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

by Evert, Robert

  “Pond!”

  Pond flexed his bleeding hand and then touched the side of his head. “I’m fine. It’s just a scratch. Watch out! He’s not dead!”

  Gurding swung his broken scimitar at Edmund’s head, but Edmund easily dodged the swipe, tripping Gurding in the process. The goblin collapsed, coughing.

  “He’s not dead—yet, you mean.” Edmund pointed his enlarged sword at Gurding lying on the floor, blood oozing from his chest, weapon out of reach. “Before you die, I want you to see something.”

  He threw the pillowcase at Gurding.

  Gurding caught it, smiling.

  “Open it,” Edmund said.

  Gurding let out a coughing laugh. “You’ll always remember me, Filth.”

  Edmund struck him across the side of his head. “Open it!”

  Very slowly Gurding untied the knot and opened the bag, the wicked grin never leaving his defiant expression.

  Edmund punched the side of his head again. “Reach in!”

  With glacial movements, Gurding put his hand into the bag. He coughed. More blood trickled down his chin.

  Edmund kicked him in the ribs. “Pull it out.”

  Gurding winked and began to pull the head out by its long, blond hair. When he’d caught sight of the Undead King staring at him, lips moving as though screaming, Gurding started. His gloating disappeared from his smug face. He tried to scrabble away.

  “That’s what I did to your precious king!” Edmund drew his sword back for the final blow. “Now I’m going to make him suffer like he’s never—”

  “Uh, Ed?” Pond leaned against the doorway, blinking and flexing his wounded hand as if he were having difficulty moving it. “I don’t feel—”

  He crumpled to the floor.

  “Pond!”

  Edmund sprang toward him, but Gurding wrapped his arms around Edmund’s legs. Edmund crashed to his knees.

  “Pond!”

  He kicked at Gurding, but the goblin wouldn’t let go.

  “You’ll always remember me, Filth.”

  “Pond!”

  Finally Edmund broke free and crawled to Pond’s side. He was lying face down on the cold stone. He wasn’t breathing.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “Pond!” Edmund screamed, shaking the limp body.

  Pond didn’t move.

  He checked the wounds.

  Both the cut across his palm and across his temple were superficial, barely more than a scratch. In fact, the bleeding had already stopped.

  “Pond!”

  He shook him again.

  “What did you do?” Edmund shouted at Gurding.

  The goblin lay gasping for air, wracking coughs punctuated by heaving laughter.

  Edmund grabbed the dagger Gurding had thrown at Pond. It dripped with an oily substance that reeked of moldy mushroom.

  Poison!

  “Damn it!”

  Edmund laid his hands on Pond’s forehead and palm and cast his healing spell.

  “Pond!”

  Pond didn’t move.

  Edmund cast his healing spell over and over until the world grew grey, then went completely black.

  When Edmund came to, Becky was licking his sweaty face. Next to him, Abby knelt over Pond’s body, sobbing.

  “Pond,” Edmund said weakly.

  He reached out and touched his hand. It was cold.

  Abby continued to cry.

  “Pond!”

  Edmund shook his body, but it just jiggled limply.

  In a rage, he seized his sword, staggered to his feet, and kicked Gurding in the gut. But it didn’t matter; the goblin was already dead, pale blue lips upturned in a crooked smile as he stared at the ceiling.

  “Damn you!” He kicked Gurding again and again. “Damn you, you bastard!” And he kept kicking until the goblin’s skull cracked open. “Damn you, damn you, damn you!”

  Then he saw Ellie in the corner babbling to the Undead King’s head, stroking its hair like it was a dog. The Undead King’s lips moved in a frenzy, as if trying to tell her something important before his time ran out.

  Edmund stormed over and ripped the head out of Ellie’s hands. She glared at him, then started to bawl.

  Edmund ran blindly down the secret stairs, bashing the Undead King’s head against the wall. Upon reaching the cavern below the tower, he leapt through the concealing waterfall, heedless of how freezing the water was.

