Betrayal In The Highlands (Book 2)

by Robert Evert

  The troll shuddered then toppled forward, his immense leathery torso crashing down onto Edmund’s face and chest, pinning him to the rocky ground. He screamed for Pond as the troll’s hot blood coursed over him, burning his skin.

  Chapter Two

  “Sorry about that rock,” Pond said as Edmund began to stir. “It’s dark.”

  “Wh-wh … what?” Wheezing, Edmund pushed Becky off his sore chest. “Wh-why … why am I wet?” He tried to sit up but collapsed next to the dead troll, the tip of his enlarged sword still protruding through the back of the creature’s gore-covered skull.

  “I threw water on you. Are you okay?”

  Becky leapt on him again, licking his dripping face.

  “What happened?”

  “I hit the troll with a stone and he fell over. Unfortunately, he fell right on top of you. Sorry.”

  “You?” Edmund said, his head clearing. “You killed him?”

  Pond shrugged. “That, or it was you stabbing him between his eyes that did it. It’s tough to say, really.”

  Edmund laughed weakly and pushed Becky off his chest a second time. He propped himself up onto one elbow, inhaling as deeply as his complaining ribs would allow.

  “You okay?” Pond asked again.

  Edmund raised a pleading finger and winced. He cast his healing spell.

  “Smerte av reise.”

  The stabbing sensation that radiated from his sternum dulled. His lungs expanded a bit more as he took a deep breath without discomfort. The wheezing faded.

  “Better?” Pond handed him a waterskin.

  Edmund took a couple of swallows and then poured the rest of the water over his left arm, where some of the troll’s blood still burned. Under the blood, a rash was forming.

  “How long was I unconscious?”

  “Only a few minutes,” Pond said. “I had a devil of a time getting the beast off of you. Becky was no help. She kept jumping on the damned thing, trying to bite its head off. She actually dug into its neck like a crazy chipmunk or something. I was hoping the troll’s blood would burn her to ashes, but for some reason it didn’t have any effect on her.”

  Next to them, with her muzzle and front paws coated in dark blood, Becky barked in triumph.

  As if in answer, a horn echoed to the west. Another blared further south.

  Pond and Edmund exchanged worried glances.

  “They’re almost here,” they said in unison.

  Pond lifted Edmund to his feet.

  “If you give me a few pointers, I can try to swim. I’ll have to do away with my pack … and my sword … and probably my boots as well …”

  They’ll be expecting us to go south along the river in order to reach the closest human settlements. They’ll try to cut us off.

  “Have an idea?” Pond asked.

  “Yeah, it might buy us some time.”

  Or get you killed …

  Edmund picked Becky up as she licked the side of his face, her tail thumping against his stomach. “This way. Hurry!”

  Staggering as fast as they could manage, they followed the river southward toward the sound of the second horn, leaving footprints in the mud. Then Edmund waded into the cold water, signaling for Pond to follow his example.

  “Now head the other direction,” he said. “Quick! Make sure you stick to the water. I don’t want to leave any scent or tracks.”

  As the waxing moon sank behind the tree-lined ridges flanking the narrow valley, Edmund and Pond sloshed northward, careful to keep their feet in the rushing river. A mile or so to the south, near where the troll’s body lay, harsh voices cried out. The goblins had found their trail again.

  “Do you think they’ll come this way?” Pond asked, toiling through the surging knee-high water.

  Edmund stroked Becky’s head, the puppy now fast asleep in his arms like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. She seemed to be purring.

  “Maybe,” he said.

  They pushed upriver.

  “You know,” Pond went on, “perhaps trying to swim would be a good idea. I’m a quick learner!”

  “You’ll drown. The river’s too swift.”

  “So what are we going to do? Keep heading north? Isn’t that where the Undead King’s tower is?”

  “We’re going to hide where they’d least expect it.”

  You’d better hope Kravel and Gurding fall for this. They aren’t as stupid as you told that troll.

  They’ll think we swam downriver to reach one of the farms or logging camps. They wouldn’t dream we’d head closer to their mountains.

