Betrayal In The Highlands (Book 2)

by Robert Evert

  Many in the group nodded as they regarded the town’s gates.

  You have to do something or they’ll all flee into the woods. Kravel will butcher them one by one …

  “Gentlemen!” Edmund shouted over the crowd of arguing men. “Listen! Listen to me. Gentlemen!”

  Thirty townsfolk stared at him.

  “If you all go running into the countryside, the magic users will kill you one by one. It’s best to stay together. There’s safety in numbers!”

  “He’s right!” somebody hollered. “I ain’t going out there in the middle of the night!”

  “So what are we going to do? We can’t just sit here and wait for them to attack us again!”

  “Gentlemen!” Edmund shouted again.

  He waved his arms above his head.

  They quieted down somewhat.

  “This is what I want you to do.” He pointed to a couple of startled men who seemed relatively sober. “You two, go muster everybody you can, anybody who can swing a weapon or shoot a bow. Bring them to the tavern. Tell them we are under attack.”

  There was some grumbling. One person asked who Edmund thought he was, but Hendrick told him to do what he was told or he’d not live to see the morning. Unnerved, the two men ran off toward the clusters of tents on the other side of town.

  “You!” Edmund yelled to a boy about Toby’s age. “Take five others and go man the east gate. Make sure it’s closed. And don’t leave it unguarded for any reason! Do you understand?” He jabbed a finger at someone else. “You do the same with the west gate.”

  Groups of men dashed off in different directions.

  “You, you, and you. Gather men and build small campfires around the village, about three hundred feet apart. If any goblins climb over the walls, I want us to see them.”

  “Goblins?” several people cried.

  Focus! Don’t blow this.

  Edmund shook his head. “I mean those damned magic users! It’s going to be a long night. We’re going to need coffee and lots of it. Nobody’s sleeping until dawn!”

  “I’ll brew some pots!” said an older man with one arm.

  “Good. Now the rest of you, form bands of five or six. Make sure you have weapons and that at least one person in each group can shoot a bow. Spread out along the perimeter. Stay within sight of the groups to your left and to your right. Shout or blow a horn only if you are under attack or if you see something climbing over the walls. Do you all understand?”

  Shouts of “Yes!” rose up as everyone sped this way and that.

  Edmund turned to Toby. “Do you know how to smith weapons?”

  “Yeah. Well, that is, I’m not a weaponsmith by training. But I—”

  “You can heat up metal, make it malleable, right?”

  “Of course. Like I said, I was my uncle’s apprentice for seven years. Why?”

  A huge man in a long, flowing cape shoved through the townsfolk who were rushing buckets of water to the stable. On his breastplate was a gold tower surrounded by red rays of the setting sun—the symbol of Eryn Mas. Two older boys, presumably squires, followed close behind.

  “What’s all this?” the knight bellowed at Edmund. “Who the hell are you, giving orders?”

  “The town is under attack,” Edmund replied.

  “By who?”

  “By magic users,” several people shouted together.

  “Bullocks!” the knight said. “Put this blasted fire out before it spreads to the tavern and stop talking rubbish! Where’s Lord Norbert?”

  “He’s drunk,” Edmund said. “I’m taking over.”

  “The hell you are.” The knight laid a hand on his sword hilt.

  Pond, Abby, and Becky appeared at the edge of the swelling mob and wove their way toward Edmund.

  “Pond!” Edmund shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear him. “Go into the tavern. People will be gathering there. Tell them about the magic users! About what you saw with Horic! Get them organized and in groups of five or six. Try to get an archer in each group.”

  “No, you won’t!” the knight said. “Stop right this second!”

  “We’re not leaving?” Abby asked Edmund over the commotion.

  “No, not now. There’s safety in numbers.”

  “Okay. So what do you want me to do? I’m not being left out.”

  “I’ll need you to gather weapons; run around to all the tents and buildings and grab any knife, ax, bow—anything you can find. Bring them to the tavern, understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Becky, go with Abby. If anybody touches her, rip their throats out.”

