they didn’t come to see him.
He fought tiredness. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately-not at all, in fact. Not since he got back from Elfland. The last week or so, just as he’d been on the edge of sleep, he would feel a sudden terror and an abrupt feeling of plunging. Each time he jerked himself awake-once nearly falling out of his bed. He would lay awake, panting, in a sweat, gripping the mattress through the sheets, counting the minutes until morning.
Suddenly, Daniel tensed. He threw his arms out to brace himself against the edge of the windowsill. For a second he thought that he had fallen through it and was plummeting to his death. But the glass was still in front of him. His forehead hadn’t even touched it. Just thinking about sleep made him tired enough to drift off.
He’d sleep when he was finished with the mission. It was all side effects of the anxiety of the situation, no doubt. Either that, or something mystical that would guide him toward completion of his new mission. Either way, it was good.
Daniel wondered why there were so few yfelgopes below him. The city should be flooded. But they were only scattered here and there, in clumps or singly. Where were the rest of them? Did the knights really kill as many as Frithfroth claimed, or were they off somewhere else?
Well, it wasn’t his problem now, and Daniel was tired of waiting. He had enough information. Now he needed to move. He pulled out a map of Ni?ergeard that Alex had made for him and studied the route he would take, comparing it to the streets outside, noting obstacles. He would have to memorise the route exactly. There would be no room for error, even the slightest mistake. As he contemplated his route, an idea struck him. He grinned gleefully, clenching and unclenching his hands in eager anticipation.
III
Daniel stood just inside the door, watching the flames of the fire flare up and then die down. He’d brought one of the moldy sheets down from the room he’d once stayed in and set it alight in the dining hall, out of sight of the main entrance. It gave off a few large billows of brown smoke and then died down into a ball of bright orange worms that chased each other over the black, charred ball.
Should he find Freya and Vivienne and tell them what he was doing? No, what good would come of that? Best just slip out and surprise them later with his mission accomplished.
He had kept the gun he had been given in Elfland. It was oiled now and loaded with new bullets from Alex’s armoury at his family manse. He had a belt holster for it and three other magazines clipped beside it. He only planned on using his gun during phase two of his plan-making it back to the Langtorr alive-and only if he had no other option. No doubt, at some point-unless he was very, very lucky-he’d be discovered, and the yfelgopes would learn he’d killed their leader, and if he had to blast his way back here, then he would.
He discarded his bag and coat onto a low iron table. Then he stripped off his shirt and T-shirt so his chest and arms were bare. Bending down, he rubbed his hands in the now fairly cool ashes of the burned bedding; it was a black, greasy soot-perfect. He rubbed it on his body in long, dark strokes, making sure to build it up good and dark. He propped up a metal serving platter against the wall and used it as a mirror in order to make sure he got his face and back as well.
When he was finished, he stepped back and looked at the dim, distorted image in the serving plate. At the most casual of glances, he’d make a passable yfelgop, especially if he emulated their hunched posture and scrabbling gait.
He grabbed his sword, Hero-Maker, and drew it from its scabbard. With the remaining ash, he darkened its blade, covering the brilliant shine until it only reflected a dull, oily-grey sheen. His heart pounding, Daniel did a few warm-up stretches and then padded back into the main hall.
Time to be a hero, he thought as he crossed to the door. He paused, watchful and alert. The air that came through the small crack was not cooler or warmer or fresher, it just moved more quickly. He gently pulled the door open. Thankfully, it did not squeak or creak, and, stepping over the brown patch left by Cnapa’s blood, he was able to slip through it, only to pause briefly in the shadow of the archway. The wide, shallow steps spread before him. He noted what must be the remnants of Cnafa’s body, splayed out over several of the wide steps, the skin brown and drawn, like a Hollywood mummy, his clothes decaying, the blue threads of his shirt turned black.