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

by Evert, Robert

  Vin grinned. “I guarantee it.” He slapped one of the sleeping men hard across the face. The man didn’t stir. “They’ll wake up feeling refreshed and happy and won’t remember a thing from this evening!”

  “What did you do to them?” a guard asked. “Poison them?”

  “Something like that,” Vin said, winking.

  “Boy, remind me never to get you upset!”

  Several guards laughed.

  “So what are we going to do?” Hendrick asked.

  “Get some of your guards to hitch horses to the wagons,” Edmund replied.

  “All of the wagons? Even the empty ones?”

  “Yes.” Edmund examined the sleeping men, many of whom appeared to be craftsmen, as Bain had guessed. But most were clearly men-at-arms—muscled, well-armed, and young.

  “What about them?” Hendrick pointed his sword at those lying in the snow. “We don’t have enough rope to bind them all. And to be honest, sir, we don’t have the facilities in Rood to hold them. My men can’t guard all of them. I hate to say it, but maybe we should—”

  “We’re not going to kill them,” Edmund said.

  “If you don’t mind my saying, sir … we’ll have to fight them eventually, and then we’ll either kill them or they’ll kill us. Killing them in their sleep would be—”

  “We’re not going to kill sleeping men,” Edmund said firmly.

  He pondered the problem.

  If we can’t hold them prisoner and you won’t kill them, then what?

  An idea came.

  “Take off their clothes and remove their weapons, then pile these men into the empty wagons. We’re going to send them back south.”

  “Sir?”

  “Strip them naked and get them into the empty wagons,” Edmund said again. “We’ll have Becky chase the horses southward. By morning, they should be miles away.”

  “But won’t they just ride back here?”

  “Doubtful. Food and clothing will be their first concern, and they can only find that in the south. Plus, naked men will want warmth.”

  “Also in the south,” one of the guards said.

  “They’ll wonder what the hell happened!” another guard laughed. “They’ll think somebody cast a spell over them!”

  “They’ll be too terrified to come back!”

  Edmund and Vin exchanged glances.

  “All right!” Hendrick called out. “You heard him. Strip ’em and then dump ’em into the wagons.”

  “Pond.” Edmund gestured to him. Standing at the edge of the crowd, Pond was the only one who didn’t have his sword drawn. “Come on, give me a hand with this guy. I can’t lift him into the wagon myself.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Later that night, Edmund stood on a table in The Buxom Barmaid’s crowded common room. When the ovation had died down somewhat, he shook Vin playfully. “And we couldn’t have done it without our brewmaster!”

  Applause, whistles, and stomps exploded throughout the room.

  “All right!” Edmund shouted. “All right!”

  Everyone quieted.

  “We have food!” he hollered and the townsfolk cheered again. “We have coats and blankets and warm clothes!” Cheering grew louder. Somebody whistled, high and piercing. “And we have weapons!”

  Everybody who had a sword shook it over his head—everybody except Pond, who sat alone in the corner.

  “And we have horses!” someone called.

  With Becky having chased three wagons full of sleeping men farther south, Edmund had the other wagons driven back to Rood. Each wagon had had four horses. Now he just needed to find a place to stable them all.

  “What if the King’s army comes back to where their supplies were?” asked a newcomer, one of the many laborers from Upper Angle looking to farm his own land. “Couldn’t they just follow the wagon tracks back here?”

  Edmund had considered this, but the furs, blankets, heavy coats, and food were simply too good to pass up. Fortunately the western skies were starting to cloud over.

  He waved for quiet. “We’d discussed that. Captain Hendrick believes the King’s men will travel eastward for at least four or five days looking for us. Four days there and four days back gives us a little more than a week to pray that it snows.”

  “And what does Captain Hendrick think the King will do when he finds his supplies are gone?”

  Hendrick stood up. “He’s going to shit himself!”

  Uproarious laughter shook the room.

