Blood in Snow: (The Riddle in Stone Series - Book Three)

by Evert, Robert

  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.

  An archway stood open to their right, beyond which stairs descended. The hallway itself continued past, bending around the tower’s circular interior.

  Edmund wavered. The high cells were two levels directly below him, but any chamber on this topmost floor was likely to hold items of great worth to the Undead King; they might even contain a treasury. Could he perhaps find something of such importance that the Undead King would exchange it for the baby?

  Time was slipping by. He had to hurry.

  “All right, Beck.” He peered down the curved hallway one last time. “Let’s go find the cells.”

  Step by step, they descended the stairs, listening as they went.

  Soon it deposited Edmund and Becky into another corridor lined with priceless works of art, including magnificent paintings and tapestries embroidered with gold and precious gems. The gems glinted in the light from crystal chandeliers glowing golden like the rising sun, though no flames were visible.

  Which way?

  To his left, the corridor continued, closed doors of formidable red wood appearing periodically on either side as it curved out of view.

  “This way,” Edmund whispered, stalking to the right.

  Becky followed, then stopped. Sniffing the crisp air, she glared behind them and growled, the hair between her powerful shoulders stiffening.

  “What is it, girl?”

  Edmund listened, but only heard the mountain winds whipping by a window.

  You’re wasting time.

  Edmund tapped his thigh.

  “Come on, girl. This way.”

  Reluctantly Becky followed, her grey, wolf-like head occasionally turning to look back the way they’d come.

  At last they reached the room where Edmund had watched Crazy Bastard run down the snow-covered slope and where Kravel had burned out his eye. The telescope was still there, as was the fireplace poker, but the chairs along the wall were empty. Not a soul to be seen.

  Edmund’s pace quickened.

  They entered the dining hall where Edmund had once stuffed his mouth full of honey-glazed chicken, hot apples covered in cinnamon, and roasted baby potatoes. He caught a whiff of food, as if somebody had just finished a wonderful meal of seasoned meat, though it might have been his imagination. Still no sight or sound of the Undead King or any of his guards.

  Where is everybody?

  Just be thankful you’re not dead yet.

  Edmund found the stairway to the next level of the Undead King’s private quarters. At their bottom were the high cells and the massive metals doors that Edmund had destroyed with his enlargement spell. He stepped into the stairwell and stopped.

  He thought he heard something—loud talking, maybe shouts or screams—but he couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, it was below him and on the far side of the tower, muffled by countless stone walls.

  “Do you smell anything? Is anybody nearby?”

  Becky sniffed the air, but didn’t respond.

  “All right. Come on.”

  They continued down the stairs.

  Once at the bottom, Edmund listened again. The muffled sounds had stopped, or perhaps a door had been closed, blocking the noise. Everything was quiet and still.

  Heart pounding, he took a deep breath and peeked around the corner.

  The passageway was empty.

  We’re almost there.

  He turned right and jogged along the hallway.

  The high cell in which he and Molly had once been held captive came into view.

  Almost there …

  He put on a burst of speed, Becky running alongside him.

  Edmund reached the room and jerked open the door—but nobody was there.

  Lowering his weapon, he surveyed the small cell.

  Clean, white sheets of coarse linen were pulled tightly over the mattress; a pillow was propped against the headboard. The three-drawer chest was still there with the sapphire-blue porcelain washbasin on its top, empty of water.

  Edmund felt the life drain out of him. Had he been anywhere else, he would have collapsed and cried.

  Where else would they put her? The wet cells?

  He stared at the neatly m
ade bed again in despair. Fighting his way to the roots of the mountain was impossible.

  Golden rays of the morning sun streamed through the cell’s window.

  So this is it …

  You tried.

  Yet images of Molly’s baby huddled in the darkness of a wet cell, sobbing while sewage pounded down onto her, didn’t seem right. They wouldn’t put a baby in the wet cells. Not if they wanted to keep her alive. And they wouldn’t go through the trouble of capturing her only to kill her. They could have done that in Rood.

  Edmund stepped into the hallway.

  There were still two other doors of heavy wood reinforced with bands of black iron. Both were closed.

