by Robert Evert
Leading them up an inner stairway, Molly brought them though the dining room in which Edmund had once eaten roasted chicken and potatoes, through the room where Kravel burnt out his eye, and down another hallway. She opened a door, revealing a bedroom fit for a king who had lived for many centuries. When she saw the grand canopied bed, Molly shrank back. Edmund stepped closer to comfort her, but Norb was quicker. She buried her head in the stable hand’s chest and bawled.
Edmund stood and stared at them.
She and Norb?
“Your wife,” Kravel had said. He thought she was my wife when actually—
“What now?” Pond asked. “Should we try to scale down from the windows? We could use the bed sheets—”
“No,” Edmund said staring at Molly. “No,” he repeated louder. “No, not the windows.”
He forced himself to begin searching the interior wall of the room, pushing on the mortared stone.
“What’re you looking for?” Norb asked, his left arm still wrapped around Molly, his right hand clutching his ax.
Stepping back, Edmund surveyed the wall. “In, in . . . in every, in every story I’ve ever read, places like these was always had a secret exit. It’s always in the King’s personal chambers.”
Sometimes it’s in an adjacent room, a parlor or study.
Dashing across the bedroom, Edmund threw open another door. He gave a muted gasp.
In front of him was a labyrinth of bookshelves reaching from the floor to the ceiling. They were brimming with books and scrolls and unbound manuscripts of all shapes and sizes, thousands upon thousands of them, perhaps fifty or sixty thousand in all. Edmund inhaled, the familiar scent of aged parchment and leather nearly overwhelming him.
The others ran up to him.
“Is it the way out?” Norb asked.
All of these ancient books! Who know what’s—
Come on. They’re just books! Find a way out!
“It has to be here,” Edmund said to himself. He pointed to the far wall. “Check behind those shelves. Look for anything that might be hiding a secret door. Look for scratches on the floor where a door might have opened or where the stones on the wall form straight lines. Spread out.”
They began searching the back wall, casting books from their shelves in great heaps and poking the masonry behind them.
The hair between Thorax’s shoulder blades rose. She bore her teeth as she emitted a guttural growl.
“Well, well,” a wispy voice said.
Edmund spun.
Kravel and Gurding were standing in the doorway to the library. Behind them were thirty other goblins, all armed with nets and swords.
“It seems we’ve been looking for Filth in all the wrong places, Mr. Gurding. Just like that Sir Henry fellow and the troll,” Kravel said.
“I never did like that tale,” Gurding replied, fingering the blade of his knife. “I felt sorry for the troll.”
“And look, Filth has brought a new friend, who just happens to be holding his beloved Molly!” Kravel tutted at Norb and then at Molly. “Hello again, Molly.” He winked suggestively. “Have you told Edmund your little secret? Do you think he’d still be here if he knew it?”
Norb pushed Molly behind him. Hefting his ax, he took a step toward Kravel. Kravel recoiled in mock dread.
Damn it! The Undead King is probably nearby as well.
If he comes, we’re done for. We can’t fight what we can’t see. We have to get out of here!
“Norb!” Edmund shouted.
Norb hesitated.
“And look,” Gurding said, “they have that mutt, the one from the tower.”
“Ah! Right you are, Mr. Gurding. It would seem you didn’t end its miserable existence as you indicated. I believe you lost our little bet after all.”
“Norb,” Edmund called out, “remember what I told you to do? Do it now. Pond . . . you too.”
Unslinging his backpack, Pond extracted an armload of brown flasks that he brought from Rood. Reluctantly, with Molly cowering behind him, Norb followed Pond’s example.
“Why, Mr. Gurding,” Kravel said in exaggerated delight, “it appears that they have some sort of plan.”
“It’ll be interesting to see what it is, Mr. Kravel, seeing that there is no way out of this room other than through us.”
More goblins charged into the bedroom beyond Kravel and Gurding. They watched intently as Pond and Norb began throwing the flasks against the floors. The flasks shattered, sending a thick black fluid oozing across the stone.
From his vest pocket, Edmund pulled out several sheets of vellum.