  “You have to see it from his perspective,” Hendrick called out. “He’ll find no signs of battle, no blood in the snow, no sign that anything went wrong. The only assumption he could logically make is that all eighty men ordered to guard the supplies had betrayed him. He’ll think they all just went home.”

  “Good!”

  “And then what’ll he do?”

  “My guess,” Hendrick replied, “is that he’ll send scouts south, assuming the men who’d stolen his supplies would head back to civilization rather than linger around here waiting to incur his wrath.”

  Gabe poked his head in from the kitchen. Something smelled wonderful, like fresh bread dipped in garlic butter. “So what do we do next?”

  “Well, that’s what we need to decide,” Edmund said over the noise. “I want to discuss it with all of you since this town belongs to everyone.”

  “Quiet!” one of the guards bellowed.

  The townsfolk settled down.

  “May I suggest,” Edmund began, “that we consider the animals we’ve acquired. They can’t all fit into our stables, and we’ll need a more secure corral.”

  Many men nodded.

  “I’m afraid,” he went on, “we might need to convert our third barracks into something more suitable for the animals. Those displaced will have to find room either in the other two barracks or here at The Barmaid.”

  “There’s room at my place,” said Henry, the owner of the general store.

  “There’s also the old lord’s house,” someone else offered.

  Thinking of Norb and Molly made Edmund wince. “Absolutely.” He tried not to think of the empty nursery. “We’ll just have to make do.”

  Cavin raised his hand. Edmund pointed at him. The carpenter stood.

  “Sir, converting the third barracks into a stable won’t be an issue; we’d anticipated it would be used as one eventually. But all of those horses won’t fit. Neither will the cows and oxen some have brought up from the south.”

  People grumbled, mulling over this point.

  “Maybe we should use the remaining timber to build another barn.”

  “No, we need a granary.”

  “Not yet we don’t. That can wait.”

  Arguments broke out.

  “No,” Edmund called out over the tumult. “Listen to me! I think … I think we should continue to focus on housing. Convert the third barracks, then we’ll use the timber left to build housing for those who want to join us.”

  “What about the extra animals?” A farmer climbed up onto his chair. “Like you said, they can’t all fit, so maybe we should make a second stable as well. I mean, if winters are as bad as you say, animals left out will freeze to death, right?”

  Arguing grew louder. Most of these men had always dreamed of owning their own horses and oxen, and it killed them to let the animals just freeze to death when the weather turned worse. Yet they also hoped to build more housing so they wouldn’t be packed into the two barracks.

  “I think I may have an idea that will address that,” Edmund said. “Please listen.”

  They quieted.

  “I hate to do it,” he continued, “and the gods know we’ll need good horses in the future, but I think we should select twenty to thirty of the best breeding horses then ride the rest to the northeast. If we let them loose there, they can roam far and wide, and their tracks may confuse the King’s scouts.”

  “Who gets t
he ones we keep?”

  “Yeah!”

  “They’ll be town property,” Edmund replied. “Guards have first priority. But this spring we can use them for the farms as well as for hauling timber into town.”

  More people nodded.

  “So if we’re all in agreement about the horses,” Edmund said, “I’ll take a few men in the morning and we’ll drive them north then swing around to the east. We’ll release them near where Ms. Abby’s posted signs for Rood.”

  “You’ll go?” several people repeated doubtfully.

  In truth, Edmund didn’t want to go. He wasn’t a particularly good rider; his entire body always hurt after just a few hours of bouncing in a saddle. Moreover, Vin had been teaching him ways to ‘clear his mind,’ and he was reluctant to interrupt his studies; however, he wanted to see for himself the deceptions Abby and Bain were putting into place. He was also eager to talk to Abby without Pond nearby.

  “Not to worry!” Edmund announced, trying to sound positive. “Mr. Pond will make sure everything runs smoothly.”

  Pond stared at the dirty floor.

