Betrayal In The Highlands (Book 2)

by Robert Evert

  This stopped some of the angry grumbling.

  Becky and Abby came racing out of The Buxom Barmaid.

  “You’re alive!” she said.

  “Abby! What happened to—?”

  She gestured to her bloodstained shirt and hands. “It’s not mine. I’m fine. I was helping with the wounded, trying to do my part and all.”

  “How many?” Edmund asked wearily.

  “Are you okay?” Pond asked.

  “How many?” Edmund repeated. “How many dead? How many wounded?”

  “Thirty-two dead,” Abby replied. “Nearly everybody is wounded.”

  “Anything I can do? Anybody need their wounds … you know?” Edmund raised an eyebrow, hoping to convey his meaning

  Abby shook her head. “They’re in the tavern, resting. Those who survived this long will be fine. How are you? Are you hurt? We’ve been worried sick!”

  “There were goblins!” somebody yelled.

  And then, as if a spell had been broken, the entire mob began to shout.

  “We were promised free land! Nobody said anything about goblins and, and … witches!”

  A chorus of agreement arose from the men. Many shook their swords above their heads.

  “Quiet down! Quiet down!” Pond hollered over them. “This isn’t the time to panic! Just quiet down for a moment.”

  With Becky leaping merrily by his side, Edmund stumbled toward The Buxom Barmaid.

  Everybody fell silent.

  “Where are you going?” someone asked.

  “I’m tired,” Edmund replied. “I need to sleep.”

  “Wait!” somebody else called after him. “What did you mean by ‘we’d all be dead by tomorrow’ if we left?”

  “You aren’t staying here, are you?” another one asked.

  Are you?

  Edmund stopped. Every part of him hurt—his arm, his back, his head … his heart.

  I’m tired of running. I’m tired down to my very soul.

  He turned back to the crowd.

  “This is my home,” he said. “It used to be a thriving town.”

  As he stared at the frightened men, something began to stir within him. The pain and weariness that smothered him fell away.

  “And it could thrive again,” he said, louder. “It could make the right kind of men very wealthy. Men who aren’t afraid of hard work. Men who can fight together as well as drink together. If you want to live the lives you’ve dreamt about since you were boys, then stay and rebuild this town into something great. You’ll become heroes, renowned to all in the generations who follow us.”

  Edmund studied the crowd. He could tell in their uplifted eyes that he was reaching some of them. They wanted a challenge; they wanted to govern their lives; they wanted something to call their own.

  “If you want to leave,” he said to the men on the verge of tears or glancing at the closed gates, “then leave. But trust me … no place is truly safe if you aren’t willing to fight for what you want.”

  A great cheer went up from a handful of men.

  Bain stepped forward. His long sword and shield were black with blood.

  “Did you mean what you said last night?” he asked. “About no more kings? About no more meddlesome nobility telling us what to do? Did you really mean it?”

  The answer seemed important to him. It seemed important to all of them.

  The Highlands as its own kingdom …

  Why not? It hasn’t been ruled by Eryn Mas for three hundred years.

  Somebody would need to run it. He’d have to organize the people and make sure they didn’t starve or freeze to death in the winter.

  Pond smiled, his tired face smeared with dirt and blood. He nodded to Edmund. He was willing if Edmund was. Abby stood beside him. Her long black hair was matted to her head, and sticky blood covered her hands and shirt; she was beyond filthy, and she stank, but there was determination in her eyes, not regret.

  Edmund turned to face the crowd.

  It could work—with the right kind of men.

  “Well?” somebody shouted.

  Edmund replied, clearer and stronger than he’d ever said anything before, “As of now, the Highlands is its own kingdom. We will not have a king to rule us but a governor elected by the will of the people.”

  Many in the crowd took a step back. Declaring such a thing was treason, and Edmund could hang for it. But others applauded.

  “No kings!”

  “No worthless nobility!”

  They pondered the possibilities.

  “What about the goblins?” a young man called out from the rear of the crowd. He was closest to the still-closed gate. If Edmund had to guess, he was probably a merchant, somebody who had never developed a blister on his hands from hard work.

  Maybe a librarian …

  “What about King Lionel?” somebody else yelled. “He won’t take too kindly to losing land.”

  “To hell with the goblins and King Lionel,” Edmund shouted.

  A great cry of approval erupted from the tougher men. Those with shields clashed their weapons against them and whistled.

  If you do this, there will be consequences!

  To hell with the consequences. It’ll be safer to have a hundred good men around me in a well-defended town than to keep wandering.

  He beheld Pond and Abby standing together.

  They’d be safer as well.

  “Look,” Edmund said to the crowd. Weariness washed back over him. “I’m not going to lie to you. It won’t be easy. It’ll be difficult at first, especially this w-winter. But with some good planning and a lot of hard work, we could rebuild this town into someplace people will flock to.”

  “How does that help us?”

  “How does that help us!” Hendrick said in disbelief. “Think of the opportunities!”

  “No kings,” somebody muttered.

  “No lords,” someone else added.

  “All of this will be ours.”

  Maybe fifty hefty men with more than one weapon hanging from their belts smiled, the warm rays of the rising sun falling upon their grim faces. Somewhere in the village, a cock crowed.

