Betrayal in the Highlands (19 page)

“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?

Edmund stared at the River Neven tumbling below him.

If you can’t hide, then you have to take care of Norb. You have to stop him from talking. There’s no way around it. You have to kill him.

Resistance to the idea was waning.

But what about Pond and Fatty? If they go to Rood, they’ll be in even greater peril. At least here they’re safe from goblins.

Then let them stay here. Just go! Go to Rood and do what you need to do. Kravel and Gurding, Edith and the others, they all want you, not Pond or Fatty. They’ll be safe.

I can’t just leave them behind.

They’d be better off.

Edmund wanted to cry but couldn’t.

Across the river, several horses whinnied. He watched a man fill their buckets with grain and knew at once what he needed to do.

Chapter Twenty-One

“This one here is the best for you,” the corral owner said, slapping the twitching flank of a medium-sized brown horse. Tossing his head up, the horse neighed, apparently agreeing. “He ain’t as big as the others you’ve been looking at, but he suits somebody of your stature.”

If he makes another comment about my height, I’ll knock him on his ass.

Don’t! You need to get out of town quickly and quietly. The last thing you need is to get into trouble with the constables here.

Edmund stroked the white splotch between the horse’s watchful eyes. He had ridden before, but he was far from being an expert and riding cross-country was always dangerous. All he needed was a good, calm horse to get him to Rood in one piece.

“What do you think, Becky?” Edmund asked.

Becky looked at the horse and then back at Edmund.

“You’ll have to run along b-beside us,” he told her. “You’re too big now to be draped across the saddle.”

She didn’t seem too concerned.

“Is he f-fast?” he asked the corral owner, trying in vain not to stutter.

Speak smoothly! He’ll remember who you are.

A large, rust-colored horse snorted.

“Faster than some. Slower than others,” the corral owner replied. “He’s a grade horse, you understand. Got a little bit of everything in him. But you said breed wasn’t important.”

Just a nondescript horse that can get me to Norb.