Betrayal In The Highlands (Book 2)

by Robert Evert

  “Let me ask you something,” Abby said as they jogged through the woods outside of Rood’s walls. Many of the larger trees had been felled, leaving ugly stumps and deep gashes in the ground where they had been dragged off. Several times they had almost tripped over them as they ran through the smoky night.

  “What is it?” Edmund replied. “We have to get back to Pond and Fatty.”

  “If she asked you, would you go back to her?”

  “Back to who?”

  “Back to Molly.”

  Stride slowing, Edmund glared at Abby, tormented by the improbability of her question and the pain it produced. Then he remembered how she’d held him as he cried and how they’d come within inches of kissing in the darkness behind Molly’s house. For a second, he felt torn between two worlds: one tied to a simpler but unrewarding past; the other sailing off somewhere into the unnerving mists of a perilous future. Was his destiny with Abby? He didn’t know, but part of him wanted to find out.

  Standing so close to her, Edmund noticed Abby’s right eye had a tiny green fleck near its pupil. Why that made him want to smile, he hadn’t a clue. It was all so ridiculous. She was beautiful, and young, and from wealthy family; he was middle-aged and stuttered. And then there was the danger forever hunting him. There was no reason he should even hope to end up with Abby. Yet his pain lightened whenever she was near. His spine straightened, as if part of the burden he’d been carrying for so long had just slipped from his shoulders. He wanted to kiss her, but the timing didn’t seem right. In fact, as they’d run from Rood, Abby seemed to grow increasingly annoyed by something. She had barely spoken a word to him since they’d climbed over the wall. But now …

  “Answer the question,” she demanded.

  “Look, Abby …”

  More weight seemed to slip from his shoulders. He stepped toward her, trying to take Abby’s hand in his. But she pulled away and folded her arms across her chest, dark brown eyes narrowing.

  Not that expression again. She was just starting to like—

  Behind him, there was a peculiar whirling sound, like something flying through the air. Abby opened her mouth to scream.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Something slapped across Edmund’s legs as he turned. He looked down to see a bola winging around his knees, quickly binding them together. A shriek erupted from Abby, piercing the calm night. Edmund’s immobilized legs buckled in mid-turn, and he began to fall as another bola whirled in from the darkness to his left. Its thick leather strap struck him across the chest; its two iron balls spun around him like circling sharks.

  Stocky figures with long muscular arms surged through the shadows, coming from all directions.

  Abby dropped her dagger, hands clapping to her mouth as she screamed again.

  Legs bound and upper arms fixed firmly against his body, Edmund thudded to the ground, the side of his head bouncing off last autumn’s leaves. Then an all-too-familiar voice drifted from the dark woods.

  “Nice throw, Mr. Gurding, I must say.” Kravel strolled out from behind a thornberry bush. “Nice throw indeed.”

  Edmund shouted up to Abby, “Run! Run, Abby! Run, now!”

  Hands still pressed to her mouth, Abby blinked down at him, terror in her eyes. She staggered back a pace and turned to flee when three goblins leapt out from behind trees and converged upon her. One threw a net. The other two tackled her, driving her face-first into an exposed tree root. Blood spurted from her nostrils.

  Kravel sauntered toward Edmund, scimitar propped on one shoulder. “Don’t harm the girl.”

  “Not yet, at any rate,” Gurding added next to him.

  Struggling against the bola’s strap, Edmund extended one arm as far as it could go and, straining to reach, grasped the smooth steel of Abby’s dagger lying in the leaves. He dragged the weapon to him and frantically began to saw at the leather lashing his arms against his body.

  “Well, well,” Kravel said, looming over Edmund. “I told you he’d come back, Mr. Gurding. We just had to be patient.”

  “Predictable.” Gurding shook his helmeted head. He hoisted a spear as Edmund continued to slice at his bindings. “You’d think he’d learn.”

  “Now, now, Mr. Gurding. Let’s be pleasant.” Kravel poked Edmund in the ribs with the point of his sword. “Please desist, if you’d be so kind, Master Filth. All is lost, as I am sure you’ll soon agree. Drop the dagger.”

  Edmund snapped through a leather strap.

  “You won’t kill me, Kravel,” he said, throwing the bola from his chest, arms now unhindered.