  What if you’re wrong?

  Then we’ll be dead by morning.

  They waded through the icy water, fighting against the swirling currents that urged their tired legs back the way they had come. Pond tripped and fell headlong into the river with a splash that echoed through the forested cliffs. Grabbing his waterlogged pack, Edmund pulled him, spitting and sputtering, to his feet.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Pond said, coughing. “But I … I don’t think I can go on much longer. I need … I need to rest. We haven’t slept, really slept, in … in ages.”

  “We’re almost there. We can rest a bit, or die fighting.”

  “Let’s hope it’s the first. I don’t think I have the energy to die right now.”

  Over the thundering river, faint shouts called from the south. A horn blew. It was much closer than before.

  Edmund tried to hasten his pace but couldn’t. He was so exhausted he was barely able to force his feet through the opposing current.

  “Where’re we going?” Pond asked, stumbling again.

  “There.” Edmund pointed to a rock outcropping high above the valley to their left. Just beyond it, a cave could be seen in the darkness, the same cave in which he had hidden during a thunderstorm two years earlier. “It’s the troll’s lair.”

  “Troll’s lair?” Pond repeated doubtfully.

  “If you were the goblins, would you waste time looking for us in a troll’s lair?”

  “Good point.”

  “Plus, it’s out of view.” Edmund made for the bank. “And the ledge in front of the cave is very defendable … just in case I’m wrong about them looking for us there.”

  Staggering out of the river, they started climbing the ridge.

  After hauling themselves onto the stone ledge high above the valley floor, Edmund and Pond collapsed. Before them gaped the entrance to the troll’s lair, the stench of death billowing out to greet them. Becky, now wide awake and ready for battle, pranced in a circle, yipping with excitement.

  “I think you’re right,” Pond said, breathing hard. “This time … this time we’re going to give them the slip. The goblins will never think about looking for us way up here. Plus, if this reek doesn’t cover our scent, nothing will.”

  Edmund rubbed his quivering arms. The climb up the nearly perpendicular slope had been arduous, especially with a heavy pack and Becky on his shoulder. If the goblins came, he wouldn’t have the strength to swing a sword.

  “Maybe. But I’m afraid that Kravel and Gurding may have been here recently. Right … right before you killed him with your stone, the, the, the troll … the troll said something about talking to them. That, and something about a reward for our capture.”

  “Our capture?” Pond asked.

  “Yeah. Apparently they’re offering a thousand gold pieces for me. And two thousand for you.”

  Pond brightened. “Really?”

  “No. I’m … I’m sorry. He didn’t say anything about you or … or how much the reward was.”

  “Oh.” Pond’s smile faded. “I thought I might have become infamous, given that I stabbed their king and all.”

  With an effort, Edmund pushed himself to his feet. He wiped the drying mud from his hands. “I don’t know about infamous, but you’re a hero in my book, should I ever get to write it.”

  Becky barked.

  “What are we going to do with
the little monster here?” Pond watched Becky paw Edmund’s leg. “She’s going to draw attention to us.”

  “She’ll be fine as long as she doesn’t see any of the goblins.”

  If she does, will you rescue her again? She’s going to get you killed one of these days.

  Far to the south, black shapes swarmed into the valley.

  “Come on.” Edmund stumbled toward the entrance to the troll’s lair. “We have to get out of sight.”

  Hoisting his drenched pack higher onto his shoulders, Pond followed.

  “What if the troll didn’t live alone?” he asked.

  “Trolls are solitary creatures. Besides, most were killed off in the Great Troll Hunts. The one we ran into must have been one of the last … hopefully.”

  Taking care not to fall from the ridge, they crept to the mouth of the cave.

  Something glittered at their feet.

  Thousands of coins cast about the ledge sparkled in the moonlight.

  “Look at this!” Pond began sweeping them up by the handful. “We’re rich!”

  “Leave them.” Edmund hobbled into the tunnel. “It’s bait to lure unsuspecting travelers inside. Besides, they’re mostly copper and bronze.”

  “Shame. The money would come in handy. Imagine what we could buy if they were all gold!”

