Riddle in Stone (The Riddle in Stone Series - Book One) (39 page)

For many days, they traveled by night and hid themselves while the sun was up. The darkness and rocky terrain made their going slow, but Edmund hoped to remain undetected as they snuck further and further westward from the reaches of the northernmost portions of the mountains.

Soon, the hills gave way to the muddy Battle Plains, where in tales of old, Iliandor had cast down the Undead King and drove his knife into the goblin leader’s throat. Occasionally, they found relics rusting in the bright spring sunlight. Many of the goblin weapons and armor were hewed cleanly in two. However, despite his quick searches, Edmund didn’t find anything made of Iliandor’s steel.

By the time they reached the river Bygwen, the fear of goblins had left them, having seen nothing more fearsome than a few wolves and the occasional black bear during the weeks they had been free. They turned south and followed the river until it flowed into Lake Nuvelle. Here, exhausted and tired of eating Edmund’s magically-created biscuits, they rested for two days, fishing and scrubbing the filth off their bodies in the cool water. But Rood was close at hand and Molly was anxious to return home with her husband—Norb. So they left the sandy beaches and began journeying during the daylight to make quicker time.

When they reached the ruins of Azagra, Edmund bade them to break early for lunch, though it was still morning and they had walked less than five miles since setting out that day. As the others ate and rested, Edmund climbed to the bluffs overlooking the remains of the city. There he found the twenty-seven barrows of the Lords of the Highlands.

They were worn by time and covered with a thick carpet of green grass, all except for the last barrow. Here Edmund found flowers of yellow and burgundy growing—Rudbeckia they were called in Rood.

For many moments, Edmund beheld Iliandor’s resting place.

Why are you here?

I don’t know. To get away from Molly and Norb. If I see them kiss one more time, I’ll—

Something glinted in the weeds next to him. Brushing away the dirt, he found a grave marker. It read: “My darling wife Kristyn. May we rest together for eternity.” It was made of smoke-colored steel.

At least he had his true love.

Edmund picked one of the Rudbeckia from atop Iliandor’s barrow and laid it on the grave of Iliandor’s beloved wife.

He stood up quickly.

Rudbeckia? Rudbeckia aren’t perennials this far north.

Somebody must have—

He glanced around, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever planted the flowers. But he was alone.

* * * * *

Days later, weary and hungry, they approached Rood from the west. A faint hint of wood ash lingered in the evening air. Molly inhaled deeply, the torment of the Undead King finally fading from her face. Smiling, she squeezed Norb’s hand. Behind her, Edmund scowled.

“It smells like somebody is cooking something wonderful,” she said. “I’m starving.”

But her expression changed when they came around the last hill.

Hanging from Rood’s western gate were eight bodies, their hands tied behind their backs, their heads rolled unnaturally to one side. Beyond, the charred remains of buildings stood, black and cold. Other bodies lined the streets. Some hung from trees, jagged hooks imbedded under their jawbones. Many more were lying on the ground, hacked to pieces or partly burned.

“Oh my god,” Molly managed to say through the quivering fingers covering her mouth.

They’re all dead . . .

Everybody!

They stumbled into Rood. All around them was death and ruin. Familiar faces of men, women, and children stared lifelessly back at them. Forty or more severed heads were on poles in what used to be the town square, ravens picking at their film-covered eyes. The smell of burnt flesh wafted into their nostrils.

The bodies of a dozen knights were hanging from a broken statue of Iliandor, arrows sticking out of them as if used for target practice. Below their dangling feet, stacked like kindling wood, were the corpses of their young squires.

“They deserve it,” Norb said, staring at the bodies.

But Edmund wasn’t too sure.

“They did what they thought was right. They protected the town.”

Who’s going to protect it now?

What’s left to protect?

They turned in unison, examining the carnage around them, unable to speak or to look away or even to cry. Nobody in the village remained alive. Not a single building remained standing. The bakery where Edmund used to beg for cookies as a child had collapsed. The Rogue, where he had spent countless evenings watching Molly from the corner of his eye, was a black skeleton. Burnt boards dislodged by the wind fell clattering to the ground as they stared. His mother’s cherished apothecary shop was a pile of smoldering ash.

All those books . . .

It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing does.

“It looks like you have a lot of work to do,” Pond said. “You being the Lord of this region and all.”

Edmund stirred.

“I’m not Lord here or anywhere else.”

He withdrew the Star of Iliandor from his pocket. The failing evening light reflected dully off of its blue gem. It felt cold and heavy.

