Riddle In Stone (Book 1)
Page 22
What should I do with the body? Hide him?
No! They’ll find him anyway. Just take his stuff and get out of here.
Edmund ran deeper into the mines—lantern in one hand, sword, boots, and bloody clothes in the other.
Watch the blood. They’ll follow the trail.
Let them. They’ll never suspect where I’m hiding. They couldn’t follow me if they tried.
Turning a sharp corner, Edmund shot into an intersecting tunnel and kept running.
Passing several other openings, he entered a chamber with a crumbling aqueduct and a paddlewheel lying partly on its side. He plunged the bloody clothes in the water gathered in the aqueduct and thrashed them around. The water turned pink.
Far off, a horn blew, its echoing blasts rolling through the mines like an avalanche.
Hurry!
Taking the clothes out of the aqueduct, Edmund spun them over his head. Bloody water sprayed in all directions. Dashing around the chamber, he flicked the clothes down each of the nearby passages.
Come on! You don’t have much time.
I have to confuse my trail.
Then hurry!
Edmund slid the scimitar into its sheath and buckled the weapon belt around his near-naked waist, his entire shirt and most of his pants having been used for kindling over the preceding weeks. Knotting the laces together, he draped the boots over the sword’s hilt. Tying his newly acquired clothes around his battered knees, he gripped the lantern’s handle in his teeth and began scrambling up the side of the rusty paddlewheel.
A steady stream of cold water poured down onto the paddlewheel from a vertical mine shaft in the ceiling. Standing on top of the uppermost rim of the wheel, Edmund shivered, gauging the distance to the narrow opening above him.
You can do this. You’ve done it a hundred times before. Concentrate.
Edmund crouched and then sprung upward, his hands finding the familiar holds in the wet stone. He pulled himself up into the shaft. His legs and back pushing against opposite walls, he shimmied higher above the chamber below. Icy water cascaded over him, numbing his skin. The lantern sizzled.
Another horn blared, this time closer.
Reaching over his head, Edmund set the brightly burning lantern into a fissure. Unbuckling his weapon belt, he slid the scimitar and boots next to it. He then flung himself into the opening, pulling the rest of his body inside.
Shoving the lantern, boots, and sword in front of him, Edmund slithered down the tight passage, thankful for the goblin’s clothes cushioning his knees. When the crawlspace widened, he turned and wedged a large rock behind him, blocking the way he came. Sitting up, he pulled himself through a break in the low ceiling and into a small cavity. Reaching down through the hole, he retrieved the sword and lantern.
Muffled voices echoed from the way he came.
Let them shout. They’ll never find me here. Even if they did, they could never get in.
Using an old board that he had found weeks earlier, Edmund covered the hole in the floor and rolled a sizable boulder on top of it. He listened over the stones plugging his other two escape routes. All was quiet.
Setting the goblin’s clothes and boots in a pile by a dented helmet full of clear water, three unused torches, thirteen burnt out torch stubs, a pile of rotting wood, and a broken handle from a mining pick, Edmund put his head in his hands and began crying.
I just killed somebody.
You killed a goblin. You’re a hero, just like that storyteller at the Rogue.
I don’t feel like a hero. I feel like an animal . . .
In the cavern below, a goblin hollered.
Edmund drew the scimitar from its scabbard.
At least now I can defend myself.
You’ve never swung a sword in your life. You don’t have a clue how to use it effectively.
I know how to use it on myself if they ever corner me.
Another horn blew. It shook the stone beneath Edmund’s tired feet. There was more shouting.
I have to get out of here.
How? Going up the tower is too dangerous. There are thousands of goblins. Even with a sword, you can’t fight them all.
There has to be another way out. All of these tunnels have to go somewhere. They have to exit the mountains, don’t they?
Maybe . . .
Sobbing, Edmund pushed the wet hair out of his eye, his fingers grazing across the Star of Iliandor on his brow. He unclasped its chain and examined it. The damp stone shimmered blue in the lantern light. The silver chains were worn with age, but the intricate runes carved on them were still easy to see. He traced them with his fingertips.
So much for my first adventure.
There was more shouting in the cavern below. Somebody was calling for Kravel.
Edmund yawned as he fastened the Star of Iliandor back around his brow.
Get some sleep.
Sleep? I can’t remember the last time I slept.
Then practice your spells again until you lose consciousness.
No. I’m tired of practicing. I’ve already mastered the four spells I know. I can’t get any better at them.
Then try to solve the riddle. What is in the buildings of wise men?
I just don’t care anymore. I just don’t care . . .
Chapter Thirty-One
Edmund sat up with a lurch, his breath coming in sharp bursts. This was the fourth night in a row he had had a nightmare, this one involving rats eating his face. Pushing the sweat from his eye, he swatted in the darkness, searching for the lantern he had taken from the goblin father. He cast his fire spell. A tiny flame appeared. He shook himself in the wavering scarlet glow.
Ghostly voices, dismembered by endless echoing, seeped through the surrounding stone. They were calling his name.
Damn that Kravel. He’ll never give me a moment’s peace.
