Riddle in Stone (The Riddle in Stone Series - Book One) (32 page)

The next day, Edmund, Thorax, and Toby stepped out from a fashionable clothier shop in the upper levels of the city, their arms laden with packages wrapped neatly in paper. Edmund was eight gold pieces poorer. But his new boots and clothes were worth the expense. They were more elegant than anything he had ever worn. In them, he actually felt like a lord.

“Are you sure they said
this
afternoon?” Edmund asked Toby again.

“Yes!” the boy said, annoyed. “I even double-checked. Your audience with the King is at four bells. ‘Not a second later,’ the messenger said.”

Moments before, the bells in the Grand Tower rang out two o’clock.

Thank the Gods! If I had to sit around here any longer, I would’ve gone crazy!

They stood on the sidewalk outside the clothier’s shop. Edmund felt his hairless chin.

I should shave.

You shaved this morning.

It wouldn’t hurt to shave again. And maybe bathe again. I have a couple hours before I have to be there.

You better not be late!
This is the most important day of your life.

“Let’s go back to the bathhouse,” Edmund said to Toby. “I want to freshen up and get ready.”

He started walking.

“I can’t believe you’re going to be a lord!” Toby said, loud enough for all to hear.

I just hope the King will listen to me.

He will. What King could pass up killing twenty thousand goblins?

Somebody seized Edmund’s right upper arm from behind and spun him around, packages flying out of his hands and scattering across the street.

“What the—” he cried out.

“What’s your name?” a tall bearded man demanded, his sword drawn and pointed at Edmund’s stomach.

“I-I-I . . . I beg your pardon?” Edmund said, angrily. Then he noted the pendant that the man wore on his grey cloak. It had a gold tower surrounded by red rays of the setting sun—the official symbol of Eryn Mas. “M-m-may I help you, sir?”

The bearded man’s expression eased, as if he found exactly what he thought he’d find. He observed Thorax, squatting next to Edmund, leaving a smelly pile of excrement on the cobblestones.

“I’ll clean it up,” Edmund said, trying to pull free from the man’s grasp. “Honest!”

The man’s gaze shifted to the scimitar dangling from Edmund’s belt. Grinning, he lifted the point of his sword to Edmund’s neck and snatched the scimitar from its scabbard.

“Hey!” Edmund shouted. “That’s mine. Give it back. What the hell are you doing?”

“Come with me,” the man said, pushing Edmund up the street in front of him. “You’re under arrest.”

“Under arrest? For what?”

It’s those diamonds you gave to that merchant! Idiot! I told you they were going to get you in trouble!

People stopped, staring at them.

Thorax growled as she hobbled after Edmund.

“What’s this all about?” Toby asked. “You don’t know who you are talking to. He’s going to be a lord!”

“I’m b-b-being arrested?” Edmund asked. “Why?”

The man pushed Edmund in front of him, sword to his back. “You’re under arrest for murder.”

Shock rustled through the crowd.

Murder?

“You’ve got the wrong m-m-man!” Edmund said as he was pushed farther up the street.

What’s this all about?

It’s a mistake. Just go with him and clear everything up.

“Toby,” Edmund called, pointing to the packages that had fallen to the ground. “Grab those.”

The man with the sword shoved Edmund another few steps, the muttering crowd around them growing.

“I don’t . . . I don’t have time for this,” Edmund shouted at his captor. “I have a m-m-meeting with the King!”

“Sure you do,” the man replied with a laugh.

“He does!” Toby said, running up with the packages in his arms. “Really!”

“He’ll be swinging from the gallows by sundown if the witnesses identify you.”

“W-w-witnesses?” Edmund sputtered. “This, this is all a, a, a mistake! Honest. I have an audience with the King in just a couple hours!”

“Oh, I have the right man all right.” He kicked the growling Thorax out of his way. “How many stuttering, one-eyed men, with a black and white dog and a goblin scimitar are there in Eryn Mas?” He pushed Edmund further up the street. “You’re going to hang after what you did.”

What’s this all about? What did I—?

Then Edmund remembered the bandit at the bridge flying through the air, blood spewing from his mouth, his chest caved in by Blake’s rear hooves.

But he was a thug! He would’ve killed me.

If the other two men on the bridge are here to testify, they’ll say—

The man shoved Edmund again.

“Come on and move it. Or I’ll stick you with this.” He shook his sword.

This can’t be happening. Not now!

The man forced Edmund further up the street. At least forty people were gathered around them, murmuring.

