by Robert Evert
Edris tried to get to his feet, but another blow knocked him down, blood pouring from a gash over his left eye.
“And do you know what?” Markus asked, pounding Edris mercilessly. The rock broke, showering stone everywhere. “I’m the son of the king. I can bed any woman I god-damned well want!” He hit Edris with his fist.
His vision going grey, Edris crumpled into a salty puddle of his own blood.
“By the way—” Markus laughed. “Your father is a no-good drunk. Your mother was lucky to have died when she did.”
Another blow made everything go black.
Twenty-Eight
Moaning, Edris awoke, his head hammering. He’d never been in such agony. His skull felt as though it were splitting open. He fought his way to his knees and then decided to lie back down. Not moving, he squinted at the sky.
Dim light trickled through the branches of the pine trees. It was either early evening or early morning. He touched his head. Judging from the dried blood on his temple and the stained ground, he guessed it was morning.
A dozen bumps and gashes throbbed under his matted hair.
He tasted salty dirt.
Looking around, he found his weapon belt, but the scabbard was empty.
Markus …
Next time he saw him, he was going to kill the bastard.
Edris attempted to roll over, then retched.
He lay on the ground, wondering whether he was going to die.
Was that Markus’s intent?
Probably not. He could’ve slit his throat while he lay unconscious. Hell, he could’ve sealed him in the tunnel, having him slowly starve to death in a stone coffin. Nobody would ever have found his body.
No. Markus was simply sending a message—a very painful message as to what would happen if Edris ever crossed him again.
Would he really kill Markus the next time he saw him?
Absolutely—if he had the advantage and he could get away with it. Killing the king’s son would have repercussions, but he’d kill him, nonetheless.
Someday …
For now, he had to get help.
Forcing himself to all fours, Edris attempted to stand. His vision went in and out of focus. The ground pitched under him. He lowered himself to his knees. It was no use. He’d have to crawl the three miles to town. Taking a deep breath, he turned toward the streams of smoke rising above the green hills, then vomited.
Twenty-Nine
The sun was setting over the western hills when Edris dragged himself into Strombath. With the assistance of several townsfolk, he immediately sought out a doctor who cleaned his wounds and bound his battered head.
“You’ll survive,” the doctor told him. “Although, you’ll have to rest several weeks. A man doesn’t recover overnight from a beating like this. Thankfully, you’re in the right place to recuperate. Do you have a room?”
“At the Healing Stone,” Edris groaned.
“Ah! Very good. Get something to eat—if you can keep it inside of you—then rest. No alcohol. No need blurring your vision even more than it is.”
“Thank you, doctor.” Edris gave the elderly man a gold piece.
“I’ll be in to check on you tomorrow. Remember, you need lots of rest.”
Getting rest was exactly what Edris had in mind. He was going to sleep the sleep of the dead. Then he’d sleep some more.
Stumbling toward the inn, he came across two knights and their squires standing in front of a tavern, consulting a map.
“You adventurers?” Edris asked, almost inaudibly. Even whispering hurt his head.
“Beg your pardon?” one said. “Adventurers? Why, yes, we are. I am Sir Geoff. And this is Sir Maurice.”
“Are you all right, sir?” a freckle-faced squire asked. “You look the devil.”
Edris waved the comment away. “Raaf…” he said, fighting off the waves of pain crashing against the backs of his eyes.
The men froze as if attempting to determine whether they’d heard him correctly.
“What about Raaf?” Sir Maurice asked excitedly. “Do you have information? We have gold!”
Edris hushed them.
“Do you know where the sword is?” Sir Geoff persisted. “Are there other adventurers in town?”
With a shaking hand, Edris pointed vaguely at the pine-wooded hills north of town. “Markus…”
“Markus. Yes? What of him? Is he here? Is he looking for the sword?”
“Raaf liked riding in the pinewoods. Markus is searching caves.” Feeling dizzy, Edris clutched the knight’s arm. “Beat the crap out of him.”
“Did Markus do this to you?” Sir Geoff asked. “Did you have information he needed?”
Edris pulled Raaf’s diary from his pack and handed it to the adventurers. Their eyes practically doubled in size.
“Is this the original?” they asked, astonished.
“Raaf,” Edris said again. “He liked to ride in the pinewoods.”
“Thank you, sir!”
Sir Maurice attempted to give Edris a pouch of coins, but Edris refused.
“Get the sword,” he whispered.
“Not to worry. You shall be avenged. Wesley, help this gentleman to wherever he needs to go. John, get the gear. We’ll be camping in the hills tonight. Victory will be ours!”
With the help of the young squire, Edris reached his quarters and found Markus’s belongings gone.
Had his cousin found the sword?
It didn’t matter. The winner wasn’t the one who found the sword, but the person who brought it to their king—and the other adventurers would make sure that wasn’t Markus.
Pushing his bed up against the door in case Markus returned, Edris collapsed onto the down-filled mattress, allowing blessed sleep to overtake him.
