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

by Evert, Robert

  “Since our kinds have first looked at the heavens, we’ve both craved one thing and one thing alone: an understanding of life. No … not just an understanding,” he corrected himself, “but a mastery over it. A mastery over it and death.”

  Edmund took a step forward. He thought about lunging, but he’d only have one chance. He couldn’t miss.

  “I alone have found the answers,” the Undead King went on, excitement growing. “I have mastered both.”

  “Tell me where the girl is.”

  “As I said, Edmund, she’s quite happy and safe. I wouldn’t dream of allowing harm to come to her. I’ll even introduce the two of you, if you’d like. But you and I have too much to discuss at the moment, as I’ve already indicated.”

  The cell door stopped rattling. Through the gap between its bottom and the floor came panting snorts, as though a great beast crouched on the other side, sniffing. The Undead King looked over, startled.

  “Where did you get that animal?” He nervously surveyed the iron hinges, now partially pulled from the mortar. “It’ll be your downfall if you keep it near you.”

  “She’s a friend. Now give me the girl.”

  “Edmund, if you mention her again, I will get angry.”

  “I don’t care. Give her to me!”

  The Undead King’s expression hardened.

  “I’m afraid I’ll need to teach you two lessons before we continue. Perhaps then you’ll begin to understand and we can move along.”

  The Undead King strolled toward Edmund.

  Edmund shuffled back several paces, sword still pointed at the Undead King’s chest. “Get back!”

  “Or what, Edmund? You’ll kill me? Stab me and see what happens. Go on.”

  The Undead King kept advancing and spread his elegant hands, offering himself as a helpless target.

  Edmund retreated, hesitated, and with a cry sprang forward, driving his sword deep into the Undead King’s belly. The black blade slid in effortlessly, like it had slipped into water. Blood, as red as any human’s, erupted and the Undead King stumbled back, face contorted in pain.

  Then wound closed and the Undead King grinned at Edmund.

  “That,” he laughed, “was the first lesson.” In a flash, his hand seized Edmund’s wrist and twisted. The sword fell from Edmund’s grasp, clattering on the tiled floor. “This,” he said, “is the second.”

  The Undead King’s green eyes narrowed at Edmund.

  A violent shock jolted Edmund’s body, shot through his arm, and stabbed into his heart. Color drained from the world. His bones turned icy. Unable to speak, Edmund dropped to his knees, convulsing as life trickled out of him. Becky roared and threw herself at the cell door, bending its thick timbers.

  “Life, Edmund, can be given or taken. Do you understand?”

  Edmund twitched, tongue swelling at the back of his throat.

  The Undead King let go.

  Edmund collapsed, shaking on the floor.

  “Are you beginning to understand what I’m telling you?” the Undead King asked. “You cannot kill me. Many, many people have tried, your Iliandor being one of them. But I simply cannot die. Once you accept that, your remaining choice will become evident.”

  Weakened and trembling, Edmund grabbed his sword and crawled backward. The Undead King strolled after him.

  “This is your present situation, Edmund. I need the rest of the formula Iliandor stole. You will give it to me, and I will let you live. I’ll even allow you to rule your little human kingdom. Now that our presence in these mountains has been discovered, it doesn’t matter who you tell. I’ll give you what you want, Edmund, and you’ll give me what I want.”

  “I want the girl!”

  The Undead King’s boot kicked Edmund square in the face. Edmund flew back, dropping his sword and skidding to a stop by the stairs to the floor above.

  “If you mention her again, I will inflict more pain than you would like to experience.”

  Edmund touched his nose and mouth; blood flowed freely, splattering in red puddles.

  The Undead King shook his head in disgust. “Heal yourself, if you’re able. Otherwise, I’ll do it for you.”

  Scrabbling farther away, Edmund cupped his nose and cast his healing spell.

  “Smerte av reise.”

  Slowly, the bloody flood changed to a trickle, then stopped.

  “I could teach you more than that,” said the Undead King. “I could teach you real healing that doesn’t require words or thoughts. Eternal life, Edmund. Give me what I want, and I’ll give you eternal life. You’ll neither grow old nor die. You can have your kingdom and rule over it for as long as you wish; you’ll become like a god to your people.”

