by Robert Evert
“Secret door?” Abby repeated.
“I need you to kill any goblin who comes this way. They can’t get away to raise the alarm; the three of us can’t fight our way out of these mountains. If they learn we’re here, we’re dead.”
Abby examined their shuffling tracks as if trying to determine whether Edmund was exaggerating the risk of a goblin attack.
Pond shivered. “What are you going to do?”
“Go into the tower and find Molly’s daughter.”
“Alone?”
Doubt filled Abby’s wind-reddened face.
“Not alone.” He patted Becky’s head. She tried to climb into his lap, but Edmund pushed her away.
“There’s something about her,” he said, scratching Becky behind the ears. She rolled on to her side, pink tongue lolling. When Edmund stopped petting, she leapt up and ran around them in a furious circle like a giant puppy. “Horic called her a ‘werehound,’ and Lionel said her eyes glowed.”
“Glowed?” Abby snorted, sipping Vin’s cider. “Lionel’s an idiot. Becky’s just a dog. A very big, and intelligent, and sometimes mean dog. But her eyes don’t glow.”
“Maybe …” Edmund watched Becky race around them. “I thought I saw something like that with her before, too, back when Horic, Edith, and the dwarf appeared in the woods. They’re afraid of her.”
He patted his thigh and she bounded toward him, clumps of snow on her nose and head.
“There’s just something about you, girl.”
She barked. Immediately Edmund hushed her; the noise had echoed through the mountains.
“Anyway,” he said, “I think I’m safe with her. As safe as I’ll ever be.”
Abby and Pond said nothing.
Edmund heaved himself to his feet. “So, will you two to stay here and guard my retreat?”
Abby shifted uncomfortably. The mountain wind snapped and fluttered her cloak. “Something tells me you’re making that up, about the goblins coming here. I think you just want me to stay behind.”
“Pond? Can you make sure Abby stays put?”
Pond raised his hands and took a step back, as if he wanted no part of the coming battle. “I’m not even going to try,” he said. “She’s smarter than I am and usually right. Far more than me, at any rate. But I’ll do what you tell me.”
Abby regarded Pond, but he stared at his feet, attempting to kick off the snow that had accumulated on top of his snowshoes.
“Abby?” Edmund prodded.
She sighed.
“I’ll stay here with Pond, but only for about ten minutes. Then we come looking for you.”
“Give me two hours.”
“Two hours!”
“It’ll take me at least an hour just to get to the top. There’s a tunnel to where the tower is, then a spiral staircase to the top of Thorgorim. So if I can get in, it’ll only take maybe fifteen minutes to find her.”
“Fifteen minutes? To find her in that big tower?” Abby asked doubtfully.
“I think I know where she is. They w-w-wouldn’t, they wouldn’t put her in the wet cells or in the pits; a child wouldn’t live long in either place.”
“So they’d put her in the high cells by the Undead King’s personal quarters,” Pond said, though there was an uncertainty in his voice. Edmund could tell he didn’t think a rescue was possible.
He exhaled heavily in the cold air. “Look, I need to at least try. I can’t explore the entire tower; I know that. So if she isn’t where I think she is, if I can’t find her quickly …” He shrugged, not wanting to finish his thought.
“What, you’d leave her?” Abby said, even more skeptical.
Edmund gazed at the looming mountain peak. The sky was lightening. Morning was coming.
He nodded.
“I’d have to. There’s only so much we can do. Maybe, if I don’t find her, we could come back with men armed with weapons made from Iliandor’s metal. Then, who knows? Maybe we could take over the tower and kill everything in it. But for now …” He stroked Becky’s head. “We have to try what we can.”
“Two hours, huh?” Abby said.
“Can you guys be together for that long?”
“We’ll be fine,” said Pond. “Don’t worry about us. Just make sure you get in and out as fast as you can.”
Again Edmund nodded.
“Thanks, Pond. You too, Abby. I love you both, far more than either of you realize. After this is all over, I’ll stop putting your lives in jeopardy.”
“What fun would that be?” Abby grumbled.
For many moments, they merely stood there together, listening as the wind whistled through the jagged rock formations.
“Well,” Pond said, fighting back tears, “I suppose you’d better get going. Daylight’s coming, and goblins will see our trail a mile off.”
Begrudgingly, Edmund rose from the boulder. “You’re right.”
“Ed, if you don’t want to do this—”
“No, I have to try, Pond. I couldn’t live with myself otherwise.”
“All right.” Pond nodded. “I understand. We’ll give you two hours. After that, we’re coming for you.”
Edmund patted him on the back. “Thanks.”
Abby hugged him. “Good luck!”
Edmund approached the mountainside, its grey rock face extending at least a hundred feet above them. He took off his mittens and felt the cold stone.
“What are you looking for?” Pond asked.
Edmund poked a freezing finger into various holes and crevices. “A way to open the secret door.”
“What if the door only opens from the inside?”
At this, Edmund’s heart faltered. He fought to breathe in the frigid air. Nevertheless, he continued to push against the stone.
“Then we’ll go home, and Molly’s baby will live the life she was destined to have.”
Somewhere in the neighboring mountains, wolves howled.