  “True,” Kravel replied thoughtfully.

  He kicked Edmund in the face.

  Edmund’s head snapped back, mouth and nose awash in blood.

  “Ed!” Abby sobbed as goblins bound her with coarse ropes.

  “But, as you can imagine”—Kravel caressed the edge of his scimitar—“there are so many things that we can do to you. Would you like us cut out your other eye? Or worse? Now I suggest you just relax and enjoy the pleasure of our company as we return you home.”

  Edmund spit blood. His arms were free and he had Abby’s dagger, but he was still prone on the ground, knees bound together while seven goblins pointed their weapons at him.

  “Let the girl go.” He wiped blood from his nose; it smeared across his left cheek in a bright red arc. “I’ll come with you.”

  Kravel and Gurding considered Abby, hands now secured behind her back, a thick rope tied around her neck like a leash. A goblin guard pressed his sword edge to her throat as she gasped for breath. Abby closed her eyes and attempted to swallow, blood dripping from her face.

  “Very pretty,” Kravel said, nodding his approval. “I think His Majesty will enjoy her as well. Maybe even more than he did Molly, if such a thing is possible.”

  Bastards!

  You can’t let this happen. Not again!

  “She is pretty,” Gurding agreed. “But she’s a bit young, isn’t she? What could she possibly see in him?”

  “Who knows, Mr. Gurding? Perhaps Master Filth here has recently acquired a substantial sum of money.”

  Edmund’s teeth gnashed.

  “Let her go!”

  He considered throwing the dagger at Kravel. After all, the grinning goblin was only a few feet away. But Edmund was on the ground and couldn’t put his weight behind the throw. Further, even if he was lucky enough to kill Kravel, it wouldn’t improve his situation; he’d be weaponless and at Gurding’s mercy.

  “No …” Kravel studied the crying Abby. “No, I’m afraid not. You’ll both come with us, I think. You obviously fancy her, and having her with us will make you think twice about using any of your magical abilities, whatever they may be. Plus, she appears pleasant to have around, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Gurding?”

  Abby started to shout for help, but a goblin shoved a soiled rag into her mouth.

  “I’m just glad she’s thin,” Gurding replied. “Do you remember carrying that other one all the way back home? Miserable ordeal. My arms ache just thinking about it.”

  Do something!

  What?

  “Yes, she does cut a more slender figure, no doubt.” Kravel wiggled his fingers at Abby while Abby’s muffled wails echoed through the empty woods. “We’ll have one of the lads carry her and little Molly, rank having its privileges and all that.”

  An idea appeared to occur to Gurding. “Hey! Who do you would think would win in the Games—this one or the one with the big breasts?”

  “Fighting against each other?” Kravel pondered the possibility. “Oh, that would be splendid, wouldn’t it? It’s certainly something to consider mentioning.”

  We have to get out of here …

  You can’t fight them all. And they’ll kill Abby even if you could run away.

  Gurding studied Abby lying face down, hands tied behind her back, three goblins standing guard over her. One had his boot planted on the side of her face, pushing it into the blood-covered leaves.

 
“This one is leaner. But the other likes to kick and scratch.”

  “Yes, indeed. Not to mention bite,” Kravel said. “Why, I wonder who Master Filth would bet on. How about it, Filth? Who would win in a fight to the death? Your new love or the old one?”

  Kravel and Gurding grinned at Edmund as he tried to saw through the leather straps binding his legs. Kravel’s boot cracked Edmund’s head back again, sending an explosion of blood and spit into the air.

  “Drop the dagger, Filth. I’d hate to ask you a third time. All is lost. You and your attractive young friend here will be coming with us.”

  His remaining eye tearing up, Edmund’s vision went in and out of focus. If it swelled shut, he’d be done for.

  “Come, come.” Kravel reached for the dagger. “Give me the weapon and let us move this merry reunion along, shall we? It will be just like old times.”

  As he lay trying to clear his mind from the last blow, Edmund felt the ground shudder. At first he thought it was the rumble of some distant thunder, but the clouds visible through gaps in the leafy canopy were thin wisps, glowing white as they slipped past the nearly full moon. Then he believed it was his imagination, or perhaps he was descending into unconsciousness.

