Betrayal in the Highlands (7 page)

“Any idea where it is?” Pond whispered, close behind Edmund as they pushed through the assembly.

Edmund nodded with an expression that indicated he didn’t care one way or another. He attempted to step between two burly sailors but was thrown back when the men closed ranks. He pointed at another route to try.

“Are you sure it says five
thousand
gold pieces?” the squat man shouted.

“Yes, read it again!” people called to the boy.

“Oh, for the love of—!”

Many in the crowd turned to look at Edmund.

“Here,” he said, trying to get his shoulder between two people. “Let me r-r-read … let me read the blasted thing to you all. Just let me through!”

The throng parted, and Edmund stomped to the posting board to examine the notice.

“The boy is correct. It says—”

Another announcement caught his attention, the words “The Lord and Lady of the Highlands” scrawled across its bottom. According to this notice, Norb offered ten gold coins to any tradesmen willing to relocate to Rood.

Tradesmen? The fool! They’ll all starve. Without farmers, what are they going to eat?

“It says what?” yelled somebody in the crowd.

Edmund shook himself out of unpleasant thoughts.

“It says: Five thousand gold to anybody who turns in the Scepter of the Wind. There you have it! The b-b-boy is correct. Now leave the lad alone.”

The murmuring grew even more enthusiastic.

Edmund’s gaze returned to Norb’s announcement.

Don’t do this. Don’t get involved.

The crowd began to dissipate; men in twos and threes headed both up and down the street, discussing where they might find the Scepter of the Wind and in what tales of old it played a prominent part.

“My good people,” Edmund called over the clamor. He shoved the boy aside and climbed up onto the wooden box, waving his arms. “My good people!”

Don’t! Let Norb get what he deserves!

The crowd of at least one hundred came back together.

“Are any of you farmers?” he asked. “Or perhaps r-r-ranchers? People who can work the land?”

Many exchanged puzzled glances, but a few cautiously raised their hands.

“Well, for those of you who can work the land or can raise sheep and cattle,” Edmund said, “there is … there is an even better opportunity for you. Far better than a mere five thousand gold pieces!”

“Better than five thousand gold?” several people muttered.

“What is this?” somebody shouted at him. “Talk quick and talk plain.”

Edmund tore Norb’s announcement from the posting board and lifted it like he had unearthed a priceless treasure long overlooked.

“Here!” he said.

“What’s it say?” a woman called out.

“What do we have to find for that one?” someone asked from the front rows.

“That’s just it,” Edmund replied. “You don’t have to find anything! Here, let me read it to you.”

Praying he wouldn’t stutter, he cleared his throat and held the paper before him like a town crier.

You shouldn’t do this. Every time you try to get involved in something, you screw it up. Don’t get involved. Forget about them! You should be hiding, remember?

“T-to, to whom it may concern. Up to f-f-fifty acres of the best arable land will be given to any able-bodied men or women willing to settle in or around the town of Rood in the beautiful region known as the Highlands!”

The boy peered over Edmund’s arm. “It says they’re looking for tradesmen.”

Edmund hushed him, a silent snarl forming on his lips.

Unnerved, the boy stepped away.

“What the hell does ‘arable’ mean?” somebody shouted.

“It m-m-means, it means high-quality farmland, suitable for growing nearly any crop!” Edmund kept the notice close to his chest.

“Where’s this Rood? I’ve never heard of the place.”

“Me neither.”

People grumbled.

“Never heard of it?” Edmund cried with overblown shock and dismay. “I can’t believe such a thing. The people of Havendor have always been well-educated, skilled at travel, and, and … able to grow anything, even in this dreary land!”

He lifted his arms to the picturesque bluffs that rose on either side of the city. A purplish hue cast by the setting sun twinkled across the rolling waves of the relentless sea.

“Rood is a quaint hamlet just a day’s journey south of the ancient city of Azagra, famed for its abundance and wealth! Why, fifty acres in such a place is worth more than ten thousand gold pieces anywhere else. Furthermore, the Lord of the Highlands, a just and honorable fellow, is even forgoing any taxes you would normally pay!”

“What does that mean? ‘Forgo’?”

“It means you w-wouldn’t have to pay any taxes,” Edmund declared.

“No taxes?” many people said eagerly.

The boy reached for the announcement. “Let me see that.”

Edmund slapped his hand.

“Why would they just be giving land away?” somebody hollered. “Sounds like a trick!”

The majority of the crowd murmured in agreement.

Yes, explain to them how you got everybody in Rood killed and that twenty thousand goblins are still roaming around the nearby mountains.

“Ah!” Edmund raised his finger theatrically to buy himself some time. “Because … because …” Then an idea occurred to him. “Because there are so few men there! Most of them died in the last Goblin War, and the new lord of the region needs men—big, strong, able-bodied men who will rescue the beautiful women of the north and work the land!”

The murmuring grew more energetic.

From somewhere within the mob, Pond yelled, “I heard that the women there have really big bosoms!”

A great laugh went up.

“I think I heard that, too,” somebody near the middle of the crowd said. “Don’t they all have red hair?”

They turned to Edmund, who was caught thinking of Molly’s auburn hair and buxom chest.

“What? What, red? Yes … yes, some. Many. Many have blonde hair, too. Brown and black as well. They are beautiful beyond compare, and I can see that many of the women here must have Highland blood coursing through their veins.”

A middle-aged woman standing by her husband blushed.

“If they’re so beautiful and the land is so good,” a tall man called out, “why aren’t you going there?”

