by Robert Evert
Damn goblins . . .
Why would Kravel and Gurding go after Thomas?
Because you told them that he sold the sword to your father. They wanted to see if he had more weapons made from that steel.
Edmund rubbed his face.
You shouldn’t have mentioned Rood, Thomas, or anything else. None of this would have happened.
I’d be dead if I hadn’t told them . . . a rat cage over my head.
But Molly and everybody would still be safe.
Edmund wondered what the goblins did to female prisoners. He hadn’t seen any in the pits. Then he decided he didn’t want to think about it.
“Then what?” Edmund asked. “After you found Thomas in the tree, wh-wh-what, what happened next?”
Thorax sighed as Edmund scratched her stomach.
“Nothing happened, leastways not for a while. And then a couple of months or so later, the two night guards disappeared. We found their bodies in the woods, hacked to pieces. The next morning, I realized that Mol was gone.”
They each studied the fire, its flames snapping and popping as they twisted around the wet wood.
Then Edmund asked the question he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to. “You, you found everybody’s body,” he said. “Everybody but, but . . . but Molly’s? I mean, you think she’s still alive, right?”
“We’ve searched everywhere,” Norb replied, “and found nothing. Not a sign. It’s like she up and disappeared.”
And Thorax led him here.
You know what happened. Kravel told you. He thought she was your wife and he took her . . .
For many chilly moments, no one said a thing.
Edmund watched the sputtering flames, his hands shaking from the cold and exhaustion. Dawn was a couple hours off and he hadn’t slept in over a day and a half.
We have to rescue her.
How?
What’s this all about? What does the Undead King want from me? Why is he doing this?
He wants the answer to the blasted riddle so that he can figure out how Iliandor created those weapons and armor. And he’s going to use Mol to get me to come back.
What is in the buildings of wise men?
I don’t know . . . I just don’t know.
Far off, an owl hooted.
It was Pond who eventually broke the silence.
“Have you seen anybody else around here?” he asked. “Anybody out of the ordinary?”
For a moment, it didn’t appear as if Norb was going to respond. Then he said slowly, “A couple of months back, I came across a beggar dressed much like you two. Or not dressed, if you get me—”
“Did he say anything?” Pond asked, excited. “Did he say what his name was? What did he look like?”
Norb recoiled, startled by the intensity in Pond’s inquiries.
“He . . . he, he was disturbed. He appeared out of nowhere, cackling like a witch.” He stirred the fire’s glowing coals with the tip of his knife. “He poked me in the forehead and called me chicken. Then he grabbed one of my food bags and ran off.”
“Crazy Bastard!” Pond said to the motionless Edmund.
“That’s what I thought,” Norb replied. “But seeing him made me feel like we were on the right track somehow. The dog seemed to think so at any rate. I’ve been following her for weeks making a beeline toward these mountains. I was just about to turn back and get more supplies when we came across you two.”
Another silence enveloped the small campsite. Above them, the stars were getting old and a faint blue light was crowning the mountain peaks to the east. Tethered to a nearby tree, the giant horse swished its braided tail.
“I, I need to know something, Ed.” Norb said. “And I need you to be straight with me. Okay?” He looked up at Edmund, his lips dry and trembling. “Do you know where Molly is?”
Edmund felt the burn marks where his left eye used to be.
“Yes,” he said. “And we’re going to get her back.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Grunting, Edmund heaved himself up into the stirrup and threw a leg over the ornate saddle. Underneath him, the grey Percheron snorted, apparently not happy with having Edmund on its barrel-like back. Pond lifted Thorax into Edmund’s waiting arms.
“What’s the horse’s name again?”
Norb handed him the reins.
“Apparently it’s Blake. Stupid name for a horse. But that’s what they called him. Seems to answer to it well enough. He’s faster than all get out, so don’t let the brute throw you.”
Towering above his friends, Edmund adjusted himself in the saddle. “I’ll meet you in six weeks. Are you sure you know where?”
“Where the East-West Road crosses the River Celerin,” Pond replied as if repeating something well-rehearsed.