“Oh no.” Gurding groaned. “He’s written a speech.”
“Now, now, Mr. Gurding. At least he’ll have his thoughts organized. Perhaps he’ll start with a joke.”
They grinned expectantly at Edmund, their yellow fangs glinting in the torch light.
Edmund waved the pages over his head. “I know the answer to the riddle.”
“Do you, now?” the Undead King said.
The goblins behind Gurding and Kravel began stepping aside, forming a lane to the library door. Some of the goblin’s cloaks moved, as if caught in the wake of somebody moving briskly past. But nobody other than goblins could be seen.
Too late! He’s here!
Remain calm and stay alert. You have what he needs. He’ll do anything to learn the secret of Iliandor’s steel. As long as Pond and Norb don’t do anything stupid, we should be fine. Don’t panic.
“I knew you were the proper person for the task, Edmund,” the Undead King said from somewhere in the room. “By all means, enlighten the rest of us.”
Molly whimpered.
Pond and Norb swung their weapons in the air as if they might hit something their eyes couldn’t perceive.
“The salvation of humanity can be found in buildings of wise men,” Edmund recited, “doubly so in optimism of the learned, and in knowledge that is written on a daily basis. What’s found in b-b-buildings?”
Thorax sniffed in front of her. Snarling, she retreated a pace.
“Doors,” offered Gurding.
“Furniture,” suggested Kravel.
“Maybe—” Gurding began.
“Gentlemen,” the Undead King said, even closer than before, “please allow Edmund to continue. This is his moment. Continue, Master Scholar.”
“A ‘b’ is in buildings.”
“A bee?” Gurding repeated doubtfully. “Why would there be a bee in buildings of wise men? Wouldn’t they—”
“Mr. Gurding.” The Undead King’s voice grew irritated.
Gurding closed his mouth.
“Doubly so in ‘optimism,’” Edmund went on, glancing at the arc of black liquid on the floor in front of them. “And in ‘knowledge.’ B . . . o . . . o . . . k. Book. The answer is a book. Specifically . . . this book.” Edmund produced Iliandor’s diary from his pack and flung it to the floor at Kravel’s feet, its cover shredded. “In it, I found this.” He shook the sheets of vellum. “The formula for making Iliandor’s indestructible weapons and armor.” The silence felt electric.
“What a stupid riddle,” Gurding grumbled to Kravel.
“Very good, Master Edmund,” the Undead King’s voice said, as if it were finally able to breathe. He was close. Edmund could feel his presence like the tingling before lightning struck. “Very good, indeed. I knew that you were extraordinary.”
“Now let us go,” Edmund demanded.
There was a chuckle. Gurding and Kravel smiled, the same smile they wore right before they burnt out his eye.
Edmund grinned back. He held aloft one of the sheets of vellum.
“Fyre av nå!”
There was a pop, a spark, and then a tiny blue flame trickling up the edge of the page.
“He’s a Maûa!” Kravel said, his evil face showing fear for the first time.
Gurding stepped back a pace.
“Put out the fire, Edmund,” the Undead King said, his voice rising to a shout. “Pu
t it out!”
Edmund pointed to his friends. “Let them go! I know there’s a s-s-s-secret door in here somewhere. Where is it?”
The flames crept higher, crackling as they consumed the edge of the vellum. Edmund rotated the page so that the flames consumed more of the document.
“All right! All right! Put it out and they shall go free.”
Edmund smothered the flames.
Like a puddle of rain being stepped in, ripples appeared in the black fluid on the floor. Thorax snapped and growled, her three functioning legs planted wide.
There he is.
“Any closer, Kar-Nazar, and I’ll b-b-burn, burn it all.” Edmund crumpled the partly burnt sheet into a ball and held it aloft. “You need every page for it to help you.”
“So you know who I am? That’s unfortunate. I wonder . . . was it was my brother who told you? And were you the one who killed him?”
Vorn was his brother?
Don’t listen to him. Don’t get distracted!