“Here,” Edmund said, handing the Star to Norb. “Bring this to the King in Eryn Mas. If he asks, say you found it on my dead body or something. And whatever you do, don’t m-m-mention anything about goblins. Or me being a magic user. Don’t tell anybody, you understand?”

“Of course. I’ll take that to my grave.” Norb examined the Star. “Why should I give this to the stupid King? His stinking knights wouldn’t even help us.”

“Because whoever turns this in will be made Lord of the Highlands. And somebody needs to rebuild the town. I can’t do it with the goblins hunting for me. So it’ll have to be you.”

His eyebrows arched, Norb’s lips moved, as if silently saying, “Lord Norb.”

“But there is one thing, Norb,” Edmund said, his expression turning hard. “Treat Molly like the Lady she is, or you’ll have me to answer to.”

Far from Rood and the Highlands, Edmund stood in a dirt path bisecting a nameless settlement of perhaps thirty ramshackle buildings, scanning the horizon for any signs of Kravel and his goblin hunters. He thought that he had a good two-day lead on his pursuers, but he wasn’t sure. Goblins could travel as swiftly as hungry jackals when they smelled blood and somehow, no matter where Edmund and Pond went, Kravel and Gurding were only a step behind them.

He tapped his foot impatiently.

Hurry up!

To his right, a traveling merchant scowled at him, Edmund having already told the merchant several times that he wasn’t interested in buying anything.

The merchant unloaded another box from his cart and set it on the ground next to the rest of his wares. From inside came soft scuffling sounds and a few birdlike cries. The head of a grey puppy appeared, followed by a brown one, a mostly white one, and two black ones.

The grey puppy scrambled on top of her littermates, fell down, scrambled back up, and pulled herself to the edge of the box, where she teetered for a moment. Leaping, she landed on the ground, her little legs pointing in four different directions. Pushing herself to her feet, she romped over to Edmund, tripping over herself several times in the process.

“You really should stay with your friends,” Edmund told the puppy. “It’s much safer there than out here.”

She tripped over Edmund’s boot, got back up, and wagged her tiny tail. Putting a paw on his leg, she gazed up at him.

“All righty,” Pond said, coming out of one of the nearby buildings, his pack hoisted high on his shoulders. “I’m ready. Where to now, Captain?”

Edmund gestured up the road he had been studying. “They said this eventually leads to Dardenello. That might be a good place to hide for a while. You’ll like it, it’s by the sea.”

And it’s as far from the mountains as humanly possible.

The puppy scurried around them.

“Warm or cold?” Pond asked.

“Warm,” Edmund replied. “At least in the summers. In the winter, the weather is mild.”

“Good. If I ever see snow again, it’ll be too soon.”

The puppy tripped over Edmund’s boots again.

“Remember,” Edmund said, pulling on his overflowing backpack, “we’ll have to change our names just to be safe.”

“Could I be called Lord Horgswadal?”

Laughing, Edmund patted Pond on the back. “I’ll call you whatever you want.”

He started walking up the road, a whistling Pond by his side.

“Have I thanked you today for coming to my rescue back at the library?” Edmund asked.

“Not today.”

“Well, thank you for saving my life,” Edmund said.

“Thanks for saving mine,” Pond replied.

Standing in the middle of the dusty road behind them, the grey puppy yipped.

Edmund looked at her and sighed.

“Are you sure? It won’t be easy. You’ll be better off here, trust me.”

Her tiny tail wagged so that her entire rear end whipped back and forth. She yipped again.

“Okay.” Producing a coin from his pouch, Edmund tossed it at the merchant. “But you’ll have to walk. I’m not going to carry you. That’s rule number one.”

The puppy bounded after them.

“Who’s this?” Pond asked, smiling at the little ball of grey fur jumping around them.

“Our new guard dog,” Edmund said. “She’ll certainly have big shoes to fill.”

Pond scanned the bleak horizon behind them. “Do you think the goblins will keep hunting us?”

Edmund resumed walking.

Until I’m either dead or captured . . .

The End

If I were to list everybody who helped bring Edmund to life, these acknowledgments would be longer than the actual story. However, there are several people who deserve to be mentioned. Chief among them are my publisher, Diversion Books, my agent, Joëlle Delbourgo, and my personal editor and writing coach, Christine DeSmet. More than anybody, they saw Edmund’s potential and encouraged me to keep working on this project.