  “I might not be able to kill you, you bastard,” Edmund yelled at the Undead King, “but I can make sure you never see the light of day again!”

  With all his strength, he heaved the head into the darkness. It smacked against the cavern’s far wall, then fell into the subterranean lake with an echoing splash.

  For two days, Edmund and Abby stayed in the tower, crying and holding each other as a snowstorm raged outside. They couldn’t bury Pond; the ground lay under three feet of snow, frozen solid, and they had no tools other than a few extra swords the knights had left behind. So in the end, they’d decided to lay Pond to rest in the cavern under the tower, back propped up against the wall, his bejeweled rapier at one side and a flagon of Vin’s apple cider at the other.

  Edmund stood before his dead pitmate. “I don’t know what to say.” His cracking voice echoed as the waterfall over the secret passage continued to roar. Tears welled again, his throat tightening. He drew his sleeve across his eye. “Thanks, Pond, for everything. I … I couldn’t have, I couldn’t have … back in the pits … and in the mines …” He choked back another sob. “Thank you so much for being my friend.”

  For a moment, he held Ellie, Becky at his side, as cold droplets from the cream-colored stalactites pelted them. Then Ellie started to fuss.

  “Thanks, Pond,” he whispered. Taking out his sword he carved the name “Pond” into the cavern wall above his friend’s body. The black blade cut deeply into the damp stone. Under it he wrote:

  Warrior. Hero. Friend.

  Abby stood off to the side, damp hood pulled over her face. Edmund went to hug her, to hold her as tightly as he could, but she didn’t move.

  “Do you need some time to—?” he began.

  She nodded quickly; a snuffling sob emerged from the shadows under her hood.

  Edmund touched her arm, then walked to the secret stairs. There he paused, reluctant to leave.

  He looked back and saw Abby kneeling by their friend’s side, his hand in hers. He thought he’d heard her say the word “love,” but everything else was drowned out by the waterfall.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  For the better part of two weeks, Edmund pulled Abby and Ellie on a toboggan laden with supplies. At first, Abby protested, insisting she could walk. But when Edmund had pointed out someone needed to hold little Ellie, she’d finally agreed to ride.

  The going was slow, and for many days, nobody said a thing. Edmund didn’t mind. He had too much to think about anyway and appreciated the silence while he dragged the toboggan around the endless white hills. He thought—and he cried.

  Abby was beyond miserable; she ate little and spoke even less. She simply sat on the toboggan, staring off into the distance as she held on to Ellie.

  Ellie, however, watched everything with bright green eyes. For a while, she’d appeared to search for the Undead King’s head, peering into the numerous bags they’d tied to the toboggan. But after a few days, she seemed to forget all about her father.

  Becky plodded through the snow with the Undead King’s foot in her mouth, toes still thrashing as if trying to kick free. During breaks and camping, she kept her distance from Ellie and more than once growled at the baby. That earned her a swat across the head from Edmund.

  At last, as they approached Rood, a horn blared from one of the neighboring hills—a short, clear blast through the crisp winter air. When they’d passed the final bend, they found a couple hundred people gathered at the east gate waiting for them. A tremendous c
heer rose up.

  Hendrick ran up with the rest of the crowd. “Glad to see you! Where’s Pond?”

  Edmund stopped pulling the toboggan and frowned at the ground. “Pond …” He didn’t know what else to say. Judging by everybody’s faces, they all understood. Even the most battle-hardened men bowed their heads.

  “I’m—” Hendrick fumbled with his words. “I’m, I’m really sorry. Really. He was a capital fellow, one in a million.”

  Then a collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Abby had pulled back her hood, snow-white hair falling about her shoulders.

  “We have a lot to talk about,” Edmund said as they stared at Abby’s wrinkled face. “But not now, not here.”

  “You’re right, sir. Of course,” said Hendrick.

  Abby handed Edmund the baby, who was fast asleep under a bundle of blankets.

  Everybody gathered around, relieved to have something to smile about.

