by Robert Evert
There was another screech of pain.
The last six inches of Pond’s thin blade dripped with blood.
Edmund fell to the floor, his lungs sucking in air with a great coughing wheeze.
Pond pulled his rapier back for another blow, but Kravel and Gurding were on him. Kravel tackled Pond and hurled him to the ground. Gurding’s knife flashed in the torch light, ripping into Pond’s stomach. Pond screamed, his midsection awash in crimson.
“Fyre av nå!”
There was a popping sound.
The Undead King cried, “No!”
Sprawled out on the floor, Edmund threw the burning vellum sheets as far as he could. They scattered like leaves in the wind, several landing in the oil that Pond and Norb had thrown about the library. A wall of blue flame erupted with a gale.
“No!” The Undead King cried again.
The flames flew around them in a wide arc, racing up the rows of wooden bookshelves. Black smoke billowed to the ceiling. Fire crackled as it consumed the ancient tomes.
Silhouetted by the flames, an outline of a monstrous figure appeared. Tall and foreboding, the Undead King’s shadowy shape flew after the pages.
“Get the formula!” the Undead King shouted. “Get it!”
Kravel and Gurding sprang into the fire, picking up all the pages they could reach. Ashes, like smoldering rain, began swirling in the air.
“Pond,” Edmund said, crawling toward his pit mate.
Dark blood seeped out between Pond’s fingers. He coughed. Blood trickled out of his mouth.
“H-hold, hold on.” Edmund put his hands over Pond’s stomach and took a deep breath.
You’re too tired. You can’t cast that spell now. Wait a few minutes.
He doesn’t have a few minutes.
Edmund closed his eyes and concentrated. “Smerte av reise!”
His mind going blank, his skin cold, Edmund swooned and fell against the wall as the ugly incision in Pond’s belly began to close.
Kravel and Gurding sped around the room, diving for the pages as their edges blackened and curled. Many were already half-devoured.
The shadowy figure in the middle of the flames lifted the charred remains of two pages.
“Damn you, you miserable little human!” the Undead King cried. “I’ll make you suffer like you’ve never suffered before!”
The Undead King stalked through the inferno as if it were merely scarlet fog. The towering flames parted and swirled around him, giving his ghastly form shape. He turned toward Edmund where he lay against the wall, struggling to breathe. As black smoke swirled around him, the Undead King reached for Edmund’s throat.
“I’ll show you what an eternity of torment feels like!”
Thorax crawled out from underneath the mound of books and limped toward the specter. With a tremendous effort, she leapt and latched onto its outstretched arm, her jaws biting down with a crunch.
A piercing scream shot through the library. The papers in Undead King’s hands fell back into the burning oil.
The fires consumed more of the books around them. Flames vaulted from bookcase to bookcase. Blinding smoke filled the room.
Roaring, the ghostly figure of the Undead King spun, swinging Thorax in the air. As she swung, a smoldering cinder landed on her fur. The oil she rolled through ignited. Flames wrapped around her. But she didn’t let go of the Undead King’s arm.
Edmund opened a blurry eye.
“Thorax!” he cried, reaching out for her.
The Undead King beat Thorax against a crumbling bookcase as she blazed like a torch. The scent of scorched hair, then roasting meat, mingled with the aroma of burning books and oily smoke. But still Thorax held on.
Gagging on ashes, Edmund crawled toward Thorax as the Undead King pounded her against a bookcase engulfed in flames.
A hand grabbed Edmund’s calf.
“Come on,” Pond said, pulling Edmund leg toward the secret door.
“No,” he said staggering to his feet. “I have to save—”
Tumbling through the air, Thorax hit the wall next to the secret door and toppled to the ground. Edmund ran to her, smothering the flames that still danced over her blackened body.
Thorax!
He scooped her up in his arms.
Her brown eyes opened. She licked his face, and then went still.
“Come on!” Pond said, pulling on Edmund’s shoulder.
Crying, Edmund hobbled after Pond, Thorax’s head flopping lifelessly against his chest as he fled.
Chapter Sixty-Two
“I’m sorry,” Pond said. “I know how much she meant to you. But, if it helps, she’s in a better place.”
It doesn’t help.
Edmund wiped his eye again as he huddled over Thorax’s body.
She smells like that damn dog they roasted in the pit.
I’ll never eat meat again.
“Ed . . . we have to get going. Your enlargement spells won’t last for long, if they haven’t battered down the secret door already.”
Edmund stroked Thorax’s burnt head, her black skin cracking. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, girl. I’m so sorry.”
“Ed . . . ”
Edmund gently laid Thorax’s body under a cedar tree and covered it with his cloak.
Perhaps if you just studied more when you were younger, you would have had a spell that would have helped.
He wiped his nose on his sleeve and snorted.
“Ed . . . ”
Edmund nodded. “I’ll come back . . . I’ll, I’ll come back someday, girl. Someday. I’ll visit you. I promise.”
Remember this spot.
“I love you.”
Crying, he retreated a step, lifted his hand in a final farewell, and began running westward with Pond.
They sprinted down the hills, leaping over boulders, ducking under low branches, and darting around the countless evergreens foresting the plunging slopes. When they reached the bottom of the valley, Edmund slid to a halt. Something was in front of them. He could hear grunting and shuffling, like an angry animal struggling through the underbrush.
“What is it?” Pond asked. “Why did you stop?”
