Riddle in Stone (The Riddle in Stone Series - Book One) (19 page)

“They will be coming for you soon, Edmund,” Vorn, the voice in the darkness, said.

How many days had passed in the lightless bowels of the mountains? Edmund could not say. Vorn claimed that it had been twenty-seven. Edmund had to trust his judgment. Time didn’t penetrate the utter blackness around him. Periodically goblin guards brought him food and water, but he had lost count of their intermittent visits.

“Do you have a plan?” Vorn asked.

“I think so,” Edmund replied. However, the only plan that he had was to prevent the goblins from taking him and putting a rat cage over his head. He figured that if they couldn’t get him out of his cell, he’d be safe. Even if they stopped giving him the salty, blood-like stew that they slipped under his door, he’d survive on the biscuits and handfuls of water that he could create on his own.

You can’t stay in here forever. You have to try to escape.

Yes, but how? I need time to think.

All you’ve had is time to think. You have to do something!

“You do not seem overly interested in solving the riddle you found. Is that a fair appraisal?” Vorn asked.

It’s not a riddle. It’s meaningless.

“I try not to think about it. It makes no sense to me.”

“I am relieved. But I am afraid that they will make your last days beyond miserable if you do not arrive at a satisfactory answer. They have not even begun to torture you.”

He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Things can’t get any worse.

They could burn out your other eye. Then think about your situation. You’d never get out of here. They wouldn’t even need to keep you in a cell. They could have you crawl around, feeling your way like a blind dog.

Edmund thought about this. Then something Vorn had said struck him. “Wait. Wh-why, why are you relieved? About the riddle, I mean.”

“I do not want Kar-Nazar to have the answer.”

“Why? Do you know what this is all about? Do you know what’s going on?”

“I do not know the answer to your riddle,” Vorn said with a slight hesitation. “And, like you, I do not want to know. But I understand Kar-Nazar all too well. No good will come from him having what he seeks.”

“I don’t understand,” Edmund said with increased urgency. “What does he want? What’s this all about? I mean, why is this so important to him? It’s just a bunch of meaningless words . . . isn’t it?”

There was a silence, broken only by the dripping of water and the sloshing of sewage in the tunnels below them.

“Edmund,” Vorn said from his cell. “How much do you know about Iliandor and his military victories over Kar-Nazar during their last war?”

“A great deal! That is, I . . . I mean, I have read extensively about all aspects of Iliandor’s life. He, he’s a hero of mine. I even have his personal diary.”

“You have Iliandor’s diary? Fascinating. I am sure that Kar-Nazar would covet such a prize. You might not wish to reveal that fact to him.”

“Actually, he has a copy that I made many years ago. He said his spies acquired it, though I’m not sure how. But get back to what you were saying about Iliandor and the riddle. What does all of this mean?”

“Kar-Nazar has a copy of a manuscript that you transcribed?”

“What’s this all about?” Edmund begged. “Please . . . tell me.”

“It seems to me, Edmund, that your life has been intertwined with Kar-Nazar’s for some time. It is as if many threads of history are coming down to meet at one point. I am afraid that you are very near its center.”

He knows something.

“Please,” Edmund repeated. “What’s going on? Why is he doing this to me?”

“Are you familiar with the Battle of Tor’ Age?” Vorn asked.

“No. What does that have to do with me and the diary . . . and the riddle?”

“Perhaps your people call it something else. I am sure you know the battle, it is where Kar-Nazar’s fortunes began to turn and his attempts to reclaim the lands you inhabit began slipping through his fingers.”

“Are you talking about the Battle of Endris Haflen? Where Iliandor and his thirty-two knights arrived as the town was being overrun?”

“Perhaps, but Iliandor had more than thirty-two knights with him at the battle to which I am referring. But let me pose this question to you. Why do you think that Iliandor was able to tactically defeat Kar-Nazar? Kar-Nazar’s forces were several times larger and better trained. They were experienced, battle-harden warriors. Yet, they were defeated by Iliandor, his personal guards, and a relatively small army of peasants from the countryside. How?”

“It was because of Iliandor’s leadership, his military genius—”

“Iliandor was a fool. His military genius consisted of becoming surrounded and fighting for as long as he was able.”

“He wasn’t a—” Edmund began.

Don’t argue. Just get the answers. You need to know what the hell all of this is about!