  Legs quavering, Edmund fought to stand.

  “Give me the formula you found in Iliandor’s diary, Edmund.”

  Edmund staggered back, using the wall for support.

  “It, it … it doesn’t, it doesn’t work!” He stumbled, nearly falling. “Look!” He pointed to the sword lying by the Undead King’s feet. “Look at the blade. It isn’t, it isn’t right.”

  The Undead King picked up the sword and inspected the blade. Tiny chips marred the edge where Edmund had cleaved open goblin armor and struck stone.

  “He didn’t write the entire formula,” Edmund said, “so it didn’t work; not completely. Look at the color of the steel, it’s n-n-nearly, it’s nearly black. It isn’t like the steel he made. It had a bluish hue.”

  “Did you follow the formula precisely?”

  “Of course! I, I wouldn’t make a defective sword! I … I wanted what Iliandor had, something indestructible. This, this is strong and light, but it, it breaks! It can be broken. I don’t have the formula!”

  The Undead King’s lip curled. He cursed and threw the sword, clanging, against an ancient tapestry.

  “Iliandor!” The Undead King drew his fingers through his long blond hair in frustration. “He must have left out a key step and hid that somewhere else.”

  He stared at Edmund cowering against the wall.

  “Tell me what you know. Tell me exactly what that document said. Perhaps I can improvise the rest.”

  Edmund vacillated, considering whether he should run to the secret door or dive for his sword. Then he realized the stairs were behind the Undead King, and even with his sword, he couldn’t kill him.

  He couldn’t run, and he couldn’t fight.

  “Edmund”—the Undead King drew closer—“tell me exactly what that document said, word for word.”

  Edmund dove for the sword, scooped it up, and, still prone on the floor, pointed it at the Undead King.

  “Enough of this foolishness! Tell me exactly what that document said!”

  “No.”

  The Undead King sighed. “Oh, Edmund … I’d hoped we could avoid these unpleasantries.”

  Edmund waved his sword, but the Undead King batted it away and seized Edmund by the throat.

  “Tell me what it said.”

  “No.”

  Edmund screamed, body convulsing. Becky snarled and clawed at the cell door, unable to tear through its splintering wood. Then there was the sound of running feet as Pond leapt from the stairwell behind the Undead King.

  “You!” the Undead King shouted, dropping a breathless Edmund to the ground.

  “Me!” Pond pounced, thrusting his black-bladed rapier.

  The Undead King sidestepped, dodging the blow. With a swipe of his foot, he tripped Pond and sent him reeling across the floor, rapier sliding out of reach.

  The Undead King laughed.

  “If you’re so heedless of your own discomfort,” he said to Edmund lying at his feet, “perhaps you’ll change your mind at your friend’s suffering.”

  “No!” Edmund clambered to his knees and tried to pull the Undead King away, but the Undead King kicked him back. “No! Don’t! Leave him alone!”

  The Undead King seized Pond’s ne
ck and lifted him off the floor.

  “Tell me what I want to know or he dies—slowly.”

  Pond flailed, face draining white then turning ashen-grey. He bucked and contorted, eyes rolling up into their sockets.

  “Tell me what the document said, Edmund. Word … for … word.”

  Pond finally screamed—high and shrill.

  Another scream answered. Abby charged out of the stairwell at the Undead King, dagger thrust before her like a lance. She slashed at him but missed. Dropping Pond, the Undead King grabbed her wrist.

  Becky roared, furious but helpless behind the reinforced door.

  “No! Leave her alone!” Edmund fought his way to his feet. He brandished his sword.

  The Undead King grinned at him, caressed Abby’s cheek adoringly.

  “Now,” he said quietly, “you will tell me everything I want to know … I’m quite sure of it.”

  “Don’t …” Pond said weakly.

  Becky howled, the cell door buckling under her constant onslaught.

  “Please,” Edmund begged. “Please, don’t!”