  “This is Ellie,” Edmund told them. “She’s Molly’s daughter. I’m going to raise her.”

  “She’s beautiful,” said several people.

  Others eyed her with puzzled, then slightly unnerved, expressions.

  Toby pushed through the crowd still cooing at Ellie. “Here. Let me take the sled. I can bring your things to the Barmaid.”

  “No,” Edmund said. “Bring it to Norb’s house. Ellie will be more comfortable living there.” He stroked her round cheek. She stretched, yawned, and started to suck her thumb. “That’s the only home she’s ever known, the only real home.”

  “Okay.” Toby gave Ellie a fleeting look then did a double take. “Sure. I’ll … I’ll bring everything there. Anything else?”

  “Ask everybody to meet in the Barmaid for dinner. I’ll explain everything then.”

  “I’ll make something special!” Gabe called out.

  Edmund tried to smile at the cook, but couldn’t find the energy.

  “Everything you make is special,” he managed to say.

  “All right, everybody!” Hendrick shouted. “You’ll hear everything tonight! Let’s get back to what needs to be done!”

  Slowly the crowd dissipated until only Hendrick remained.

  “Anything to report?” Edmund asked him. “Did you and your men have any issues getting back home?”

  “Nothing to bother you with now, sir. There were some goblins, but the swords you’d given us did exactly what you’d said. They didn’t stand a chance.”

  Edmund nodded. “Good.”

  They stared at the sleeping girl.

  “Adorable child, sir,” Hendrick said.

  “Thank you.”

  Edmund noticed Hendrick watching Ellie, as if he couldn’t quite discern something about her. For some strange reason, Edmund began to feel agitated, even a bit angry. He walked into town.

  “Looks like there’re new men,” he said.

  Hendrick shook himself from his thoughts and followed Edmund, Abby, and Becky through the east gate.

  “Yes, sir. As you’d thought, many of the King’s men-at-arms remained behind.”

  “How many?”

  “Nearly one hundred fifty. I’m not sure how many will stay once spring comes, though. I think most of them just don’t want to march home in the cold.”

  “Are they working for the town?”

  “Yes, sir. We’ve finished a fourth barracks, though Cavin made it look more like an inn. He said you wouldn’t mind.”

  Edmund studied the three-story structure on the north side of the town square. It looked lovely—inviting windows, gables, and decorative soffits that somebody had taken great pains to carve by hand.

  Perfect …

  “Sir?” They stopped in front of Molly and Norb’s dilapidated house. “I just want you to know that we all support you,” Hendrick said. “You and your kind … I mean, you witches, I mean—magic users. We’re all fine with it if you are. All of us. Everybody knows what you can do, and nobody will give you any trouble. Or anybody else who can, well … do what you do.”

  Edmund glanced around. Paths had been shoveled through the snow. Men strode this way and that, carrying supplies to various building projects while hammering and sawing filled the frosty winter air.

  He nodded.

  “We’ll see,” he said to no one in particular. “We’ll see.”

  Epilogue

  That year, spring came early to the Highlands. By late March, blue and yellow crocuses poked out of the mostly melted snow. Trees began to bud. Grass was turning green. Rivers roared, swollen with white rushing water. Although the weather still turned chilly on occasion, Rood’s hardier townsfolk went out without hats or heavy coats for the first time in months. They sat about the town square, sun warming their smiling faces.

  With the change in weather, scores of houses were being built—gorgeous houses to be painted bright, cheerful colors, much like those in Long Ravine. Several businesses had even taken root, including Toby’s smithy, a general store affectionately named “Things You Can’t Get In A Pit,” and a new tavern simply known as “Vin’s.”

  Further, new settlers trickled into town regularly; every few days, a handful would arrive with the same excited and befuddled reactions when the rumors turned out to be true: no nobility, and they could own their own land if they helped to rebuild the town. Some of these arrivals met with Edmund privately.