“The reason why Iliandor and his knights fared so well in battle,” Vorn said, “was because of his armor and weaponry. Somehow, whether through magic or design, he had learned of a method of producing an alloy that, among other things, was far superior to anything that Kar-Nazar has ever constructed. His shields could not be broken. His armor could not be pierced. His swords would slice though the armor of the Hiisi as if it were straw. The only way any of Iliandor’s knights were ever defeated was if they became too exhausted to fight, or if enough Hiisi could throw themselves on them while somebody stabbed them through their visor.”

Unbreakable alloy?

“How do you know this? I haven’t heard of any such—”

Father’s sword!

“Why would you? Certainly it was Iliandor’s greatest secret. Imagine if word got out that his legendary victories were not due to his leadership or genius, as you believe, but because of the quality of his material. Imagine how even his friends would attempt to acquire his secret, even at the point of a blade. What would a human king or lord give to have an entire army clad in Iliandor’s metal? Who could defy them? No. He needed to keep the alloy secret.”

The smoky steel . . . Remember how it cut through those bushes? It passed through them like nothing!

“You’re an alchemist,” Edmund said, remembering aloud. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? I mean, why you’re being punished. The Undead King wanted you to figure out how Iliandor did it, how he created his weapons, his armor. And you couldn’t!”

“You are very insightful. Now you are beginning to understand my thread in this web.”

“Tell me, these weapons, this alloy that you are talking about . . . did it have a d-d-d . . . a d-distinctive color to it?”

“Indeed. It had a bluish-grey marble hue. Why? What made you ask?”

He asked if Thomas had any more weapons like that . . .

And you told him where Rood was . . .

Edmund’s heart sank.

Oh no . . .

“Edmund?”

“Be-be-because, because I had a short sword made of some strange material. It was very light and exceedingly sharp. I had it when I was captured. That’s why he . . . Kar-Nazar . . . that’s why he took such an interest in me at first. He wanted to know where I got it.”

“You had such a weapon and they still managed to take you prisoner?”

You should have fought them.

I couldn’t . . .

At some point, you’ll have to.

Edmund put his head in his hands. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

None of this is making any sense. Iliandor defeated the Undead King. He drove him into Ice Fields and defeated him in hand-to-hand combat.

And all princesses are pretty . . .

Edmund shook his head again, unable to do anything else.

And remember the troll’s den? Remember all of those shields? They shouldn’t have been there. None of those knights died in this region, at least not according to the histories you have read.

I wonder how much of what I know is actually true.

Father always used to say histories and faerie tales were the same thing.

I thought that he was just trying to get me to stop reading my books and dedicate more time to my magic studies.

“What does all of this have to do with the riddle?” Edmund asked the darkness.

“I do not know,” Vorn replied. “But it seems that Kar-Nazar believes that the riddle is somehow connected to Iliandor and the method by which he created his alloy. Nothing else matters to him. Once he learns how to produce such armor, he will sweep down from these mountains and drive humans completely off the continent. He’ll exterminate all of you.”

Isa. The Tower. They weren’t trying to hide the Star of Iliandor. They were trying to hide the formula for the alloy!

“The salvation of humanity can be found in buildings of wise men, doubly so in optimism of the learned, and in knowledge that is written on a daily basis,” Edmund said to himself.

It has to mean something—

A sharp clink sliced through the darkness as the outer door to the wet cells unlocked.

“Oh no!” Edmund exclaimed.

“Good luck to you, Edmund,” Vorn said. “May the gods guide your soul.”

Echoes of footsteps floated toward them from down the tunnel.

Hurriedly, Edmund unclasped the Star of Iliandor from around his head. With quivering fingers, he pushed the thin strands of silver into the tiny gap between the cell door and the dripping wall.

The footfalls grew louder.

Edmund closed his eyes, trying to remember the proper cadence.

“
Forstørre nå
,” he said.

Nothing seemed to happen.

The approaching feet were now directly outside his cell, torch light spilling into his cell from underneath the door.

Trying to remember how his father did it, he tried the spell again.

“
Forstørre nå.
”

The chain remained the same size.

“Well, Master Filth!” Kravel said from the other side of the cell door. “Still alive, I hope.”

Kravel!

When he opens the door, go for his eyes.

There are two of them.

There are always two of them. I have to get out of here. I’m not going to let them burn my other eye out.

“It stinks down here,” Gurding’s muffled voice said. “I hate it.”

