Betrayal in the Highlands (28 page)

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.

He watched Pond kiss the top of Abby’s head but was far too numb to feel jealous.

What now?

Beside him, Becky glowered into the darkness, her canines bared in a silent growl. She stalked toward a large bush.

“Becky,” Edmund said.

Becky stopped, still eyeing the bush.

Something was on the other side. Maybe several somethings.

“We have to get out of here,” he said to the others. “Pond, how far is camp?”

Still staring sadly at Fatty’s body, Pond shrugged. “A mile or so. I don’t know. Maybe less. We were looking for you when we heard the screams. We came as fast as we could.”

Edmund spit blood out of his mouth. “A mile …”

We won’t make it.

Something moved in the woods.

It might have been a raccoon. It might have been Kravel and Gurding coming back for them; they were both injured, maybe even seriously. But the goblins wouldn’t go far. Edmund was too precious of a prize. They would never stop until they dragged him back to the Undead King’s tower.

“Quick.” Edmund picked up his weapon. “We have to get out of here. Back to town!”

“What about Fatty?” Abby sniveled, still holding Pond. “And my mare?”

Edmund looked at Fatty; his fleshy face seemed peaceful and oddly intelligent.

We’ll never be able to carry him.

Bury him?

With what? Everything’s back at the wagon, and digging with our hands will take too long.

Edmund shook his head. “I’m … I’m sorry. We’ll never make it to the horses in time. We have to get inside Rood’s walls.”

He braced himself for an argument, even wondering whether he was strong enough to carry Abby over his shoulder. But Abby just sniffled and nodded. She bent over and closed Fatty’s eyelids.

“Thank you,” she whispered, caressing the fat man’s pallid face.

“We’ll come back and take care of his body later,” Pond said to her. “But Ed’s right. We have to get to town. It’ll be safe there.”

Abby patted Fatty’s chest. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Her hand dripped red.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Following Becky, they stumbled to the walls surrounding Rood. Abby shimmied up one of the overhanging trees.

“I can’t,” Edmund said, still holding his right forearm. His healing spell might have closed the wound, but at least one bone in his arm was broken. It would take time for it to mend, even with magic. “I can’t climb.”

Abby started to descend.

“No,” Edmund told her. “Go over. I need to know that you’re safe. Pond and I will meet you at the east gate.”

“I’m not leaving you,” she said.

An owl took flight from one of the nearby trees, startling her.

“Abby,” Pond said, his voice tired yet firm.

“Okay. Just … just hurry.” She scurried up the tree and dropped behind the wall.

Becky turned to the woods and growled.

“We’d better get going,” Edmund said. “They haven’t gone far.”

They staggered to the eastern gate and found it open and unguarded.

“Damn, Norb! What the hell is he doing?”

“Does it really matter?” Pond asked. “I mean, the goblins can climb over the wall without any problem.”

“Let’s just hope there aren’t enough of them to assault the town. Come on.”

Abby ran up to them, breathing hard.

“Where to?” Pond surveyed the scant buildings and tent clusters comprising the village. Smoky red campfires dotted the darkness.

What are we doing? Hiding? Warning everybody? Warn—

Molly
…

“This way.”

Holding his forearm, Edmund limped through the ruins of Rood, heedless of the despondent men staring at them.

They reached Molly and Norb’s poorly constructed wooden house. Edmund hobbled up the stairs to the uneven porch and hammered on the door.

“Who lives here?” Pond asked.

“She does,” Abby replied.

“Who—?” Then Pond’s eyes widened in understanding. “Oh! Well, this’ll be interesting.”

Edmund continued to hammer.

Inside the house something moved, but Edmund didn’t wait for it to reach the front door. He kicked it, breaking the lock, and quickly stepped inside.

“Boy, this place stinks!” Abby held her nose so she couldn’t smell the mildew and rotting wood. “What a pit!”

“Trust me,” Pond said, looking around, “this isn’t a pit.”

“Molly?” Edmund yelled.

Yawning and dressed in a dirty white robe, Molly tottered into the living room. She stopped short.

“Ed?” she said.

“Molly!” Edmund strode toward her, blood still dripping from his nose and arm.

She backed away.

“Molly,” he repeated, touching her shoulder. Molly twitched and raised her hands to protect her face. She retreated another step, Edmund’s bloody handprint on her robe. “You’re in danger. You’ve got to come with us.”

He tried to guide her to the door, but Molly refused to move.

“Ed, what … what are you doing here?” Her eyes, now wide awake with fear, flitted from Edmund, to Pond, to Abby, and then back to Edmund. All of them were covered in blood, but the shock of seeing Edmund seemed to disturb her the most. “You, you shouldn’t be—”

“We don’t have time explain,” he said. “Get your things together. We have to leave.”

“Ed … I, I can’t. What … what are you doing here? You shouldn’t—”

Slow, heavy footfalls rattled loose boards on the front porch.

The door opened.

Bent over and tottering, Norb lurched inside. He stopped, one hand still resting listlessly on the doorknob, the Star of Iliandor dull on his grimy forehead.

His bloodshot eyes focused upon Edmund.