Betrayal in the Highlands (36 page)

Oh my! This is wonderful! The cook deserves whatever plot of land he wants for this!

Maybe he should be running the place.

This brought back the list of things to do before sundown.

“What time is it?” he asked Pond as the start of a line formed just a few feet from his table. Outside, the rhythmic sounds of saws and axes filled the late summer air.

“About an hour past midday. Do you need more rest?”

“I’ll rest when all of this is over. How many men left? Any idea?”

“I don’t know how many fled south,” Pond replied, “but as of two hours ago, we had one hundred sixty-nine here, and most of them seem to want to stay. They’re all doing what you asked.”

One hundred sixty-nine men
…

Some of those who left are going to make a beeline to King Lionel. He’s going to be furious when he hears what you’ve done.

By the time they tell him, winter will be approaching. I’d love to see him bring an army up here then. They could sit outside the walls and freeze to death for all I care.

The walls are only fifteen feet tall.

They’ll be bigger by the time he gets here.

The men shifted impatiently.

Edmund jabbed his spoon at the first one in line. “What can I do for you?”

A lanky man in his thirties stepped forth holding several sheets of paper. “Sorry to interrupt your lunch, my Lord—”

Edmund choked, sending out a spray of venison stew. Then he laughed.

“No, it’s, it’s just Edmund,” he said, half coughing. “There’s no nobility here.” He coughed again. “How can I help you?”

Flustered, the man lay the sheets on the table, avoiding a partially chewed piece of meat Edmund had coughed up. “I’m Cavin. I’m a carpenter, if you remember.”

Still coughing, Edmund waved for him to go on.

“Well, I drew a few designs for the building you mentioned earlier, the winter quarters.” He pushed the pages in front of Edmund. “I’d like to build it. I have a great deal of experience and brought my own tools. I can assure you that—”

Edmund held up a finger, gave one great cough, cleared his throat, and took a drink of the wine Abby had handed to him. Then he looked at the sketches. “They’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Cavin said, bowing. “Thank you very much.”

“But these aren’t what I had in mind.”

The carpenter’s grin dissolved.

“Don’t get me wrong”—Edmund took another bite of stew—“they’re wonderful. This one in particular is a work of art.” He tapped a three-story building drawn with arches and gables and balconies. Edmund sipped more wine, scrutinizing the pictures over the rim of his glass. “I’ll tell you what I think. This one here should be in the center of town. It could be an inn or maybe the town hall.”

“That’s what I was thinking, too, sir. You said you wanted something to house all of us during the winter, but I figured after that, we could use it for travelers.” Cavin glanced around apologetically. “Not that this isn’t a worthy establishment.”

“It’s an eyesore,” Edmund said, noting Cavin’s polite, unspoken agreement. “I say you build this inn on the north end of the town square. It’ll be the pride of the Highlands.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“But not now.” Edmund dipped a hunk of bread into the stew and ate it. “It’ll take a full year to build this, if not two, and we’re going to need something in four months. We need something solid and functional, something that’ll keep us warm.”

He took a piece of paper and, still chewing, began to sketch a low building resembling a barracks.

“This is what I’m thinking.” Edmund added a few more lines. “Build one of these next to each gate, up against the wall encircling the town.”

Cavin silently studied the drawing.

“I know it’s as ugly as sin,” Edmund said, cheeks full of food. “But I figure after things get going, we can turn them into stables or guardhouses.”

This seemed to match Cavin’s appraisement. “Do you really want the roof that slanted?”

Edmund nodded, taking another bite of bread.

“Keep in mind it snows a great deal up here. You’ll need a roof where the snow will slide off. You’ll also need thick timbers supporting it here, here, here, and here.” He marked the places he meant on his crude sketch. “Make the structure strong enough to bear five feet of wet snow.”

“Five feet!”

“Yes. You haven’t seen snow until you’ve spent the winter up here. Everything you build should be strong, and built to last. Make sure the walls are thick and well-caulked. Winters are cold this far north. Thick walls make warm people, and warm people are happy people.”

Cavin, tapping his chin, regarded the drawing with renewed interest. “I see what you mean.”