  Becky barked.

  Abby protested. “I don’t need to be protected.”

  “That’s it!” shouted the knight. He drew his sword. The two squires followed suit. “You’re under arrest!”

  Behind them, swords rang as they were jerked from their scabbards.

  “Take a step toward him and you’ll die,” Pond said, rapier in hand.

  Bain, Hendrick, and a handful of other men stood with him, weapons drawn.

  “I’m a knight!” he roared. “I’m a royal emissary of the king!”

  Hendrick pressed his sword tip to one squire’s chest and nodded over to Edmund. “He knows what he’s doing; he saw what happened. Now help us or get out of our way!”

  “But the king—”

  “To hell with the king!” somebody shouted.

  The crowd cheered.

  “That’s … that’s … that’s treason!” the knight sputtered.

  “No, it’s not,” Edmund said. “Not here, at any rate. Tell your asinine king that the Highlands are no longer a part of his kingdom.”

  The veins in the knight’s temple bulged. “Treason! I’ll have you hang for that! I’ll have you all hang!”

  More people drew their weapons and surrounded the knight and his squires.

  “Either help us or get out of the town,” Edmund told the knight. “The choice is yours.”

  The two glowered at one other. Around them stood forty men, swords in hand.

  Great sheets of hissing flames leapt into the smoky air behind the tavern. People darted this way and that, shouting.

  “Saladin,” the knight said over his shoulder, “saddle our horses. Biden, gather our equipment.” He sheathed his sword and added to Edmund, “This isn’t over.”

  “You and King Lionel know where to find me,” Edmund replied.

  Bristling, the knight turned and pushed through the crowd, which closed ranks around Edmund.

  “What now?” Hendrick asked.

  “Do what I told you,” Edmund said. “Mobilize the town. Make sure there are experienced fighters in each group, and make sure nothing climbs over those walls in the darkness.”

  “So you think the magic users will come back then?” Bain asked.

  Or the goblins …

  “Yes. Yes, they’ll be back. Sooner, rather than later. Go on. Get as many men organized as possible. Secure the perimeter of the town, especially where they can climb trees over the walls.”

  “All right!” Hendrick shouted. “You heard what he said! Get into groups of five or six. And man those walls! Watch the trees!”

  The crowd dispersed, leaving Pond, Abby, Becky, and Toby standing with Edmund.

  “Did you mean what you said?” Pond asked him. “About Rood not being in Lionel’s kingdom anymore?”

  “No. I just want them to send reinforcements. We need a garrison of knights here, not just one. Otherwise Rood will never be safe.”

  Toby appeared worried. “They’re going to hang you when they come back.”

  Edmund rubbed his throbbing arm. “Believe me, that’s the least of my problems.”

  The townsfolk jeered as the knight and his squires galloped out the east gate.

  “Pond,” Edmund said, weary. “Go address the men gathering in the tavern. Abby, get as many weapons as you can find and bring them to Pond. Everybody needs to be armed but don’t mention the goblins in the woods
. They won’t believe you.”

  “Goblins?” Toby said, startled.

  “Becky, protect Abby.”

  Becky barked again.

  “Toby, you’re with me. I’ll explain everything I can.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “So how many of them were there?” Toby asked excitedly as he followed Edmund through the ruins of Rood.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “Twenty or thirty, I think. No more than that, hopefully.”

  “Thirty goblins? Will they attack the town?”

  “Probably.” Edmund stopped at what used to be Borst the Blacksmith’s shop. Only part of one stone wall still stood, but under a pile of burnt boards and debris, the forge appeared to be intact.

  “And you aren’t really Lord of the Highlands?”

  “No. I’m sorry for lying to you, Toby. I shouldn’t have. But I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He started clearing burnt timbers from the forge. “Can you make a sword?”

  “Anybody can make a sword. It takes a weaponsmith to make one well. I know the basics, but the closest I’ve come to making anything like that is a few ax heads and plow blades.” Toby watched Edmund struggle to lift a board. “Do you need help?”

