Betrayal In The Highlands (Book 2)

by Robert Evert

  Abby looked away, still angry. “It was stupid, okay? Is that what you want me to say? I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise.” She cursed under her breath.

  She won’t do it again.

  Yes she will, but she’ll have a better reason than to satisfy her own curiosity.

  Edmund was going to touch her shoulder and say something reassuring, but Abby stormed off and sat, glowering out the window.

  Pond stirred.

  “I wish they’d stop doing this to me,” he said and drank some of the water Abby had given him. He put his head into his hand.

  “Actually”—Edmund patted his back—“if they keep doing it, you’ll develop a resistance to the spell.”

  Pond tried to laugh. “Well, I suppose I have that to look forward to.”

  “You said there were three of them.”

  Nodding, Pond drank a little more water. “I didn’t see the third, but I sensed him in the room with the woman and little guy.”

  “Sensed him?”

  “And I heard them talking to him,” Pond said. “He was ordering them around.”

  Edmund waited.

  Blinking slowly, Pond fought to explain. “I … I don’t understand any of this stuff about magic or, or …” He glanced around, struggling to find the right words.

  “What?”

  “I … I don’t know how to say this,” Pond began. “It’s just, it’s just that … when I stabbed the Undead King back at the tower … I could feel him. I could sense that he was there, even though I couldn’t exactly see him. It was like … bumping around in the darkness, you know? Sometimes you can just tell something’s in front of you.”

  Bumping around in the darkness …

  That sums up your entire life.

  “What do you mean?” Edmund asked, trying not to rush him but desperately wanting answers. “How do you know somebody was there? Was he invisible? Was it the Undead King?”

  Pond made an effort to shrug. “I don’t know.”

  If the Undead King is here …

  Pond leaned back, eyelids sliding closed.

  “I … I don’t know if this makes any sense.” He swallowed and cracked open his eyes. “But I knew you were a good guy as soon as you landed in our pit. I just know things about people; what they want to hear, what they’re looking for. That’s why I was such a successful merchant.”

  “What’s your point? What do you mean you ‘sensed’ him? Was it the Undead King?”

  “I know you’re a good person, Ed.” Pond swallowed again. “And I know … I know with my very soul … whoever else was in that room is truly evil.”

  “Evil?” Edmund said. “Evil like Kravel and Gurding? Like the goblins? Or like Edith?”

  Pond shook his head.

  “That’s not what I mean. Edith just wants something … something she feels is important, and she’ll do anything to get it.” He licked his dry lips. “Same with the goblins. They’re how they are, like … bees trying to protect their hive. They aren’t evil.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “The third person in that room …” Pond looked up at Edmund. “He wants something from you … and if he doesn’t get it … he’s going to do things far worse than anything the Undead King did.”

  Edmund took a step back.

  “He has a black heart, Ed. And he wants to see the whole world suffer—men, women … children. I think it would give him pleasure to watch an innocent child die. That’s what I mean by evil.”

  On the bed in the corner, Fatty twitched and snored.

  “Get everything together,” Edmund told Abby, “and wake Fatty up. We’re leaving. We have to get to Rood. If Norb talks, we’re all dead.”

  PART THREE

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Grunting in the darkness of early night, Edmund pulled himself higher up into the oak tree, hands and knees coated with the bark’s black grime. Careful not to slip, he scrambled out onto a thick branch reaching like a muscular arm over the wall a few feet below him. He paused to wipe gritty sweat from his forehead then, with the tip of his short sword, pushed aside the rustling leaves that blocked his view. His heart felt like it was being squeezed. He couldn’t breathe. There in front of him, under the dim northern stars, lay the bleak remains of Rood.

  “Oh my …”

  I can’t look at this.

  Yet he couldn’t turn away.

  The burnt-out buildings had been mostly torn down, their blackened timbers removed. But like a labyrinth of freshly dug graves in a cemetery, their crumbling stone foundations remained open and full of stinking refuse.