“I believe that is part of the charm of these cells,” Kravel replied. “Very motivating, I would think.”

Try the enlargement spell again.

Edmund touched the chain and muttered under his breath, “
Forstørre nå.
”

He grew lightheaded. Black spots floated across his vision. His mouth went dry.

Forget about it. You’ll just have to fight them.

The narrow window in the cell door slid open. Blinding light flooded the cramped quarters. Crying out, Edmund fled to the far corner, both hands covering his remaining eye.

“Ah! There he is, Mr. Gurding. Looking as well as ever.”

“Give him his present and let’s leave this place.”

“Patience, Mr. Gurding. Some things should be savored. Much like this lovely meal we had specially prepared for you, Master Filth.” A tin bowl slid through a slot underneath the door. “I hope you appreciate the extra nourishment. I’m sure that they aren’t feeding you as well as His Majesty did. Oh well, something to aspire to, I suppose.”

Cowering in the corner, Edmund shielded his eye from the excruciatingly bright light.

“Not very talkative,” Gurding said. “I say we leave him to his food. I’m sure he’ll be begging to talk to us soon.”

“Perhaps, Mr. Gurding. Perhaps. Still, I feel some sadness at our friend’s silence. Makes me want to comfort him in some small, meaningless way.”

“It makes me want to slit his stomach open. Let’s go.”

“Very well. Take good care of yourself, Master Filth. Enjoy your meal and think of us. We’ll be seeing you shortly, I’m quite sure.”

The window at the top of the door slid shut, cutting off much of the brilliance from the other side. However, the light streaming underneath the cell door remained.

“Let’s go,” Gurding whispered. “He’ll eat when he’s hungry.”

“Very well, Mr. Gurding. We’ll see how he liked it when we return. Perhaps he’ll be more talkative after he sees our efforts to make him happy.”

“Couldn’t we have one of the guards fetch him next time? I hate this place.”

“As you wish, my friend. Though I do enjoy the peaceful atmosphere. It reminds me of the catacombs.”

The outer door closed with a decisive metallic clang, plunging Edmund’s cell into utter blackness. He uncovered his eye.

“What did they bring you?” Vorn asked.

Edmund felt for the bowl and brought it to his nose, then remembered that he could no longer smell anything.

“It feels like the same stew that they always bring.”

He dumped the contents of the bowl through the holes in the floor. As he did so, something metal hit the grate with a muted chink.

A coin?

Why would they put a coin in your food?

Maybe a key?

Feeling around, Edmund’s hand grazed over a soft lump perhaps three inches long with a metal band around it.

What is this?

He turned it over in the dark.

It’s a . . .

A what?

Then it hit him.

It’s a finger with a ring!

“A finger?” Vorn repeated. “Whose?”

Edmund felt the finger again, surprised that he wasn’t repulsed by touching it. The bone was cleanly cut and the flesh was still squishy, as if it were recently sliced from the victim’s hand.

“I haven’t a clue whose it is,” he said. “I probably couldn’t tell even if I had light to see by. Who notices people’s fingers?”

“People who do not have any.”

Good point.

Edmund contemplated igniting a strip of cloth from what remained of his pants so he could see what the ring looked like. But every inch of him and his clothes was caked with dry sewage. Even with his fire spell, he’d never be able to ignite it.

Why would they put a finger in my stew?

It doesn’t matter. It’s meaningless, just like the damn riddle.

Maybe Vomit was right. Maybe all of this is just a big game to them. Maybe they are betting at what I do next or how I react or something.

Edmund took the ring off the finger.

“It’s unadorned,” he said. “The ring I mean.” He placed it in the palm of his sewage-covered hand. “And it’s light, maybe copper or cheap brass. Probably not gold or silver. But I can’t really tell.”

“I used to be able to determine the difference by taste alone,” Vorn said. “But that was ages ago.”

“The finger has a bit of a long, jagged nail to it.”

What does it matter? Get rid of it.

“Could it be one of your friends from the mines?”

“I have no friends in the mines.” An image of a smiling Pond Scum appeared in Edmund’s mind. “Well, maybe one. But he didn’t have a ring. The guards eventually take everything of value. They even took my boots and belt.”

He slid the ring on his pinkie.

It’s small.

This is pointless. It doesn’t affect you.

“Then I am at a loss. Perhaps the finger was merely a way to disgust you.”

