Betrayal in the Highlands (14 page)

“The diary. What did you say about the diary? Did you tell them what I found under its cover? Did you tell them about the formula?”

Pond shrugged again.

“I told them the truth.” His gaze wandered off to the portraits of Baroness Melody’s ancestors hanging along the far wall. “I, I told them you didn’t have it and that I didn’t know where it was. That’s … that’s all they asked about the diary. They didn’t mention the formula.”

Edmund exhaled in relief.

“Ed,” Pond said, frightened. “They also asked me if you were one of them … if, if you … if you could cast spells.”

Edmund’s heart froze.

Pond started to sob weakly.

“What,” Edmund began to ask, although he already knew the answer, “what did you tell them?”

Tears ran down Pond’s damp face. “I’m sorry.”

Edmund slumped in his chair.

More thunder rattled the room.

“So my secret’s finally out.”

“I’m sorry,” Pond whispered again between feeble sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

Edmund rubbed Pond’s shoulder.

“Hey, don’t blame yourself. Please! I understand completely. If they put a rat cage over my head, I’d …” He shuddered, remembering the soldier strapped to the Undead King’s torture table. “Look, this is all my fault. These magic users are looking for me. So are the goblins. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in any of this.”

Edmund stared at the closed drapes. Beyond them, rain drummed against the stained glass. The sound kept pace with his pounding heart.

“You’d be safer without me around,” he said.

Pond nudged him with his elbow.

“Don’t say that. We’re safer together than apart.”

“Maybe we are.”

On the settee, Fatty Moron snored, one ample arm and leg hanging to the floor.

“So what, what happened next?” Edmund asked. “What did they do? Where did they go?”

“I don’t know. They … they were about to kill us,” Pond said. “This voice, this very evil voice said: ‘They’re of no use to us. Kill them, and kill them quick, before anybody comes. Make it look like a robbery.’ And then Becky, she, she charged out of the darkness and … and bit one of them. Bit him hard. He screamed.” Now it was Pond’s turn to shudder. “He sounded like an animal roaring. Something out of nightmares, you know? She chased them away.”

Edmund examined the fabric Becky had brought him; it looked like a part of a blood-saturated pant leg.

“Whoever she bit is certainly hurt. He’s probably going to limp for months.”

Leaping up, Becky snapped at the air. Edmund tried to pet her head, but she wasn’t interested in the affection; she pulled away, leapt again and again, continuing to “bark” without making a sound.

Whoever she bit is probably angrier than a mother bear.

An angry mage who can be completely silent
…

And can read minds
…

And would kill Pond for no reason
…

“We have to get out of here,” Edmund said. “Can you walk?”

Pond gave a halfhearted chuckle.

“And carry a pack?” He shook his head. “Not far.”

Edmund stared at their packs lined up against the wall. They were bulging with new clothes and supplies, all of which he wanted to take with them. But Pond was right. They’d never be able to carry them more than a few hundred yards.

Thunder exploded above the manor house, shaking the crystal chandelier.

“We need horses.”

There were stables on the other side of the estate, and the carriages that brought the men and women to the get-together had crammed the road that led up to the manor house. But something told Edmund that both the stables and the main road toward town would be watched by Pond’s assailants, whoever they were.

Edmund rose and paced, water dripping from his clothes as he considered what to do. Wind whined through the windows, flapping the lantern’s flame to one side. Pond stirred. He looked at Edmund, terrified.

“What’s this all about, Ed? Who … who’re these people and what do they want?”

“I don’t know. But we can’t stay here and find out.”

Chapter Fifteen

Breathing hard and soaked to the bone, Edmund hid within a grove of beech trees just behind the guesthouse and watched two dark shapes creep past the windows inside his former bedroom.

They’re looking for something.

Or someone
…

We got out of there just in time.

You’re not safe yet.

He glanced at his friends.

