Betrayal In The Highlands (Book 2)

by Robert Evert

  Now wishing the wine bottle wasn’t empty, Edmund nodded.

  Pond pushed his half-full glass across the table. “So what do you want to do?”

  Edmund took a drink and stared out the window again. The forest flanking the river had begun to twinkle in the gloaming as boys on stilts walked around the city, lighting lanterns hung from iron poles and tree branches.

  He exhaled.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what we can do, other than keep running. And I’m getting tired of doing that. We can’t run forever.”

  Becky got up and stalked to the door. She sniffed underneath it and her ears perked, head tilted to one side. Then she lay down and stared at the knob, waiting.

  “You know,” Pond said, as though to raise a delicate point, “you’re going to have to do something. About Norb, I mean. You can’t just let him keep flapping his tongue. If somebody of importance hears about what you can do—”

  “Apparently people are already asking questions about me. At least that’s what Edith says.”

  Pond fingered the wineglass. “Do you believe her?”

  Edmund pondered this question.

  “That Norb is talking?” He sighed again. “Yes. He can’t keep his mouth shut when he drinks. I’d hoped that he would have changed after marrying …”

  The sun was slipping below the western hills in a wonderful orange-and-purple ball.

  “Yes, yes. After marrying Molly,” Pond said. “Go on.”

  Edmund forced the images of Molly and Norb out of his head. “I don’t know about anything else. But I … I fear the worst.”

  Pond watched him in interest.

  “What?” Edmund said.

  “Aren’t you going to open her letter?”

  Edmund felt his breast pocket. As soon as he touched the envelope, Becky’s head snapped in his direction. She sprang to her feet.

  “Stay where you are,” he told her. “Guard the door.”

  Becky sat.

  Edmund pulled the envelope from his pocket and turned it over in his fingers.

  “It feels heavy.”

  He broke the wax seal.

  Becky crept closer.

  “Stay. Guard the door.”

  She sat again, her intense gaze fixed on the envelope.

  “Now she’s behaving?” Pond chuckled. “Fatty must be a better influence on her than I thought.”

  “I’m just thankful she was with me. Edith will think twice about threatening our lives again with Becky around.”

  Edmund slid a packet of parchment from the envelope and unfolded it. By the door, Becky barked and pawed the floor like a snorting bull.

  “Hush!”

  “What does it say?” Pond asked, trying to get a better view of what Edmund was reading.

  “These runes …”

  Becky’s barks quickened.

  “What is it?” Pond said.

  Edmund inspected the first page. On it were runes meticulously drawn in black ink—the same mysterious runes he’d seen in the book Edith had shown him at Eryn Mas, the same runes in the tome he took from the troll’s lair.

  “What does it say?” Pond persisted.

  Becky growled and nipped, her whines high and desperate.

  “I don’t know.” Edmund flipped through the pages. “Nobody does. Nobody can decipher them.”

  “Nobody?”

  “If I could decipher them,” Edmund said to himself, “I might unlock the secrets of the troll’s tome. Not to mention all of the ancient manuscripts Edith said are in the royal libraries at Eryn Mas. If only I had a clue as to what this—”

  He reached the end of the packet. There were thirteen pages in all, and the last one had only two lines.

  Just like—

  Becky tore across the room. She leapt for the papers, but Edmund stood, shielding them with his body. “Down! Down!”

  “What?” Pond said, pushing Becky away. “What’s wrong?”

  Fingers trembling, Edmund riffled through the papers, scanning the length of each unreadable line and paragraph.

  “They’re the same. Exactly the same.”

  “What?” Pond repeated louder. “What is it? What’s the same?”

  Becky kept barking.

  “This …” Edmund stared at the odd runes. “This is the same document I found in Iliandor’s diary, but in a different language. This is the formula for Iliandor’s secret metal.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “So what does all of this mean?” Pond asked, peering over Edmund’s shoulder at the spidery runes.

