Riddle in Stone (The Riddle in Stone Series - Book One) (26 page)

Edmund and Pond sprinted through the abandoned subterranean town square, toward the dazzling sunlight.

Reaching the tunnel’s entrance, they found it blocked by three towering portcullises each lined with long, barbed spikes. Through the portcullises’ bars, they could see the outside. Green branches of spruce trees swayed as sheets of ice slipped from their bent boughs, splattering on the rocks below. Streams of melting snow trickled along an overgrown road leading away from the gate. The road plunged into a deep valley filled with evergreens. Far off to the horizon, white hills receded. As they rolled further west, they turned greener in anticipation of the approaching spring.

They sucked in the scent of damp pine needles.

“Well,” Pond said, gazing up at the first portcullis, “this is just a challenge to be overcome.”

We’
re so close! I can practically touch those trees . . .

“Maybe we can use that spell of yours,” Pond went on. “You know, the one that makes things bigger? Maybe we could find a boulder or something and put it between these bars. You can enlarge it, bending the bars wide enough for us to crawl through.”

That’s a good idea.

No it’s not. Look at this . . .

Edmund grabbed the bars of the portcullis.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” he said to himself as he examined the smoke-colored steel.

“What doesn’t? That they have three of these gates when one would have done just as nicely?”

“No,” Edmund replied, pulling on the bars. They didn’t even rattle. “Your people are travelers, let me ask you, have you ever seen or heard of anything like this? This metal?”

Frowning, Pond examined the portcullis. “No. Well, I mean, we are sea-faring people. We specialize in wood. It isn’t like you can build boats out of metal. Ask me about different varieties of wood or carving or boats, and I can tell you something. This is pretty, but I don’t know a thing about it. What does it mean?”

“It means that we won’t be able to bend them, with or without my spell,” Edmund said, pulling on the bars again. “And that Iliandor didn’t invent his secret alloy.”

“Secret alloy?”

Edmund let go of the bars. “The Undead King, this, this . . . Kar-Nazar I told you about, believes Iliandor created a kind of magic metal that can’t be broken. Warriors armed with it are almost like gods, unable to be killed by blade or arrow. Weapons made by the stuff slice through ordinary steel like wire through cheese.”

“Incredible! I’m surprised I’ve never heard of it.”

“If you had, it wouldn’t be a ‘secret’ alloy.”

“Good point.”

Stepping back, Edmund scanned the upper interior walls of the tunnel leading outside.

“Is that what the riddle was about?” Pond asked. “This magical metal?”

“I don’t know.”

And I don’t care. If I can just figure out how to open these gates, I won’t need to ever think about that damn riddle again.

Pond followed his gaze. “What are you looking for?”

“In every b-b-book . . . in every book that I have ever read, and in every layout of every fortress I’ve seen,” he said, peering up to the ceiling of the tunnel, “there was always a guardroom that controlled gates like these. And there are always windows through which the guards can look down to see when to open and close the gates. Some have holes through which guards can shoot arrows or pour boiling oil down upon any invaders.” He pointed. “Like that!”

At the top of the arching tunnel, three narrow slits could be seen, one by each portcullis.

“So, all we have to do is get to that guardroom and raise the gates, right?”

“Right!” Edmund jogged to the city square.

Pond scrambled after him. “So, how do we find the guardroom? How do we get there?”

“The, the, the first rule of defense is to place all of your critical areas as far from the enemy as possible.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“It’s simple. If you were defending this city or whatever it is, and invaders snuck in, you, you wouldn’t want them to gain control of the guardroom controlling the gate. Otherwise, they could let their friends in.”

“Makes sense.”

“The guardroom has to be above the gate. That’s a given. They have to be able to look down and see the situation, whether friends or foes are approaching, and so forth.” Standing in the center of the town square, Edmund turned in a slow circle, scanning the upper ridges of the cavern. “But the access to the guardroom has to be difficult to get to. It has to be defensible so that a small group of guards can hold it against a superior force.”

Pond shook his head, amazed. “How do you know all of this?”