  “No,” Edmund grunted, throwing off a scorched beam.

  “Why do you want a sword? What’s wrong with what you have? Doesn’t look like you could swing a sword with that arm of yours anyway. Not to mention you’re dead on your feet. Do you want to lie down?”

  Edmund glanced around the village. Small red fires were springing up around its perimeter and the town was abuzz with activity, but nobody was close enough to overhear them.

  “Look, Toby …”

  The more you tell him, the greater danger he’ll be in.

  Edmund rethought what he wanted to say.

  I have to do something. It’s our only hope.

  Get three horses and ride out of here!

  No more running! It’s time to fight.

  “Toby, I need you to make me a sword. A special sword.”

  Puzzled, Toby opened his mouth.

  “Don’t ask me why,” Edmund interrupted. “I can’t explain. I will later. But not now.”

  He threw off the last of the debris covering the forge.

  “This is what I need you to do.” With his left hand, he drew forth his short sword. “I need you to remake this. Get it to a semi-molten state and then cool it again.”

  Toby stared at the sword’s finely wrought blade. “Wh—?” he began then shook his head. “No, I, I can’t. I mean, I could. But …” He motioned to the cracked and blackened hearth. “Not with this! I need tools! I need a hot fire—a very hot fire.”

  Edmund kicked over several charred boards and stones and picked up a dirt-covered hammer and a pair of tongs. He held them out to Toby. Toby didn’t take them.

  “It takes months to make a sword,” he said. “Months! And that’s with a working forge! I doubt if these bellows would even work.”

  “Look—” Frantic intensity crept into Edmund’s weary voice. “If I can make you a hot enough fire, could you heat this sword to the point where the metal will become malleable?”

  Toby surveyed the wreckage around him and shrugged. “If I had a hot enough fire, sure. But it would take time. And why? If I heat it, you’ll probably lose these etchings. And the edge won’t be as true. You’re better off—”

  “How long?”

  “I-I don’t know. Depends on what you want me to do to the blade. I can’t make a short sword into a two-handed broadsword or anything like that. It doesn’t work that way. I’d need extra material, iron, and—”

  “No, you don’t understand; I don’t need you to do anything like that. I just need you to heat the sword then quench the molten steel in some oil. You don’t need to alter the blade in any way.”

  “Just temper and quench it?”

  “Yes. Exactly. How long would that take?”

  Still bewildered, Toby shook his head and shrugged again. “An hour? Two? But again, I’d need a very hot fire, and this forge—”

  Edmund thrust his short sword into Toby’s hands. “Start gathering those bits of coal over there and pile them into the forge.”

  “But Mister Edmund,” Toby protested. “Building a hot enough fire takes more than just a couple armfuls of coal!”

  “Toby, I’m going to tell you a secret. I’m going to show you something very important, okay?”

  “All right.”

  “You have to promise me you won’t get upset or nervous. All right? And you can’t tell anybody what I’m about to show you, understand? I’m trusting you with my life and the lives of my friends. I need you. W-without your help, we’re all going to die.”

  “Since you put it that way, sure. Whatever you need, Mister Edmund. But I don’t think you understand how hot the—”

  “Just watch. And don’t be afraid, okay? I promise you nothing bad is going to happen. Remember, we’re friends and will be for a long time. Nothing has changed.”

  “What’s this all about? What do you mean?”

  Edmund studied Toby’s expression then held out a lump of coal in his dirty hand.

  “Forstørre nå!”

  The lump doubled in size.

  Toby blinked, shook his head, and pointed at the black mass in Edmund’s hands.

  “Forstørre nå!”

  The lump again doubled in size.

  Edmund threw the human-head-sized lump of coal into the forge and, gaze still fixed upon the now speechless Toby, touched it.

  “Fyre av nå!”

  With a tremendous whoosh, the coal burst into blue flames. A blast of dry heat gusted around them, knocking a cloud of dust and ash from the hearth.

