Betrayal In The Highlands (Book 2)

by Robert Evert

  “Got a plan?”

  Fighting them would be asinine. Even fully armored, we couldn’t kill twenty goblins.

  Shoulders sagging, Edmund sighed and shook his head. “No.”

  There was a rustling movement by the cavern’s entrance.

  Becky spun, dropping her dead rat.

  Dry leaves swirled in from outside.

  They resumed breathing.

  “Well,” Pond said, “let’s do what we do best then.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Run. Like I said, I’m good for a full day’s effort. At any rate, let’s get out of this reek.”

  “We can’t keep running,” Edmund said. “Sooner or later—”

  “Sooner or later, all stories come to an end. We can’t help that. Let’s just look outside and see what the new day has brought us.”

  They crept up the tunnel and peered out into the morning.

  In the valley roared the River Celerin, its white water pounding exposed outcrops of grey stone. In the bushes along the riverbank, hooded warblers sang. Black squirrels dug into the forest floor as sunlight slipped between bare branches. All appeared calm and peaceful.

  “They could be anywhere out there.”

  Pond pulled out two apples from his threadbare pack. He tossed one to Edmund. “So, where to?”

  “Good question,” Edmund said. The serenity of the valley made him feel strangely ill-at-ease. “The c-c-closest … the closest settlement is a couple weeks’ walk south. But Kravel has certainly cut us off during the night, whether we could float downriver or not.”

  “Your strategy from last night seemed to do the trick.” Pond bit into his apple. “Let’s keep doing that.”

  “Strategy?” Edmund surveyed the valley from the shadows of the cave opening.

  “Yeah, going where they least expected.”

  “Where they least expected …” Edmund repeated. “Where would that be, I wonder?”

  Pond shrugged. “North? Toward the Undead King’s tower? That Thorim, or whatever you call it.”

  “Thorgorim,” Edmund corrected. “Going that way would be suicide. Goblin patrols are swarming all over those mountains. Plus, we’d probably get lost in some canyon and never find our way out. Not to mention winter is coming. We’d freeze to death after the first snowfall.”

  “We could hide here until they give up,” Pond went on hopefully.

  Edmund stepped farther out of the cave, studying the valley directly below them.

  “They’ll never give up. And they’ll keep finding us no matter where we hide.”

  If only you knew where they were …

  “Becky,” Edmund called, patting his thigh.

  The puppy romped over to them, dragging the remains of the rat by its bald tail.

  “Do you smell anything, girl? Any goblins?”

  Becky dropped the carcass. Her black nose sniffed briefly at the warm autumn breezes, and then she leapt on the dead rat again, tearing into its bloody fur.

  “I guess not,” Pond said.

  “Sooner or later, they’ll come back to where they lost our trail,” Edmund said, pondering the possibilities. “They’ll come back here and search everywhere we might be.”

  In the trees, birds continued to chirp merrily.

  “What’re you thinking?” Pond asked, his apple crunching as he chewed.

  Edmund stared at the pale mountains looming over the sea of barren trees to the east.

  “We can’t go north or east. Or south.”

  “Then we only have one option.”

  “True.”

  Edmund tried to determine whether he was overlooking any other options.

  “All right,” he said. “Go back into the troll’s lair and grab a c-couple of good swords, something short that I can use. And grab as many jewels as we can comfortably carry. I don’t want to be slowed down.”

  Pond saluted. “Aye aye!”

  “Only take what’s truly exceptional. No coins. They’re too heavy.”

  Holding his nose, Pond ran back into the tunnel.

  “Make sure you grab the diamond tiara,” Edmund called after him. “If we survive, that alone will make us rich men.”

  If you survive …

  Stalking cautiously to where the dead troll lay, Edmund and Pond found goblin tracks scattered throughout the muddy battle site. Some climbed the nearby hills. Others disappeared into the river, only to reappear on the other side. A few headed north toward the troll’s lair, but these didn’t go very far. After running every which way, all of the tracks seemed to head south toward the lowlands.