  “First we’ll need to survive long enough to get to civilization. Come on.” Edmund waved for Pond to follow him. “Get out of view.”

  Blindly they staggered deeper and deeper into the heart of the hill, the passage twisting this way and that. Damp darkness and the putrid stench of decaying meat enveloped them. Something that might have been cobwebs brushed against their faces like searching fingers.

  Up ahead, water was dripping.

  Becky snarled.

  “What is it, girl?” Edmund asked.

  She shot forward, kicking up a spray of coins.

  Somewhere in the blackness, there was a rush of movement.

  “Becky!” Edmund called out in hoarse whisper.

  Squeals echoed around them.

  “Pond, give me the lantern!”

  “We don’t have much oil—”

  “Give it to me!”

  Pond thrust the lantern into Edmund’s hands.

  Fumbling for the wick, Edmund cast his fire spell.

  “Fyre av nå!”

  A blue spark flashed.

  He turned up the flame.

  In front of them, the crudely hewn walls of the tunnel opened into a wide cavern. Through the wavering shadows, Becky darted here and there, chasing shrieking rats with bald tails and bright pink eyes. Hundreds of them skittered frantically into any hole or crevice they could find.

  A scrawny rat with a lame front leg leapt for a crack between two boulders but was blocked by others fighting their way to safety.

  Becky pounced on it.

  The rat shrieked.

  There was a crunch as the rat’s brown coat exploded red. It went limp, mouth hanging open, beady eyes gazing into oblivion as Becky shook it like an old shoe. Its squeaking companions vanished from sight. Then everything was utterly silent, save for the steady plink-plink-plink of water dripping from dirty tree roots hanging from the ceiling.

  Skin crawling, Edmund shuddered. “God, how I hate vermin.”

  Becky dropped the furry corpse at his feet, her tail wagging.

  “Good girl,” he told her.

  “Damn.” Pond let his pack fall to the damp ground. “I was rooting for the rat.”

  He sat against a rock, took off a boot, and massaged his swollen foot.

  “Finally, a moment’s peace!” He sighed. “Do you think they’ll find us in here?”

  A drop of water plunked the top of the lantern, making it hiss.

  Surveying the cavern, Edmund swept light across yellowing bones piled in the corner. Most were from animals—deer, moose, the occasional bear—but some were from humans, their grey skulls appearing to laugh at them through the gloom.

  “I don’t know,” Edmund said. “But we can’t run anymore, and there doesn’t appear to be another exit.”

  So we’re trapped in here.

  Trapped …

  Pond put his boot back on and untied the frayed blanket they used for a bedroll. “Do you want to take the first watch, or shall I?”

  “Get some sleep. I’ll watch for a bit. But I think we’ll both be able to get some sleep. Becky will hear any goblins long before they can reach the ledge outside.”

  “At least the little monster is good for something. She nearly got you killed with that troll.”

  Becky snatched the rat’s broken body and lashed it back and forth, splattering more blood across her grey fur.

  Edmund continued to scan the shadows.

  “You know,” Pond said, yawning. “It’s amazing what I can tolerate now. Before I found my way into the goblins’ loving care, I was afraid of mice and rats. Couldn’t stand to be dirty, either. Now look at me.”

  “You’re a pillar of courage and filth,” Edmund said.

  The lantern’s light came to rest on a mound of evergreen branches heaped against the far wall like a nest.

  “What’re you doing?” Pond asked as Edmund approached the troll’s bed.

  “Maybe there’s another tunnel out of here. He might have hidden it behind—”

  He pulled away several branches to reveal a hole big enough for a grown man to walk in stooped over.

  Edmund sucked in a breath.

  Pond got up. “What did you find?”

  Inside the hole, gold and silver and jewels of every color flashed and glistened; coins and jewelry that hadn’t seen the sun for a century or more spilled out of three mildew-covered chests, their wet wood broken and rotting. Strewn about them lay items of incalculable value: a silver serving tray, a matching set of ruby-studded goblets, a pearl necklace, a child’s tiara adorned with shimmering diamonds.