Pond and Fatty were either asleep or unconscious again, crumpled on the ground next to their soggy backpacks. At least they were able to stagger out of the guesthouse and into the grove under their own power. But getting them any farther away was impossible; they had barely made it down the flights of stairs and out the door before collapsing with some sort of spell-induced fatigue. By his side, Becky continued to snap silently at the night air.

Rain lashed against his drenched clothes as they clung to his cold body.

Distant yellow lightning split the sky with a crackling boom.

Damned magic users! Who are they and what do they want from me?

Whoever they are, they aren’t stuttering librarians. That’s for sure.

He petted Becky to calm her down. Although her frantic attempts to bark made no noise, her jumping certainly did, and Edmund didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention.

A silence spell that lasts for more than an hour
…

Whoever did this knows a lot more than how to produce stupid biscuits or make things expand.

I doubt more than two or three people in the world could cast a silence spell like that.

“Only two or three people,” Edmund muttered, wondering how many magic users were still alive.

Thunder rumbled.

Edmund withdrew under the trees, protected somewhat from the gusting rain.

In his suite on the third floor, a red light moved from room to room. Clearly at least two people searched for something, though whether they were humans or goblins, he couldn’t tell; the curtains warped and distorted their shadows beyond recognition.

Looking at Pond and Fatty again, Edmund considered running for help. Perhaps he could sprint into town and find the constable, or maybe he could reach Baroness Melody’s manor house and gather some of the servants. But that would mean leaving his friends behind, asleep and vulnerable. He also doubted the constable would help him after the altercation over Fatty.

Becky leapt up and hit Edmund in the stomach with muddy paws.

“It’s okay, girl.” Edmund stroked her neck. “You’ll be fine as soon as the spell wears off.”

Whenever that’ll be.

The light in their suite suddenly went out, plunging the windows into blackness.

Fatty rolled over, his breathing raspy.

Raindrops slipped through the canopy of leaves and drummed around them.

Thinking he’d heard a twig snap, Edmund wheeled around, sword drawn, but could see nothing except trees and wet darkness.

“It’s just the storm,” he told himself, trying to slow his thumping pulse. “Becky would let you know if somebody was nearby, so just relax. You’ve been through much worse.”

And you may go through worse yet to come. A red hot poker to your other eye
…
maybe a cage full of rats
…

Whoever attacked Pond and Fatty, whoever is in my room, they aren’t goblins.

How do you know?

Could goblins cast spells? He didn’t think so. At least he had never heard of any goblins using magic before; none of the tales of old mentioned it. But then again, so much he thought he knew had turned out to be wrong.

I don’t know what’s true anymore.

Edmund stifled a yawn. He was beyond exhausted, and the rhythmic patter of rain slapping the growing puddles around them was lulling him to sleep. But he’d have to wait for one of the others to keep watch. He didn’t want to wake up with a knife against his throat or chains around his wrists.

Magic users! I can’t believe there are actually magic users in my suite.

Edmund contemplated this.

For the first forty-four years of his life, he’d known only three other people who could use magic—his mother, his father, and his father’s father. Now it seemed every magic user alive was looking for him and threatening to kill his friends.

Why?

Sitting on the saturated ground with his back against a tree, Edmund scanned the gloom around the guesthouse with a half-lidded eye. He saw nothing but the outline of neatly manicured trees and flowering bushes thrashing in the wind.

Past the guesthouse, maybe a quarter of a mile away, the manor house shone through the blackness, lit up like a beacon in the storm. Edmund thought about running to warn the Baroness about the intruders but, again, couldn’t bear to leave his friends behind. Whoever was in his room was after him, anyway. The Baroness and her guests would be safer once he left. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

Edmund groaned.

Why would magic users want me?

They asked about the diary.

Yes, but how would they know I knew anything about it? Only Pond and the Undead King know.

And the goblins
…

Yawning, he again peered up at his bedroom windows. They were black and lifeless now, but Edmund bet his uninvited guests were still there, hidden behind the embroidered drapes, waiting for him to return.