  “Looks like we fooled them,” Pond said.

  “Maybe.” Edmund kneeled, examining some of the prints. “But we aren’t free yet. And we’ve left our fair share of tracks in this mud.”

  He stood, Becky in his arms, her jaws cracking open the rat’s pulverized skull.

  “What we need is a good storm to wash away our trail and scent.”

  Edmund studied the lone cloud drifting in the clear blue sky. It wasn’t going to rain for days.

  “Well?” Pond asked. “North, south, east, or west?”

  Surveying the sky again, Edmund sighed.

  “At least it’s a nice day,” Pond said.

  “Rain would be better.”

  Edmund gave one last fleeting look around the battle site and came to a decision.

  “All right. Let’s head west, back the way we came. We’ll go over our previous tracks. Hopefully that’ll throw them off our trail.”

  By day and night, Edmund and Pond fled steadily westward, sticking to the same paths that brought them through the tangled forests and into the treacherous foothills of the northern Haegthorn Mountains. They pushed on, through the deep green valleys and around the countless lakes that made up the once-thriving northern kingdom of the Highlands, hiding wherever they could.

  Weeks passed without any sign of their goblin pursuers. Gradually the fear of ambush and certain death began to fade. They turned south and entered the low country with its nameless lands of farmer kings and rogue lords. At first, these consisted of only a few ranches or logging camps populated by a handful of lawless men who wished to escape the tyranny of nobility. Then well-traveled roads appeared, leading to bustling towns that rose up out of the endless prairies.

  For months, Edmund and Pond continued their trek southward, trying to stay clear of even humans, worried that if they lodged at a farmhouse or bought provisions in some general store, Kravel might learn of it. After all, locals would certainly remember a one-eyed man who stuttered, and goblins were particularly skilled at extracting information from captives.

  As the bitter winter snows began to pile up in the frozen far north, Edmund and Pond arrived in the temperate climes of Dardenello, a small coastal city as far away from the goblins’ mountains as possible. Tired and wearing little more than grubby rags, they trudged up the long cobblestone walkway leading to a magnificent manor house perched upon windswept bluffs overlooking the green sea.

  “Are you sure she’ll give us lodging?” Edmund asked, taking in the colorful gardens around them. “Maybe we should continue on to the town. There’s bound to be an inn there.”

  “The merchant we passed told us that the Baroness has a guesthouse,” Pond replied. “And you said you want to stay out of sight, right? Well, what better place to stay out of sight than here? Nobody will notice us on this estate, not like at a crowded inn.”

  Edmund tried to smooth his unkempt hair and ratty clothes. “I don’t know.”

  “It’ll be fine. Trust me.”

  Pond banged the gold knocker against the manor’s richly carved double doors.

  The doors opened to reveal a tall man in fine black attire, spine straight, shoulders back, expression emotionless as he noted Pond, and then Edmund, and then the assortment of weapons they had strapped across the top of what remained of their backpacks.

  “May I be of service?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Becky, n
ow appearing every bit like a young grey wolf, rooting under one of the sculpted bushes lining the walkway.

  “Yes,” Pond said in a noble tone. “We are looking for lodging for the wint—”

  “Then perhaps,” the doorman interrupted, “you may wish to travel into Dardenello. There are several boarding houses that may suit you.”

  Becky started digging, dirt flying into the air behind her.

  The doorman scowled.

  “Yes, my good sir,” Pond replied. “However, we were informed that Baroness Melody provides lodging to travelers.”

  “Indeed. The Baroness has a guesthouse. However, it is reserved for individuals of a … certain means.”

  Smiling politely, Pond bowed. “I understand that our appearance maybe a bit off-putting.” He gestured to the soiled remains of their clothes. “We met with some misfortune on the road. But I can assure you, Master Edmund and I—”

  At the mention of his name, Edmund coughed. He stood a pace behind Pond and kept his face out of the doorman’s sight.

  “We,” Pond went on, “are more than capable of paying for food and lodging at such an exclusive and beautiful estate.”