  Edmund and Pond stared at the gleaming treasure.

  Lying next to them, Becky chewed the dead rat’s head; its skull cracked and splintered. She gingerly stripped off parts of the rat’s fur to pick at its bloody flesh.

  “Now these aren’t bronze or copper,” Pond said, scooping up handfuls of coins. He let them fall back into the trove like rain hitting a tin roof. “We’ll certainly be living like kings for the rest of our lives, if we can ever make it to civilization.”

  “If we ever make it to civilization …” Edmund repeated, searching the back of the hole for a secret tunnel.

  There’s nothing here. We can’t escape …

  He swung the lantern’s light across the rows of shields and weapons perched on ledges throughout the cavern.

  “If we could find a weapon made from Iliandor’s metal, then we’d cut though them like straw.”

  Edmund inspected a long sword. It was caked with dirt and rat feces, but its quality was indisputable.

  “This is Ángfoil,” he said in amazement, reading the runes inscribed along the sword’s tarnished handguard. “It belonged to Sir Harris of Upshire back in the third century, and his father, and his grandfather before that.”

  “Who?” Pond managed to say through another yawn.

  “Something’s wrong,” Edmund said to himself.

  “What?”

  “Well, this weapon shouldn’t be here. Sir Harris died at sea, exploring the waters far from the western shores.” Edmund leapt up and grabbed a two-handed sword, its blade broken a foot above its bejeweled hilt.

  “And this is Morvŭl, Sir Perris’s blade! He used it to kill the ogre Ren’dal at the Battle of the Buckman’s Bridge. He was supposed to be buried with it in the catacombs of Eryn Minor.”

  None of this makes any sense …

  “Well,” Pond said, “if we manage to escape the goblins, we’ll take some of these swords and return them to their rightful heirs. I’m sure they’ll pay us handsomely.”

  “Or returning them will raise a bunch of questions that nobody wants to answer …”
>
  Edmund’s gaze drifted over to the fissure containing the mysterious black tome he’d attempted to steal when he had hidden in the troll’s lair the year before.

  Questions …

  Through the darkness, he could make out its large leather cover. The word “Kalvella” glinted in his lantern’s red glow.

  So many secrets. So many things we don’t know …

  If I could just decipher its runes, maybe I’d learn what really happened all those years ago—

  From somewhere in the valley, a horn blew.

  Chapter Three

  Edmund woke.

  Instinctively he sprang to his feet, unsure for a moment where he was or how he had gotten there. Looking around the dank cavern, he remembered the troll’s lair. Soft sunlight illuminated the wet stone of the passageway leading to the ridge outside.

  “Well, we’ve lived to see another day.”

  Yes, but will we make it until tomorrow?

  Curled up on the ground next to him, Becky opened an annoyed eye. Seeing the shredded remains of the defeated rat, she snatched and thrashed it about, pieces of bloody fur flying everywhere.

  Edmund rubbed his stiff back and legs.

  We can’t keep going on like this.

  Maybe you should try ambushing them. Kill Kravel, and the others might give up.

  Pleasure bubbled up within him as he imagined cutting Kravel’s head off. But his grin quickly faded.

  No. They wouldn’t give up. Gurding would just take his place. And after him, somebody else.

  This is never going to end. Never.

  “Wake up,” Edmund said, nudging Pond with his foot.

  Pond stirred, his hand immediately falling to the hilt of his rapier.

  “Alive?” he asked, rubbing his dirty face.

  “So far.”

  Pond covered his nose. “By the gods, this place stinks! No wonder I had such horrible dreams.”

  “It’s nothing compared to the Undead King’s wet cells.”

  Pond got to his feet like a child not wanting to go do his chores.

  “At the very least, we finally got a few hours of decent sleep,” he said, twisting his spine. “I think I can run all day now.”

  “I don’t want to keep running.” Edmund studied the array of weapons littering the troll’s lair. Most were broken or rusted. A few were of exceptional quality, their edges bright and sharp, but none were made of Iliandor’s unbreakable steel.