“I’m already disgusted.” Edmund tossed the finger through the grate. It landed in the sewer a few seconds later with a muffled kerplop. “If that’s the w-w-worst they can do, I’ll be fine.”

“It is not the worse. Believe me. They have not even begun to torment you.”

Edmund felt the puffy hole where his left eye had been. Pus had finally stopped seeping out of it.

They aren’t going to have an opportunity to burn the other one out. Next time they come, I’ll—

“What was that spell you were trying to cast when the Hiisi arrived?” Vorn asked. “It did not sound as if it progressed particularly well.”

“It didn’t. It was just a stupid spell that I once used long ago. I thought it might help, but I can’t remember how it goes.”

“What were you trying to accomplish?”

“I put something in the cracks of the door and tried to get it to enlarge so the d-d-door wouldn’t open. It was stupid.”

“Not at all. It was rather ingenious. Keep trying. All you have here is your wits and time. Optimize both. You should be practicing all of your incantations, meaningless or not. Then maybe your mind will grow stronger and you’ll be able to cast more potent incantations.”

“I only know four spells,” Edmund said, regretfully. “And none of them are very potent.”

You should’ve trained harder.

I should’ve done a lot of things . . .

“It is said that the least of a person’s abilities grant them what they need to succeed.”

“You sound like my father.”

“Perhaps if you had listened to him, things would be different for you now. Just as if you listen to me, perhaps things will be different in your future.”

Iliandor had said something very similar once—
“From today’s learning grows tomorrow’s success
.” Or at least, that’s what the plaque at the bottom of one of his monuments said. Edmund wasn’t sure who the real Iliandor was anymore.

“Are you going to practice?” Vorn prodded.

“All right. But it won’t work. I’ve already tried.”

“Then try until it does work.”

It couldn’t hurt. At the very least, you’ll lose consciousness and be spared a few hours from this festering hell.

Leaning forward, Edmund felt for the Star of Iliandor. Its finely-wrought silver chain was still wedged in between the cell door and the wall. Touching it, he closed his remaining eye and attempted to recall his father’s exact words.

“
Forstørre nå
,” he said.

Nothing happened.

This will never work.

“Try again,” Vorn said.

Taking a deep breath, Edmund waited for the dizziness to dissipate.

“
Forstørre nå
,” he said, changing his inflections.

There was a sound like ice cracking.

“Did you succeed?” Vorn asked.

Edmund felt the chain. “I, I . . . I think so. It’s thicker, but not by much. If I cast it again, I wonder if the chain would get even wider.”

He chuckled, despite his situation.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I just remembered asking my father the same question many years ago,” Edmund said. “He had given me a piece of candy one day for doing my chores particularly well. So I asked him if I kept casting this spell, would I eventually have a candy bigger than a house. He said that I would, but my head would explode.”

“Odd thing to say to a child. And not accurate in the slightest.”

“I know.” Edmund’s smile faded as he remembered his father dying in his bed. “That . . . that was just his sense of humor.”

Shame you didn’t spend more time with him while you could.

Who would have thought he would have died like that? Anyway, he hated being around me.

“Try it again.”

Taking a deep breath, Edmund touched the chain and tried again. The sound of metal expanding echoed in the darkness.

“Hey!” Edmund exclaimed. “Twice in a row.”

Father would be proud.

No, he wouldn’t. He would be disappointed that this is all that I could do. He always said I was meant to be a powerful magic user.

“Congratulations. Keep practicing all of your abilities,” Vorn said. “You never know when the least of your skills will turn failure into success.”

Success . . .

Success is getting out of here, not finally mastering some spell you learned when you were five years old.

Edmund ran his fingers along the chain. It was now clearly much thicker than it was before. He tugged on it. It was wedged tightly between the door and the wall.

Maybe if I enlarged something else, I could make a weapon or something to pry open the door.

He took the ring off his little finger, considering its possibilities.

Maybe I could—

Down the passageway, the door to the cell block burst open. Blinding light shot underneath the cell door, sending shadows and Edmund scurrying to the corner, covering his remaining eye.

Damn!

Quick! This is your chance! When he opens the—

“Filth!” a guard bellowed, his voice amplifying as it reverberated through the dank tunnel. “You’re coming with me. His Majesty wants to take a look at your other eye!” His heavy footfalls strode closer and closer.

“May the gods protect you,” Vorn whispered.