There was a delighted sigh. “Very well, Master Edmund,” the Undead King went on. “I was right about you. There is a great deal that we have in common. I could be a very good mentor for you, if you wish to enhance your abilities.”
“The exit!” Edmund said, shaking the vellum again. “Where’s the exit?”
A goblin with a crossbow appeared in the doorway behind Gurding. Edmund dove behind a bookshelf.
“Fyre—”
“No!” The Undead King said. “Take the bow away. All of you . . . go! Go I say!” The guards slowly withdrew to the King’s bedroom. Kravel and Gurding stayed, standing by the library door, watching Edmund.
“All right, Edmund,” the Undead King said. “You win. Behind your lovely Molly, behind the second bookcase to her left, is a door. Beyond it is a staircase. It descends to a passage that leads southwestward out of the mountains.”
“Pond—” Edmund said.
“I’m on it,” Pond replied, tugging at the bookcase.
“He’s a liar!” Molly screamed from behind Norb. “He wouldn’t let us go. He’d never just let us go!”
“Molly,” Edmund said. “I have what he wants. He doesn’t care about you or anything else.”
Unable to speak, Molly clung to Norb’s arm, sobbing.
The bookshelf swung outward.
“There’s nothing behind it,” Pond called to Edmund.
“There is a small square stone in the wall, about waist high for you,” the Undead King said. “Push it.”
Pond looked at Edmund, uncertain what to do.
“Go ahead, Pond. He knows what’ll happen to his precious formula if he tries to trick us.”
Pond paused and then pushed the stone.
A metallic click rang out as a portion of the wall gave way, revealing a narrow stairwell going down into utter darkness. Stale air enveloped them.
“Your friends may leave,” the Undead King said. “You have my word that they won’t be harmed.”
Your word doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. But at least they’ll have a chance to get away.
Pond, Norb, and Molly stared at the stairs and then at Edmund.
“Ed . . . ?” Pond faltered.
“Pond, go! Take Norb and Molly and go!”
“Ed,” Molly said, as if she had far more to say.
Watching Molly cowering behind Norb, Edmund’s fingers tightened around the crumpled page of vellum.
She should be hiding behind me.
She moved on.
Moved on . . .
“Ed,” she repeated, tenderly.
“Molly, we don’t have time. You kn-kn-know, you know how I feel.” He forced a smile. “You and Norb go back to Rood . . . and have a good life.”
Norb and Molly . . .
“Ed . . . ” She took a half step toward him and then stopped. She looked at the stairs.
“Norb,” Edmund yelled, “get her out of here. Go on! Go! All of you. He wants me. Go, damn you!”
“Thanks, Ed,” Norb said. “And I’m sorry about what I said before behind the Rogue and all. I take it all back.”
“Go!”
Molly beheld Edmund one last time, her eyes moist. And then, with Norb leading the way, she disappeared into the blackness beyond the secret door, sounds of running echoing back into the library.
Pond appeared torn.
Swearing, Edmund pointed to the stairs. “Damn it, Pond . . . go!”
“I’ll see you at the bottom,” Pond said.
“No! Don’t wait. Just go. Run! Run to Rood. Run anywhere. Just . . . get the hell out of here.”
Pond nodded. “Okay. But just remember, everything always works out in the end!”
Not all stories end happily . . .
“Go!”
Pond disappeared into the darkness.
“You too, Thorax,” Edmund said, pointing to the secret door. “Go! Go with Pond. Okay, girl? He’ll take care of you. Go!”
Thorax sat.
I could always count on you.
“Very touching,” the Undead King said. “My people had an expression: ‘You can always tell who your friends are, for they are the ones standing with you when the fields need to be plowed.’”
“Oh, shut up! I’m tired of hearing what you have to say.”
“Are you? Very well, Edmund. Then give me the document.”
What now? He’ll never let you leave.
Buy time for the others to get away.
“Edmund,” the Undead King said with a gentle urgency, “give it to me.”
Maybe I can force him to finally reveal himself.
He’s a wraith, he can’t be seen.
Perhaps. But maybe he can be killed. I just need to know where he is.