“Right. Bring the knights occupying Rood and everybody else you can get ahold of. Tell them everything that I have told you.”
Norb didn’t look too sure.
“Ed, if they catch me, they’ll string me up. Them knights love their horses more than they like people. You know what I’m saying? And they know that I stole him.”
“Then have Pond go into town alone. You can hide in the woods. Or better yet, g-g-go, go to the Jensen’s farm. If I’m any judge, they’ll be madder than hell about this rejoining the kingdom business. They’ll hide you while Pond tells everybody about the goblins.”
At this, Norb’s expression lightened. “That’ll work. The ranchers are as upset as anybody.”
“Pond,” Edmund went on, “go with Norb to Rood and tell everybody what I told you. Tell them we know where Molly is. Tell them what I’m doing. They’ll be more willing to help if they know I’m bringing an army up from Eryn Mas.”
Winking, Pond saluted. “Absolutely, Captain!”
“There’s one more thing,” Edmund said as Blake dug at the snow with his huge hooves. “I need a book from my house. It’s a very old diary with a tat-tat-tattered . . . tattered black leather cover. It should be on the top, left-hand shelf as you enter my library. It’ll be the fourth book from the corner of the wall. Above all else, I need that diary. Do you understand? You must get it for me.”
“Why?” Norb asked.
“It may help us save Molly.”
“Then you’ll get it if I have to sneak into town and get it for you,” Norb said.
“Fourth book from the corner on the top, left-hand shelf,” Pond repeated. “Got it!”
“And don’t forget the other gear. The candles, rope, chalk, oil flasks . . . everything. I’ll see you all back at the River Celerin in six weeks.”
Lifting his head, Blake trumpeted.
“Here,” Norb said, handing Edmund his pack. “You’ll need food and other supplies for your trip. There isn’t much left, but it should get you a ways.”
“Oh, he won’t need food—”
“Pond,” Edmund interrupted with forced calmness. “It’s very important that you keep some things to yourself. No need telling people wh-wh-what we suffered through.” His remaining eye narrowed at Pond as he took Norb’s pack.
Pond saluted again. “Gotcha! No need to worry about that. I understand. I understand completely! You don’t need to tell me twice.” He tapped his temple.
If he tells people I’m a magic user, I’ll kill him.
Don’t worry. You can trust him with your life. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.
“Just make sure you get everything. Get the diary, and bring the knights and everybody to the river. Bring as many people as you can, anybody who can swing a sword or shoot a bow. Are you both clear as to what I need you to do?”
They said they were.
Edmund examined his companions in turn. Norb had an intense earnestness in his face mixed with some unresolved guilt. He could barely look Edmund in the eye. Pond was humming.
“Remember, if anybody in Rood balks, remind them that we’re doing this for Molly. And don’t take no for an answer. She needs us and we don’t have much t
ime. I’ll be back with an army of knights!”
Turning Blake southward, Edmund raised himself higher in the stirrups; Thorax sprawled uneasily across the saddle in front of him.
“Ed,” Norb said.
Edmund lowered himself.
“I’m sorry for what I said, back behind the Rogue. About how you and Molly and all . . . I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“I know, Norb. No hard feelings.” He nodded at his pit mate. “Just take good care of Pond here. I owe him my life.”
“I owe you mine,” Pond replied.
“So, remember . . . six weeks. No later. Okay?” Edmund said, Blake shifting underneath him. “Five weeks for you to rush home, a couple days to get organized, and a couple days to get everybody to the river. Gather everybody you can muster. Okay?”
“I’ll be here.” Pond smiled. “You can count on me.”
“I know I can.”
Ready to charge off, Edmund rose in the stirrups again.
“Ed,” Norb said again.
“What?” Edmund asked, annoyed. “We have to get moving. Molly needs us!”
“Are, are . . . are they going to do to Mol . . . are they going to do to her what they did to you?”
Edmund touched the hole where his left eye used to be.
Lie.