“Build it one story, big enough for fifty men to lie down in bunks. Make the floors stone, not dirt; stone floors hold heat in the winter and stay cool in the summer.”

Taking Edmund’s sketch, Cavin asked, “Can I make any modifications to this?”

“By all means. You’re the artist. Just keep in mind what I said. Build it strong and build it to last. Your work should still be standing when your grandkids are playing on the hills south of town.”

Cavin laughed and then considered Edmund spooning stew into his mouth as fast as he could. “I’m looking forward to working and living here. Thank you.”

“Thank you!” Edmund wiped his mouth and extended his hand. The carpenter shook it. “You’ll be building this town. Most of the houses will have your name carved somewhere in them.”

“I’ll make this the prettiest town you’ve ever seen!”

“I’m counting on it.”

While he ate, Edmund attended to a stream of people wanting clarification about his previous orders or reassurances that they weren’t all going to be killed in their sleep by goblins or magic users. One by one, they came, talked, and left happier than they were before. By the time Edmund had finished his second bowl of stew and a half loaf of hard bread, the last two men stood before him.

“Hendrick and Bain?” Edmund shook their hands.

“I’m Hendrick,” the taller of the two said. “He’s Bain.”

“My apologies.” Edmund eyed them cautiously, suspecting what they wanted. “This isn’t about bringing Abby back to Dardenello, is it?” He thought about drawing his sword but reconsidered.

“No, sir.” Bain slid a glance to Abby, who was standing next to Pond. “She told us that if we tried to bring her back, she would cut off parts of our body we’d rather keep.”

“She is very persuasive,” Edmund agreed.

The men laughed, apparently knowing Abby wasn’t kidding.

“Your father does want you to come home, though,” Hendrick told her. “He says to tell you that he’s sorry.”

“Tell him to go to hell.” Abby crossed her arms. “I’m staying here.”

Hendrick and Bain flinched under her relentless glower.

“What did he do?” Pond whispered to Abby.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“All right, good. I’m glad you’ve all come to an understanding.” Edmund handed his empty bowl to Pond.

“Do you want more?” Pond asked.

“No, thank you. But tell the cook he’s a godsend. It was wonderful.”

“I already have.”

Edmund returned his attention to Hendrick and Bain. “So,” he said, “what can I do for you two?”

“We want to talk to you about how we can help,” Hendrick said, sounding like a salesman about to sell something valuable.

“We’d like to join your merry band,” Bain added. “We want to help you rebuild this place.”

“Could you find any use for two former soldiers still in their prime?” Hendrick patted his long sword. “We’ve fought in the Southern Goblin War, and we know King Lionel’s tactics. We can help you keep this kingdom of yours.”

“
Our
kingdom,” Edmund corrected. He dabbed a napkin across his mouth. “Not mine. It belongs to all of us.”

“Even better,” Hendrick replied, smiling.

Edmund sized them up. Their swords and mail were clean, indicating they took care of their gear, and the two men were muscled, both in the arms and the legs, but not so muscled they couldn’t move quickly or smoothly. Plus, from what Pond had told him of the night before, both took orders willingly and fought without fear.

Edmund stood and again extended his hand to each of them. “How would you two like to be Captains of the Guard?”

“Hear that, Hen?” Bain nudged Hendrick. “We’ve been promoted to captains!” He laughed, shaking Edmund’s hand.

But Hendrick wasn’t ready to agree. “There’re a few things we’d need to be clear about first.”

“After we get through the winter,” Edmund said, anticipating their concerns, “I’ll pay you ten gold pieces a month.”

“Each?” they asked in unison.

“If you’re good,” he replied. “Then again, if you aren’t, we’ll all be dead.”

The men laughed again, apparently still stunned by the amount Edmund had offered.

“After two years,” Edmund went on, “you can each have a plot of land in the residential section of the town. That is, if you can keep us alive until then. But you’ll have to pay to have your houses built. What do you think?”

“Ed”—Hendrick shook Edmund’s hand a third time—“we’ll make sure no goblin steps foot within sight of our walls again.”

“Or witch!” Bain added, shaking Edmund’s hand equally as hard.