They’re not here to pay me a social call; otherwise they wouldn’t have ambushed Pond and Fatty like that. Or threatened to kill them. Or broken into our rooms
…

He rubbed his face, hoping his clammy hands would revive him.

We’ve got to get out of here
.

Edmund pulled a weed from the mud.

“But how?” he asked himself.

A distant rumble of thunder answered.

We can’t go anywhere until Pond and Fatty wake up.

Fatty
…

Shredding a leaf from the weed, he watched Fatty’s mountainous stomach rise and fall with each heavy breath. A raindrop plunked the fat man on the forehead. He didn’t move.

What are you going to do with him?

I don’t know. But somebody needs to help him.

You can’t help him if you’re dead.

Dead
…

Edmund resumed watching the rear of the guesthouse. Torrents of rain poured from the mouths of the angry gargoyles perched along the slate roof. The wind whined.

He shook himself awake.

Come on! Don’t fall asleep!

He inhaled the scent of moist earth and pulled another weed from the ground, dirt clinging to its roots. Lightning turned the eastern horizon a bright white then a cold blue.

“What now?” he asked the swaying trees.

We can’t stay in Dardenello. That’s a given.

But where should we go?

Someplace where nobody will find you.

Where nobody will find us
…

Edmund’s eyelid slid closed and then jerked open.

Come on! Stay awake! You can’t sleep now. Stay awake!

He shook his head again, struggling to keep alert.

Where will we be safe? Long Ravine?

Long Ravine was a large city to the east, just a few days’ walk from Dardenello. They might be able to hide there and blend in with the crowds.

Distant thunder rumbled through the grove.

Edmund yawned.

Letter
…

Whoever sent that letter said I was in danger. In danger from what? Who would want me?

In danger from other magic users?

“Other magic users.” Edmund pushed himself into a straighter sitting position in an attempt to keep himself awake.

Why would they care about me? I’m no threat to them. I’m no threat to anybody!

They want Iliandor’s diary.

The only reason anybody would want the diary is because they know what was under its cover.

Under the cover
…

Edmund’s thoughts floated to the troll he’d killed by the River Celerin.

He claimed there was a reward for me.

A huge reward.

Maybe
…

His eyelid slid closed again; he fought to keep it open.

Stay awake
.

Magic users
…

Thunder rolled.

Edmund’s mind grew cloudier. His hand slipped off of Becky, now fast asleep next to him. Deeper among the trees, another twig snapped.

Chapter Sixteen

Edmund sloshed across yet another flooded meadow, bent forward as close as he could manage to the wet, waist-high grass. He’d slept in the woods outside the guesthouse for a couple of hours, but his sleep had been plagued by strange dreams where goblins with magic powers pursued him throughout the known world; wherever he went, they were always a step behind. By the time he’d awoken shortly after dawn, he was just as dead tired as the night before. Now they were fleeing Baroness Melody’s estate, running through the neighboring farmlands and hoping to get as far away from Dardenello as possible.

“So,” Pond said, “what happened with you and that Abby woman last night?”

“Damn it!” Edmund slapped his forehead. In all the excitement, he had forgotten about his emotional visitor.

Irritated, he continued to stalk through the green field, trying not to be seen. Not that it mattered. Behind him, Fatty Moron plodded like a house on two sizable legs; anybody looking in their direction could spot him from a half mile away. Then Edmund would have to explain why they were sneaking through private property.

At least Becky was behaving herself, keeping close to Edmund as he jogged along. She was able to bark again but was now strangely quiet.

They climbed over a low stone wall and entered another waterlogged pasture. Off in the distance grazed four draft horses in the shade beneath a weeping willow. Edmund briefly thought about stealing them, but then he’d have more than just magic users and goblins after him. In Havendor, where horses were the principal trading commodity, horse thieves were strung up without trials.