Thirty
For days, the village’s doctor tended Edris—bringing him food and water and changing his bandages. After a week, some of his strength had returned and he could eat without retching. When he was able to walk a straight line and see clearly, he staggered around Strombath, now swarming with adventurers.
From what he was told, Markus had an altercation with Sir Geoff and Sir Maurice. Out-numbered, King Michael’s son was last seen riding out of town at a fast gallop. That was the day after Edris met the knights. Nobody had seen hide nor hair of him since.
After twenty days of inactivity, Edris was ready to leave. The problem was—he had no place to go. Although he longed to see Beatrice, he had no wish to see his father. Returning home was out of the question. He could go to Upper Angle; however, he was still suffering from headaches and had no desire to run into Markus until he’d fully recovered. Besides, he’d have to report to His Majesty soon enough. Spring was only four months away. He could roam about until his money ran out. But what was the point?
Somebody knocked.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Your physician,” an elderly voice replied.
Edris moved his bed from the door, then unlocked it.
“How are you feeling today?” the doctor inquired.
“Well enough to leave.”
“Excellent. Though I should hope you will take things easy for a while. No physical exertion, you understand. Not for another few weeks—at least.”
“I’ll be riding a horse. Nothing more than a trot.”
“Fine.”
The doctor removed the bandages around Edris’s head and grimaced.
“How do I look?”
“Like a man who got into a fight with a mule and lost.”
Edris peered into a mirror above the chest of drawers.
He looked horrid. In addition to his hair being matted with dried blood, he had a jagged laceration above his left eye that was sewn shut with black thread. He also had brown bumps the size of a baby’s fists along his hairline. He winced when he touched them.
“You’d best leave those be,” the doctor advised. “They’ll go away in time.”
“How long before I appear normal?�
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“You’ll have a mighty big scar across your forehead until the end of your days, I’m afraid. But the lumps and discoloration will be gone in a month. Again, I’d recommend you rest as much as you can until they do.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“No need to sir me. I’m not one of those knights racing around the hills.” The doctor produced a small pair of scissors. “Let me remove those stitches. Sit. I don’t want to have to fetch a ladder to do my work.”
Edris sat. “Nobody’s found the sword?”
The doctor cut the thread. “Not that I’ve heard. Of course, I’m guessing they’re looking in the wrong spot.”
Edris stayed the doctor’s hand. “Why? What do you know about Raaf?”
“About the murdered prince?” The doctor resumed cutting. “Nothing more than the fireside tales, I can assure you. However, what I do know is that two hundred years ago, when the prince disappeared, those pinewoods weren’t there.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Hold still, young man, or I’ll have to add stitches to where I stab you with these scissors.”
“Those woods weren’t there?”
“When Strombath was first settled some two hundred and fifty years ago, there were pines across these hills. Of course, people need lumber to build houses and all, so they used the trees on the northern hills first. When Raaf allegedly took his last ride, those woods weren’t much more than seedlings, replanted by people who had the wisdom to realize that they’d need more lumber someday should the town continue to grow.” The doctor tugged free the last of the stitches. “There you go. As I said, you’ll have a memento to show the women.”
“So,” Edris said, trying to think, “where would you look? If you were searching for the sword, that is?”
The doctor put his scissors away. “Well, if I were big and strong like yourself, I’d look in the western hills.”
“Why there? Those aren’t pine.”
“Right you are. They’re mainly maple and oak, planted there after all the pine trees were harvested about a hundred years ago.”
“So back when Raaf disappeared…”
“The only pinewoods we had would’ve been over that way. Not to the north where everybody’s rushing about.”
“I don’t suppose,” Edris said, hiding his excitement, “you’d be willing to keep this to yourself.”
“You going to look for the betrayed prince?”
“I might.”
“Tell you what. If you win the quest, send me some of that reward money, and we’ll call it even.”
Edris shook the doctor’s hand. “Deal.” He grabbed his pack and hurried out of the room.
“Young man,” the doctor called after him.
“Yes, sir?”
“I meant what I said about taking it easy. Not many people could’ve survived a beating like you did. Best not press your luck more than you need. Hear me? I’d abstain even from sex for a while if I were you. At least until the bumps go away.”
“I will. Thank you, sir. And thanks for the information about the trees.”
“Hope it helps.”
“I think it will. I can smell victory!”
Thirty-One
Edris rode along the hills west of Strombath. As his doctor had indicated, they were wooded mainly with maples and oaks. They were also oriented in long bluffs, rather than the tall, rolling hills where he and Markus had searched. However, Edris could see the appeal of riding along them. They offered a spectacular view of the valley, especially in the autumn with all the leaves turning brilliant shades of yellow, and orange, and red.
He came to a path plunging into a ravine to his left but decided not to follow it. If he were an ailing prince, out for a leisurely ride, the last thing he’d want to do is go headlong down a steep slope. He’d rather take the easier trails and enjoy the afternoon sun.
Edris continued along the ridge, almost forgetting his purpose for being there. For the first time in three weeks, his head was clear and relatively free from pain.
A warm breeze shifted through the woods, rustling the colorful leaves tumbling across his path. His horse plodded along at its own pace.