  “My name is Samuel, sir. People call me Sam. I’m a gardener,” said a man of maybe fifty years one evening while he and Edmund sat in Molly’s former living room.

  Ellie sat on the floor playing with blocks Cavin had made her.

  “A gardener,” Edmund repeated, knowing exactly how the conversation would go.

  “Yes, sir.” Sam fidgeted, sneaking another look at the blanket-covered box on a nearby table. Something moved in it. “I used to work in the Royal Gardens in Eryn Mas. My family has been working there for seven generations. We’ve all been gardeners. We’re good at it. Very good.”

  “I’m sure you are, Sam. The Royal Gardens are supposed to be beautiful. I’ve always wanted to see them. So, what brought you to Rood?”

  The gardener shifted nervously, looked sidelong at Ellie, and shrugged.

  “I heard some, some rumors.” Then he added in a slightly softer tone, “Rumors about this place.”

  “About the land and how things are run?” Edmund asked, deliberately being obtuse.

  It was mean of him to make newcomers struggle with this very delicate conversation, but he enjoyed watching the wonder grow in their faces, and it gave him an opportunity to size up those who came to speak with him.

  Sam dithered. “Yes. Yes, those things too. But I also heard, well …”

  Edmund let him off the hook.

  “That I’m a magic user and that magic users are safe here?”

  Sam flinched and glanced anxiously around the room.

  Edmund laughed. “Don’t worry. Everybody knows who I am and what I can do.”

  Sam’s eyes widened. “Everybody?”

  “Yup. Just ask around. It’s not a secret.”

  Ellie knocked over the block tower she’d erected and giggled wildly.

  “Look”—Edmund smiled—“there are several magic users here in Rood, and they’re welcome to stay as long as they help rebuild.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a problem with magic users living here peacefully?”

  “What?” Sam asked, startled. “No. No, I, I don’t. Actually, I … I’m—”

  “Now, this is what I tell any magic users who want to settle in Rood. I tell them to help the community as much as they can. Get to know people. Make some friends. And, when they’re ready, then they should let people know what they can do.”

  Sam still seemed uneasy, so Edmund explained.

  “If people see a magic user as a person first, one upon whom they can count when the need arises … they’ll be more willing to accept him or her.”

  Sam considered
this, but didn’t seem convinced.

  “So my question to you is,” Edmund went on, “what can you do to help the people of Rood?”

  Sam brightened.

  “Give me a couple years and I can make this the prettiest town you’ve ever seen, with flowering bushes lining the streets, and trees, and gardens everywhere! The air will smell sweet and wonderful, and everything will bloom in different colors, all year round. I can make this place a paradise people will flock to!”

  Edmund laughed again.

  “I’m sure you can! But the folks here are, well …” He struggled to find the right words. “Let’s just say they appreciate a good pint of beer in front of them, a sharp sword at their side, and a pretty woman in their lap, if you get me. I’d l-love, I’d love to see everything you’d just said, but the people wouldn’t appreciate it as much as they should.”

  Sam appeared crestfallen.

  “Let me ask you this …” Edmund leaned forward. “Do you know anything about farming? Can you make crops grow better? Maybe help vines grow more grapes or fruit trees become more bountiful? Anything like that?”

  Now it was Sam’s turn to laugh.

  “I could make those vines grow grapes twice as big as anything you’ve seen before and make them rich and juicy! Same thing with corn or anything that grows. As I said, I’m very good with plants.”

  “Then go around to the farms. They’re readying the fields for planting, and they’ll need help. Tell them you’re new and you know a thing or two about farming. They’ll appreciate anything you can do for them.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.” Edmund leaned back in his chair. “Once you get settled in, I want to hear your ideas for making Rood into a paradise everybody will flock to. I appreciate flowers, even if most men around here won’t.”

  For a moment, Sam sat half-amazed, half-skeptical, until Edmund’s words finally sank in. Then he stood, held out his hand.

  “Thank you, sir. I … I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for this. To finally find a safe … well, a home. To finally find a real home means the world to me.”