  A handful of new buildings had been built since the carnage unleashed by the Undead King’s forces the prior year. One, an ugly two-story structure with narrow windows and an unkempt thatched roof, stood near the center of town where The Wandering Rogue used to be. Another, a long, squat house, had been built on the lot once owned by Edmund’s family. Pale, cheerless light streamed from it, deepening the night’s gloom.

  The rest of the buildings were crudely constructed mud-and-stone cabins that wouldn’t withstand more than a couple of frigid winters in the Far North. Amid these, several hundred tents and makeshift shelters were clustered, some of them no more than weather-worn blankets draped over sticks.

  Outside the decrepit dwellings huddled hundreds of men around smoky fires, the smell of which reminded Edmund of Rood as it smoldered, dead bodies hung from trees and signposts. Other people seemed to be milling about aimlessly.

  “What the hell is Norb doing?”

  He’d better build adequate sanitation or the fever will kill everybody here.

  What are they going to do when winter comes?

  The campfires’ grey haze dulled the blue and green stars shimmering overhead. It stung Edmund’s eyes. He felt like crying.

  “My poor Rood …”

  He stared at the disheveled men crowded together.

  “I have to do something.”

  You’ll make this better. But first you have to deal with Norb … and Edith … and the goblins …

  So many obstacles …

  Despair began to pull his soul deeper into a painful void.

  “What am I going to do?” he asked the smoky darkness around him.

  But he knew the answer. He had to make sure Norb didn’t mention Iliandor’s diary. That would at least take care of Edith and her friends. Then all he’d have to do was hide from the goblins, which he could do in any well-defended city. Unfortunately, the only way to ensure Norb didn’t talk was to kill him, and Edmund wasn’t sure if he could commit cold-blooded murder.

  Edmund gaped at the remains of his beloved village. He’d seen many lovely sights on his travels—the golden domes of Eryn Mas, the rolling bluffs overlooking Dardenello and the green sea, the waterfalls and rainbows of Long Ravine. But he knew, right then and there, Rood would always be his home. This was where he was born and this was where he wanted to live and raise a family. It would probably be where he’d die.

  It had taken them almost three months to reach Rood from Long Ravine. They would have arrived sooner, but Fatty had been too afraid to ride a horse, so they’d needed to purchase a wagon, which had bumped along at an excruciatingly slow pace. The wagon, however, had allowed them to bring extra supplies, and Fatty was able to lie down in the back, sleeping or practicing his reading with Edmund. Periodically they made him get out and walk, much to the relief of the two draft horses, and although he was able to trudge farther and farther each day, he wasn’t losing much weight; he was still a mountain of fat with jigging folds draped over his midsection and hanging from his ample neck.

  Abby had ridden her fine sable mare the entire way to Rood, and Edmund couldn’t help but notice that whether Pond had driven the wagon or ridden the brown horse Edmund had purchased, she was always close to him, laughing at everything he said.

  Apparently sensing Edmund’s fuming envy and resentment, Pond had frequently attempted to include him i
n their conversations, extolling his many virtues—both real and exaggerated—but Abby had never seemed terribly interested. Around their evening campfires, she’d often asked Edmund to tell her stories from one of the books he’d read or from his travels, yet she’d never delved into anything more personal than rehashing what he and Pond had gone through, and she’d never laughed the way she did with Pond.

  From the base of the tree came a sharp hiss. “Pssst. What do you see?”

  Edmund swore, wondering why he’d let Pond talk him into bringing Abby to spy on Rood. He could have scouted out things by himself; he knew the woods surrounding the walls like the palm of his hand. She was just going to get in the way.

  He studied Rood again and its poor inhabitants huddled around their pathetic fires.

  I have to do something to help these people. They’re all going to die once winter comes. They’ll need food and sturdy houses and—

  First things first.

  “Take care of Norb.”

  He sighed.

