Betrayal in the Highlands (3 page)

“Fyre av nå
!
”

A blue spark flashed.

He turned up the flame.

In front of them, the crudely hewn walls of the tunnel opened into a wide cavern. Through the wavering shadows, Becky darted here and there, chasing shrieking rats with bald tails and bright pink eyes. Hundreds of them skittered frantically into any hole or crevice they could find.

A scrawny rat with a lame front leg leapt for a crack between two boulders but was blocked by others fighting their way to safety.

Becky pounced on it.

The rat shrieked.

There was a crunch as the rat’s brown coat exploded red. It went limp, mouth hanging open, beady eyes gazing into oblivion as Becky shook it like an old shoe. Its squeaking companions vanished from sight. Then everything was utterly silent, save for the steady
plink-plink-plink
of water dripping from dirty tree roots hanging from the ceiling.

Skin crawling, Edmund shuddered. “God, how I hate vermin.”

Becky dropped the furry corpse at his feet, her tail wagging.

“Good girl,” he told her.

“Damn.” Pond let his pack fall to the damp ground. “I was rooting for the rat.”

He sat against a rock, took off a boot, and massaged his swollen foot.

“Finally, a moment’s peace!” He sighed. “Do you think they’ll find us in here?”

A drop of water plunked the top of the lantern, making it hiss.

Surveying the cavern, Edmund swept light across yellowing bones piled in the corner. Most were from animals—deer, moose, the occasional bear—but some were from humans, their grey skulls appearing to laugh at them through the gloom.

“I don’t know,” Edmund said. “But we can’t run anymore, and there doesn’t appear to be another exit.”

So we’re trapped in here.

Trapped …

Pond put his boot back on and untied the frayed blanket they used for a bedroll. “Do you want to take the first watch, or shall I?”

“Get some sleep. I’ll watch for a bit. But I think we’ll both be able to get some sleep. Becky will hear any goblins long before they can reach the ledge outside.”

“At least the little monster is good for something. She nearly got you killed with that troll.”

Becky snatched the rat’s broken body and lashed it back and forth, splattering more blood across her grey fur.

Edmund continued to scan the shadows.

“You know,” Pond said, yawning. “It’s amazing what I can tolerate now. Before I found my way into the goblins’ loving care, I was afraid of mice and rats. Couldn’t stand to be dirty, either. Now look at me.”

“You’re a pillar of courage and filth,” Edmund said.

The lantern’s light came to rest on a mound of evergreen branches heaped against the far wall like a nest.

“What’re you doing?” Pond asked as Edmund approached the troll’s bed.

“Maybe there’s another tunnel out of here. He might have hidden it behind—”

He pulled away several branches to reveal a hole big enough for a grown man to walk in stooped over.

Edmund sucked in a breath.

Pond got up. “What did you find?”

Inside the hole, gold and silver and jewels of every color flashed and glistened; coins and jewelry that hadn’t seen the sun for a century or more spilled out of three mildew-covered chests, their wet wood broken and rotting. Strewn about them lay items of incalculable value: a silver serving tray, a matching set of ruby-studded goblets, a pearl necklace, a child’s tiara adorned with shimmering diamonds.

Edmund and Pond stared at the gleaming treasure.

Lying next to them, Becky chewed the dead rat’s head; its skull cracked and splintered. She gingerly stripped off parts of the rat’s fur to pick at its bloody flesh.

“Now these aren’t bronze or copper,” Pond said, scooping up handfuls of coins. He let them fall back into the trove like rain hitting a tin roof. “We’ll certainly be living like kings for the rest of our lives, if we can ever make it to civilization.”

“If we ever make it to civilization …” Edmund repeated, searching the back of the hole for a secret tunnel.

There’s nothing here. We can’t escape …

He swung the lantern’s light across the rows of shields and weapons perched on ledges throughout the cavern.

“If we could find a weapon made from Iliandor’s metal, then we’d cut though them like straw.”

Edmund inspected a long sword. It was caked with dirt and rat feces, but its quality was indisputable.

“This is Ángfoil,” he said in amazement, reading the runes inscribed along the sword’s tarnished handguard. “It belonged to Sir Harris of Upshire back in the third century, and his father, and his grandfather before that.”