  Abby kicked the Undead King’s leg and slashed at him with her dagger, but he merely continued to caress her check, smiling at Edmund.

  “Tell me,” he said. “Or else.”

  The Undead King’s pale hand slid up underneath Abby’s coat and chainmail. He fondled her petite breast.

  Abby’s arms twitched.

  “No!” Edmund cried.

  She gurgled as her limbs flailed.

  “Don’t! Please!”

  “Then tell me what that document said,” the Undead King replied calmly.

  Abby choked, then screamed.

  Slowly, from the roots outward, her beautiful black hair turned white. Her skin drained to the color of drying clay.

  Crying out, Edmund charged and, with all his strength, stabbed his sword directly at the Undead King’s heart. But the Undead King, still smiling, lifted Abby’s convulsing body like a shield and Edmund, unable to stop his strike, drove his sword into her flesh, impaling her through the stomach.

  Blood poured from Abby’s mouth. The Undead King tossed Abby’s still-twitching body to the floor. Screaming, Edmund dropped his sword and fell to his knees by her side.

  “Abby!”

  “Tell me what I want to know, Edmund, and I’ll bring her back to life.”

  Edmund laid his hands over Abby’s wound, trying to push her intestines back in.

  He cast his healing spell—again and again and again.

  The wound closed, but Abby still wasn’t moving. Her eyes, once a penetrating dark brown, had dulled, staring off into the distance.

  “Tell me—”

  “Okay!” Edmund cried between sobs. He cradled Abby in his blood-soaked arms. “Okay! I’ll tell you everything. Just save her! Save her!”

  “What incantation did Iliandor use on the molten metal?”

  “Te mär luun a kova.”

  “Luun a kova?” the Undead King repeated doubtfully. “That doesn’t make sense. Are you absolutely sure it was luun a kova?”

  “Yes! Yes!” Edmund shouted, clutching Abby’s body to him. “I’m sure! Now, please! Please, save her!”

  “Te mär luun a kova …” the Undead King repeated thoughtfully as Abby’s blood spread in an ever-widening pool.

  “Please!”

  Annoyed, the Undead King reached down and touched Abby’s lips. In a great spastic jerk, she started to breathe, coughing and gasping, yet her face remained old and grey.

  “Now, tell me exactly, in the original language, what the text said. If you leave out a single word, Edmund, I will not restore her to how she was.”

  Rocking Abby in his arms, Edmund choked on his tears and recited what he’d found under the cover of Iliandor’s diary. The Undead King nodded eagerly, eyes bright with delight … until bent hinges squealed behind him. Pond had opened the door to Becky’s cell.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Becky stalked from the cell, long white canines bared in a silent, grinning snarl.

  In Edmund’s mind, she was as massive as a mother bear, dark shadows rolling off her grey fur. Her eyes glowed flame-red.

  The Undead King spun around.

  Leaning against the wall for support, Pond rasped, “Get him, Becky.”

  Becky ambled down the corridor toward the Undead King, who staggered back, looking around wildly, until his gaze locked on Edmund’s sword lying on the floor. He made to reach for it, but Edmund, still clutching Abby to his chest, knocked it away, then wrapped an arm around the Undead King’s legs so he couldn’t run.

  Crying out, the Undead King stumbled, then toppled as Becky pounced, latching on to his raised forearm with her powerful jaws. There was a crunch and a shriek.

  Becky clawed and bit, snarled and thrashed while the Undead King screamed beneath her. He clutched Becky’s fur in desperation, shouted words in some language long forgotten. Where he’d grabbed, blue flames erupted, but Becky’s fur didn’t even singe. She dragged her claws across the Undead King’s already bloodied face.

  Pond crawled to Edmund’s side. “How … how is she? Is she … is she okay?” Then he saw her ashen face and her blood-covered stomach. “Oh by the gods, by the gods!” Grasping Abby’s limp hand, he began to sob.

  Abby stirred. “Shut … up,” she whispered.

  Both Edmund and Pond gave a cry and squeezed her tight.

  “Kill … him,” she gasped. “Kill him, Ed.”

  “What?” Edmund wiped away his tears. “What did you say?”