  But I don’t know if I can actually kill—

  “Ow!” Something cold and wet smacked Edmund’s ear.

  He looked down.

  “Don’t make me repeat myself,” Abby said, readying another muddy stone.

  “All right, climb up if you can,” he said and rubbed the dirt from the side of his head. “But be caref—”

  Abby leapt up, snatched a branch and, swinging her legs over her head, was soon standing on it as though walking along a sidewalk. She swung upward again, caught another limb, and pulled herself higher. Within seconds she stood next to Edmund without so much as breathing hard. He stared at her, amazed.

  Abby pushed her tousled ponytail back over her shoulder. “Like I told you”—her perky, upturned nose crinkled with her grin—“I have five older brothers.”

  She peered through the canopy.

  “So, this is your home, eh? It could certainly use some sprucing up, but it has potential.”

  “It used to have potential,” Edmund replied. “It used to be wonderful.”

  “Well, the countryside is certainly gorgeous this far north; the rolling fields, the wildflowers, the untouched forests and lakes. It’s like being in a faerie tale or a dream or something.”

  The lingering veil of smoke over the desolation glowed a haunting grey in the moonlight.

  “More like a nightmare,” Edmund muttered.

  “Okay, enough of this gawking,” Abby said. “Let’s go!”

  She strolled out onto the limb and dropped to the ground on the other side of the wall.

  Edmund, still on the branch above her, shook his head.

  “Tell me something,” he called. “How do you plan on getting out of town?”

  Glancing around, Abby shrugged. “I hadn’t thought about that. Through the gate, I suppose.”

  “You’re as impulsive as Becky.”

  Edmund pulled a coil of rope from his pack, tied one end to the tree limb, and lowered himself to the ground beside her.

  “Going through the gate would nullify any advantage of sneaking into town, don’t you think?”

  Abby mumbled something Edmund couldn’t quite hear, her expression mocking. He tugged at the rope, wondering how or where he was going to hide it, while Abby scanned the top of the wall enclosing the town.

  “They really ought to cut back these branches,” she said.

  “We should’ve made the walls taller as well,” he replied.

  Molly wouldn’t have been captured if they’d built the walls higher. Everything would be different now.

  Molly …

  A chill slithered up Edmund’s spine despite the muggy summer night. He felt cold and tired—and old.

  “Are you okay?” Abby touched his forearm. “You look like you’re about to get sick. Should we return to camp?”

  Abby’s touch radiated warmth through Edmund’s arm. It spread to his chest and chased away the stabbing slivers of fear at the thought of seeing Molly. Exhaling, he shook his head.

  “No, it’s … it’s just difficult being back. This used to be a thriving little town and a wonderful place to raise children.”

  “Well, maybe it will be again,” Abby said. “You never know. Dardenello was destroyed twice, and each time it was rebuilt better than ever. It just takes determination—and effective leadership, I suppose.”

  “Leadership.” Edmund snorted. “With Norb running things, most of these people will be dead or gone after the first real snowfall. Lord Norbert!”

  Dirt crunched under approaching footfalls. Someone staggered toward them through the smoky darkness.

  Grabbing Abby, Edmund pulled her behind the remains of a stone chimney while the figure passed, stumbling along the rutted road.

  “Why do you care if people know we’re here?” Abby whispered. Her tone turned grim. “Are you really going to kill that friend of yours?”

  Former friend.

  Edmund drew his sword. “Do you have a problem with me k-k-killing him? Because if you do …”

  Strands of long black hair slipped out from her ponytail, flopping in front of Abby’s solemn face. “Look, I don’t pretend to know everything that’s going on …” She brushed the hair back behind her ear, and for a moment, Edmund thought he could detect something behind her eyes, something tender and inviting, something Molly never showed. “But I trust you. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

  Edmund turned away, hoping to hide his feelings. He watched the drunk stumble off into the night.