“Hang him!” somebody shouted.

Hang him?

No!

There was a grumbling of agreement.

I have to get out of here.

Edmund looked around frantically. He saw Toby, clutching the packages, his mouth open in shock.

“Toby,” Edmund shouted. “This is a mistake. Just take the packages to Blake. I’ll m-m-meet you there when I get this all cleared up. Okay?”

Toby blinked at him, as if he wasn’t sure what to believe.

“Go,” Edmund told Toby. “I’ll be fine. It’s all a mistake. But I need to go with him to prove it.”

Nodding, Toby retreated into the surging crowd.

Get out of here!

“Hurry up, or I’ll . . . ” The man stabbed his sword at Edmund’s midsection.

“Okay . . . okay,” Edmund told him, raising his hands in surrender. “Hold on, will you? Give me a minute. I have to get my d-d-dog.”

Calling to Thorax, Edmund bent down and picked her up. As he stood, he threw his knee into the law enforcer’s groin. The man snapped forward sharply, dropping both his sword and Edmund’s scimitar. Edmund’s fist collided with his jaw. The man’s head cracked back as he collapsed to the cobblestones.

Sweeping up both swords, Edmund said, “I’m, I’m . . . s-s-sorry. I’m really sorry about this. But I can’t be arrested, not now.” He put his scimitar back in his scabbard. Turning to the astonished crowd, he shouted, “I’m not a murderer! I was defending myself. The men were bandits!”

“I’m going to see that you swing from the gallows!” the law enforcer groaned as he rolled around on the ground, holding his groin.

Get out of here!

“I’m not a murder,” Edmund said to the crowd. “Honest! N-n-now . . . now, just leave me alone and nobody will get hurt. Please!”

Edmund started running, Thorax under one arm, the law enforcer’s sword in the other.

A great explosion of cries erupted as Edmund disappeared down a side street.

“Help!” somebody yelled. “Murderer! Murderer!”

“Get him!” someone else shouted.

The crowd converged on the law enforcer. Several children helped him to his feet, but nobody ran after Edmund.

Edmund paced outside the Royal Audience Hall in Tol Aden—the Castle of the Kings. Towering double doors gilded in gold blocked his way. Thorax sat nearby, watching her partner stride back and forth, wringing his hands together.

Down the hall, a smaller door opened.

Edmund spun, fearing that it was the law enforcer coming to arrest him. When the people who emerged into the hallway strolled in the opposite direction, he exhaled and, with trembling fingers, swabbed a damp cloth over his sweating forehead. Two royal guards watched him with amusement.

This will all be taken care of. It’s a misunderstanding. That’s all. Those men were bandits. The King will understand.

Don’t tell the King anything about it. He needs to send his knights to the tower! That’s the only thing that matters.

Right! Everything will be fine. Concentrate on the task at hand. Everything will be fine! It has to be . . .

Edmund tried to pay attention to the courtier lecturing him.

“So remember,” the old man went on, “when the doors open, you wait, head bowed. When His Highness is ready for you, he’ll command you to enter. At which time, you are to walk briskly to the center of the room, bow for at least three seconds, and then proceed to the dais. There you will kneel and wait to be spoken to. Do not make eye contact until he tells you to rise. Do you understand?”

Nodding, Edmund exhaled again and resumed his pacing in front of the doors.

What am I going to say?

Tell him about the tower, the thousands of goblins, how you escaped . . .

Thorax pawed his leg.

“Hey, girl,” he said, scratching behind her ears. “You’ve g-g-g-got to stay out here, okay? I mean it. All the other times you’ve followed me were fine. But this is different. Do you understand?”

Thorax’s ears drooped.

“Actually,” the old man said, picking dog hair off the new cloak he had purchased, “his Highness adores animals, dogs in particular. You may do well to bring the beast in . . . if it can behave itself.”

Thorax stared up at Edmund, a look of ‘I told you so’ in her brown eyes.

“But if it so much as piddles on the floor,” the attendant continued, “you’d both be executed, I’m quite sure of it. The choice is yours.”

Edmund and Thorax were staring at each other when a knock came from inside the room. The guards snapped to attention. The attendant sprang out of view with remarkable agility, leaving a befuddled Edmund and Thorax standing in front of the doors which now opened on a long chamber of white and gold. Fumbling, Edmund bowed his head, staring at Thorax with increasing anxiety.

For many moments, they stood motionless before the open doors, heads bowed, as voices before them discussed something of great importance. One voice rose above all, a regal tone causing all others to fall silent.