  The doorman’s doubtful expression changed to surprise as Pond opened his hand, revealing a fistful of glittering sapphires as blue as the evening sky.

  “We require lodging and privacy throughout the winter,” Pond said, stressing the word privacy. “A mutual acquaintance of ours and the Baroness’s indicated that she could provide us with both. Or were we misinformed?”

  Closing his mouth, the doorman regained his composure. “And may I ask the name of your mutual acquaintance with the Baroness?”

  Uh-oh!

  Damn. I knew Pond couldn’t pull this off!

  “No, you may not,” Pond said without missing a beat.

  The doorman stood blinking at him.

  “May I at least have your names, sirs?”

  Pond’s smile shifted as though his precious time was being wasted. “You may call me Mister Pond.” He bowed again and then motioned behind him. “This is Master Edmund.”

  Edmund inclined his head, still trying to keep his missing eye out of view.

  “Perhaps we should talk to the Baroness directly,” Pond suggested.

  “The Baroness is not present at the moment,” the doorman replied.

  Pond’s expression turned hard. “It is not our place to know the business of the Baroness. Nor should a servant announce it to every stranger who knocks upon her door.”

  Color drained further from the doorman’s already white face. “Yes … yes, sir,” he stammered. “You are quite correct. My pardon. My pardon, indeed.”

  Pond rolled his eyes and turned to Edmund.

  “Perhaps, sir, we should try elsewhere. The Prince must have been ill-informed.”

  The Prince! Oh, brilliant! Very subtle.

  You don’t give Pond enough credit. He plays the role of a nobleman better than King Lionel himself.

  Before Edmund could answer, the doorman stepped over the threshold toward them. “Please, sirs. Forgive me. It is just, you see, your … your appearances …”

  “We understand,” Pond replied. “As I said, we met with some misfortune along the road. Still, our appearances have had some unexpected benefits. We were not bothered by highwaymen more than twice. Further, as I indicated, privacy is our primary concern. Nobody pays much heed to wandering beggars.”

  Becky’s head popped out of a bush, her nose covered in dirt. She barked, startling the doorman.

  “Are you willing to assist us?” Pond asked.

  “Of course, sirs. Please, let me show you to our guest quarters. I am sure they will be more than sufficient. You may speak with the Baroness when her schedule allows.”

  “Splendid.”

  Following a path of crushed red stone, the doorman escorted Pond, Edmund, and Becky across a well-manicured courtyard, past bubbling marble fountains and through an orchard of well-tended orange trees. Soon they came to a stately three-story building of white granite set apart from the Baroness’s opulent manor. Gargoyles glared from perches on the slate roof. The gilded front door was reinforced with iron straps.

  “Your suite is on the top floor,” the doorman said, leading them into a grand foyer and up a wide, sweeping stairwell. At each landing, he unlocked and passed through another solid oak door.

  This is a regular fortress!

  Don’t fool yourself. You won’t be safe if Kravel and Gurding learn where you are.

  The doorman led them to the third floor.

  “Will you be joining us for meals, sirs?” He unlocked another door. “Or shall I have them brought to you?”

  Inside was a lavish parlor, complete with parquet floors, sculpted pillars, and a huge fireplace in which a tall man could easily lie. A bowl of lemons on the mantle made the air smell sweet and refreshing.

  Becky bolted into the room and leapt onto one of the chairs made of black walnut. The doorman’s expression became strained as mud from her paws covered the red satin cushions.

  Pond set his weather-worn pack against a wood-paneled wall and strolled around the chamber, the slow thump of his dirty boots echoing in the frescoed ceilings that vaulted thirty feet overhead. He opened a door to the far right and peered in. He did the same to one on the left. He studied a bust of a dignified figure on a pedestal with evident disinterest; then he examined the heavy crimson drapes flanking a wall of stained glass windows overlooking the gardens. Turning to the doorman, he nodded.

  “It is very pretty. The Baroness has superb taste.”

  “Thank you, sir. I am quite sure she will like to meet you when her time allows.”