“I read. Though, apparently, you can’t always trust what books say.” Edmund peered at the far reaches of the cavern. “What does that look like to you? Up there.” He pointed high above the town, to the southern edge of the colossal cavern.

Squinting, Pond stared up at the top of the cavern, toward where Edmund was pointing.

“It looks like a kind of bridge or ledge and an opening. I don’t know, maybe a . . . Where’re you going?”

Edmund was running to a nearby stairway. “We have to find our way up there.”

“But why are we going this way? Shouldn’t we head toward the ledge or whatever it is?”

Edmund bounded up the stairs, taking two with each stride.

“No. Look how well planned this place is,” he said, gesturing to the empty buildings around them. “It’s like a labyrinth. See how the structures rise in tiers along the rim of this cavern, each level winding back and forth? Somebody planned every square inch of this place. They w-w . . . wanted, they wanted beauty and security. And my gut is telling me that the way to get over there is to first look over here. Grab anything that you find that can burn. We’re going to need light.”

“Don’t look down,” Edmund said as he inched across a long stone bridge no more than a foot and a half wide. “We’re almost there.”

He glanced back.

Pond was on his stomach, his eyes shut, his arms wrapped tightly around the walkway. “Are you sure this is the right way?”

“No,” Edmund replied. “But it seems logical. It’s heading to where the guard chamber should be and it’s defensible. Imagine one person with a spear defending this bridge. He could hold off an entire army, pushing them off one by one to their death.”

“Did you have to say that last part?”

Edmund laughed, a sense of joy and anticipation he hadn’t felt since entering the tower of Tol Helen welling up inside of him. “You could’ve stayed behind on the ledge, you know.”

“And do what? I want to be an adventurer too, thank you very much!”

Edmund laughed again.

“Do you really think we’re on the right track?” Pond asked, sliding himself along the bridge, eyes still shut.

“If we aren’t, I’m . . . I’m jumping. I mean it! I can’t take being within sight of the outside but not being able to get out. I’m tired of running and hiding. I want a bed . . . I want real food . . . I want to go—”

There it is!

Pond opened an eye. “What’s wrong?”

Edmund stood on a platform looking inside a doorway. Dusty bones and ancient armor littered the landing at his feet.

“This is it,” Edmund said to himself. Then he added louder, “It’s the guardroom. We’re going to get out of here!”

Getting to his knees, Pond crawled faster. He found Edmund in a long rectangular room inspecting three levers each the size of a tall man. Mammoth chains as thick as tree trunks rose from gigantic gears and disappeared into shafts in the ceiling.

Edmund smiled at Pond. “We’re getting out of here!”

He pulled the closest lever. It moved, but nothing happened.

Edmund stared through narrow slits in the wall. Far below, the gates were still closed. He inspected the gears and chains. He pushed the lever in the other direction. Still nothing happened.

What the—? What’s wrong? They should be moving. Something should be happening!

“Maybe you should do the next one,” Pond suggested.

Edmund tried the middle lever. He pushed. He pulled. Still nothing happened.

I can’t believe this.

“No,” Edmund muttered, the smile crumbling from his exhausted face. “No!”

We’re never getting out of here! Never!

He pulled back on the last lever.

Ringing bells erupted throughout the cavern, shattering the silence and shaking the narrow room. Gears and chains whirled. Pond held onto the doorway. Edmund braced himself against the wall and gaped out the window slits. “The first one’s opening!” he cried.

“What?” Pond shouted, covering his ears.

Grabbing Pond in both arms, Edmund hugged him, lifting his feet completely off the ground. He shook Pond by the shoulders. “The first gate . . . it’s opening!”

The gears and chains stopped. Edmund pulled the middle lever. Again, the bells rang throughout the cavern. Gears churned. The enormous chains rattled. Somewhere a massive counterweight landed with a ground-shaking thud.

Edmund beamed at Pond. “One more.” He pulled the remaining lever. Noise shook the cavern a third time. “It’s opening! We’re free. We’re free! We’re finally free!”

Edmund and Pond dashed toward the tunnel once barred by the three portcullises. Before them, the dripping snow gleamed in the rays of the setting sun. Fresh air rolled into the cavern to greet them. They could smell the pine trees and damp earth.

