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

by Robert Evert

  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 made 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 b
ack 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.

  “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.