Betrayal In The Highlands (Book 2)

by Robert Evert

  “Ah!” one man said, moving a black piece forward a space. “That’d be The Fordman’s House, yonder.” He pointed across the river to a four-story, canary yellow building sculpted halfway up the gorge’s northeastern face, with pillars that supported elegant stone gables and a wide stone porch on which many tables were set.

  “Best beer,” the other player agreed, moving a white piece. He took a black pawn. “But it ain’t cheap. If good beer is what you want and in the plenty, you might look into The Hole in The Wall.” He motioned down the road toward what seemed to be a crudely hewn tunnel opening in the rock face, from which loud music and laughter rolled. “The beer is very passable, and it won’t empty your purse.”

  Pond consulted with Edmund.

  Edmund inclined his head toward The Fordman’s House.

  “Thank you both very much,” Pond said to the old men, who waved their hands, too engrossed in their game to make a more adequate response.

  Crossing one of the sturdy rope bridges spanning the River Neven, the weary party came to The Fordman’s House, a spectacular establishment complete with an exquisitely decorated common room with an attractive fireplace, polished oak tables, and chairs with purple satin cushions. Important-looking men sat in them, smoking pipes and blowing streams of sweet-smelling, bluish-grey smoke into the air.

  The proprietor of The Fordman’s House was more than willing to rent a room to Misters Cooper, Barton, and Tim—the name they gave Fatty—and even happier when Pond paid for an entire week upfront.

  Bowing low, the innkeeper presented Pond with a key. “Your quarters are upstairs, on the fourth floor and to the right. It’ll be nice and quiet, just as you requested, Mr. Barton.”

  Something in his voice made Edmund pause.

  He knows we gave fraudulent names!

  What of it? As long as nobody knows who you are, you’ll be safe. Now stop acting like there’s something wrong.

  Edmund pushed a few more coins into the proprietor’s hand.

  The innkeeper brightened.

  “Thank you, sir! Thank you very much, indeed! I’ll make sure nobody bothers you.”

  Now get out of sight! Everybody is staring at Fatty.

  They trudged up a wide marble stairway, still carrying their bulky packs.

  “I can’t wait to take a bath,” Edmund said, forcing his legs to the fourth floor.

  They turned right and followed a row of brightly burning lanterns lining the wood-paneled walls.

  “Or sleep in a clean bed,” Pond replied. “Hopefully Becky won’t destroy it this time.”

  They found their room tucked away to the far end of the hall, just as Pond had requested.

  Edmund slid the key into the lock. “Remember, Fatty. Keep Becky from wrecking anything. We can’t afford to keep replacing furniture.”

  Breathing hard, Fatty shook a tired finger at Becky, who wagged her listless tail. Like everybody else, she stank of mud and marsh water.

  “And let’s keep to ourselves,” Edmund added. “I don’t want anybody to know we’re here.”

  He opened the door to the room.

  A slim figure sat at a table by the window.

  “Hello, Edmund,” it said, a touch of anger in a gentle voice. “Come inside and close the door. We’ve got to talk.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Abby?

  But it wasn’t Abby.

  Silhouetted against an arched window, the woman at the table sipped some port, set her glass beside a half-empty bottle, and folded her hands into her lap. She waited.

  “E, E … Edith?” Edmund said, recalling the name of the assistant librarian from Eryn Mas’s Lower Library, who’d helped him escape from the city’s law enforcers.

  Next to him, Becky withdrew a pace, the hair between her shoulder blades rising.

  “Who’s in there?” Pond asked, trying to peer inside.

  Edmund cautiously entered the room, checking to ensure nobody else was concealed within the shadows. Becky, Pond, and Fatty filed in close behind.

  “I see you have a new dog,” Edith said, not surprised. “I was afraid Thorax would not live long. She had a good spirit, but her time in this world was short.”

  Edith gestured for Becky to come, but Becky lowered her head and bared her teeth.

  Ignoring the growls, Edith rose like a praying mantis unfolding itself. “And you have some new friends. How delightful.”