Then find a defensible spot deeper into the mines so you can’t hear the bastard.
I’m tired of running. I’m tired of all of this.
Edmund dipped his hands into the rusty helmet full of cold water and washed his face. It was a senseless action. He’d be caked in mud and silt again as soon as he started crawling around. But the ritual made him feel more human.
Biting into one of the biscuits he created the evening before, he forced himself to swallow.
I can’t eat these anymore. I want real food: a steak, an apple—anything.
Then you’ll have to get out of here.
Letting the uneaten portion of the biscuit drop to the ground, he arched his back, unable to stand up in his snug confines. Dark shadows flitted around him like ghouls.
He examined his sword. It was an ugly thing, curved and wicked with an image of a roaring dragon etched into its notched blade. Whenever he tried to climb, it got in his way. But having it within arm’s reach gave Edmund a sense of security. At the very least, he knew that the goblins would never take him alive.
Maybe if I search further away, down by that wide tunnel, perhaps I could find an exit.
The goblins are always there.
They’re everywhere! I have to chance it. My only other option is to keep sitting here.
Edmund stared at the rough grey stone forming the cavern’s walls and then at the remains of the magically created biscuit he had let fall to the ground.
I can’t keep sitting here. I can’t!
Then do something. Anything . . .
“All right,” he said to himself, summoning the strength to move. “Now is as good a time as any.”
Sliding aside the stone blocking one of the exits, Edmund crawled into the exposed tunnel, pushing the nearly empty lantern in front of him as he went.
Chapter Thirty-Two
For more than two hours, Edmund crept through a series of twisting tunnels and caverns. Eventually, he came to the correct crawlway. Slithering through, he found the slender stone ledge upon which he often hid and thought. He sat, letting his callused feet and knees dangle over the edge.
Occasionally when he came here, Edmund would see lines of haggard Pit Dwellers being marched to some worksite or another, their eyes showing their dread of yet another long day’s labor for meager scraps of leathery meat and dirty water. More than once, he had considered trying to rescue them. The more bodies he had, the greater his chances of fighting his way up into the tower and out the front gate. However, as soon as he acquired a sword, the number of goblins guarding the work crews doubled and all he could do was watch the slaves stumble off to their doom.
Are you sure this is wise? The goblins frequently use this passage.
Maybe I can ambush one or two of them. Jump down and crack their skulls open.
He laid the stolen scimitar across his lap, just in case.
You’re really pushing your luck.
I have to do something.
Edmund touched the Star of Iliandor on his brow.
Has it been worth it? Do you still want to be an adventurer?
He fought back the tears and sobs bubbling up within him.
I just want to go home.
Sniffling, he wiped his nose across the back of his hand.
Home . . .
In the blackness, he wept—alone and exhausted.
Far to his left, a tiny red light appeared, bobbing and weaving as it drew closer.
Brushing the tears from his remaining eye, Edmund pulled his legs up from the ledge, withdrew into a deep notch in the wall, and waited. After many moments, he could hear at least two voices echoing toward him.
Perhaps killing them would only make matters worse. Kravel would learn where I am. Then I’d have to find another hiding spot. Not to mention deal with their fires as they try to smoke me out again . . .
Sheathing his sword so the light wouldn’t reflect off its dull steel, Edmund retreated further into the shadows and forced himself to stop crying. Soon, two goblins came into view, talking in whatever language the Hiisi spoke to themselves. They walked at a leisurely pace, huge packs hoisted high on their shoulders.
Grinding his teeth, Edmund watched them pass below him.
Damn it! If I were in position, I could have had everything in those packs . . . food, clothes, maybe even blankets! Damn it!
Packs . . .
There’re only two of them. And in those coats, they could barely move their arms. I could have killed both of them before either one drew their swords. Damn my luck!
Edmund stepped out of the shadows.
The goblins continued walking, the light from their lantern dwindling to a swaying speck in the darkness.
Coats . . . Long . . . thick . . . coats . . .
Why would they have packs and—?
His heart skipped and then surged, pounding at the inside of his sternum.
There’s an exit nearby! There has to be!
Hurry! Catch up to them!
Clambering out of his hiding spot, Edmund grabbed the edge of the landing and threw himself over. Extending his arms, he let go. Springing up from the ground, he drew his sword and raced after the goblins.
For what seemed like a lifetime, Edmund followed the goblins, keeping just within sight of their lantern, but not so close that they could hear his footfalls. Then, abruptly, their light disappeared. He stopped.
The passage probably just turned . . .
Probably.
He listened. Nothing.
He stalked forward, the curved point of his scimitar leading the way.
The passage began to bend.
Up ahead, another light came into view, red like the goblins’ lantern, but much brighter.
Edmund crept closer.
The air became warmer. It drifted past him in gentle waves. The taste of wood and ash wafted over his tongue.
There was talking.
Somebody laughed.
More talking.
Suddenly, a puff of cold wind stormed down the passage. It enveloped him. And then was gone.
Ahead of Edmund, two or three voices periodically broke the silence. He waited.