  Edmund continued. “While I’m gone, I want to impress upon you all … if you have to leave Rood to hunt or whatever, do not leave tracks that lead directly here. In fact, do not go south or east of Rood. That’s where most of the scouts have been sighted. And under no circumstances should you light any fires during the day. The smoke will attract the King’s army like a beacon.”

  “But it gets cold, even during the day!” said a woman with a young child on her lap.

  Boy, if she thinks it’s cold now, she’s going to be shocked in a month!

  “Again, not to worry,” Edmund replied. “Our brewmaster can help with that.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day, Edmund set off with Becky and a couple of guards who could be spared. Each led a long line of rope-tethered horses. At first, they rode due north along the cold waters of the River Bygwen to hide their tracks. Once they’d reached Lake Nuvelle and the ruins of Azagra, the Highlands’ former capital city, they swung eastward through what used to be thriving farmlands. After a couple of days of being led eastward, however, the horses grew stubborn; they snorted and fought at their leads, slowing progress to a crawling tug-of-war. Eventually Edmund had had enough.

  “Just set them free here,” he told the two guards.

  “Are we far enough away from Rood?” one of them asked.

  Edmund watched some of the horses rear and buck. “This is as far as we’re going to get them, I’m afraid. Start cutting them loose.”

  The afternoon was becoming unseasonably warm, and the grey clouds from the day before had only produced an icy rain. Bit by bit, the snow around them had melted to reveal autumn leaves swimming in muddy slush.

  “I thought you said winters this far north were bitterly cold,” one of the guards said, untying his line of horses. Most of them just stood there, grazing on the now-visible grass. “And that there’d be a lot of snow.”

  “There is.” Edmund examined the western sky, which was as bright and clear as an early spring day. He cursed. “Usually.”

  Without bitter cold, King Lionel and his army wouldn’t be forced to leave the Highlands. Eventually, when his scouts had searched all of the empty eastern lands, he’d come west and find Rood. Then there’d be a fight. As defiant as Rood’s people were, they’d never win outnumbered ten to one—not against experienced knights and men-at-arms. Ironically, freezing temperatures and mountains of snow were their only hope to survive.

  Edmund examined the clear blue sky again and sighed. “Of all the times to get beautiful weather.”

  “At least we won’t leave tracks in the snow,” one of the guards said.

  “True.” Edmund surveyed the slushy leaves. “When you’ve finished freeing the horses, try to stampede them eastward. Then head back to Rood. Make sure you stay well north, and avoid any scouts you might come across. Do you understand?”

  “Sir? Where are you going?” both guards asked.

  “I’m going to go check on Ms. Abby and Captain Bain.” Then, in response to their worried expressions, he added, “Don’t worry, I have Becky. Tell Mr. Pond I’ll be back in a few days or so, and remind everybody what I said before: Don’t go south or east, and no fires during the day.”

  “Aye-aye, sir.”

  Edmund shook his head at the milling herd of horses grazing on whatever they could find. They didn’t have their shaggy winter coats yet, having been bred for the warmer climes of the southern kingdoms. He wondered if the King’s horses would freeze to death once winter hit full force and then shuddered, reproaching himself for his morbid thoughts of wanting hundreds of innocent animals to die, just to slow the King’s army. It wasn’t the horses’ fault Rood was in danger.

  He turned his own horse northeastward.

  “Good luck getting them to move. And don’t get lost! These hills all look the same after a while.”

  “We won’t.”

  “And please be careful!” Edmund told them. “We need you safe and sound. Don’t fight any scouts you see. Try to lead them away from Rood instead. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “All right.” Edmund examined the sky one last time, shook his head in frustration, and thumped his heels into his horse’s ribs. “Come on, Becky. Let’s go find Abby.”

  Edmund rode eastward as fast as the terrain would allow. The hills in the region were even loftier than those surrounding Rood, crowned with jagged rock formations and boulders that produced deep earthen folds like labyrinths filled with dense forests and countless rivers and lakes. Even the most experienced Highlanders got lost among the twists and turns of the narrow valleys, and Edmund was no exception. In an effort to regain his bearings, he scrambled up a sizable stony peak that reached above the leafless trees. Peering northeast, he saw what he’d hoped to see.