  She held out a bony hand to Pond, who shook it as he would handle a corpse. But when she reached for Fatty, he flinched, whimpering.

  “He’s—” Pond faltered. “Well, he’s a bit shy of strangers.”

  “I understand,” said Edith. “That’s very sensible. Now, if I may say this without being rude: I’d like to speak to Edmund alone, if you two don’t mind.”

  Immediately, Fatty made for the door.

  “Wait,” Edmund said.

  Fatty stiffened.

  “They’re m-m-my, my friends. We’re family. You can speak freely in front of them.”

  Edith seemed to blench. “I think you’d be putting them in harm’s way if they remained. Even more so than you already have.”

  At that, Fatty bounded out the door, patting his thigh for Becky to follow. But Becky didn’t leave Edmund’s side; she glared at Edith like a young wolf stalking a hunter. Edith turned to Pond.

  “What do you want me to do?” Pond asked Edmund.

  Edmund wanted him to stay but couldn’t find a way to say so without sounding like a scared rabbit.

  What could happen? She just wants to talk.

  Everything from the hair on my head to the tips of my toes tells me she’s dangerous. How the hell did she even know I was going to be here?

  She’s a magic user.

  Another reason to be wary!

  Edmund nodded at Pond. “G-g-go … go with Fatty,” he said. “Pay the innkeeper for four hot baths tonight.”

  “Four?”

  “Becky needs one as well.”

  “Ah!” Pond set his muddy pack beside one of the neatly made beds lining the left wall. “That’ll be a delight.”

  “And get some decent food,” Edmund said, ignoring his sarcastic remark. “I’m sick of dried rations.”

  “Then why don’t you just make more yourself?” Edith asked quietly.

  Edmund’s heart jolted.

  How did she know I could do that?

  He stared at her.

  Edith held his gaze.

  “Ed?” Pond’s voice sounded distant in the tense air.

  Edmund nodded again. “Go. Fatty’s going to get lost if you aren’t with him. Keep him safe.”

  “Okay,” Pond replied. “We’ll be back in a little bit.”

  “Take your time,” said Edith. “Edmund and I have a great deal to discuss.”

  As he closed the door, Pond made deliberate eye contact with Edmund.

  “Sit down, Edmund,” Edith instructed. “We need to talk.”

  Edmund inched farther into the room, Becky leading the way.

  “Wh-wh-what … what are you doing here?” The pitch of his voice came higher than he’d intended; even to his own ears he sounded like a frightened schoolgirl. “How did you know I’d be here?”

  Edith returned to her seat by the window. Sunlight streamed through her wineglass, making the port look like blood. She took a sip.

  “Why didn’t you respond to me? I thought I made myself perfectly clear.”

  “Respond to you?”

  The letter! She’s talking about the letter!

  “Oh! It, it was from you.” Edmund glanced around again to make sure no other surprises lurked under the beds lining the left-hand wall or behind the sofa in the middle of the room. The rosewood armoire to the right might have contained somebody but with its doors closed, it wasn’t too much of a threat. Not yet, anyway. “I wasn’t sure. You, you see, B-B … Beck, Becky ate it. Well, she, she ate most of it. I didn’t know what it said or who’d sent it.”

  “Becky?” Edith
repeated.

  Edmund dropped his pack to the floor with a lifeless thud. Even without it, he felt pulled down to his grave. He motioned to Becky next to him.

  “She ate it. She can be a bit of a, a handful at times.” He aimed to sound lighthearted and unafraid, but his carefree chuckle was closer to a crazy cackle.

  Edith stared at Becky. Becky glared back, upper lip lifted to reveal her long white canines.

  “Interesting.” Edith took another sip of port then returned her attention to Edmund, who was still standing closer to the closed entrance door than to her.

  “You’re in peril.”

  “P-peril?”

  “But I can help you,” she went on. “I can protect you, my friends and I.”

  “What’s … what’s this all about? How am I in peril?” Edmund asked, trying to appear more in control of the conversation than he actually was, yet he felt vulnerable, standing there in the middle of the room like a child being lectured to. He needed to sit before his legs buckled, but the sofa faced away from Edith, and the only other chair sat across from her. Pretending to be indifferent to her presence, he approached, pulled the chair away from the table, and sat.