  “Kill … the bastard.”

  The Undead King writhed on the floor, struggling to keep Becky from ripping into his throat.

  “Pond, can you, can you stand?” Edmund said. “Can you carry her?”

  Pond nodded through his tears. Then, still sobbing, he said to Abby, “I love you! I love you so much!”

  “Shut up,” she said, voice a little stronger. She offered a weak smile.

  Edmund pushed her into Pond’s arms and seized his sword lying in Abby’s blood.

  “Get her out of here. Through the library. Do you know how to get there?”

  “Yeah.” Pond clambered to his feet, holding the nearly limp Abby. “To the top, then left.” He hugged her, kissed her forehead. “I’m so sorry,” he told her. “I’m so, so sorry!”

  Abby’s hand flinched, as if she were trying to slap him. “I’m not getting married.”

  “We’ll talk about it later.” Pond hugged her again.

  “Get her out of here,” Edmund said. “Go! Go out the secret door!”

  “Are you going to be okay?” Pond asked, sniffling.

  “Go!”

  “All right. But Ed—”

  “Go!”

  Pond hesitated. “Good luck, and … and thanks.”

  “Thank me when we’re safe. Now get her out of here.”

  Edmund watched Pond struggle up the stairs, Abby in his arms. When they were out of view, he turned his attention back to the Undead King, Becky still atop him, snapping furiously as he fought to keep her at arm’s length, electric-blue fire dancing harmlessly off of her grey fur.

  Staggering up to them, Edmund aimed his sword and drove it into the Undead King’s heart. Blood erupted in a geyser as the Undead King’s resistance to Becky crumbled. Becky, the blue fire disappearing from her fur, seized his throat and bit down. Thrashing her jaws from side to side, she nearly ripping the Undead King’s head clean off his body.

  The Undead King didn’t move.

  Edmund fell back against the blood-splattered wall and slid to the floor. Becky pranced over to him. She barked as if wanting to play.

  Edmund stroked her neck, then pulled her close to him. Burying his face into her bloody fur, he began to weep.

  “Thanks, girl. Thank you!”

  She licked the side of his face.

  “I don’t know what the hell a werehound i
s, but I’m glad you’re on my side.”

  She pulled out of his embrace, lowered her front end, and barked again.

  Edmund was about to laugh at her when, to his horror, the Undead King’s hand began to flex. The gashes in his chest and throat were completely gone. His face was white and drawn with pain, but clearly, he was very much alive.

  Snatching his sword, Edmund hacked the Undead King’s body over and over again. He cut off the head, the arms, the feet. He hacked until his sword had cleaved deep gouges in the ceramic tiles beneath; he chopped until his arms grew weary. But even as he collapsed, exhausted from his labor, Edmund could see the wounds slowly re-healing.

  “I’m … I’m never going to kill him.”

  He’s mastered life and death …

  Becky stood at the foot of the stairs, peering back, tail wagging.

  Get out of here! The best you can do is run. Run, and get Pond and Abby back to Rood.

  But this wasn’t why he’d come to the tower in the first place.

  “Becky, can you smell a baby? A human baby?”

  Becky bounded about, barking.

  “Find her, girl! Go on! Find Molly’s baby! Go!”

  Turning, Becky sprang up the stairs. Edmund slashed at the healing body several more times, then hobbled after Becky, a sense of fear creeping over him.

  When Edmund had finally managed to reach the top of the stairs, Becky danced about, then ran off down the hallway.

  “Wait!” he called after her.

  He limped through the dining hall and the observatory until he reached the stairs to the uppermost level. Becky was already vaulting up them.

  “Stick close, girl. You don’t know who—”

  She disappeared from view.

  “Wait!”

  Still weak, Edmund labored up each step.

  Again Becky waited for him at the top of the landing, but she was no longer playful. Growling, she glared to the right, down the passage, away from the Undead King’s bedchamber and library.

  Breathing hard, Edmund leaned on his sword.

  “She’s … she’s that way? You sure?”

  He glanced behind him, half expecting to see the Undead King thundering up the stairs.