Edmund threw the wadded up sheet of vellum between two rows of bookshelves. As Kravel and Gurding watched it bounce toward them, Edmund inched his way toward the secret door.
“Edmund,” the Undead King said, annoyed. “Don’t be difficult. And please do not damage the document anymore than you have. I am surprised that an antiquarian would behave in such a manner.”
Come on! Pick up the paper, Kar-Nazar. Let me see where you are.
“Mr. Kravel,” the Undead King said. “If you please . . . ”
Kravel stepped into the room. Keeping an uneasy eye on Edmund, he picked up the wadded up ball and unraveled it.
Damn! He didn’t fall for it.
Be alert! He could be anywhere.
“I can’t read this,” Kravel said.
“No, but I can.” The Undead King’s voice lightened, as if he were finally certain that what Edmund found was what he had long desired—the formula to Iliandor’s indestructible steel. “Well done, Master Scholar. You are one of the greatest of your profession! The history books will remember you far more than Iliandor. And with kinder words. I will see to that.”
Edmund crept closer to the open secret door. He tried to get Thorax’s attention, but she was preoccupied sniffing the air to her right.
“Very good, Edmund,” the Undead King said. “Now give us the rest of it.”
Buy time.
“Remember our deal. You said that if I solved the, the, the . . . the riddle, I could go back to Rood and you’d let me be.”
“I’m afraid that will not be the case now.”
Exactly what I thought.
Just keep stalling for time. Give Molly and Pond a chance to escape.
“You know who I am,” the Undead King said. “And I’m quite sure you know who I was long before I killed your precious Iliandor.”
Keep him talking.
“You’re Kar-Nazar, the elven lord in the faerie tales who caused the civil war between your people,” Edmund said, taking another step toward the secret door. “You killed off nearly all of your kind.”
“I,” the Undead King said, his fury building. “I killed off my people?”
Thorax snarled.
“I didn’t kill my people,” the Undead King thundered. “It was y
ou!”
“Me?” Edmund scoffed.
That’s it. Get him mad. Make him do something rash. If I can tell where he is, I might be able to—
“You miserable human,” the Undead King bellowed. “For eons my people were content, joyously basking in the fruits of our intellectual pursuits, living in the heaven we labored so long to create.”
To Thorax’s right, the black fluid on the ground rippled. She snapped at the air.
“Then you humans infiltrated these lands, bringing with you your filth and disease. It was you who killed us. You! And soon, I will make you all pay.”
Keep him talk—
Suddenly, something smashed into Edmund’s left side. He flew through the air and slammed to the floor, his head bouncing off the tile. Something latched onto his throat—an unseen hand, wide and muscular. It lifted Edmund off the ground. His feet flayed in the air, his arms striking out in all directions. Something grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the vellum pages. It squeezed.
Kravel and Gurding rushed forward, swords ready. They wavered, apparently unsure of what to do.
Thorax snapped at the invisible foe. Then, as if kicked, her head cracked to one side. She squealed as she skidded along the floor, rolling through the liquid Pond and Norb had cast about in a wide semi-circle.
“Fyre—”
The invisible hand around Edmund’s throat tightened, choking off the words before they passed his lips.
Edmund couldn’t breathe. His lungs burned. His eye bulged.
“Drop the formula, Edmund,” the Undead King said. “Drop it!”
Getting to her feet, Thorax sprang into the air. She grabbed a hold of something and bit down. The fur around her mouth turned red. Blood dripped from her teeth. There was a cry of pain as Thorax thrashed in midair, tearing at whatever she grabbed on to.
The Undead King swore. With superhuman strength, he flung Thorax across the room. She crashed into a bookshelf and plummeted to the ground, heavy tomes toppling on top of her.
“Fyre av—”
The unseen hand around Edmund’s throat reasserted itself. Edmund kicked, his foot coming in contact with something invisible in front of him. He kicked again.
“Drop it!” the Undead King repeated.
Yelling like a lunatic, a figure pounced out from the darkness beyond the secret door, gems flashing. Pond lunged forward, stabbing his rapier into the air in front of Edmund.