  Becky walked to the door, turned in a circle a few times, and fell to the floor with an exhausted thud. Curled into a ball, she closed her eyes.

  Edmund’s heart sank. “It means Edith and her friends are looking for the same thing as the Undead King.”

  “Why would Edith and her friends want the formula? I mean, she’s a magic user, right? Why would a magic user need unbreakable steel?”

  “I think,” he said slowly. “I think she wants to fight the witch hunters. I think she wants to end the witch hunts.”

  “Good! So why not help her?”

  Edmund studied the runes again. He could smell the parchment; it reminded him of the Undead King’s library—old and dusty.

  “Why?” he repeated, slipping the papers back into their envelope. “Because I don’t trust her. She doesn’t seem right to me. Besides …” He slumped back into his chair. “I think she was one of the people who attacked you in the rose garden.”

  “Yeah,” Pond admitted, returning to his seat. He lifted the wine bottle, forgetting it was empty. “I was kind of thinking that myself. I mean, how many other magic users could there be running around and everything?”

  “Not many.”

  “So what do you want to do?”

  Edmund sighed. “I’d do anything to end all of these witch hunts.”

  “So give her the formula, and let her fight the witch hunters to her heart’s content. Maybe she’ll kill some of them. Maybe they’ll kill her. Either way, you’ll be left alone.”

  “There’s a problem.”

  “What?”

  “Back in the rose garden, she was going to kill you and Fatty, remember? She was going to kill you for no reason at all,” Edmund said. “And you heard her as she left. She threatened to kill both of us if I don’t do what she asks.”

  “Yeah.” Pond reclined in his chair. “She doesn’t seem like the happy sort, that’s for sure.”

  Edmund drummed his fingers on the table. “Tell me, if you were Edith, what would you do once I gave you the formula? Would you want me to give it to anybody else?”

  “No. Probably not.” Pond seemed to suddenly understand what Edmund hinted at. “If I were her, I would take the formula then kill you so I could have it all to myself.”

  “Exactly.” Edmund grimaced. “We can’t let her know that I can decipher these pages.”

  “Well,” Pond said, trying to sound optimistic, “how will she ever find out? I mean, like you said, nobody can read those runes, right? So what’s stopping you from simply saying they don’t mean a thing, or you can’t make heads or tails out of them, or whatever? Nobody else can, so she’d probably believe that you can’t either. Problem solved!”

  “Not if Norb tells her what I found in Iliandor’s diary.”

  Except for the river’s roaring at the bottom of the ravine, their shadow-filled room fell silent. To the east, stars began to twinkle blue and green in the darkening sky.

  “We’re in trouble,” Pond said eventually. “Aren’t we?”

  “We? I’m the one in trouble—not you or Fatty.”

  “We,” Pond repeated firmly. “We’re in this together.” He fiddled with the empty wine bottle. “I mean, if Norb says something …”

  Edmund nodded, knowing exactly what Pond meant. “They’ll torture me and everybody I love until I tell them what they want to know.”

  “And when you finally tell them, they’ll kill you so you
won’t tell anybody else.”

  We’re doomed …

  “What do you want to do?” Pond asked for a second time.

  From his window, Edmund watched townspeople stroll through the quaint stone streets of Long Ravine.

  “How can we hide from a magic user who knows where we are all the time?” he groaned. “How do I stop Norb from telling everybody what I found?”

  You know the answer to that last question.

  I couldn’t.

  You know you’ll have to. If you don’t …

  Edmund pushed himself to his feet.

  “Where’re you going?” Pond asked.

  Becky lifted her head.

  “I’m going to go find Fatty,” he replied.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No.” Edmund stared vacantly out the window. “Stay here in case he returns. Besides, I need to be alone.”

  “Ed! Being alone with Edith and her friends—”

  “Don’t worry. She won’t come near me. She’s afraid of Becky.”