  “Do you remember the promise you made me?” Edith asked.

  “Pr-pr-promise?” Edmund stammered as he picked at his dirty fingernails.

  “You promised me that if you survived your ordeal with Kar-Nazar—”

  Edmund’s head shot up.

  Edith smiled—a bitter smile full of scorn and contempt.

  “Oh, yes. I know. I know everything, Edmund. Unfortunately, so do many other people who would do horrific things to you if given the chance.”

  Don’t say anything. Just let her keep talking. Maybe you can finally get some answers.

  Staring out the window to his left, Edmund pretended to admire the tumbling waterfalls on the opposite side of the gorge, where light from the setting sun shimmered across the wet rock like a rainbow. It was a beautiful view, one that he could get used to seeing, especially if he had somebody to share it with. But at the moment, he found no pleasure in it.

  “You have a problem,” Edith continued. “And I have a problem. Help me and you’ll live, thrive even. Don’t help me and, well …” She sipped her port. “I’m quite sure you’ll end up back in the Undead King’s pits—or somewhere far less pleasant.”

  There are no places less pleasant.

  She’s just being melodramatic. She needs you for something. You’re in control here. Ask her what this is all about.

  “Edith, I’m tired—”

  “That’s a shame, Edmund.” Her tone hardened. “But you’ll just have to manage. This is far more important than you’ll ever understand.”

  The Undead King said something very similar.

  He said exactly the same thing.

  She leaned forward, staring intently at him. “Your friend has been telling stories about you.”

  “My friend?”

  “The new Lord of the Highlands,” she said, sickened.

  “Norb?”

  “It was stupid of you to give him the Star. Truly asinine. But that will have to be rectified later. We need a strong presence in the north, somebody who shares Iliandor’s insights.”

  Iliandor?

  A strong presence up north? Why?

  And who’s this ‘we’?

  Edmund’s head started to hurt as he digested too many things at once.

  “Norb, Norb is telling stories?” he said with an effort. “Wh-what … what’s he been saying?”

  “He’s telling people that you’re a magic user.”

  Edmund’s skin turned cold as he fought to inhale.

  “That’s bad enough for you,” she said. “But he’s also telling how the two of you went into Thorgorim and came out alive. That’s much worse for a lot of us.”

  She sat back and took another sip.

  “Most people, of course, think he’s a drunken fool or don’t know what he’s talking about. But there are some who’ve taken notice.” Edith watched Edmund’s expression. “More than one person has been asking questions about you in Eryn Mas. Who knows what’s being said elsewhere?”

  Damn it! This is all I need. Curse Norb!

  “As you may know,” Edith went on, as if discussing the weather, “King Lionel has made it his life’s work to eradicate anybody even suspected of using magic. I’m sure some of his witch hunters will be looking for you very soon, and I’m afraid that you are rather identifiable with your eye and speech issues—among other things.”

  Edmund slumped in his chair.

  Edith seemed pleased by his reaction.

  “But I can help you.” She leaned forward again. “I can make sure they leave you alone. I can make sure they never find you or learn of your abilities. But you have to help us.”

  “How can you protect me?”

  “Times are changing, Edmund. Soon we won’t have to live in fear anymore. We won’t have to fear anything. Soon everything will be different.”

  Filthy, hungry, and exhausted, Edmund rubbed his wrinkled forehead and then his remaining eye.

  “What … what’s this all about?” he stammered. “Who’s this ‘us’? Who’re your friends? And what can you do about witch hunters that hasn’t been tried before? How are things going to be different?” He tossed up his hands. “Why won’t people just leave me alone?”

  The corners of her thin lips lifted slightly. “Because, you have certain skills, certain remarkable abilities that no one else has.”

  Edmund looked at her, puzzled.

  “You have an incredible gift for languages,” Edith said in genuine admiration. “You have insights about history, and Iliandor, and the northern lands that everyone else lacks.”

  Fat lot of good it’s done me.