  “You’re a … a magic user!”

  “Don’t be afraid,” Edmund whispered. “Everything’s fine. I’m still your friend, and I won’t do anything to hurt you. Not all magic users are evil. Do you understand? We just want to be left alone.”

  Toby blinked several times. “I’m not afraid. I’m just … it’s just that …”

  “Not all magic users are bad people bent on taking over the world. We’re just like you are.”

  Toby swallowed nervously. “If people find out, they’ll burn you at the stake! They’re going to kill you. You’ve gotta get away from here!”

  “That’s why I need you to keep my secret. If you don’t, they will kill me. I’m putting my life in your hands. Can I trust you?”

  Staring at the bright blue flames dancing over the coal in the forge, Toby nodded, mouth hanging open.

  “I’m sorry, but we can’t talk about this now, Toby. I wish we could, but we can’t. I’ll answer all of your questions later; I p-promise on my parents’ graves. Right now, I need you to help me make a very special sword.”

  “I’ll do anything you want, Mister Edmund. Just tell me what to do.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Edmund limped through the smoky darkness. He was looking for Pond, and several people had told him Pond was patrolling Rood’s perimeter, trying to keep everybody’s morale high.

  That was a good idea, Edmund thought. The men of Rood weren’t fighters but opportunists brought north with hopes of making quick fortunes or acquiring free land far from oppressive nobility. Some were desperate and had nowhere else to go; a few might even have been escaped criminals. Regardless of why they’d come, most of them would flee at the soonest possible chance. Running through the countryside in small groups like spooked deer, they would be hunted and slaughtered by the goblins. Keeping everybody together, fighting in a coherent, unified force was the only way they’d all survive.

  Up ahead a campfire burned.

  As per Edmund’s instructions, scores of them had been lit and manned just inside the walls. If a goblin or magic user were to climb over, somebody would see them. At least, that was the plan.

  Studying the stars that peeked through the smoke, Edmund guessed dawn was an hour off, maybe two.
/>   Two hours … I wonder if I can make it that long.

  And then what? What happens at dawn? Everybody is going to leave and be butchered tomorrow night. Or the night after that. The goblins won’t let anybody reach the southern lands.

  We’ve got to keep everybody here.

  Then you have to give them some reason to stay.

  He approached a small, cheery blaze snapping and popping in the darkness. Around it, four men lay sleeping on the ground.

  Edmund was half tempted to let them be; the men were probably as exhausted as he was and even more frightened. But Edmund knew the goblins would be coming and when they did, everybody had to be ready.

  “Wake up,” he said. “Sorry to do this, but you can sleep when the sun rises. Get up or we’ll be—”

  Blood was pooling around the campfire. One of the men had a black-shafted arrow sticking out of his chest. Two others had their throats slit to the bone. A fourth had his head caved in.

  My God!

  This means the goblins are over the wall. They’re inside the village! Damn it.

  He shot a glance back toward the center of town and then along the walls. Campfires still burned, but the buildings clustered around The Buxom Barmaid were dark and silent.

  Everybody’s standing guard, spread out in small groups …

  I should have gathered everybody together in one place and made a defense at the town square. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

  Edmund’s left hand tightened around the hilt of his reforged short sword. Its blade was now black, much darker than the smoky color of his father’s sword, but he hoped it would cut through the goblins’ armor just as easily.

  Where would Kravel go? If he’s inside the walls, where would he be right now? Think!

  He’d be looking for you. Him, Gurding, and probably a few others with nets and ropes. They’d want to keep their numbers small so they wouldn’t be spotted.

  Anxiety tightening his stomach, Edmund scanned the darkness. Four or five hundred feet to his left and right, small fires burned brightly. But nothing around them moved. All was quiet.

  They’re probably dead as well.

  Alone in the night, Edmund wished Pond and Becky were with him but then immediately regretted his selfishness. He was the one Kravel wanted. He was the one putting everybody else in danger.