  “Becky”—he eyed the doors—“do you smell anything? Do you smell a baby?”

  Becky sniffed around the small room in search of a scent.

  Not waiting, Edmund stalked to the next door and listened.

  He opened it.

  Nothing. Just another empty room, almost identically furnished to the first one.

  He crept to the last door, listened again, and opened it.

  Nobody.

  “She’s not here.”

  I can’t believe it. What am I going to do?

  Leave!

  Maybe if I—

  Behind him, somebody spoke.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Edmund whirled around.

  Just beyond the curve of the hallway, two people approached; one was certainly the Undead King.

  “How many?” shouted Kar-Nazar.

  Edmund darted into the last cell he’d been inspecting.

  Becky stalked toward the voices, teeth bared.

  “Becky!” Edmund whispered and patted his thigh softly. “Becky, come!”

  “I would estimate they killed close to seven hundred,” another voice said.

  Edmund knew it immediately.

  Kravel!

  Becky glanced back at Edmund, then down the hallway. The voices drew near.

  “Becky, get in here!”

  Reluctantly she obeyed.

  Edmund eased the door closed to almost shut. He pressed his back to the wall beside the door and, breathing hard, clutched his sword hilt in both hands. He signaled Becky to be quiet.

  “Seven hundred!” the Undead King roared.

  The voices stopped approaching. Somebody was pacing, boots thudding on the tiled floor.

  “Yes, sire,” said Kravel. “I am afraid so, though no accurate count has been done at this time, you understand. Seven hundred was simply the number I was told. It might be in error.”

  “What of their forces?”

  “We’ve driven them into the valley. There appears to be approximately four hundred of them.”

  “What are they armed with?” the Undead King asked, frustrated. “Are they armed with Maûan steel?”

  Kravel wavered, as if uncertain how to answer. Even through the stone wall, Edmund felt the Undead King’s fury building.

  “None of the dead or captured humans were armed with anything other than their standard fare,” Kravel said carefully.

  “However?”

  “However … there is some evidence to suggest at least one, if not a handful, of the knights had Maûan blades. Many of our swords and armor were cut cleanly in two.”

  An unsettling pause followed as Edmund closed his eye, praying they wouldn’t find him.

  “I wonder …” mused the Undead King.

  “Sire?”

  “These men were from the south.”

  “Correct, sire. Many of the fallen had symbols of Eryn Mas on their shields.”

  “Why would knights from the south trouble us all the way up here? How did they learn of us after all these years?”

  “Sire, if I may … we know they came up here with their king to seize the old northern kingdom back from our friend.”

  The Undead King gave a half sigh, half growl. “Edmund.”

  Edmund’s blood chilled. His hands shook as they gripped his sword’s hilt.

  “With all due respect, Your Highness,” Kravel said, “I do not think Filth has anything to do with this. As we learned from the soldiers we interrogated earlier, they’re here to capture Filth and drag him to Eryn Mas in chains. In fact, I wonder if this little battle hasn’t worked to our favor in some small way.”

  “How so?”

  Becky sniffed at the slightly open cell door. Edmund pulled her back.

  “Well, Your Highness, we were concerned those knights would permanently damage our little friend, or perhaps bring him someplace not conducive to our needs. Now they’re destroyed, or will be shortly, Filth continues to be within our grasp.”

  Another long pause.

  “Perhaps,” the Undead King said eventually. “Perhaps. Still, something tells me Master Edmund is behind this. He’s near; I’d bet my life on it.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “Keep a watch for him, and make sure he doesn’t get killed in the slaughter. Make sure none of the humans survive—except for Edmund. I want him.”

  “Yes, sire. The humans will not escape very far; it should only take a couple days to hunt them all down. The snow will enable us to track them as they flee southward.”

  “Very well. I will let you handle this little mishap, then, Mr. Kravel. Do what you do well.”

  “Thank you, sire.”

  Heavy footsteps began to approach the cell in which Edmund and Becky hid, then stopped abruptly. Edmund could barely breathe.

  “Mr. Kravel,” said the Undead King slowly.

  “Yes, sire?”

  “Any word about your colleague, Mr. Gurding?”