  “An elected governor, you say? How will that work? Who gets to vote?”

  “We all will,” Edmund answered. “Every man—”

  Abby caught his eye.

  “—and woman who lives here and serves the community for at least a year will have an equal say in how things are run.”

  “Women!” they all cried in shock.

  “You’re joking!”

  “Listen!” Edmund yelled over the outburst. “Men will come here. Those who want to make money, and work the land, and be free to do what they want. They will come. Women … strong women, intelligent women …” He looked over at Abby. “Beautiful women … they’ll come if they’re treated well, if they’re treated as equals. Give them respect and honor and equality, and they’ll want to stay here as well. They’ll want to be here with you.”

  Perhaps it wasn’t love in Abby’s eyes as she beamed at Edmund, but he was glad for whatever it was.

  “All right,” said a fat, balding man. “That’s fine with me. Women can have their say if they work for the good of the town like the menfolk.”

  Others nodded begrudgingly.

  “But this is the wilderness!” The scared librarian-of-a-young-man stepped out in front of Edmund. “There’s nothing here!” he said to the crowd. “Nobody would come; there’s nothing to come to!”

  “That’s the point,” Bain replied. “It’ll be whatever we make it.”

  “It’ll be ours!”

  “All ours!”

  But many still weren’t convinced.

  “What about the free land we were promised?” someone shouted.

  “Yeah!”

  “And taxes? How much are we going to have to pay?”

  “We were told there would be no taxes!”

  Pond brought forth the chair he had been standing on when addressing the mob. He pla
ced it in front of Edmund and helped him up.

  If you’re going to do this, do it right.

  “Who among you are farmers?” Edmund called out.

  Twenty or thirty men raised their hands.

  “North and east of here are farmsteads waiting to be recultivated. The lands are particularly well-suited for growing corn and wheat. For you ranchers, there are probably more than a hundred head of cattle and even more sheep roaming the countryside. Gather whatever livestock you can and use whatever land you can find.”

  “As much land as we want?”

  Suspicion and amazement rolled through the crowd.

  “What’s the catch?”

  “Here’s the catch,” Edmund told them. “You can have as much land as you want, but you have to work it. You can’t hold on to it and just do nothing. We need food. If you grow it, you’ll make money.”

  This seemed right to the crowd.

  “And there’s a vineyard,” he added. “A couple miles north of town on the hills along the river. It’s called Hillcrest, and it produces the biggest, juiciest grapes you’ve ever seen.”

  “And the best wine!” Pond shouted. He winked at Edmund as the men cheered.

  “First, we’ll need jellies and preserves for food,” Edmund said. “But after the first year, wines can be made and sold for a fortune further south. The former owner was a friend of mine. His name was Jorgensen. He’d want somebody to take good care of his precious vines. So if you know anything about grapes—”

  “I’ve worked at a winery!” An older man with a tanned face waved his hands. With him stood twin boys who looked more than capable of helping him harvest the grapes.

  “Then it’s yours,” Edmund said.

  “The entire vineyard?” the man repeated. His sons appeared just as astonished as he was. “Are you sure?”

  “Just take care of Jorgensen’s vines. He loved that land, and you could taste it in his grapes. Take care of those vines and you’ll be rich. And we’ll all be drunk.”

  Everybody laughed.

  “What else is there?” somebody shouted.

  “To the west is the River Bygwen,” Edmund went on. “The river most of you probably followed up from the southern lands. It’s teeming with trout and bass and other fish. We’ll also need to rebuild the mill there.”

  “I’m a miller!” three men yelled at the same time.

  “Fine.” Edmund pointed at them. “You three decide how you want to work things. You can go into business together if you like. With all the corn and wheat the farms will produce, we’ll need each of you to grind it into meal.”

  The millers began talking eagerly among themselves.

  “There’re also several orchards to the north,” Edmund continued. “Apples, pears, cherries. If you know something about growing fruit, they’re yours—but only if you know what you’re doing and are willing to share your harvests with the town for the first two years.”

  More nodding.

  “What about us merchants?”

  “If you sell expensive things, like furniture, you won’t sell much right away, not until we start to get things settled. So you’ll need to help the others at first. We’d need to make sure we have meat and bread, and warm places to sleep. But if you help the town, as a reward, each of you will be given whatever plot of land you want to build your store on. The center of town will be reserved for merchants.”

  The crowd simmered with excitement.

  “But first,” Edmund shouted, trying to regather their attention. “But first, we have many things to take care of. We need to cut the trees back from the walls. We need to build proper housing before winter comes. We need sanitation—”

  “But what about the king?” said the young man still standing in front of Edmund, arms now crossed defiantly across his chest. “You’re forgetting about King Lionel! He won’t let you all just take and do whatever you want! At this very moment, that knight and his squires are on their way to Eryn Mas to report your treachery. The king will ride up here with a company of knights, and that’ll be the end of your lofty plans!”

  Many of the men exchanged glances, the fires that had flared up in their hearts now cooling.

  He’s right, you know. Lionel won’t let you be free of his reign.