Becky’s ears pricked up.
“I’m sure we can get in,” Abby said, oddly optimistic. “Just keep looking.”
Edmund slid his numbing hand into a nearby crack and thought he felt something. He pushed and there was a metallic click.
They glanced around. Nothing seemed to have changed.
Again he pushed his fingers into the crack, though he couldn’t feel what he had before.
He examined the rock face.
Still nothing seemed any different.
The sky beyond the eastern mountains had brightened to a faint yellow.
“Any ideas?” Pond asked.
“No. I felt a button or a switch. Clearly something happened, but the door’s not opening.”
While they studied the stone, Becky dug in the snow.
“You’re not going to beat yourself up if we can’t get in, are you?” Pond asked.
“We’ll get in,” Abby said.
Edmund chuckled.
“What?” they both asked.
“I think our werehound is trying to tell us something.”
Edmund knelt beside Becky and began shoveling handfuls of snow away from the wall.
“There’s a line!” Pond pointed. “In the stone. It’s perfectly straight.”
Edmund unsheathed his dagger and slid it into the crack. Gradually more and more lines appeared. The secret door swung open, revealing a narrow passageway trailing off into darkness.
“See?” Abby said. “I told you we’d get in!”
They looked at her.
“What?” she said. “I’m trying to be more positive … like Pond!”
She and Pond exchanged glances.
Becky sniffed the warmer air rolling from the tunnel.
Edmund peered into the blackness.
“Well, I suppose this is it. Wish me luck.”
“Luck,” said Pond.
“Be quick,” Abby added.
“I’ll do my best. All right”—Edmund drew his sword—“come on, Becky. Let’s see if we can save a little girl.”
Glaring into th
e passage, Becky curled her upper lip in a silent growl. She retreated a couple of steps, then reluctantly followed Edmund.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Edmund stumbled blindly in the dark, pushing past cobwebs that brushed against his face. Feeling along the wall, the passage was exactly as he remembered it—roughly hewn at first, then less cave-like as the cold and gritty stone changed to mortared bricks. Soon he came to the rough steps that corkscrewed up through the mountain and into the tower.
Here Edmund halted.
He knew if he went any further, he might end up in the wet cells again. But then he thought about Molly’s little girl. With an uneven breath, Edmund climbed the steps, his heavy footfalls and the click, click, click of Becky’s nails echoing in the empty blackness around him.
Countless steps later, they finally reached a narrow landing where a brick wall barred their way. Edmund stood in the stillness, a mere foot and a half of stone separating him from the Undead King’s library. Did the Undead King ever sleep? he wondered, then remembered the grand canopy bed. He didn’t want to imagine about what might have happened there with Molly, yet her haunting cries wouldn’t leave his head. The same terrible thing could happen to her daughter, day after day for the rest of her life. He couldn’t let that happen.
Fumbling around, he found Becky’s head.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he whispered.
She licked his face.
“Thanks for being such a good partner. Thorax …” He found it difficult to speak. “She, she would have been proud of you—if that kind of thing matters to animals.”
Becky leaned into Edmund, licking his face all the more, her hundred pounds of muscle nearly knocking him against the secret door. He hugged her.
“All right, girl.” Edmund stood. “We’ve come to do something worth doing. We might as well get it done, if we can.”
He felt along the brick wall.
There was no knob or latch.
His fingers searched for holes or cracks where an opening mechanism might be hidden, but found nothing other than mortared grooves around each brick. Part of him was relieved.
He put his shoulder to the wall and pushed a little. Stone grating against stone shredded the silence as the secret door moved a quarter of an inch.
He listened, but heard nothing other than his pounding heart.
Edmund dragged his sweaty palms across his pant legs, refreshed his grip on the sword’s hilt, and, putting his shoulder to the door again, tried to recall what the library looked like.
Becky bumped into his leg like a racehorse anxious to burst from the starting gate.
All right. Enough wasting time.
He stroked Becky’s side. “Thanks again, girl.”
She clawed eagerly at the brick door. With a heave, Edmund shoved it open and leapt into the library, his sword and Becky leading the way.
Nothing happened. The library was as dark as the secret stairway.
He’s not here.
Thanks to luck …
Edmund groped around, expecting to hit a bookcase, but finding only more parchment-scented darkness.
Cast your fire spell. You can’t stumble around like this.
Cast it on what?
Tear a strip of cloth from your—
His thighs bumped into something. Wood screeched across floor like a scream. Edmund swept his hands out before him, feeling the object’s edges. It was a table. His fingers grazed across sheets of vellum, then up a crystal lamp.
He felt for the wick.
Don’t—
I need light. Obviously he’s not in here or in the bedroom. If he was, he would have heard me blundering around.
“Fyre av nå.”
The wick blazed to life as the darkness receded, leaving Edmund standing on a yellow island in a black sea.
The library still contained rows upon rows of bookcases, crammed with books, scrolls, and other ancient manuscripts. However, near the still-open secret door, several were missing; scorched tiles marked where they once stood. Across the room, the door to the Undead King’s quarters was closed.
Edmund listened but heard nothing.