They approached the archway.

A hundred and fifty feet from them, green grass was peeking out of a patch of melting stone.

Edmund ran faster, leaving Pond several strides behind.

A voice boomed throughout the cavern.

“Master Filth!”

Edmund looked behind him, tripping over his feet as he did so. He fell to the floor, skidding to a stop a hundred feet from freedom. Peering through the dimness, he saw goblins pouring into the uppermost regions of the subterranean ruins, high above where he lay. Before the growing horde stood two familiar figures. One waved at him.

Kravel!

“I really must commend you,” Kravel called from a distant balcony. Scores of guards clad in plate mail and shields streamed onto the balcony from adjacent tunnels. “How you snuck past our warriors is a mystery to me. You simply must tell me your secret.”

Edmund shook his raised fist. “N-n-not . . . not this time, Kravel!”

“What the hell does that mean?” Gurding shouted back. “Not what?”

Clutching Edmund by the arm, Pond lifted him to his feet. “Come on! We have to get out of here.”

Hurry!

Edmund started running with Pond toward the gate.

They were about to enter the tunnel to the outside world, when Kravel shouted again.

“Edmund,” he called down.

The first barbed portcullis dangled fifty feet above their heads. Edmund could hear goblins pounding down the stairs to the next tier of the town. They had seven more tiers to traverse before they reached the town square and the road to the gate. He kept running—seventy five feet to freedom.

“Edmund,” Kravel repeated. “You are going to die in the cold wilderness if you leave. Then neither of us will be happy. Besides . . . ”

Don’t listen to them! Don’t you listen! Run faster.

Edmund and Pond were directly under the second portcullis—fifty feet to freedom.

“ . . . we—” The rest of what Kravel said was obliterated by the sound of hundreds of goblins racing down the steps toward the gates.

Hollering, goblin guards continued flooding the upper levels of the abandoned city.

Edmund glanced back, but Kravel and Gurding were no longer in view.

Faster! We have to get out of here.

What then? They’ll just continue chasing us . . .

Edmund and Pond kept running, sweat pricking their chilled skin, the sun setting in a great orange ball in front of them.

Goblins thundered down the stairs leading from the uppermost reaches of the cavern.

Twenty-five feet to freedom.

The shock of burning cold shot through Edmund’s legs as his toes touched snow.

We’re out! Finally out!

Ahead, steep forested slopes descended into a broad valley. A mile and a half away, a river raged white. To their left, an overgrown path wove its way down into the valley. To their right, another path headed further up into the mountains.

Which way?

“What now?” Pond said, panting. “Where do we go?”

Come on, think!

Edmund glanced back through the tunnel one last time. Goblins were almost to the lowest level of the city.

We need to buy time.

If only we could close the portcullises . . .

Poking out of the melting snow around them, bones and rusting weapons lay scattered about the ledge as if a terrible battle had once been fought in front of the great gates.

“Ed!” Pond shouted.

“Grab one of those shields! No! Not that one. The pavisse! The big one!”

It’s too steep! You’ll kill yourself.

It’s faster than the road. Besides, better to die this way than in a pit somewhere with my leg sliced open like Vomit, or worse. I’m not going back. Never! They’ll have to kill me first!

Pond snatched one of the bent shields, casting aside the skeletal arm still clinging to it. “What are we going to do? Fight?”

Edmund threw himself on another shield and teetered on the edge of the cliff. “Did you ever sled as a kid?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Goblins had reached the town square of the deserted city.

“Grab ahold of the arm straps,” Edmund said urgently. “Throw yourself to the right or left to steer.”

“Mine doesn’t have arm straps! They’re gone!”

But Edmund had already pushed off. Skimming over the snow, he shot down the slope, trees swishing by in green blurs.

“Ed!”

* * * * *

“What did you call that again?” Pond said, putting a fistful of snow to a jagged gash cutting across his forehead. The snow turned pink and then dark red. Blood dribbled between his eyes.

Holding his black and purple ribs, Edmund winced in pain. “Sledding.”