If the gods don’t, I will. If I can’t stop them from getting me, I’ll try to get them!

Get ready!

Edmund repositioned himself in the back of his cell as if he were cowering, his bare feet pressed against the far wall for leverage.

Patience. As soon as that door opens, knock him down. Run right through him. Drive the door back and knock him off balance. And then go for his eyes. Make the goblin bastard pay . . .

A key slid into the lock of the cell door.

Edmund’s legs tensed.

Run right through him. Kill him. Knock his head off. May him pay! Make him pay for everything!

The tumbler turned.

Edmund raised his shoulder to where he thought the goblin’s chest would be. He pictured the surprise on the goblin’s face when he burst into the passageway. He imagined the guard fumbling with the keys to the cell in one hand and the blazing torch in the other. He would attempt to draw his weapon. But Edmund planned to be on him before he could.

The guard pulled on the door.

Like a cobra, Edmund launched himself across the tiny cell.

Kill him! Kill the—

The top of Edmund’s head smacked into the metal door. Shaken, he fell to the stinking grate.

“What the hell are you doing?” The visor slid open. The guard glared in. “What’re you up to in there?”

Ugh! My head! My head!

The guard pulled on the door and then pulled again.

“What did you do?” The guard said, pushing and then yanking the handle as hard as he could. Still the door refused to budge. “Get back or I’ll stick you through this hole, you understand me? Get back!”

Holding his throbbing head, Edmund crawled to a far corner of his cell while the guard continued to jerk on the door’s handle.

“Blast it!” After heaving a few more times, the guard kicked the door and stomped up the tunnel, cursing. “I’ll get the damned thing open.”

Edmund felt the top of his head. A bump the size of a baby’s fist was erupting underneath his hair.

You blew it! Next time he’s going to be ready for you. Idiot! Who runs into a door with their head? I can’t believe this!

“Edmund,” Vorn whispered, “what is the duration of the enlargement spell you invoked?”

Edmund groaned. “I don’t know, a few minutes. M-m-maybe a little less. But I can disengage it at any time with the counter spell.” He rubbed the growing bump, but that only caused him more pain.

“Cast the counter spell.”

“I can’t right now. I hurt my head running into the damn door.”

Idiot! You squandered your only chance. You’re going to die here . . . or worse! I can’t believe you—

In the darkness directly in front of Edmund, there was a snap, followed by a creaking sound.

What was that?

It sounded like . . .

He extended a hand in the blackness, but couldn’t feel anything.

“Edmund,” Vorn whispered, “the guard never relocked your cell.”

Edmund inched forward, both of his hands outstretched. The door to his cell was wide open.

It’s—

“Listen to me, Edmund,” Vorn said, urgently, “get to the mines.”

Getting to his feet, Edmund stumbled forward, feeling for the wall with one hand, searching in front of him with the other.

“In the guardroom up the passage is a tunnel on the right,” Vorn repeated louder. “Take it. Hide in the mines. Stay hidden for as long as you can. Weeks, if you are able. Hide and wait until they have given up looking for you!”

Edmund felt for his cell door.

The keys! He left them in the lock.

“What are you doing? Go! Flee!”

“Wait.” Edmund shot his hand over the outside of his cell door. “I’m trying to find the keys!”

“Go!”

Run! Get out of here! Leave the keys. Leave Vorn. Just get the hell out of here!

Edmund’s hand scraped against a ring of keys, still dangling from the lock. He wrenched them out. They bobbled in his hand and fell somewhere to the unseen floor with an echoing clatter.

Run!

“Go!” Vorn commanded.

Panicking, Edmund fell to his knees, his hands sweeping in the darkness in ever widening arcs. “We can both get out.”

What are you doing? Run before the guard comes back!

“Edmund,” Vorn said, “listen to me. Forget about the keys. Run to the mines. Hide. Run!”

Edmund’s fingers felt something cold. Instinctively he swept it up.

It’s not the key. It’s—

He had picked up the Star of Iliandor.

Run!

“Run!”

“We both can—” Edmund began.

“Don’t worry about me. Run!”

Hurry!

Edmund swept his hands along the floor again, feeling nothing but damp stone.

Run! Get out of here! Hurry!

Edmund got to his knees. “I’m, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Run!” Vorn shouted.

But Edmund was already halfway up the passage, sprinting as fast as he could in the blackness.