“I don’t care who takes the blasted post,” he shouted. “It could be a drunken monkey for all I care, as long as he can provide me with fresh men capable of killing those arrogant horse breeding bastards!”

There was loud murmuring.

Cold sweat trickled down Edmund’s armpits.

“They
were
allies,” the voice said, emphasizing the past tense. “And what of it?”

Several people spoke at once.

“What is the use of being King during times of peace? I mean, honestly! What would be the point? I might as well go to rot,” the King said. “We have an army don’t we? Well then, let’s use it!”

That’s a good sign! He wants to fight.

Then tell him where he can find twenty thousand goblins to cleave to pieces.

More voices joined the fray.

“Armies are not good in Witch Hunts!” he shouted. “What fun would that be?”

Good. Leave us magic users alone . . .

“Oh shut up! All of you!” the King commanded. “I’ve made my decision, now silence.”

The room fell quiet.

“Enter!” the King called to Edmund.

His head bowed, his gaze locked on Thorax, Edmund walked quickly into the grand chamber. Much to his annoyance, Thorax remained by his side.

“A dog?” the King asked. “Why, I like this fellow already. See the benefits of our little games? Appointing some dreary lesser nobility to the post wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun!”

Edmund and Thorax reached the center of the room where the tiled floor formed a sparkling mosaic sunburst. Had it not been for Thorax bowing first, Edmund would have forgotten to do so.

“Splendid!” the King called. “Splendid! Did you see that? The dog is actually bowing? Jeffrey, did you see that? See if we can teach our beasts that trick.” He called across the expansive hall to Edmund. “Come, come. Let’s get this over with.”

Edmund and Thorax straightened and, as if they had rehearsed the routine hundreds of times before, walked in stride and knelt before the King at precisely the same moment. The King applauded.

“Splendid! Talented mongrel . . . and human. Though, I dare say, I’d cut off that lame leg. The dog’s, not the human’s, you understand. Stand and entertain me!”

Edmund stood.

He was in an extraordinarily long ceremonial hall, hundreds of feet in length. Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, sending rivers of red and blue light dancing across the sparkling white floors. Underneath the windows were wooden tables at which scores of royal advisors sat, mumbling to themselves in agitated voices. Above, beautiful images of child-like angels floating in a blue sky adorned the vaulted ceiling.

Before Edmund, twelve broad steps led to a raised dais. Upon the dais was an ornate throne of gold and glittering rubies. Sitting on a red silk cushion was a tall man with flowing yellow hair that Edmund guessed was dyed to match the surrounding gold.

The King’s expression twisted. “Good god, man! What the devil happened to your eye? And your face—it’s positively revolting!”

A dwarf in multicolored robes and a floppy hat leapt to the King’s side. “Did somebody say, ‘revolting’?” he called out, banging a small gong.

“Oh!” The King laughed. “Good timing, Lester! And I supposed the last thing a king should say is . . . ‘REVOLT-ing’, get it?”

Banging his gong repeatedly, the dwarf danced a jig as the royal advisors in the room produced stilted laughter.

“Ah,” the King said, dabbing his eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. “That was too precious. Revolting!” He chuckled some more.

“All right then,” the King said when he had finally composed himself. “One of you is the poor, ugly fellow who found the Star of Iliandor or some such thing, correct?”

Edmund and Thorax exchanged glances.

He’s crazy!

“He has to consult with the dog!” Lester said, rolling on the floor, kicking his bell-covered slippers in the air.

“Well, it is the better looking one of the two,” the King replied, getting more forced laughter and gong-ringing. “It’s probably more intelligent as well.”

Fighting the urge to look at Thorax again, Edmund waited, impatience and anger building within him.

“I’m sorry,” the King said, turning to Edmund. “You were saying?”

Edmund bowed a second time for no reason other than to hide his mounting irritation. “Your H, H, Highness . . . ”

“Your H, H, Highness . . . ” The dwarf mocked as he danced.

The King waved for Lester to stop. “So, you found the something of somebody or another. It must not have been too difficult to acquire if you were able to manage the task.”

“No, Sire,” Edmund said, trying to keep his face emotionless.

“So, my ugly fellow, what is it that you do? What is your profession? Have you run a fiefdom before?”

Tell him about the goblins!

I will as soon as I can get past these stupid questions!