“Who?” Pond managed to say through another yawn.

“Something’s wrong,” Edmund said to himself.

“What?”

“Well, this weapon shouldn’t be here. Sir Harris died at sea, exploring the waters far from the western shores.” Edmund leapt up and grabbed a two-handed sword, its blade broken a foot above its bejeweled hilt.

“And this is Morvŭl, Sir Perris’s blade! He used it to kill the ogre Ren’dal at the Battle of the Buckman’s Bridge. He was supposed to be buried with it in the catacombs of Eryn Minor.”

None of this makes any sense …

“Well,” Pond said, “if we manage to escape the goblins, we’ll take some of these swords and return them to their rightful heirs. I’m sure they’ll pay us handsomely.”

“Or returning them will raise a bunch of questions that nobody wants to answer …”

Edmund’s gaze drifted over to the fissure containing the mysterious black tome he’d attempted to steal when he had hidden in the troll’s lair the year before.

Questions …

Through the darkness, he could make out its large leather cover. The word “Kalvella” glinted in his lantern’s red glow.

So many secrets. So many things we don’t know …

If I could just decipher its runes, maybe I’d learn what really happened all those years ago—

From somewhere in the valley, a horn blew.

Chapter Three

Edmund woke.

Instinctively he sprang to his feet, unsure for a moment where he was or how he had gotten there. Looking around the dank cavern, he remembered the troll’s lair. Soft sunlight illuminated the wet stone of the passageway leading to the ridge outside.

“Well, we’ve lived to see another day.”

Yes, but will we make it until tomorrow?

Curled up on the ground next to him, Becky opened an annoyed eye. Seeing the shredded remains of the defeated rat, she snatched and thrashed it about, pieces of bloody fur flying everywhere.

Edmund rubbed his stiff back and legs.

We can’t keep going on like this.

Maybe you should try ambushing them. Kill Kravel, and the others might give up.

Pleasure bubbled up within him as he imagined cutting Kravel’s head off. But his grin quickly faded.

No. They wouldn’t give up. Gurding would just take his place. And after him, somebody else.

This is never going to end. Never.

“Wake up,” Edmund said, nudging Pond with his foot.

Pond stirred, his hand immediately falling to the hilt of his rapier.

“Alive?” he asked, rubbing his dirty face.

“So far.”

Pond covered his nose. “By the gods, this place stinks! No wonder I had such horrible dreams.”

“It’s nothing compared to the Undead King’s wet cells.”

Pond got to his feet like a child not wanting to go do his chores.

“At the very least, we finally got a few hours of decent sleep,” he said, twisting his spine. “I think I can run all day now.”

“I don’t want to keep running.” Edmund studied the array of weapons littering the troll’s lair. Most were broken or rusted. A few were of exceptional quality, their edges bright and sharp, but none were made of Iliandor’s unbreakable steel.

“Got a plan?”

Fighting them would be asinine. Even fully armored, we couldn’t kill twenty goblins.

Shoulders sagging, Edmund sighed and shook his head. “No.”

There was a rustling movement by the cavern’s entrance.

Becky spun, dropping her dead rat.

Dry leaves swirled in from outside.

They resumed breathing.

“Well,” Pond said, “let’s do what we do best then.”

“What’s that?”

“Run. Like I said, I’m good for a full day’s effort. At any rate, let’s get out of this reek.”

“We can’t keep running,” Edmund said. “Sooner or later—”

“Sooner or later, all stories come to an end. We can’t help that. Let’s just look outside and see what the new day has brought us.”

They crept up the tunnel and peered out into the morning.

In the valley roared the River Celerin, its white water pounding exposed outcrops of grey stone. In the bushes along the riverbank, hooded warblers sang. Black squirrels dug into the forest floor as sunlight slipped between bare branches. All appeared calm and peaceful.

“They could be anywhere out there.”

Pond pulled out two apples from his threadbare pack. He tossed one to Edmund. “So, where to?”

“Good question,” Edmund said. The serenity of the valley made him feel strangely ill-at-ease. “The c-c-closest … the closest settlement is a couple weeks’ walk south. But Kravel has certainly cut us off during the night, whether we could float downriver or not.”