  Up from the foothills of the distant Haegthorn Mountains rose several thin black lines into the blue sky. Anybody who saw the smoke would naturally assume it came from the chimneys of a good-sized town. The King and his army would undoubtedly make a beeline for it.

  Edmund smiled.

  “Perfect!”

  He scanned the hills marching off to the east.

  If Abby had followed his directions, she had already placed signs along the River Celerin, indicating Rood lay northward, toward the smoke. If the King and his army rode that way, at least a week would pass before they realized the deception.

  “A week north,” Edmund said to himself, “and a week back. Two weeks …”

  More like three if the weather turns.

  Again he checked the bright blue sky. A red-tailed hawk circled slowly, gliding on the unseasonably warm breeze.

  “Of all the years to have a mild winter.”

  He surveyed the more gently rolling hills to the southwest. Hidden somewhere among them was Rood.

  His grin broadened.

  “Lionel will never find it.”

  Never is a long time. If he starts searching westward …

  Edmund admired the beauty of his homeland: the trees, the hills, the secluded lakes and valleys. An adolescent brown bear lumbered up the wooded slope of a neighboring hill. The red-tailed hawk continued to circle. Everything was serene and peaceful.

  He inhaled deeply the wonderful autumn woodland scents.

  “This is worth fighting for,” he said. “With a little planning and—”

  Becky snarled.

  Edmund spun, sword drawn.

  “It certainly is pretty up here,” said a familiar voice, “I’ll give you that.”

  Two figures clambered up the steep slope. One was small, about the size of a young boy, yet with an oversized head; the other was a thin woman wrapped in a dark grey cloak.

  “I can see why you’d want to die for this place.” Lester the Jester peered around, panting. “Seriously. It’s very pretty up here. And clean! Not li
ke the filth of the city.”

  “You!” Edmund pointed his sword at the dwarf.

  Lester made a ‘ta-da’ motion. “Me.” He pretended to tip an imaginary hat but had to seize hold of a branch to keep from sliding back down the hill.

  “Becky—” Edmund said, snarling as much as the dog.

  “No!” The dwarf waved his free hand. “We’re here to talk! Just talk! Keep the hellhound where it is.”

  “Edmund—” Edith began.

  But Edmund brandished his sword. “Where’s the old man? Where is he? Becky, find the old man. Kill him! Do you hear me? Kill him!”

  Becky raced off into the woods, nose to the ground.

  “That crazy mutt won’t find him,” Lester said.

  “He didn’t come.” Edith grabbed exposed tree roots as she struggled up the incline.

  “How do you two get here so quickly?” Edmund called down, looking about frantically, sword still at the ready. “Where’re your horses?”

  Lester rolled his eyes.

  “How do you think?” He wiggled his stubby fingers as if casting a spell. “We know more than making food and fire.”

  “Edmund”—Edith continued to climb the hill—“all we want to do is talk. Please, give us a moment of your time. Then we’ll leave.”

  “Where’s Horic? Where is he?”

  “In Eryn Mas. We thought you’d be more willing to talk to us if he wasn’t here.”

  Becky stalked behind the dwarf, growling softly.

  Lester froze, hands in the air. “Don’t … don’t have the beast kill me! Like Edith said, we just want to talk. That’s it—talk! With our mouths and tongues and everything. Maybe afterward we can all sing songs or something!”

  Slipping on a blanket of wet autumn leaves, Edmund advanced down the slope and pointed the tip of his short sword at Edith’s chest.

  “If he moves, Becky—kill him. Rip out his throat!”

  Becky snarled louder at Lester—like a deep, gurgling laugh.

  Eyes closed, the jester whimpered. “Are you always this pleasant?”

  Edith ignored Edmund’s sword tip. “We have to talk, Edmund. Lionel is going to kill you.”