  As if on cue, a clomping of hooves drew near. As the men turned to look, three horses appeared through the bars of the gate—two medium coursers and a large destrier as black as night. Each was riderless. The destrier shoved his muzzle through the bars and snorted. He had blood on his ornate saddle.

  “The knight’s horses,” somebody gasped.

  “It’s a sign!” an old man cried to the brightening sky. “A sign! It’s been ordained by the heavens that we create our own kingdom!”

  They all started talking at once.

  “Maybe there’s something to that,” Pond whispered to Edmund.

  “Are you really going to do this?” Abby asked, excited.

  “Would you stay with us?” Edmund cleared his throat. “That is, I mean, it would be d-d-dangerous, you know. People—Edith and Horic and the goblins would still be after us. And they’d know where we’d be. Then there’s King Lionel.”

  Abby laughed. “I’ve been dying to spit in King Lionel’s face for a long time! Besides, what adventure would be more glorious than to create a new kingdom?”

  “Toby,” Edmund said, “let the horses in and make sure they’re fed and watered.”

  “Yes, Mister Edmund!”

  “Listen to me!” Edmund called out to the crowd. “Listen to me! Please listen!”

  Everybody quieted down.

  “Unfortunately, it seems that the knight and his squires have met a bad end.”

  “Good riddance to that drunken thug!”

  Cheers erupted again.

  Edmund shouted his voice hoarse over the clamor. “That gives us time! King Lionel won’t hear about what’s happened up here for many months, perhaps until next summer. He’d send people to investigate, but it would take him several more months before he could send a force to ride against us. That gives us maybe two years to get ready.”

  “At least two years,” Bain agreed.

  “What can be done in two years that would stop a hundred knights from taking over this place?” said the young man, shaking his head. “You’re all fools. Can’t you see that?”

  We could stop them if our warriors were armed with unbreakable swords.

  “You’re forgetting one thing,” Abby yelled over the animated conversations bubbling through the crowd. “There are other kings in these lands, and very few of them have any love for Lionel the Yellow-Haired.”

  Several men laughed.

  “King Raymond of Havendor would undoubtedly aid us.” Then she added with some pride, “And I know several people who are within his court. They’d listen to us, especially if we had something to offer in trade.”

  “Listening isn’t defending!” the young man cried in exasperation.

  “We don’t need no king protecting us,” somebody retorted.

  “Enough talk!” said a bearded man holding an ax. He nodded to Edmund, who was still standing on the chair. “What do we do now?”

  Yes, what now?

  “Now we rest,” Edmund said. “It’s been a long night for all of us. Are any of you experienced soldiers?”

  To his surprise, over half of the gathered men raised their swords.

  This might work after all.

  “You men, get some sleep and rest your sword arms. You’ll be on guard duty tonight, and you may have to cleave goblin necks after dark.”

  The former soldiers beat their swords against their shields.

  “And the rest of you, move your camps closer together, closer to the center of town. We also really need to cut back the trees growing against the walls.”

  The bearded man patted his ax head. “Give me four or five lads, and I’ll take care of them trees.”

  “Good.”

  The young man thre
w his arms up. “What about Lord Norbert? He’s the rightful lord of this fiefdom!”

  They all stared at the lonely, dilapidated house standing south of the town square. Smoke no longer rose from its crooked chimney.

  Edmund exhaled wearily. “I’ll take care of him.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Edmund rolled over, stomach hurting. At first he thought he’d been stabbed in the gut, but soon remembered he’d just been dreaming about his fight with Gurding.

  Food.

  Climbing out of the first bed he’d slept on in months, he fumbled his way to The Buxom Barmaid’s common room, rubbing his face. About fifty men sat eating the steaming stew Edmund had told the tavern’s cook to make for everybody. Upon seeing Edmund enter, however, half of them leapt to their feet and rushed over to him.

  Pond cut them off.

  “Hold on!” He raised his arms. “Hold on! First let him eat. Then one at a time. All right? Form a line.”

  Abby handed Edmund a large bowl filled with chunks of venison, potatoes, and onions. Even though he hadn’t eaten meat since Thorax had been burned to death, his stomach leapt over itself as he smelled it.

  “Feeling better?” Abby asked, handing him a spoon.

  Edmund gave a noncommittal scowl. He could flex his right arm without pain, but his back still hurt, and he would need to sleep another couple of weeks before he’d truly feel rested. He took a sip of the hot stew.

  Oh my! This is wonderful! The cook deserves whatever plot of land he wants for this!

  Maybe he should be running the place.

  This brought back the list of things to do before sundown.

  “What time is it?” he asked Pond as the start of a line formed just a few feet from his table. Outside, the rhythmic sounds of saws and axes filled the late summer air.

  “About an hour past midday. Do you need more rest?”

  “I’ll rest when all of this is over. How many men left? Any idea?”

  “I don’t know how many fled south,” Pond replied, “but as of two hours ago, we had one hundred sixty-nine here, and most of them seem to want to stay. They’re all doing what you asked.”

  One hundred sixty-nine men …

  Some of those who left are going to make a beeline to King Lionel. He’s going to be furious when he hears what you’ve done.