“Your strategy from last night seemed to do the trick.” Pond bit into his apple. “Let’s keep doing that.”

“Strategy?” Edmund surveyed the valley from the shadows of the cave opening.

“Yeah, going where they least expected.”

“Where they least expected …” Edmund repeated. “Where would that be, I wonder?”

Pond shrugged. “North? Toward the Undead King’s tower? That Thorim, or whatever you call it.”

“Thorgorim,” Edmund corrected. “Going that way would be suicide. Goblin patrols are swarming all over those mountains. Plus, we’d probably get lost in some canyon and never find our way out. Not to mention winter is coming. We’d freeze to death after the first snowfall.”

“We could hide here until they give up,” Pond went on hopefully.

Edmund stepped farther out of the cave, studying the valley directly below them.

“They’ll never give up. And they’ll keep finding us no matter where we hide.”

If only you knew where they were …

“Becky,” Edmund called, patting his thigh.

The puppy romped over to them, dragging the remains of the rat by its bald tail.

“Do you smell anything, girl? Any goblins?”

Becky dropped the carcass. Her black nose sniffed briefly at the warm autumn breezes, and then she leapt on the dead rat again, tearing into its bloody fur.

“I guess not,” Pond said.

“Sooner or later, they’ll come back to where they lost our trail,” Edmund said, pondering the possibilities. “They’ll come back here and search everywhere we might be.”

In the trees, birds continued to chirp merrily.

“What’re you thinking?” Pond asked, his apple crunching as he chewed.

Edmund stared at the pale mountains looming over the sea of barren trees to the east.

“We can’t go north or east. Or south.”

“Then we only have one option.”

“True.”

Edmund tried to determine whether he was overlooking any other options.

“All right,” he said. “Go back into the troll’s lair and grab a c-couple of good swords, something short that I can use. And grab as many jewels as we can comfortably carry. I don’t want to be slowed down.”

Pond saluted. “Aye aye!”

“Only take what’s truly exceptional. No coins. They’re too heavy.”

Holding his nose, Pond ran back into the tunnel.

“Make sure you grab the diamond tiara,” Edmund called after him. “If we survive, that alone will make us rich men.”

If you survive …

Stalking cautiously to where the dead troll lay, Edmund and Pond found goblin tracks scattered throughout the muddy battle site. Some climbed the nearby hills. Others disappeared into the river, only to reappear on the other side. A few headed north toward the troll’s lair, but these didn’t go very far. After running every which way, all of the tracks seemed to head south toward the lowlands.

“Looks like we fooled them,” Pond said.

“Maybe.” Edmund kneeled, examining some of the prints. “But we aren’t free yet. And we’ve left our fair share of tracks in this mud.”

He stood, Becky in his arms, her jaws cracking open the rat’s pulverized skull.

“What we need is a good storm to wash away our trail and scent.”

Edmund studied the lone cloud drifting in the clear blue sky. It wasn’t going to rain for days.

“Well?” Pond asked. “North, south, east, or west?”

Surveying the sky again, Edmund sighed.

“At least it’s a nice day,” Pond said.

“Rain would be better.”

Edmund gave one last fleeting look around the battle site and came to a decision.

“All right. Let’s head west, back the way we came. We’ll go over our previous tracks. Hopefully that’ll throw them off our trail.”

By day and night, Edmund and Pond fled steadily westward, sticking to the same paths that brought them through the tangled forests and into the treacherous foothills of the northern Haegthorn Mountains. They pushed on, through the deep green valleys and around the countless lakes that made up the once-thriving northern kingdom of the Highlands, hiding wherever they could.

Weeks passed without any sign of their goblin pursuers. Gradually the fear of ambush and certain death began to fade. They turned south and entered the low country with its nameless lands of farmer kings and rogue lords. At first, these consisted of only a few ranches or logging camps populated by a handful of lawless men who wished to escape the tyranny of nobility. Then well-traveled roads appeared, leading to bustling towns that rose up out of the endless prairies.

For months, Edmund and Pond continued their trek southward, trying to stay clear of even humans, worried that if they lodged at a farmhouse or bought provisions in some general store, Kravel might learn of it. After all, locals would certainly remember a one-eyed man who stuttered, and goblins were particularly skilled at extracting information from captives.