Placing a finger to his lips, Edmund beckoned for Pond to follow. As he snuck forward, he reached for his scimitar, but found that it wasn’t in its sheath.
You’re weaponless. Get the hell out of here. Run!
No. It might be . . .
Edmund peered between two cedar trees, unable to breathe.
Get the hell out of here. Leave them be. Leave them be and get the hell out of here!
“What is it?” Pond asked again, looking around Edmund’s shoulder.
There, a couple hundred yards before him, were Norb and Molly. Norb had his arm around Molly’s waist as she hobbled through the valley, sniveling.
Leave them be. They aren’t worth the effort. Go! The goblins will be here any minute.
Feeling every stab of her pain, Edmund watched as Molly limped westward. Norb cussed, urging her forward.
“Don’t think about it. Don’t think about anything. Just . . . just keep going,” he told her. “Come on. We have to get out of here!”
Leave them. They deserve what they get. They’ll only slow you down. Look how slowly she’s moving. It would be better if there were multiple trails for the goblins to follow anyway.
As he watched her struggle, a long-forgotten memory came to Edmund’s conflicted mind. In it, a ten-year-old Molly had been cleaning dishes at the Rogue when she cut her hand open on a sharp knife, slicing her finger to the bone. Edmund carried her through the streets of Rood to his mother’s apothecary shop. As his mother bandaged Molly’s hand, she gave Edmund a sidelong glance, a glance that only a knowing mother could give.
Even then, she knew I loved Molly.
And she approved. She always encouraged you to court her.
But I didn’t. Not in the proper way.
Edmund took a deep breath.
Are you sure this is
what you want to do?
Stepping out from behind the cedars, Edmund called for Norb to stop.
“Ed!” Norb said. “How, how did you—?”
“Are you okay?” Edmund asked, rushing up to Molly.
Breathing hard, Molly looked at him—terror, guilt, and pain filling her beautiful green eyes. “I fell. I . . . I can’t run.”
Edmund knelt by her side. “Here, let me help.” He touched her swelling ankle. She whimpered and tried to pull it back, but Edmund held her leg gently in his callused hands.
“Smerte av reise.”
The swelling subsided. The purplish hue faded.
“How, how . . . how did you?” Molly sputtered. “Ed, are you a, a . . . a witch?”
Terrific! Soon everybody will know. Goblins and witch hunters will both be after you.
“I know a few things,” he said. “B-b-but, but it’s best if you don’t tell anybody. People would kill me if they knew.”
Molly put a hand on his shoulder. “Look . . . Ed,” she began.
Edmund shook his head. “We don’t have time. And . . . and everything is okay. You didn’t know how I felt.”
She bit her bottom lip. “But I did,” she admitted. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . it’s just that . . . well, I always thought of you as a really good friend, you know?”
Edmund inhaled sharply and blinked.
I’d rather have my other eye burnt out than hear that again.
“I . . . I just want to thank you,” she said, touching him again. “For the money and . . . everything. It’s wonderful.”
Edmund blinked at Molly some more, imagining her and Norb spending his family’s fortune.
“The goblins?” Pond reminded them.
“Right,” Edmund said, forcing the air out of his lungs. “Look, d-d-don’t, don’t head toward Rood. Head northwest instead. Here, this way.”
“No, we need to head southwest,” Norb said. “Rood is that way.”
“That’s what they’ll be expecting. They’ll be searching for us that way. We’ve got to head northward and hide in the hills until they lose track of us.”
Norb appeared doubtful.
“He got us into and out of the tower,” Pond said. “I suggest you listen to him.”
“We’ll go north,” Molly said, putting her full weight gingerly on her injured leg. “Which way, Ed?”
They continued for several hours, pushing on northward through the dense forest and into the barren foothills of the Haegthorn. Though it was still early afternoon, Edmund had them rest in a hollow between two large hills for fear of being seen from the valley below.
Norb climbed to the top of the hill where Edmund was keeping watch. “Ed . . . ”
From his hiding spot, Edmund continued scanning the valley beneath them. Over the past hour, he had seen considerable movement. Hundreds of dark shapes had swarmed down from the mountain heights and disappeared under the green sea of cedar trees. Far off, flocks of black birds took to the air as if frightened. However, as of yet, nothing seemed to be heading toward them.
“Ed,” Norb repeated.
“I know what you want to say,” Edmund said. “But you don’t need to. I . . . I left. She . . . she moved on, like you said. Besides,” he added with some bitterness, “we were just friends.”
Norb thrust his hands deeper into his pockets. “I just want you to know that, that I didn’t ask Mol to marry me . . . ”
Married. My god, how much pain can one man endure?
“ . . . I didn’t ask Molly to become my wife because of all the money you gave her.”
Then give it back. It wasn’t meant for you.
“I’ve always cared for Mol,” Norb went on. “You know that.”
Then why didn’t you ask her to marry you before?
Why didn’t you?
“Ed—”
“Norb,” Edmund said with some anger. “I’ve . . . I’ve kind of been through a lot today. I just can’t . . . I just . . . I just want to get Molly to safety. Okay?”
Frowning, Norb nodded, hesitated, and began climbing down the hill.
“Norb,” Edmund said in a gentler tone.
Norb stopped.
“Get some rest. Once it gets dark, we’ll start heading west along this ridge and find a better hiding spot.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
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 we
re 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.”