“I don’t think so, Norb. They need Molly to get to me. They’ll keep her safe and sound, otherwise they won’t get what they want.”
“What do they want? What’s this all about, Ed? Why did they take her?”
But Edmund had put his heels to Blake’s ribs and was shooting southward through the melting snow.
Chapter Forty-Four
For two weeks, Edmund and Thorax raced along the river, bolting out of the northern Highlands and into the snowless lowlands to the south where King Lionel and his army of knights still held control. Wide plains flatter than the ocean stretched as far as Edmund could see. The tall grasses were turning green in the early spring sunlight. Crocuses of yellow and blue dotted the river’s rocky banks.
Ignoring the beauty around him, Edmund went over his plan again and again until he was sick of thinking about it. Everything hinged on Norb or Pond mustering the people of Rood and King Lionel listening to what Edmund had to say. The townsfolk would come. They all loved Molly. It was the King who would need convincing.
If he’s half the warrior that I’ve heard him to be, he’ll want to fight. No king can walk away from a good battle. He just needs to send enough soldiers. That’s the biggest issue. He needs to believe that there are thousands of goblins and not just some isolated band.
On the morning of the fourteenth day after leaving Pond and Norb, Edmund came within sight of a long bridge spanning the swollen river. He had been deliberately avoiding contact with others, bypassing the occasional ranch, the small logging settlements, and merchant caravans for fear of being delayed. Now he was afraid he’d have to make contact.
“See those trees?” Edmund pointed to the line of ancient maples angling away from the bridge and extending to the horizon. “I bet they mark the Old North-South Road that leads up to Hillode, Rockdale, and eventually up to Rood. Which means that it leads south to Eryn Mas. That’s where we’ll find King Lionel and his knights.”
Propping herself up on the saddle in front of Edmund, Thorax examined the endless parade of trees and sniffed the fragrant spring air. Her back stiffened.
“I know,” Edmund said, scratching her ears. “But we have to start following the road southward. So we have to cross that bridge.”
He stroked the horse’s neck. “How are you feeling, Blake? Ready for a race? We may n-n-need some of your speed in a few moments.”
Blake reared up and trumpeted, almost tossing Thorax to the ground.
On the bridge, hidden figures leapt to their feet, weapons in hand.
“Well, they certainly know we’re here now. Let’s see if this is what I think it is.”
Nudging Blake’s ribs with his bare heels, they slowly approached the bridge.
Three men were standing in front of it, blocking Edmund’s way. One was a large, heavy-set man with a wooden quarterstaff. The other two were smaller and had makeshift clubs. All three were smiling as if greeting a long lost friend.
Even goblins don’t grin like that.
They’re just thugs. Don’t worry. I can deal with them.
“Hail, traveler!” the man with a wooden quarterstaff said.
Edmund reined Blake to a stop.
“Hail!” the man said again. “Fine morning, isn’t it, traveler?”
“It beats living in a p-pit,” Edmund replied.
The man with the staff laughed as his colleagues spread out and began flanking Blake. The hair between Thorax’s shoulder blades rose, but she swallowed her growls when Edmund stroked her head.
The two men with clubs whistled as they circled.
“Mighty nice horse you’ve got here, mister,” one of them said, pleasantly enough. “Mighty nice.”
“Don’t see many like this,” the other added.
Edmund didn’t say anything.
“We’re the official toll keepers for this here bridge,” the man with the staff said, still blocking Edmund’s path. “We’re charged with taking tolls from any travelers that use it, such as yourself. King’s orders and all.”
“The King, eh?” Edmund replied.
Snorting, Blake dug a hoof into the dirt.
“Don’t believe me?” the man with the staff asked with exaggerated surprise. “I’m not sure that I like being called a liar by a thief. How about you, lads?”
He took a step toward Edmund, the wood staff thumping against his palm. His friends shook their heads as if they were now forced to do something unpleasant. They strolled closer. Thorax’s teeth appeared. Blake’s tail thrashed.
“Thief?” Edmund repeated.