  “What’s that?” Gurding asked.

  Kravel’s hunched shoulders straightened, scimitar at the ready.

  As his captors scanned the surrounding darkness for the cause of the quake, Edmund sliced through the binding around his knees. Upon hearing the leather snap, Kravel turned back to Edmund, noticed what he’d done, and drew his boot back for another kick.

  In that instant, a clump of bushes behind Abby split apart, and the colossal figure of Fatty Moron crashed through them, roaring like a rampaging ogre, enormous arms upraised.

  With one massive hand, he grabbed the startled goblin pinning Abby to the ground and tossed him into a nearby tree trunk. Then his mace swung down onto the goblin holding the rope around her neck. There was a crunching sound, like rock cracking, as the goblin’s head caved in. He tumbled onto Abby, gore oozing from under his dented helm and into Abby’s eyes, the gag foiling her horrified screams.

  The goblins surrounding Edmund spun to face the shrieking mountain. Several left Edmund’s side and charged at Fatty, swords raised. Seeing their distraction, Edmund slammed his dagger into Kravel’s thigh.

  Kravel’s cries were joined by snarling as Becky launched herself at Gurding. Gurding stumbled, the full force of Becky’s assault colliding into his upraised shield. Near Abby, another goblin fell gurgling to the ground, the tip of Pond’s rapier piercing his neck. Goblins shouted and turned in circles, trying to defend themselves against whatever else might storm out of the dark woods.

  In the middle of it all, Edmund sprang to his feet, the cords of the bola falling from him like beggar’s rags. He laughed, kicking away Kravel’s scimitar as the goblin writhed.

  “You bastard!” He raised the dagger for another blow. “This is for my eye!”

  Kravel’s boot shot up, connecting with Edmund’s knee. It twisted as Edmund collapsed next to the bleeding goblin.

  Kravel lunged on top of Edmund, seized his throat in one hand, and grappled for the dagger with the other. He threw himself forward and smashed his forehead into Edmund’s already bloody face.

  Edmund’s nose broke, blood spurting out of both nostrils. With a strangled cry, he dropped the dagger. Kravel slammed his elbow into Edmund’s eye and dove to snatch it.

  Clawing blindly at Kravel’s cloak, Edmund scrambled onto the goblin’s back and wrapped his arm around his foe’s neck. He yanked, choking Kravel with his forearm.

  Ignoring the goblin’s horrible stench, Edmund whispered into his ear, “How does it feel to be killed by a fat, stuttering librarian?”

  Kravel flailed and tried to throw Edmund off him, but Edmund jerked his forearm back even harder. Kravel gasped and coughed.

  Around them, battle thundered.

  Through the haze of his swelling eye, Edmund saw Becky lunging at Gurding, the goblin’s spear snapping in her powerful jaws. Further away, Pond fought two goblins, his gem-encrusted rapier slashing with reckless abandon. At the edge of the clearing, Fatty Moron had Abby tucked in the crook of his arm, lifting her from the ground as he pounded a goblin with his mace. Three goblins already lay dead at his feet, but Fatty had paid a steep price. His shirt had been sliced open in a dozen different places; his ample chest and stomach glistened with blood.

  “Fatty!” Edmund shouted above the clamor. “Get Abby out of here! Go! Run! Run to—”

  Searing pain shot up the arm wrapped around Kravel’s neck. Edmund screamed. Kravel had plunged the dagger into his forearm.

  Intertwined in their own battle, Gurding and Becky toppled over Edmund’s head and shoulders, their combined weight shoving him further down onto the blade slicing completely through his arm.

  Edmund and Kravel both shrieked.

  Within seconds, Gurding and Becky were rolling in the leaves beside them. Becky latched on to Gurding’s shoulder, his blood dripping from her mouth. She clawed at the goblin’s face, ripping into his cheek as Gurding thrashed and cursed.

  Kravel spun, elbow cracking into Edmund’s jaw and knocking him off balance. He scrambled up, hands pressed to the side of his throat. Rivers of blood gushed from between his fingers with each of the goblin’s heaving breaths.

  Edmund staggered to his feet, clutching his wounded arm in startled realization. Not only had the dagger sliced completely through his flesh, but it had also stabbed upward into Kravel’s neck. Crying out, he wrenched the dagger free.