Also, I’d like to thank the incredible people at
www.absolutewrite.com
and
www.theonering.com
, especially Rwhen, Calma, Frelga, Rowanberry, Iris, Vanaladiel, GwenElf, and the many others who gave me valuable insight about the craft of writing.

I’d also like to thank the MERPers—Dusty, Jeff, Doug, David, and Terry—for their years of friendship and adventure.

Finally, I want to thank my wife. I love you, Kris. Thank you for letting me be your husband.

By day, Robert Evert is an ordinary university professor bent on stamping out ignorance and apathy wherever they may rear their ugly heads. By night, and during various faculty meetings, he is an aspiring fantasy writer. Living in northeast Ohio with his wonderful wife, two sons, dog, four cats, and a host of imaginary friends, Robert enjoys teaching, yoga, hiking, and writing. If you are interested, you may learn more about Robert Evert at
www.robertevert.blogspot.com
where he discusses being a neurotic writer. Or you can e-mail him directly at
[email protected]
. He’d love to hear your thoughts about his book.
Riddle in Stone
is his first novel.

“Are we . . . are we almost there?” Pond asked again, panting as he scrambled up the hill after Edmund.

Edmund labored around another tree, sweat trickling into the hole where his left eye used to be. In the bluish starlight, he could only see a few feet in front of him, making his progress slow and often painful. However, fatigue was his biggest concern. Soon he would have to stop whether he wanted to or not, and he knew that at least twenty goblin hunters weren’t far behind.

“Almost,” he said, ducking under a low branch. “I think . . . I think I can hear it up ahead.”

“Hear what?”

Veering to his left, Edmund set off for a gap between two jagged hills looming in the blackness before them.

The sound of rushing water grew louder.

This better not be another dead end. If we get trapped . . .

“There’s a river around here,” he said over his shoulder. “The River Celerin. It’s nearby. It’ll . . . it’ll . . . it’ll hide our tracks.”

“Celerin?” Pond repeated. “That’s . . . that’s a big river, isn’t it? I mean, it . . . it isn’t just a small stream, right?”

Edmund grunted, his pace slowing to a limping jog, then to a walk. He stopped and doubled over, sucking in the smell of dry autumn leaves in great gulping swallows.

His puppy, Becky, leapt from his arms.

“I . . . I don’t know if I can keep this up much longer,” Pond said, collapsing onto the ground next to him. “I can’t keep running.”

“Do you want to go back to the goblin pits?”

Pond shook his head.

“Then we either run or we die. It’s that simple!”

Edmund took a drink.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” he said, handing the water skin to Pond. “But, but we . . . we have to keep running. We have no other choice.”

Pond took several quick sips and then poured some of the water over his sweaty face. “We could hide.”

“They keep finding us. I don’t know how . . . but . . . but they always do.”

They probably smell you. You stink!

The river will take care of that . . .

Standing on her hind legs, Becky danced, begging to be picked up.

“The river,” Edmund said, trying to slow his pounding heart. “The river is our only hope. We . . . we have to put some distance between us and them. The river . . . the river will help.”

Without warning, Becky pounced on one of Pond’s boots, latching onto it as if it were a deadly enemy.

“For the love of—”

He pried her off his ankle.

“You were saying?” he asked, holding the writhing puppy in his outstretched arms, her sharp teeth flashing in the moonlight.

“I’m not sure how Kravel keeps f-f-find, finding us,” Edmund stammered, arching his aching back. “Maybe he’s . . . maybe he’s tracking us by scent. Maybe by—”

Pond cried out, Becky having found a way to bite her captor.

Springing free, she raced in frantic circles around them, kicking up dead leaves in her wake.

“Damn dog,” Pond said, flexing his thumb. A drop of blood pooled above a small puncture mark. “I say we tie her to a tree and leave.”

Becky leapt on Pond’s shin, growling as she pulled at the previously shredded pant leg.

“Could you please do something about her?”

“Here. Have her play with this.” Edmund tossed him the knotted remains of a cloak that she had previously defeated.

Watching the tattered cloak dangling in front of her nose, Becky stopped pulling, her eyes following the swirling olive green fabric.

Pond threw the cloak as far as he could.

Flying after it, Becky bounded down the hillside with reckless abandon.

“Honestly,” Pond said, examining the holes in his pants, “I don’t understand what you see in the little monster.”

“I like dogs,” Edmund replied. “Remember what Thorax did for us? We wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for her. Or worse, we’d be living in Kar-Nazar’s wet cells with our hands and feet cut off.”

Poor Thorax . . .