“No . . . no, Sire. I haven’t run a fiefdom before,” Edmund said, “And I’m a . . . a librarian of sorts. However, what I—”

“Egads,” the King said, recoiling. “A librarian? How incredibly boring!”

“Yes . . . yes, sir. I suppose it is. But, but, but . . . what I’d like to talk to you about—”

“Then tell me about your eye, the one that is either really, really small or missing altogether. Not the normal one. I have no interest in it.”

Good! Now tell him about the goblins.

“W-w-well . . . well, Sire, th-th-that, that’s . . . that’s why I wished to speak to—”

“Good god!” the King cried, turning to those around him. “He’s a stuttering imbecile! We can’t have an imbecile become nobility!”

“Why not?” Lester the jester asked. “He’d fit right in.”

The King considered this for a moment and then howled. Dancing in a circle, the dwarf banged his gong.

“Ah, Lester!” The King said, dabbing his tearing eyes with a silk handkerchief. “You are priceless. Fit right in!” He chuckled some more. “So true. So unbelievably true!”

Don’t look at Thorax. Don’t look at Thorax.

“Okay,” the King said, his chuckles dying. “Master Lester is correct, you shall be just like all the others. Stutter away, imbecile.”

Gritting his teeth, Edmund shifted from one foot to another.

Moron! How did he ever become king?

Never mind that. Focus! Nice . . . smooth . . . speech!

“You see, Your Highness, my, my eye was burnt out by goblins. They’re—”

Leaning forward, the King nearly got to his feet.

“Those bastards! Good thing we made them pay, the vermin! Please forgive my jester for making light of your truly horrifying appearance. He had no idea you were a veteran. Now I will be proud to make you a lord!”

The King searched around his throne. “Where is my lord-making sword?” he bellowed. “No, not that one! The pretty one with the sparkly diamonds all up and down the hilt.”

Tell him!

“A-a-act-actually,” Edmund said, wondering whether he should interrupt the ranting King. “I’m not a, a veteran. Strictly speaking, that is.”

The King paused, an eyebrow raised. “Then what are you? Strictly speaking.”

“You see, my eye was b-burnt out by goblins in the northern Haegthorn Mountains. I was captured and held captive in a tower—”

“What?” The King huffed. “Nonsense! There hasn’t been a goblin in the north for generations. And thanks to my skillful sword arm, and . . . to a lesser extent the Providence of the Gods . . . they are now vanquished here as well!”

He’s an arrogant horse’s ass!

Keep your mouth shut. And don’t show your anger. Be humble and pleasant. Explain to him what happened.

“S-s-so, so it would seem, your Highness,” Edmund said, bowing. “But, but there is an entire kingdom of goblins up north. Twenty thousand strong!”

The King sat back, his lips forming a wry smile.

“Oh, I see,” he said, delighted. “This is a joke! And a very good one! Lester, bang away.”

The dwarf banged his gong and danced in a circle.

“I’m not joking,” Edmund said, irritation creeping into his tone. “Up in the Haegthorn, there is a tower and tunnels and a ruined city and thousands of goblins! They are led by the Undead King from old. Iliandor didn’t kill him after all. You need to send your army to defeat them so I can rescue the woman I love!”

The King looked at Lester. The dwarf shrugged.

“Honestly,” the King said to Edmund. “You really need to work on this one. It’s not terribly funny.”

“I tell you, it isn’t a joke!” Edmund’s voice rose to a shout. “There are over twenty thousand goblins hidden under the northern peaks of the Haegthorn Mountains. You need to send your army up there—”

“Now I think you are being insulting! And not a least bit entertaining. Goblins up north. Twenty thousand of them?” He guffawed. “That’s lunacy!”

Lester stepped forward, his face strangely unnerved. “Actually, Your Highness, he may be telling the truth.”

The King regarded his jester with surprise.

“You see,” the dwarf went on, “many ages ago, scrolls were found written in a strange language that none could read. They took decades to decipher, but eventually one of your predecessors managed to untangle the riddle.”

“Go on, Lester,” the King said. “You intrigue me. What did these scrolls say?”

“Master, they told of the future and how a mighty goblin horde with indestructible weapons and armor would one day sweep down from the northern lands and drive humans into the Sea. And that we only have one hope for salvation.”

The royal advisors ceased their murmurings.

The King leaned closer to the dwarf.

“Go on,” the King prodded. “What is our one hope?”

“A middle-aged, one-eyed librarian who stutters.”

The King rocked back, looked at Edmund, and then at his jester. “Are you serious?”

“No.”

The room shook with laughter.