“And children do that for fun?”

“Usually there aren’t trees and boulders in the way.”

Far up the mountain, goblins were swarming through the gates. Some were running down the slope after them, others were taking the winding road heading into the valley.

Edmund helped Pond up to his feet.

“Hurry,” he said, hobbling along the churning river. “They’re coming.”

“What about the shields?”

“Leave them. They’ll just slow us down.”

Cast your healing spell.

I’ll do it later. We can’t stop now. We have to get out of here.

“Do you think they’ll follow us for long?” Pond asked, trying to keep up.

To the ends of the continent. They’ll never let you go . . .

“Can you go any quicker?”

Limping badly on his right leg, Pond waved Edmund onward. “You go ahead. I’ll . . . I’ll catch up!”

“We’re not splitting up.”

Actually, that might help one of us get away. They might—

We’re not splitting up . . .

“Here. Hold on.” Edmund touched Pond’s swelling knee. “
Smerte av reise.”

As Pond flexed his leg approvingly, Edmund cast the spell on his ribs. “
Smerte av reise.”

The tenderness faded. He could breathe without stabbing pain.

That’ll help.

“Thanks!” Pond said. “I can go much faster now. Lead on!”

They ran southwest along the rocky bank of the distended river as the shadows around them deepened. Their panting breath appeared as ghostly clouds in front of him.

Edmund glanced back.

Behind them, two goblins had reached the river’s edge. But the way they were lying in the snow suggested that they were never going to get up again. The other goblins plummeting down the slopes weren’t faring much better. Their shields, helms, and pieces of armor were being thrown about the mountainside as they struck trees and smashed into exposed rocks.

A horn blew.

In the mountains to their left, the remainder of the goblin horde was descending where the slope was less steep.

It’ll be completely dark soon. Maybe we can hide from them.

They’d follow our tracks right to us. Besides, there isn’t a cloud in the sky. The stars this far north will be bright enough to read by. Running is our only option.

“Come on!” Edmund said, urging Pond forward.

They ran with renewed strength, putting even greater distance between them and the black dots descending the snowy slopes. But the cold was numbing their skin. Their bodies shivered under their sweat. Their feet began to feel heavier and heavier. Soon, their speed diminished to a quick jog, then a brisk walk. After another mile, they were plodding along the river in silence, the half moon rising above the towering pine trees blocking the goblins from view. An eerie cobalt hue reflected off the shimmering snow.

Somewhere in the surrounding hills, something howled.

Oh no!

“Wolves?” Pond asked.

Great! That’s all we need!

You can’t outrun wolves . . .

Edmund’s staggering quickened.

“Ed. Did you hear that? Do you think it was a wolf?”

“If it was, we’re—”

A distant voice cut him short. “Hey,” it shouted. “Up here! Hey!”

Something familiar slapped Edmund’s exhausted mind.

They spun around, scanning the tree-lined ridges above them. High overhead a figure on a huge horse was silhouetted against the twinkling stars.

“Hey, you two,” a voice from a different life shouted to them. “Have you seen anybody else around here? A woman?”

Not stopping at the ridge, a dog raced toward them, bounding through the snow as fast as she could, dragging one of her rear legs lifelessly behind her.

Edmund cried out. Pond started to run.

When it reached the bottom of the slope, the black and white dog catapulted herself into Edmund’s arms. Dropping his sword, he grabbed ahold of her and fell backward into the snow.

“Thorax! How—?” He squeezed the dog as she licked his face.

“Get off him!” Pond kicked Thorax in the side. She squealed.

Hollering, the rider urged his great horse forward.

“Get off of him, you damn beast!” Pond Scum brandished his knife.

“Stop it!” Edmund shielded Thorax with his body. “Pond! It’s Thorax! It’s Thorax!”

“Thorax?” Pond repeated. “I thought you said she was dead.”

Thorax continued licking Edmund’s face. He held her close to his bare chest, repeating her name over and over.

Above them, the warhorse slid down the slope, plowing a sizable pile of snow in front of its hooves.

Pointing at the shouting rider, Pond inched away. “What about him? He doesn’t look like a goblin. But they employ human spies, it’s said.”