  Still stinking of swamp, Edmund and Becky descended the grand stairs to the inn’s extravagant foyer. He pulled his muddy hood over his head as he passed through the bustling common room, hoping to hide his face. Unlike in Dardenello, he was determined to melt into the crowd as much as a stuttering, one-eyed, middle-aged man could.

  He was making for the exit when, through the babel and the clinking of plates and glasses, a snippet of conversation caught his attention. He halted.

  “All three?” asked a wealthy-looking gentleman sitting at a nearby table, his expression a mixture of horror and shock as he cut into his steak.

  “That’s what I’m telling you,” one of his companions replied. “Word just came in. They were all hanging from the trees, gutted like fish. Their intestines …” He pushed his plate away in revulsion. “Well, it’s not fit to describe. They found them this afternoon, not far from here. Bodies still warm by the accounts I’ve heard.”

  “Road Guards?” a second man said, shaking his head. “I tell you, we’re facing pretty bad times if three Road Guards can be taken like that. The causeways aren’t safe anymore.”

  A third diner lit a pipe and sent a stream of bluish-grey smoke up into the air. “Nowhere is. I tell you, I’m starting to believe the stories.”

  “Stories right or wrong, pretty soon it’ll cost us double to ship things abroad by land,” the first speaker said, chewing.

  “We’ll have to hire mercenaries to escort our caravans,” the second man added with a frown. He lifted his hand to get the barmaid’s attention. “Bad times, indeed.”

  A beautiful woman carrying a pitcher of beer approached their table.

  “Gutted and hanging from a tree?” the pipe-smoker repeated grimly. “Who would do such a thing?”

  Edmund found it difficult to swallow.

  Kravel and Gurding, that’s who.

  Or somebody equally as evil.

  Feet becoming heavier with each forced step, Edmund compelled himself toward the exit.

  Somebody equally as evil …

  Is that even possible?

  Edmund stepped outside with a shudder. As he did so, a serving boy carrying a clattering tray of dirty dishes pushed his way past, nearly tripping over Becky. The boy cursed. Becky snarled.

  What am I going to do about Edith?

  Pond’s right. She’ll never know you have what she wants—if you take care of Norb.

  On the stone patio outside The Fordman’s House sat groups of people chatting and eating expensive dinners. Several gave Becky wary glances.

  Edmund leaned against the black wrought iron balustrade separating him from a four-hundred-foot dive straight down and attempted to exhale. The air fled his lungs in nervous spurts.

  Take care of Norb …

  He knew what that meant.

  Before they’d parted company, Edmund had begged Norb not to tell anybody about his magical abilities or their travels. Norb claimed he wouldn’t. He even promised it on his grave. But evidently such promises didn’t hold for long.

  It wasn’t that Norb was a bad man; if Edmund asked him again to keep his mouth shut, Norb would almost certainly agree, even apologize for the stories he’d been telling. And he’d probably be sincere. However, after a few drinks, everything would come pouring out again, and sooner or later, he’d make a fleeting reference to the documents Edmund had found under the cover of Iliandor’s diary. Then word would get back to Edith. If that happened, Edmund and his friends would be doomed.

  Not if you get to Norb and make him stop.

  Kill him, you mean.

  He pictured Norb holding Molly in the Undead King’s tower, and the thought of killing the new Lord of the Highlands started to feel like a good idea.

  Edmund surveyed the city stretched out before him.

  Alive with the bustle of people going to and fro, Long Ravine was even more breathtaking in the early evening hours than it was during the day. Light from the lanterns lining the stairs and walkways winding up the slopes of the gorge looked like a maze of twinkling stars. The forests blanketing the riverbanks smelled fresh and green. Edmund wanted to marvel at the magnificent towers perched on the columns carved out by the ceaseless river, but his mind was preoccupied with images of a dead Norb.

  Killing him would be evil. I’m not evil. I’m not like that.

  Killing him would be self-preservation. You know what’s going to happen if you don’t kill him. He’ll say something to somebody and then—

  Edmund’s grip tightened on the black railing. He inhaled deeply again then let the fragrant air rush out of him, but it didn’t reduce his anxiety. He rubbed his throbbing forehead, feeling deflated and empty.