As he went to blew out the lamp’s flame, his gaze settled upon the sheets of vellum arrayed in a line across the table. The charred remains of Iliandor’s formula stared up at him, their wrinkles carefully smoothed out.
Next to the sheets lay a gold pen beside an inkwell and a small stack of parchment. On these, strange runes had been written.
He’s trying to determine what was destroyed in the fire.
Edmund counted the vellum sheets.
Only two were missing.
He surveyed the remainder.
Three were more than half-destroyed. Most of the other sheets, however, were still readable. Edmund crammed the papers into his pocket and stepped toward the bedroom door, where Becky waited anxiously.
Then he hesitated.
If he exchanged the formula for the girl’s release, the Undead King could kill everybody on the continent. Even Lionel’s skilled knights wouldn’t survive against goblins armed in unbreakable steel; their scimitars would slash through them as if they wore no armor at all.
He pulled the clump of papers from his pocket, fingers crumpling them into a tighter ball. The ancient vellum cracked.
The lamp’s flame danced and waved as though happy for his dilemma.
Edmund removed several sheets from the bundle and held them over the red flame. Their edges curled and turned black. Thick, oily smoke rose to the ceiling as the hungry flames crept closer to Edmund’s fingers. When their heat became unbearable, he flung the pages to the floor and watched them twist like dying spiders until they were nothing more than a mass of glowing ashes. He wadded the remainder into a tighter ball and thrust it back into his pocket.
Becky watched him curiously.
“If I c-can, if I can convince him I have all the pages,” he told her, “he might be more willing to bargain. But now he’ll never translate the entire document without me. Hopefully.”
At the bedroom door, Becky sniffed.
Edmund doused the lantern and waved to dissipate the cloud of black smoke.
He crept to the door and listened.
Nothing.
You can leave …
Searching through the darkness, Edmund found the doorknob.
You’ve stopped him from learning Iliandor’s secret, and without the metal, his armies will be no match for the combined armies of the human kingdoms. Hell, with what you know, you could arm a hundred trained knights and kill every damned goblin in these mountains. Go! Leave this place while you still have time!
He turned the knob and pulled.
Fresh air and dim light streamed into the library.
Edmund peeked through the crack.
Across the room sat the canopy bed, neatly made with fine blankets of white wool. Flanking it stood arched windows, shutters open, cold morning light striking majestic tapestries on the far wall.
He opened the door a bit wider.
Becky pushed past and shot into the room, nose to the ground, hackles raised.
“Becky!” Edmund hissed, but she continued to dart around the chamber, smelling everything within reach.
Edmund opened the door even wider and stuck his head in. The regal bedroom was empty. He stalked forward, sword hilt gripped in ever-tightening fingers.
There were two other doors in the bedroom. The one to his right was open and, through it, he could see portions of the Undead King’s parlor and the hallway that circled around the tower’s upper level. The one to his left was closed.
What now?
Edmund’s gaze alternated between the two.
He had to go through the parlor to get to the stairs leading to the high cells where he and Molly had previously been held. Yet the possibility of exploring the Undead King’s bedroom intrigued him. He also didn’t want anybody to surprise him from behind as he stole around.
Becky bolted
into the parlor.
“Becky!” he whispered.
She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him, quivering with a desire to hunt.
“Hold on!”
Edmund listened at the closed door to his left. Hearing nothing, he cautiously opened it.
Beyond lay a large room filled with racks of elegant clothing fit for a king of great wealth and power—surcoats of blue silk, mantles of gem-encrusted satin, sable-lined robes of red and scarlet. To Edmund’s surprise, several sets of ordinary clothes were mixed in, including work clothes any member of the underclass would wear. Below them sat boots, scuffed and worn. Oddly, they had dried mud on them.
Edmund made to close the closet door when something caught his eye. On the marble floor at the rear of the wardrobe were subtle scrapes, as if the back wall could swing inward.
“Another secret door?”
One he’s used often enough to mar the floor.
Edmund stepped toward it.
Forget it. It’s not important. Probably just another exit into the mountains. Find the baby and get out of here.
Near the parlor door, Becky bristled with nervous energy.
Edmund considered the dirty boots and the scratches on the floor a final time, then joined Becky.
In the parlor’s fireplace, wood and kindling had been piled, ready to be ignited. In front of it sat a comfortable leather chair, a small table to its left. On the table lay a book of poetry next to an open bottle of wine, label faded brown with age. Across the room, near an open door leading to a hallway, stood another table, this one with a blue porcelain vase and an overturned goblet. Red wine had pooled on the tabletop and now dripped steadily onto the antique rug.
He left in a hurry.
But he’ll be back. Either get out of here or get ready to fight him.
Fight him? I can’t even see him!
Keep an open mind. Consider all possibilities. Like Vin said, if you don’t believe in dragons, your mind won’t let you see one.
Becky sniffed the firewood stacked tidily in the woodbin, looked back through the bedroom toward the library, then at Edmund.
Open mind … all possibilities …
He patted his thigh.
“Come on, Becky.”
Becky came.
“Let’s go f-f-find, let’s go find Molly’s baby.”
Together they stalked up the hallway, Becky sniffing as she went.