Edmund blenched. “All right,” he said, trying to steer the subject away from magic users. “If that’s all agreeable, then this is what I want you to do: each of you gather at least ten men, skilled not only at fighting, but also willing to follow orders. That’s important; you need to be able to work together. Train them any way you see fit. One group will take responsibility for the west gate; the other, the east gate. I’ll pay them each two gold pieces a month after the end of winter, and they can each have plots of land in three years. Does that seem fair?”

“
You
will pay them?” Bain asked.

“Yes. And don’t worry. I’m good for it.”

“
We’re
good for it,” Pond said and then added to Edmund, “You can have my half of the troll’s loot to rebuild the town.”

Edmund patted him on the shoulder. “Thanks, but save some for yourself and your store.”

“Troll’s loot?” Hendrick’s and Bain’s curiosities piqued even further. “So you two really are adventurers?”

“We were, but we’re retired now,” Edmund said. “Is there anything else I can help you two with?”

“No, sir.”

“Then if you don’t mind, gentlemen, I have other tasks to attend to.”

Bain extended his hand for a fourth time. “As do we.”

“Thanks for giving us this opportunity,” Hendrick said.

Edmund shook his hand. “Keep us alive, and we’ll call it even.”

The men laughed, deep and rolling, as they headed for the tavern door.

“Captains!” Bain said. “Who would have thought!”

“What now?” Abby asked once they were alone.

Pond raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to deal with Norb?”

Edmund groaned at the reminder.

“People are saying he’s still passed out.” Abby shook her head. “They haven’t said anything about the woman.”

Deal with him later. You have something more important to do.

Edmund peered around the common room. “Where’s Becky?” He’d missed her throughout lunch.

“Outside devouring a pile of deer bones,” Abby said.

“The cook wouldn’t let her in here when meals are being served,” Pond added. “The men are all scared of her, and she was taking food from their plates.”

“Very well.” Edmund sighed. “Let’s go get her. And we need to find a couple of good shovels. We have an old friend to see.”

Chapter Forty

Edmund, Pond, and Abby stood quietly in a semicircle, sweating and staring at the pile of loose stones and dirt they’d raised over Fatty’s massive body. They’d considered burying him in Rood’s cemetery, but the cemetery was several miles away, and the thought of hauling his bug-ridden corpse that far hadn’t been very appealing. Plus, burying him where he fell seemed right somehow, like he was monument to loyalty and bravery.

“He was a good man,” Pond said, head bowed.

Nodding repeatedly, Abby sniffed and sniveled, swabbing an already damp handkerchief across her reddened eyes. Pond put his arm around her and pulled her closer. Abby pressed her tear-streaked face to his chest. Her shoulders heaved, her snorting sobs muffled.

Edmund watched them, unsure how to feel. After crying over Fatty’s body and thinking about how the big man would still be alive had it not been for him, losing Abby didn’t seem as important.

Blinking at the waist-high mound, he wanted to say something, anything … but he couldn’t. He just didn’t have the words.

In the woods off to their right, Becky rooted through the undergrowth and, growling, pulled something out of the shadows.

“What is it, girl?” Edmund asked halfheartedly.

Becky had dragged a dead goblin, its face and upper body burned to a blackened crisp, out from the bushes. Still holding Abby, Pond peered behind the thickets.

“There are three others,” he said.

They gathered around the charred bodies, the smell of roasted meat lingering about them. One goblin was missing its head. The protruding neck bone shone white in the fading rays of the evening sun.

“Horic,” Edmund muttered.

“I thought you said magic users couldn’t shoot fireballs,” Pond said.

“That’s what I thought. I mean, all of the witches who’ve been burned at the stake or stoned to death or drowned were all charged with very minor things—like boiling water or healing cuts. I’ve never heard of a powerful magic user like Horic, other than in faerie tales.”

I wonder how many more like him are out there.

They all stared at the blackened bodies.

“Well, those are certainly four dead goblins,” Pond said to nobody in particular.

Edmund nodded. “Four less to worry about.”

Then this number struck him as important.

“Hey, Pond. How many goblins do you think have been chasing us? Twenty? Thirty?”

Pond shrugged. “I’d guess twenty or so, maybe twenty-five. It’s hard to count when you’re running for your life.”