  For a moment Kravel and Edmund stared at one other, both breathing hard, blood flowing from their wounds. With darting eyes, Kravel surveyed the raging battle and then examined the thick blood coursing between his fingers. He glared at Edmund, gave a hoarse snarl, and fled, hobbling into the dark woods.

  On the ground, the now-weaponless Gurding struggled to fend Becky off. Edmund pulled Becky to one side so he could finish Gurding without stabbing her in the process, but as he brought his dagger back, Gurding’s fist connected with Edmund’s groin.

  Edmund grabbed himself and crumpled.

  Gurding, blood cascading down his ravaged cheek and arm, bashed Becky’s head with his shield then scrambled to his feet and fled deeper into the woods after the limping Kravel. With a possessed glint in her grey eyes and muzzle stained crimson, Becky began to give chase but stopped, unwilling to leave Edmund as he rocked back and forth on the ground, holding his groin, blood pouring from his arm, nose, and mouth. The remaining goblins scattered like leaves in a gale.

  Doubled over, Edmund pressed his palm against one of the gaping holes in his forearm and cast his healing spell.

  “Smerte av reise.”

  The blood pouring out of his arm slowed.

  He pushed his palm against the opposite side.

  “Smerte av reise.”

  The wound closed, but he knew a bone in his forearm was broken.

  “You okay?” Pond’s panting voice asked.

  Edmund cocked his head, trying to see Pond through the watery fog of his swollen eye.

  Pond had a cut across his right shoulder but seemed otherwise unhurt.

  “I’m fine,” Edmund managed to say, cradling his broken arm. “Where’s … where’s Abby?”

  Turning with great effort, Edmund found Abby staring up at Fatty. The giant was covered in blood. Four goblins lay beaten to death at his feet, skulls crushed to an unrecognizable pulp. He smiled and patted her head as if his hand was nearly too heavy to lift.

  “Fatty,” Abby sobbed. “No. No!”

  His smile broadened. He patted her head again and fell over.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Fatty!” Edmund hobbled across the battlefield.

  Abby, crying, shook the big man as he lay across two dead goblins—but he just jiggled.

  Edmund put his shoulder against Fatty’s side and tried to turn him over. Pain erupted though his broken
arm. He gasped.

  “Help me,” Edmund said to Pond, grimacing. “Help me turn him over. Hurry!”

  Seizing Fatty’s cloak, Pond pulled.

  Fatty rolled onto his back with a lifeless thud.

  Blood was everywhere.

  They all stared at him, his unblinking eyes half open, a triumphant grin upon his pale blue lips.

  “No!” Abby wailed, the goblin’s rope still dangling from her neck.

  Hurry!

  Edmund pressed his palm to one of Fatty’s chest wounds, sticky blood pooling between the rolls of fat.

  “Smerte av reise.”

  The wound began to close.

  He pressed another deep gash.

  “Smerte av reise.”

  It started to close.

  He pressed another.

  “Smerte av reise.”

  Succumbing to the effects of casting too many spells without rest, Edmund’s mind went grey, black spots floated through his already limited vision. Close to fainting, he located another slash across Fatty’s midsection.

  “Smerte av reise.”

  Fatty gurgled. His eyes rotated vaguely in Edmund’s direction then floated up to Abby weeping above him. Of the four of them, she alone seemed unharmed, thanks to Fatty’s valiance.

  “Hold on,” Edmund told him, pressing his palm against a stab wound to the stomach. “Hold on, Big Guy. Smerte av—”

  But the gurgling stopped and Fatty’s childlike face relaxed, eyes no longer focused upon Abby.

  “No!” Abby fell into Pond’s arms, bawling, her sobs muffled by Pond’s blood-speckled shoulder.

  Edmund shook Fatty’s body. “Fatty! Fatty!”

  But he was gone.

  In the moonlight, Fatty seemed illuminated like an angel, his hands and torso shimmering red.

  “Another death because of me,” Edmund said.

  This isn’t your fault.

  Isn’t it? If he weren’t with me, Kravel and his hunters wouldn’t have killed him.

  You tried to help him. You were probably the only person who showed him any kindness.

  And look how that turned out.