  “Thanks. But for now, just … just keep out of view. Unfortunately, with m-m-my, my missing eye and my st-st-stutter, I’m pretty identifiable.”

  “Your stutter isn’t that noticeable,” Abby said.

  She was lying; Edmund could tell. But he cared even more for her because of it.

  He peeked out from behind the broken chimney. A group of tents at least four hundred yards away stood in front of them, with a score of men sitting around three campfires, cooking. One of them played a lute; it sounded as though several strings were missing.

  Edmund signaled to their left. “Let’s go this way. We’ll swing around and come to that ugly house way over there. Do you see it?”

  He pointed to the building where his home used to be.

  Abby squinted in the darkness. “Yeah. But why there?”

  Edmund began stalking to the south along the wall’s interior. “Because that used to be my family’s property. I … I gave it to Molly before I left. That’s where Norb will probably be.”

  “You gave her your parents’ home?” Abby said, trying to keep up with Edmund’s hurried strides. “Wow! You really loved her, didn’t you?”

  Terrific. Now she’ll want to talk about my feelings, just like Pond. Oh, the bloody torment!

  “I’m sorry. You probably don’t want to talk about it.”

  I don’t.

  “Still, I have to say,” Abby went on, “she should be flattered. I mean, men have given me flowers before, and candy. One gave me a bracelet that turned my wrist green. But never anything like that!”

  You just haven’t met the right loser.

  They ran across a road and around several exposed cellars filled with water and human excrement. The entire place stank like an outhouse.

  “Do you mind if I ask you something?” Abby said, jogging alongside him.

  “Go ahead. Ask anything you want.”

  They passed a pile of rubble that used to be a bakery. As a child, Edmund often went there to beg for cookies. Dry weeds rustled as a half-starved feral cat dashed across the path.

  “What made you like her?” Abby said, getting out of the cat’s way. “I mean, that is to say—what makes women attractive to men like you?”

  Edmund hid behind a dying maple tree; most of its branches had been hacked off for firewood. He pulled Abby out of view.

  “Men like me?” He peered around the trunk.

  “Yeah, you know, men of adventure.”

  Edmund
choked, and then he laughed harder than he had in a long time. The sound was as out of place here in Rood as it would’ve been in a graveyard. Abby stared, her expression shifting from surprise to puzzlement, then to self-doubt, and eventually to angry annoyance.

  “I’m sorry,” Edmund said, still laughing.

  Abby put her hands on her slender hips.

  “I’m … I’m sorry,” he said again, checking to make sure nobody had heard him. “Look, Abby, I’m not sure what P-Pond’s been telling you about me, but, but the truth is …”

  He paused and shrugged, not really knowing what to say.

  “The, the truth is … I’m nothing more than a stupid librarian who grew up in this insignificant town in the forgotten backwater of the world. Trust me, I’m no man of adventure.”

  Abby looked at Edmund, perplexed.

  “You see,” he said, “I left Rood because I wasn’t happy. I … I thought that if I left, I’d, I’d, I don’t know … I’d become somebody, or find something that gave my life meaning.” He frowned. “I’m probably not making any sense.”

  “No, please, go on. I think I know exactly what you mean.”

  Someone with a sputtering lantern walked by, but took no notice of them in the darkness behind the dying tree.

  Through the smoke, Edmund examined the dim stars, the same ones he used to stare at as a child while dreaming about exploring every inch of the world beyond Rood’s walls.

  “For a long time,” he said, “I thought Molly would make me happy. Ha-ha-having, having her love me like I loved her, that is. I thought being wealthy and famous like the people I tell you about in those stories would …”

  He stopped, suddenly aware that, for a moment, he felt comfortable. He was finally home, standing next to someone he enjoyed being with.

  “What do you want now?” Abby asked.

  “I want to be happy,” he said.

  A tortured expression twisted her young face. “Yes, but how?” An earnestness rushed into her voice. “How do you get there? I mean, how do people become happy?”