  “No, sire. I believe he met his end at Filth’s hands, though Filth claimed to have only cut out his eyes.”

  “Edmund wouldn’t cut out Mr. Gurding’s eyes,” said the Undead King. “That’s not his way.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “Still, I’m afraid you may be correct. Shame. Very well, report to me if there’s anything noteworthy. Otherwise, tell the guard I’m not to be disturbed for any reason.”

  “Very good, sire.”

  Footsteps faded off into the distance. A door opened, then closed with a decisive thud. Yet the Undead King didn’t stir.

  “Edmund …” he grumbled.

  Keep calm! Keep calm! And remember, all things are possible. Keep an open mind. You’ll be able to see him if you open your mind. You know he used to be an elf, so he probably looks like one. Keep an open mind …

  Footsteps echoed toward him.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Through the grey stone wall, Edmund sensed something approach, growing larger, like a building thunderstorm.

  His grip tightened on the sword’s hilt.

  Keep an open mind and you’ll see him! Keep an open mind!

  Footsteps slowed, then began to pass the slightly open cell door.

  What are you going to do: fight or hide?

  Let him go by. Then—

  The door flew open as Becky sprang, snarling, out into the corridor. Without thinking, Edmund leapt out, too, screaming and waving his black-bladed sword.

  For a split second, he saw something he didn’t quite understand; shapes moved—great shapes of light and shadow, intertwining and tumbling about the hallway.

  Instinctively he knew the darker shape was Becky, barking and snarling, trying to tear into the throat of the other shape. But she wasn’t a mere puppy. She was something older and far more deadly; something out of the old northern legends, an ancient being that once roamed the primeval forests before man came and started felling the trees.

  The shape closest to him held Becky at arm’s length, struggling to push her away, then, with a tremendous heave like a thunderclap, it hurled her into the cell from which Edmund had just leapt. The door slammed shut, its hinges rattling as Becky barked and clawed furiously behind it.

  Then Edmund saw him.

/>   In the corridor stood a man—no, not a man … a king, tall and proud and fair beyond anyone Edmund had ever seen. He was panting, blood trickling where claws had raked his pale cheek. Upon seeing Edmund, he straightened.

  “Edmund,” the Undead King said, surprised.

  Smiling, he smoothed out his satin surcoat. A quizzical expression crossed his ageless face.

  “You can see me, can’t you? Interesting. Very interesting. Your mind has become stronger, or has somebody been instructing you?”

  Edmund stepped forward, sword pointed at Kar-Nazar, feet and weapon arm positioned the way King Lionel had taught him.

  The Undead King noted the black blade. “Where did you—?” His smile faltered. “You made that, didn’t you?”

  “Where is she?” Edmund blurted out, trying to steady his sword.

  “Where is who, Edmund?”

  “Molly. Where is she?”

  The cell door shook as if great claws tore at the wood.

  The Undead King put on a sad frown.

  “Molly’s dead, Edmund. I’m sorry, but you really need to come to terms with that. I could bring her back, but … trust me, you wouldn’t want that. Not so long after she’s passed on.”

  “I mean her, her daughter! Where is she? Where’s the baby?”

  The Undead King’s face brightened, and something in its sincerity made Edmund’s heart tighten.

  “Her daughter?” he repeated, pleased. “She’s well. And safe, I can assure you. Quite safe and happy, indeed. But you and I have other matters to discuss, now don’t we? Come.” He indicated Edmund should walk with him. “Perhaps we should sit. Would you like some wine?”

  “Where is she?” Edmund shouted. “Tell me!”

  The Undead King stopped and considered Edmund, the black blade trembling in his outstretched hands.

  “I suppose,” he said, though more to himself, “first things need to be first with humans.”

  “Tell me where she is, or I’ll—”

  “Or you’ll what, Edmund? Kill me?” he asked politely.

  Something large and heavy smashed up against the cell door.

  Edmund advanced a half step closer, but the Undead King didn’t appear too concerned.

  “I cannot be slain by any means, Edmund. You should know that by now. Or didn’t Vorn tell you? No?” His eyebrow rose in question. “Well, it must have slipped his mind. So allow me to explain.