  “We are at her beck and call,” Pond said, bowing. “But please, make sure we are not disturbed by anybody but the Baroness herself.”

  “Of course, sirs. A chambermaid will be assigned to you shortly. If she fails to suit your needs—”

  Pond waved a dismissive hand in a way that made Edmund want to laugh. “I am quite sure she will be extraordinary.”

  “Yes, sir.” The doorman bowed. “I shall leave you and Master Edmund to your repose.”

  He closed the door behind him.

  When his steady strides had melted into silence, Pond and Edmund slumped into high-backed chairs resembling thrones.

  “Have I told you how incredible you are?” Edmund asked, tossing his hands up in amazement.

  “Not today.” Pond sighed as he kicked off his boots. Clumps of dirt fell to the elegant rug.

  “Well, you are. Men-men-mentioning … mentioning a prince was a stroke of genius! And when you told him that he couldn’t ask for the names of our mutual acquaintances—brilliant!”

  “It wasn’t difficult.” Pond stretched his legs. “My shop used to cater to noblemen. They all acted like that—snooty and self-righteous. The more you mistreat them, the higher the station they assume you are.”

  Becky leapt from her chair and into Edmund’s lap. He grunted under her weight.

  Ugh! She stinks. Bathing her is going to be another ordeal.

  A bath! We should have asked where the bathhouse was!

  We’ll find it tomorrow. Tonight, just relax …

  “But you shouldn’t have used our real names,” Edmund continued.

  “Sorry about that. It just came out, heat of the moment and all. Do you think it’ll matter?”

  Despite finally having a roof over his head and being able to sit in an actual chair, Edmund’s heart sank.

  “No,” he said with an effort, not sure if he actually believed it. “We’ll be fine.”

  Hopefully …

  Edmund looked around. Never before had he been in such luxurious quarters.

  “I could get used to this,” he said.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Pond put his hands behind his head and leaned back. “All somebody ever really needs is four walls and a solid roof to keep the rain out. The rest is just gilding the lily, don’t you think? Still, it is nice, and w
e deserve to be waited on for a bit.”

  Edmund followed Pond’s example and kicked off his mud-caked boots. It felt odd just sitting there without having to strain his ears for the snap of a twig or the crunch of a leaf. Now that they were safe, it was difficult to sit still; out of habit, he kept scanning his surroundings, waiting for something to leap out at him.

  “Months of running,” Pond muttered. “My entire body hurts, you know? I feel like it’s about to crumble to pieces. Thank goodness we arrived here when we did. I honestly don’t know if I could have kept going.”

  Edmund’s gaze came to rest on the cabinets next to the massive fireplace. Through their beveled glass doors he could see wine racks with bottles lying on their sides. He shoved Becky off his lap and got up with a grunt, his tired muscles reluctant to move. Becky jumped into the now-vacated chair and curled up into a dirty grey ball.

  “Would you like a glass of wine?” Edmund asked Pond, opening one of the cabinets.

  “After what we’ve been through?” Pond laughed. “Forget the glass. Just bring a bottle!”

  Chapter Four

  By the time the third empty bottle fell rattling to the floor, the southern stars were twinkling in the indigo sky. Warm breezes carried the salty fragrance of the sea and the thunderous crash of waves through the open windows. On a settee in the middle of their extravagant parlor, Edmund and Pond sat snickering like schoolboys.

  Before them, on a low table, they had piled their treasure from the troll’s lair; a small mountain of various gems and jewels shimmered in the flickering candlelight. Pond put the child’s tiara on his head and batted his eyes at Edmund.

  “Well, hellooo!” he said in an exaggerated feminine voice. “I’m Princess Horgenswagle! It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

  Giggling, Edmund tossed a matching diamond necklace into Pond’s lap. “You’d look better in this.”

  Pond laughed.

  “Do you know how rich we are?” he asked, alcohol slurring his speech. Hundreds of rubies trickled through his fingers. “We’re set for the rest of our lives!”