Then the trail turned abruptly, swinging perilously close to the edge of a cliff. Edris peered over the ledge, thinking what a precipitous drop it would be should a rider take the bend too swiftly.
He halted.
This was a perfect place for an ambush. Assassins could easily lurk in the trees, or behind some of the larger boulders, and shoot a rider slowed by the curve. In fact, it wouldn’t take much to panic a horse into going straight over the lip of the ridge.
Edris considered the fall into the valley again. It wasn’t a vertical drop, not like the one that nearly did in Markus. Yet, with all the trees and rocks, few people could survive a tumble that way. And those who did would likely be incapacitated, leaving them at the mercy of their attackers.
What then?
With the prince killed, where would the attackers stash the body?
Edris studied the woods to his right. The ground rose sharply, rising another couple hundred feet above the path. It wasn’t an insurmountable climb, but with the weight of a corpse over one’s shoulder, it would take a great deal of effort.
He considered the drop to his left again.
Throwing a body downhill would be less cumbersome. The question was—was there someplace near at hand where a body could be hidden?
Edris got off his horse and tethered it to a tree. Taking care, he left the path—part hiking, part sliding down the hillside. Coming to a stop, he kicked at the dirt.
Markus was right. The ground was too rocky and the trees too dense. It would take axes and picks to create a deep enough grave in which to hide a body, and the killers probably didn’t have that kind of time. They’d want to finish their task and then get the hell out of there before being seen.
Edris steadied himself against a tree trunk. He’d slid a good thirty or forty strides and could no longer see his horse above him. Killers could have come down the slope, a body in their arms, and been completely out of view of anybody who might come along. A quick attack. And an even quicker escape…
But what to do with the body?
Below him, the slope continued for a quarter mile or so before bottoming out into the ravine. Edris didn’t see much that way that would suggest a suitable burial site. He scanned the woods around him.
To the left, there were merely more trees and rocks. To the right, a creek tumbled along the hillside, eventually joining the river in the valley.
Edris’s hopes rose. He didn’t recall any stream crossing the path. And if that was the case…
Clutching branches and boulders, he fought his way to his right and then peered up.
It was difficult to tell, but the stream appeared to issue from a crack in the rock. It wasn’t big, but…maybe.
Going on all fours, Edris clawed up the hill. Just as he thought, the trickle of water emerged from a small fissure; however, what got him excited was that the fissure was blocked by a pile of stones—as if somebody was trying to hide its opening.
Carefully, Edris pulled aside the moss-covered rocks. Beyond was a tunnel big enough to stash a body.
Thirty-Two
Splashing through the cold water, Edris slithered deeper into the tunnel. At first, all that he could do was inch forward on his hands and knees. Soon, though, he was able to lift his head without fear of cracking it on the jagged ceiling. Eventually, he could stand upright with a bent back. After a hundred feet, the tunnel opened into a small chamber. He held aloft his lantern.
There, huddled along the damp walls, were two bodies reduced by time to nothing more than heaps of grey bones covered with dirt and dust and worm-eaten rags. In the middle of the chamber, lay a third skeleton—its hands folded over its ribcage, the rotting remains of what might have been a cloak or blanket folded into a makeshift pillow under its skull. Next to the body lay a sword.
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nbsp; Its blade was tarnished and broken above the hilt, but even in the wavering lantern light, diamonds glittered on its finely wrought handguard. The emblem of Hillshire, a shining crown above three hills, adorned its pummel.
Edris smiled. For hundreds of years, people had hunted for the Sword of Betrayal, and here it was in his muddy hands. His father might actually be proud of him.
What should he do now?
If he were an adventurer, he’d bring the sword to his king and collect the thousand gold piece reward. However, seeing that he had initially set out with Markus, King Michael might wonder whether Edris used his son to further his own reputation. Stoking the king’s ire certainly wouldn’t improve his life any. Then there was Markus…
“Markus…”
Edris’s growl echoed in the darkness around him.
He didn’t know what he was going to do with Raaf’s sword, but he’d be damned if Markus got ahold of it. The bastard would probably take credit for finding it, then Edris would have neither the money he needed to start a new life, nor the prestige he deserved.
Behind him, water splashed. Edris turned quickly, his vision blurring with the sudden movement.
Nobody was there.
He held his aching forehead.
Normally, he’d be willing to fight to keep what was his, but he was still too weak, and Markus was too skilled a fighter.
“What to do?”
If he couldn’t keep the sword by force, he’d have to use deception. He needed to hide it. But where?
He could strap it to a leg, but that would be too obvious. It would also make it difficult for him to walk.
He could put it in his pack, but that would be the first place anybody looked.
“Where…?”
Then the answer came to him. He slid the broken blade into his empty scabbard. Unless somebody had him tip the scabbard over, it’d appear as though he were weaponless. That only left the bejeweled hilt. He thought about putting it in his boot, but it would undoubtedly create a noticeable bulge. In the end, he settled for tucking it under his belt behind his back. It’d have to do.