“Thorax was well-behaved,” Pond said. “This one is crazy. Seriously, there’s something wrong with her. It’s like she’s part demon.”

Dragging the cloak behind her, Becky pranced up to Edmund and dropped it at his feet.

“Sit,” Edmund told her.

Becky sat, her tail thumping against the dry ground.

As Edmund prepared to throw the wadded up cloak, she bounced back to standing, snapping at the air and yipping crazily.

“Sit.”

Becky sat, a manic look radiating from her bright grey eyes.

“Stay.”

Becky quivered with anticipation.

“Staaaay.”

He threw the cloak.

Becky vaulted after it, tripping over her gangly legs as she raced between the trees.

“So much for staying,” Pond chuckled bitterly. “We should find her a nice home at the first town or farm we come to.”

“I’m sorry she’s such a pain. I’ll m-m-make . . . I’ll make it up to you. I promise,” Edmund said, trying not to stutter. “But she’ll grow out of it. Besides, with her quick ears and keen sense of smell, we can rest easier at night. She’s saved us more than once already.”

“Sleep easier? Not with her jumping on me every few seconds. I haven’t slept since you got her.”

“She only attacks when you move. So don’t move.”

Pond snorted. “Don’t move, you say.”

Behind them on the crest of a distant rise, a black shape appeared, its humanoid form silhouetted against the midnight sky. Then two more became visible, followed by at least a score of others.

Edmund clutched Pond’s arm.

“Hurry!” he said, yanking Pond to his feet. “They’re coming. We have to get out of here.”

They tried to run, but their bodies would only allow a lurching stumble.

Becky leapt after them, growling and thrashing the cloak about.

“What’s your plan exactly?” Pond asked, forcing himself up the incline. “With the river and everything, I mean.”

“I figure . . . I figure we can use its current to float downriver.” The muscles in Edmund’s legs were tightening. In a few minutes, he wouldn’t be able to move at all. “We can float toward the lowlands. It’d be f-f-faster than running, and the goblins wouldn’t be able to follow our trail.”

Then he added, as if not daring to hope, “If we can reach one of the logging camps or mining towns to the south, we might finally be safe.”

Pond appeared visibly shaken.

“What?” Edmund asked.

“Well, I’m not a terribly strong swimmer.”

“You don’t have to be an expert or anything,” Edmund said, praying that the river wasn’t far away. “All you’ll have to do is float. The current will do the rest. You’ll be fine.”

Pond’s sour expression worsened.

“You don’t know how to swim, do you? Pond! You’re from sea-faring people!”

“I sold textiles. I’m a merchant, not a sailor.”

“Pond!” Edmund threw up his hands in dismay. “Can you at least tread water?”

“Not . . . not really. No.”

Shaking his head, Edmund stared up at the moon in desperation. The night was growing old and the goblins could move quickly in the dark. They’d be on them within the hour.

Stay and fight or run. Those are our only two options . . .

Next to him, Pond was still catching his breath. Even if it were daylight and they were both fully rested, they couldn’t fight twenty goblins and survive.

“Look, we can’t stay here,” Edmund said. “The river is our only hope.”

“Well then, let’s give it a go. Who knows, maybe I’m a natural swimmer!”

Death by goblins or by drowning . . .

At least you’d have a chance in the water.

I do. Pond doesn’t.

The night breeze shifted through the forest, rustling the leaves at their feet. It also brought with it a pungent odor of rotting meat.

Edmund sniffed, trying to recall what the stench reminded him of.

Then he remembered.

“Get down!” he said, dropping to his knees.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

Edmund hissed for Pond to be quiet.

Creeping to the hill’s summit, he peered down the other side.

In the valley beyond, he saw the River Celerin, shimmering in the moonlight below them. Striding through its white water stalked a massive figure, a spear the size of a sapling in his hand.

A troll! I can’t believe it! Damn our luck!

Not just any troll . . . He’s the same one who chased you to Tol Helen. Kravel is driving you northward into the mountains like cattle to the slaughterhouse. If we don’t turn south soon, we’ll run right into the Undead King’s tower.

“What is it?” Pond whispered, crawling next to Edmund. Through the trees, he saw the problem. “Oh, well that’s not good!”

What are we going to do now? We have to get out of here!

Caught between a troll and some goblins . . .

Edmund retreated from the ridge.

“We’ll be fine,” he whispered, not believing a word he was saying. “We’ll swing around to the south. The wind is coming from the east so he won’t smell—”

Shrill barking rang out into the night.