  Sooner or later, your luck is going to run out. They’ll take you alive, but they’ll kill everybody else—or use them to get what they want from you. If not Kravel and Gurding, then Edith and her friends.

  He found himself descending a set of stairs carved into the side of the canyon, with Becky occasionally brushing up against his leg as she allowed other people to hurry on by.

  I should’ve never left Rood …

  A comforting image of his cozy library came to mind: a crackling fire on the hearth, the windows overlooking the garden opened wide. He longed to sit in his favorite chair with a good book and a bottle of red wine, his only worry being whether Molly would smile at him that evening.

  Molly …

  Norb …

  His gut twisted.

  What could she possibly see in him? He’s a stablehand, for crying out loud!

  A stablehand who’s now Lord of the Highlands, thanks to you.

  “Lord Norbert.”

  He’s going to tell somebody. Eventually he’ll have too much to drink, or somebody will ask him to repeat the story about how he rescued Molly, and he’ll mention that damned diary.

  Edmund grew wearier with each tortured step.

  You have to talk to him. You have to make sure he doesn’t say anything about you, or your abilities, or what you’d found.

  The thought of seeing Norb’s dirt-encrusted face again made him want to hit something.

  That mouth-breather. He already promised not to tell people I was a magic user, and look what he’s doing!

  Then kill him.

  His stride faltered. Annoyed townsfolk filed around him on the narrow stone stairs, giving Becky as wide a berth as possible.

  Kill him, and everything will be fine. Then all you’d have to worry about are the goblins. Kill him.

  I can’t.

  But Edmund wasn’t too sure that was true. He’d often fantasized about killing Norb. In fact, the thought of stabbing Norb in the chest gave Edmund a powerful sensation, like lightning surging through his sword arm. He’d even dreamed about hanging Norb by a hook and cutting out his innards as the stablehand screamed.

  He doesn’t deserve it.

  Yes, he does! He promised not to say anything, and now his incessant gossiping is going to get
everybody killed. Kill him before he says something else.

  I’m not a goblin. I’m not evil.

  His dark thoughts swung back to Kravel and Gurding.

  Were they after him? There was no doubt in his mind. They’d always be after him, searching, trying any way to capture him and bring him back to the dungeons of Thorgorim. Iliandor’s indestructible metal was too precious. They’d never give up, not while the Undead King was still alive.

  He’s the source of the problem—at least, the source of the goblin problem.

  Then there’s the Edith problem …

  And her ‘friends’ …

  And the witch hunters …

  Feeling drained, Edmund wandered the tree-lined streets at the bottom of the ravine. Golden lanterns with bright yellow light swayed in the branches above him. Passersby bid him hello, but he ignored them.

  What am I going to do?

  He tried to enjoy the warm spring breeze with its scents of river and forest, yet it brought him little joy.

  An elderly couple strolled by, hand in liver-spotted hand, talking merrily to one another.

  Lucky bastards … Why can’t that be me?

  You’ll die alone. Soon Pond will be dead, too. And poor Fatty …

  He was supposed to find Fatty in the stables, but Edmund decided the errand could wait.

  The elderly man wrapped his arm around the elderly woman’s waist and squeezed her closer. She beamed up at him. They kissed.

  What would he do if he knew he was putting her in mortal danger?

  He wouldn’t let her be in mortal danger. He’d do something. He would stop the danger before it got to her.

  The elderly couple disappeared into a laughing crowd of people.

  Edmund discovered he stood on an outcropping of flat stone overlooking the whirling river eddies ten feet below. He leaned over the rope railing.

  I wish I could just fall in and be swept away.

  There are massive falls a couple miles from the city that would kill you.

  Either way, it’d certainly be a quick route of escape.

  Then escape. Find a better place to hide. Go out into the uncharted lands. Find an uninhabited island. Just get out of here!

  How can I escape when Edith always knows where I am?