Minutes limped by in the blackness.
Don’t just stand here. Do something!
He inched toward the light.
There was movement ahead. Edmund dove behind one of the granite columns lining the tunnel.
He waited.
Nothing happened.
Gripping the hilt of his sword with both hands, Edmund took a deep breath and slunk along the wall. The light got brighter. The air got warmer. Wisps of smoke burned his eye and dried his throat. He fought the urge to cough.
Edmund edged onward.
An archway appeared. Beyond it, portions of a room came into view. There were two booted feet propped on top of a table and the rim of a fire pit where angry flames leapt and danced.
Edmund halted.
What are you waiting for? This is it. Didn’t you smell that air? It was from outside! There’s an exit!
Edmund drew his moist palms across his forehead. Licking his dry lips, he tightened his grip on the scimitar until his fingers hurt. Slowly, he stepped closer.
There are guards . . .
It doesn’t matter. Run in there and go for their knees. Cripple them. Prevent them from being able to fight and then finish them off when you can.
The legs on the table shifted. Edmund stopped again.
Just get in there and start swinging! Hit anything that moves. Chop them in two. Think about what they did to Thorax. Think about the rats in the cage. Think about Kravel grinning as he came at you with the poker!
Edmund gritted his teeth.
This is it! Freedom or death. Kill them. Kill them and go home. Make them pay. Make them pay!
He took a step toward the archway, then two more. He found himself running.
His sword held high, burst into the room, and swung down on the legs, the curved blade of his sword biting deep into the top of the wooden table. Bones splintered. Blood spurted. There was screaming.
Edmund turned to his left. A goblin was holding a cup to his open mouth, his startled gaze rising to meet Edmund’s.
Wrenching his weapon free from the table, Edmund brought the scimitar down as the goblin with the cup attempted to dive out of the way. The blade connected with the guard’s left shoulder and skimmed across his arm. Clothing and flesh split open, then turned a purplish red. More screaming filled the room.
Edmund hoisted his scimitar again. The goblin on the floor in front of him raised his good arm over his head, his mouth agape in terror.
Something struck Edmund from behind. He was thrown forward and nearly fell on top of the goblin with the partially severed shoulder. Two arms wrapped around his chest. Edmund regained his balance and turned sharply. The goblin on his back held on, his hold tightening.
Edmund drove backwards, smashing into the corner of the archway. The goblin behind him cursed, but his grip continued to drive the air out of Edmund’s lungs. Edmund ran forward and then threw himself back against the corner a second time. There was a crack of breaking bones. The goblin’s hold weakened.
Edmund spun again, sending the goblin tumbling across the floor. The goblin rolled and bounded to his feet, reaching for a spear leaning against the wall. But Edmund was right behind him. Leaping at the goblin, he swung down on his outreached hand. The severed arm fell to the bloody floor with a wet thud.
More screaming.
A horn blared, shaking the small room.
Flinching, Edmund wheeled and found his first target on the ground with one leg missing below the knee. He had a horn to his lips. He inhaled and blew a second time, panic in his eyes. Edmund’s scimi
tar swept through the smoky air, its curved blade slicing open the horn blower’s head. The gore-covered horn fell to the floor and rolled next to the overturned table. Edmund hit him again.
In the corner, the goblin with the wounded shoulder and arm struggled to his feet. He was saying something, perhaps pleading for his life. Edmund couldn’t hear through the screams. He lunged at the goblin, the tip of the scimitar punching in front of him. The goblin’s chest opened. White ribs separated, snapped, and then were awash in red blood.
Edmund swung again. A gash erupted in the goblin’s forehead. He crumpled in the corner.
Edmund swung again, smashing open the goblin’s skull.
He swung again and again.
The ceiling dripped red.
There was shuffling movement behind him. The goblin with the missing hand was lurching toward the archway, shrieking. Edmund ran after him, planting the point of his sword in the goblin’s back. The goblin gasped, then gurgled. He fell to the floor, face down. Edmund was on him, swinging his sword until it chipped the stone beneath the bloody corpse.
More screams.
Edmund sprang back into the room, sword upraised, thick blood coursing down its blade and hilt. He spun around searching for his next target then realized he was the one screaming.
With an effort, he made himself lower the scimitar. His chest pounded. His muscles shook. His glance darted from body to body to body. They were all beyond dead. Each was hacked to pieces. Blood was everywhere, even coursing down the walls, as were bits of bone and chunks of brains. Somebody’s head was in the fire pit, its skin turning brown as the hissing flames licked its cheek.
Across the room stood an iron door, glittering frost around its edges. Edmund charged to it and then stopped.
Calm down! Calm down and think. Take everything that you can.
They blew a horn! Guards will be here any minute.
It’ll take them a few minutes to realize what happened. You need supplies . . .
Sheathing his bloody sword, he threw open the chests lining the walls. There were piles of kindling wood, weapons, shields, armor, arrows, and stores of food, including dried meat, hard bread, and jars of some sort of preserves. Edmund began shoving strips of jerky in his mouth and jars under his arms.