  “Believe it or not, Edmund—you’re very special.”

  He wanted to laugh, but he was too shattered by Norb’s betrayal.

  “All I need,” Edith said, “is for you to translate this. That’s all. Then I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you wish. We’ll make sure everybody leaves you alone.”

  From the folds of her cloak she produced an ivory-colored envelope similar to the one Edmund had found shredded on the parlor floor of Baroness Melody’s guesthouse.

  Immediately Becky sprang up to snatch it, but Edith jerked it out of her reach.

  “Manage your rotten dog,” she shouted, holding the envelope away from Becky’s lunges.

  “Sit! Becky! Sit!” Edmund commanded. “Sit!”

  But Becky jumped again and again, snapping at Edith’s upraised hand.

  “Call her off!” Edith yelled. She now held a curved knife, though where it had come from Edmund hadn’t seen. “Call her off, or I’ll kill her right here!”

  Becky stopped and, legs tensing for another spring, turned slowly toward Edith, her canines a taunting grin. She snarled, soft and deep.

  Edith scrambled to her feet and pushed her chair out in front of Becky, though it wasn’t much of an obstacle for the fifty-pound puppy.

  With his arms around Becky’s neck, Edmund tried to pull her back, but Becky still crept toward the screaming Edith.

  “Control her or I’ll—!”

  The door popped open.

  “Hello,” Pond said, bouncing into the room with forced nonchalance. “Everything’s been taken care of. They’re filling four bathtubs with hot water as we speak.” Then he added, “Oh, still here? Edith, is it? Have a good chat?”

  “Becky!” Edmund shouted, struggling to keep her from ripping into Edith behind the now-overturned chair. “Becky, stop it! Stop! Becky! Stop!”

  She stopped.

  Choking back a final snarl, Becky withdrew a step and sat in front of Edmund, her grey eyes trained upon the female librarian.

  Breathing hard, Edith gripped her knife in one hand, the envelope in the other. Both were shaking. “Where did you get this foul beast? I thought they were all—”

  Becky stood up again.r />
  “Becky!” Edmund pulled her back.

  Stepping around the overturned chair, Edith quickly made for the door and, passing a startled Pond, thrust the envelope into his hands. “Make sure the miserable creature doesn’t eat it.”

  She paused to catch her breath then turned to Edmund.

  “If you want to be the person you’ve always wanted to be,” she said, face a pulsating red, “if you want to be a hero and idolized by men throughout the ages, if you want to stop all the witch hunts and avenge your parents—figure out what that says! We’ll reward you in ways you’ve only dreamed of. Betray us, and we’ll make you and your friends suffer.”

  She slammed the door behind her, rattling the walls.

  “Avenge my parents?” Edmund muttered.

  “Charming woman,” Pond said, examining the envelope. He gave it to Edmund. “I’m starting to like Becky more and more.”

  Wagging her tail and barking playfully, Becky leapt for the envelope as Edmund slid it into his breast pocket.

  “What the hell got into you?” he said. “Sit!”

  She sat.

  Pond righted the overturned chair.

  “So what did you two chat about?” He poured the remaining wine into Edith’s empty glass. “I hope I wasn’t gone for too long.”

  “No.” Edmund fell into the other chair with a grunt. “As always, your timing was splendid. Where’s Fatty?”

  “Hiding in the stables. He refused to come out until your friend left.” Pond sipped the port; his expression turned pleased. “At least she has good taste in wine. We’ll have to get a few bottles of this.”

  Edmund stared out the window, trying to piece everything together, wondering what Edith meant about “avenging” his parents.

  His head hurt even more.

  “So, what did she say?” Pond took another sip from Edith’s glass. He offered some to Edmund, but Edmund waved him away. “Anything interesting?”

  “Norb is talking about me,” Edmund said.

  Pond motioned for him to go on.

  “He’s telling people that we went to Thorgorim. And that I’m a magic user.”

  Pond’s mouth dropped open. He lowered the wineglass. “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish I were.”

  “Didn’t he promise not to say anything? I distinctly remember him promising that he’d take it to his grave.”