Oh no!

Edmund lunged for Becky, but she darted out of his grasp, yipping and snarling.

“Becky!”

The troll hesitated midstream, searching for the source of the commotion in the hills to his right. Then he saw the small bundle of grey fur sliding down the slope.

“Becky!

The troll gazed up at the patch of trees where Edmund and Pond were hiding.

“Quick,” Edmund said to Pond, “gather those rocks together. Get anything you can throw.”

“Why?”

“Just do it! Hit him when he comes within range.”

“What’re you—?”

Edmund threw himself over the ridge and plummeted after Becky.

Tearing toward the troll, Becky stopped mere inches away from the river’s rumbling current. With her ears pulled back, and her front legs lowered like a miniature bull, she barked at the colossal figure.

Laughing, the troll considered the tiny puppy and then Edmund as he half-slid, half-fell down the nearly vertical incline. Edmund tumbled to the riverbank, got to his bloodied knees, and drew forth his notched and slightly bent short sword.

Grinning, the troll waded to shore, his spear at the ready.

What the hell are you doing?

Saving Becky!

You’re going to die. You can’t fight a troll. Not by yourself. Run!

Shaking, Edmund pointed his sword at the approaching troll.

“Do you know how to use that meat cleaver?” the troll asked, stepping out of the churning river.

“W . . . w . . . well, well enough,” Edmund replied, both hands tightening around the sword’s rusty hilt. “B-B-Beck . . . Becky, come!”

Becky retreated a few paces as the dripping troll lumbered closer, her entire body vibrating with every high-pitched yap and snarl. But she didn’t come.

What are you doing? Get the hell out of here. Run!

Run where? Kravel is right behind us. We can’t go back.

“Becky,” Edmund repeated louder, his voice quavering. “Come!”

Becky let loose another deluge of barks, the hair between her shoulder blades standing on end.

“It’s either feast or famine in these hills.” The troll winked at Edmund. “It looks like a feast tonight!”

“M-m-m-maybe.” Edmund brandished his sword in front of him. “But I’m n-not cooked yet. You’ll have to catch me first. Becky . . . come!”

Becky still didn’t come.

Her neck craned upward as the troll closed in, the riverbank shaking with each of his calculated strides.

You’re going to die if you don’t get out of here!

I’m not leaving Becky! I can’t run anymore. Fighting is my only chance.

The troll hefted a crude spear to his shoulder. Just thirty feet from Edmund, he couldn’t miss.

“Oh, I won’t cook you,” he said. “I’m going to eat you alive. Bit by bit. Like a rat nibbling on your bones.”

If you’re going to fight him, get closer! You can’t do squat from here! Make him use that spear for thrusting. At least then you can parry it.

Edmund inched forward cautiously, closing the distance between him and the troll so that he was just out of the spear’s range.

“I’m going to tear your fingers off,” the troll said. “Then your stubby little arms.”

I have to get out of here . . .

Focus. Don’t let him distract you. You won’t get many opportunities. So when he attacks, block the spear and stab him. Keep your feet under you. Move!

Edmund circled a few steps to his left.

“I’m going to use your skull as a drinking cup,” the troll went on. “Why don’t you run and give me some sport?”

Yes, run!

Edmund wiped the sweat from his hands. “It’s too dark. I’d r-r-run . . . I’d run into a tree.”

“You aren’t as stupid as you look.”

The troll jabbed his spear at Edmund’s head.

Edmund sprang out of the way of its sharpened point.

Zipping up from behind, Becky nipped at the troll’s toes. A flick of its foot sent her flying off into the darkness with a yelp.

Do something!

Leaning forward, Edmund swung his short sword, missing the creature by at least four feet.

It laughed at him.

You’re never going to touch him from back here! Get closer.

If I get closer, he’ll skewer me!

Edmund took a step closer.

“How did you lose your eye?” The troll asked, as if wanting to prolong their battle.

He feigned a stab of his spear.

Crying out, Edmund hopped back.

Be calm! And buy time! Look for an opening.

“Goblins burnt it out,” Edmund said, conscious of the sweat-soaked patch covering the hole where his eye used to be. “Actually, you, you . . . you met them a while back. Kravel and Gurding?”

At this, the troll straightened, his face showing a mixture of astonishment and trepidation. Seeing his distraction, Edmund shot forward, swinging his notched sword. Recovering from his surprise just in time, the troll blocked Edmund’s blow with the haft of his spear. A small wedge of wood fell from where the sword struck.