From the grey Percheron, the rider yelled, “Leave her alone or I’ll cleave you in two!” He raised his sword and shield as he charged.

“It’s all right,” Edmund called to the rider, still clutching Thorax tight to his chest, his cold face sticky with her saliva. “She belongs to—” He caught sight of the rider’s face.

Norb?

“Norb!” Edmund cried.

Startled, the stable hand checked the horse, his sword and shield lowering slightly.

“Norb!” Overcome with joy, Edmund sputtered, “What the—? How? Where—? What are you doing here?”

But then, in between beats, his heart faltered, realization dawning on him.

Wait. “Have you seen a woman?”

A woman?

My ‘wife’ . . .

Molly!

Dropping Thorax into the snow, Edmund lunged at Norb. “How’s Molly? Is she okay? She’s back in Rood, right? Everything is fine, right? Tell me she’s fine!”

Norb backed the horse away.

“Ed?” he whispered.

With the desperation of a drowning man, Edmund latched onto the stable hand’s woolen coat. “M-M-Molly! Molly! Where is she? Do you know? Where is she?”

Grimacing, Norb stared at Edmund’s gaunt face. “Ed? Is that really you?”

“Damn it, Norb, you know it is! Now tell me . . . where’s Molly? She’s in Rood, right? She’s, she’s, she’s there, isn’t she?”

“Ed,” Pond said, urgently. “We have to get out of here. The goblins are coming.”

Edmund shook Norb hard. “Where is she? Norb . . . where’s Molly? Tell me!”

Norb tore his gaze away from the hole where Edmund’s left eye used to be. “Ed! My god, we looked for you . . . honest.”

“Norb! Tell me!”

Norb stammered. “She’s, she’s . . . gone, Ed. Molly’s gone.”

The night wind carried with it cries of goblins. Norb’s horse began to snort and stamp.

“Wh-wh-what . . . what do you mean gone?” Edmund asked, nearly pulling him out of his saddle. “She . . . she . . . can’t be!”

Glaring upriver, Thorax growled, the hair between her shoulder blades standing on end.

“Ed,” Pond said as both he and Thorax stared at the hundreds of black shapes swarming down the ravine toward them.

“What do you, you, you mean—gone?” Ed repeated.

“Things,” Norb said, trying to pull away from Edmund’s possessed grip, “ . . . things . . . things have happened, Ed. Back in Rood. Bad things.”

The goblin voices were clear now. They were waving their scimitars over their heads and shouting hoarse battle cries, gloating at their impending victory.

“I don’t believe it,” Norb said, staring up the slopes. “Goblins . . . here . . . this far north?”

“Yes,” Pond told him. “And there’re hundreds of them. We have to get out of here! Ed, talk later.”

“What happened?” Edmund demanded, his breath appearing as puffs in the frosty air. “What happened? To Rood? To Molly? Where—?”

“We gotta get out of here,” Pond said to Norb. “Can we all ride?” He looked doubtfully at the horse.

More shouts.

I can’t believe she’s gone.

Further up the mountains another horn blew, as if announcing the presence of goblin reinforcements about to cut off their only route of escape.

“Quick,” Pond said. “Give me your shield and rope.”

“Shit,” Norb said, still staring at the goblins swarming toward them. “You weren’t kidding. There . . . there’re hundreds of them! Shit!”

Pond seized Norb’s shield and the coil of rope hanging from his saddlebag. He gave an end to Norb. “Tie it to your saddle horn! Hurry!”

Molly!

Thorax barked viciously.

Gone . . .

Molly’s . . . gone.

Edmund’s hands slipped lifelessly off Norb’s chest.

Kravel . . .

Pond guided Edmund to the shield, now fastened to Norb’s rope. “Ed, we have to go. They’re coming.”

Edmund collapsed onto the shield as the Percheron reared and snorted.

Grabbing Thorax, Pond shouted to Norb. “Ride!”

Snow kicked up under the warhorse’s massive hooves, showering Edmund and Pond as they clung to the shield’s arm straps.

Molly . . .