“You ain’t got money for boots, let alone clothes that fit proper,” the bearer of the staff said, laughing. Edmund examined the patched shirt and pants Norb had given him. They hung off his now svelte frame like robes. “No way this beautiful horse is yours. In fact, I think that I’ll have to commandeer him until we can find his proper owner.” Still smiling, he nodded at his companions.
The men on either side of Edmund took another step forward, clubs raised.
With a twist on the reins, Edmund turned Blake suddenly so that one of the men was in front of him and the other directly behind.
“Up,” Edmund told Blake.
Blake rose upon his hind legs, rearing high over the startled man in front of him. Blake’s hooves came crashing down, just as the highwayman dove out of the way.
From behind, the second man rushed forward.
“Kick,” Edmund said.
Blake tilted, his great hind end lifting off the ground. His rear hooves swept back, connecting with the second man’s chest. There was a crunching sound as the man flew forty feet down the road. He was dead before he hit the ground, his chest caved in, blood spewing from his mouth like a geyser.
Drawing forth his scimitar, Edmund pointed it at the man with the staff. “How f-f-far . . . how far to Eryn Mas?”
“F-five . . . five days ride,” the man with the quarterstaff said, pointing a shaking finger down the road.
“Get out of my way.”
“Absolutely,” the man said, running off the road.
“Let’s go, Blake.”
Whinnying, Blake pranced forward, his horseshoes clomping on the bridge’s wooden timbers.
Chapter Forty-Five
The capital city of Eryn Mas rose up out of the southern plains like a bejeweled mountain. Edmund could see its golden domes and spires glinting in the sunlight a day before he actually arrived at the surrounding farmlands. As he drew closer, its majesty overwhelmed him.
Its walls soared four hundred feet overhead. The sentries strolling along its battlements looked like shiny specks, their armor flashing in the failing evening light. Flags and banners of e
very color fluttered on poles angling out from the parapets, many embroidered with the crests of royal families and heroes of old. Even the sparrows and swifts that swooped and darted about the cloudless sky seemed grander and more majestic than anything Edmund had ever seen in the north.
It’s incredible!
I can’t believe how tall those walls are! No wonder Arnett the Black never took the city by force. No seige towers could ever reach that high.
If only Rood had walls like this . . .
The memory of a heated argument came to Edmund’s mind. The wall surrounding Rood had fallen into disrepair. Wild animals were being seen in the streets. When a black bear wandered into the bakery and consumed all of the honey cakes, many of the townsfolk were finally ready to act. But nobody could decide how big the wall should be.
It was Edmund, of all people, who ended the debate.
“Making it f . . . fifty f-f-feet is a waste of time and m-m-money,” he said, standing up in the town hall. “Fifteen feet will do the trick. No bear is going to climb fifteen feet. Marilyn’s cakes are good, but not that good!” There was laughter and clapping.
Most of the townspeople agreed with Edmund and his motion was passed. It was the first time he felt the thrill of influence and respect that he had always longed for.
Self-loathing smothered him.
The goblins must have scaled the walls. If they were fifty feet, everything might be different now.
“Might” be different. You don’t know. They could have found another way in.
Still….
As Edmund stared at the height of Eryn Mas’s walls and thought of Rood, Blake clomped up the causeway leading to the northern drawbridge. Many others were also entering the city—peasants, merchants, farmers, and travelers from neighboring towns. Some were openly staring at Edmund, evidently surprised that a disheveled, one-eyed man would have such a horse. Taking little notice, Edmund rode Blake through the immense gates.
On the other side of the walls, a red cobblestone avenue appeared. It forked off into three directions. To the right and left it skimmed the interior of the battlements, passing by guardhouses and narrow stone stairs weaving up to wall-walks behind the parapets above. The center road headed though a park of green grass, decorative alabaster fountains, and flowering crabapple trees. Long ribbons of yellow and green adorning the budding branches fluttered in the breeze. Past the park, the avenue wove by countless stone buildings before climbing up the steep hill upon which a colossal citadel sat, its golden towers rising up like pointy arms tickling the early evening stars.