“I am!” Edmund shouted back. “And I’m going to beat you all there so I can have my pick of the wealthiest women of the lot!”

More laughter erupted.

“But how do you get there?” somebody yelled. “Where is this Rood?”

“I’m going to follow the River Bygwen north. That’s the route I’m taking.” Edmund stepped off the box. “It’ll take me about two months or so, but the journey is as easy as putting one foot in front of the other, as they say. Plus, I want to become rich!”

“So you’re really going?” two men said in unison.

“Can I join your group?” a third asked.

Edmund hooted.

“Look at me,” he said, gesturing to his gaunt face and missing eye. Even with new clothing, he still looked haggard. “The last thing I want is other men going with me. Why, you younger lads will win the hearts of the northern women before they even look at me! No, sir. I’m going now, and I’m going alone so I can b-beat you all to the punch!”

Tucking the announcement into his pocket, Edmund strode away quickly. With a subtle glance at Pond, he inclined his head up the street.

Pond winked.

Some of the men called for him to wait, but Edmund kept walking, leaving the crowd to boil in its anticipation and excitement.

“They have really big bosoms?” Edmund said doubtfully after he met up with Pond. Even a block away from the notice boards, they could still hear the buzz of the crowd.

“Arable lands?” Pond chuckled. “You may know books, but I know sales. You can’t use all those big words of yours; it scares them. None of those people knew what ‘arable’ meant. Trust me.”

“True.”

“Plus, men like that only want two things: an easy way to make a good living and a beautiful woman in their beds.”

Edmund thought about what he wanted out of life.

“Anyhow,” Pond went on. “What you did back there was very kind. You surprised even me.”

“Maybe. Those men will probably go all the way up to Rood and then come back to kill me when they don’t get their free land.”

Pretty soon everybody will be wanting to kill you. You should’ve just kept to yourself.

Pond smiled at him.

“What?” Edmund asked, annoyed.

“You’re beginning to heal. It’ll take time, but eventually you’ll be okay and you’ll finally be able to move on from Molly.”

“Nonsense. I … I just want Rood to be rebuilt, that’s all. But they’ll need food first. Hopefully a few of those men will go up north and begin farming.”

Pond’s grin didn’t go away.

Ignoring him, Edmund examined the storefronts, peering into their windows as they walked past.

“Do I really have to go to this get-together?” he asked. “I mean, what’s the point? I’m not interested in meeting a bunch of old spinsters whose sole purpose in life is to marry a wealthy man.”

“We’re doing this,” Pond replied, “because you were asked by a very influential person in this region, and going will help us blend in. Besides, I like it here. It reminds me of home. Maybe we can settle down and buy a business. I walked around this morning while you were fastened to your bedroom floor. There are several suitable building sites available, and nobody in town sells books, so we could have the market to ourselves.”

Edmund began to protest, but Pond cut him off.

“You’re going,” he said. “And that’s that!”

Going to this get-together or being stuck in the goblin pits
…

I don’t know which is worse!

Chapter Eight

Bathed in soft blue starlight and the red glow of sputtering lanterns hung overhead from posts, Pond examined the early evening sky with satisfaction as he ambled along the brick street.

“It’s going to rain in a couple days,” he said.

Stomping next to him, Edmund grunted, several packages under each arm.

“There’s nothing like showers by the sea,” Pond went on, and he sniffed the salty air. “It’s very cleansing.”

Again Edmund grunted.

Pond began to whistle; each high-pitched note sliced into Edmund’s throbbing head.

Still fighting off the remnants of his angry hangover, Edmund snapped, “Why did we have to buy so much? It’ll take them three days to deliver everything!”

The warm coastal winds shifted, sending Pond’s neatly groomed hair fluttering over his shoulders. He let the breeze caress his contented face.

“We got what we got because: one, we found some really good deals; two, you want to blend in, so you need regular clothes that’ll make you look like everybody else around town; and three, you need something nice so you don’t look like a vagabond when you go to Baroness Melody’s dinner.”

Edmund’s soul deflated.

“Do I really have to go?”

“Absolutely. I won’t take no for an answer, and neither will the Baroness.”

“Wonderful.”

“Plus, chances are your little monster will eat at least one of these outfits. We’ll need a spare or two, just in case.”

Edmund wavered midstride. “Oh no! Becky!”

Becky had fallen fast asleep in their suite after chasing squirrels and brightly colored fish all afternoon. But that was hours ago. Heaven only knew what destruction she had wrought since she had woken up.

“We’d better get back before Becky eats everything.” Edmund quickened his pace despite his complaining head.

“I tell you, things would be a lot easier if we just found her a nice home on some tiny deserted island far from here.”

“Pond …”

“I know, I know.” Pond sighed. “You like dogs.”

They sidestepped a young couple walking slowly in front of them.

“She’ll get better,” Edmund said, turning up a street that headed out of town. “She’s still only a puppy.”

Pond snorted.

“A puppy? More like a small horse! The way she’s growing, I wouldn’t be surprised if she becomes as big as one soon. Then she’ll really be a handful!”

“Trust me, having a b-b-big … having a big dog will come in hand—”

At the other end of the town square, people hollered, many of the raised voices belonging to children. Edmund’s pace slowed as he tried to see what has happening.

“What’s over there?” he said to Pond, tipping his chin toward the swelling crowd.

Pond shrugged.

“The pillories, I think. Perhaps they’re in use. Where’re you going? What about the little monster?”

“They’re probably flogging a suspected magic user, trying to make him confess.”

Damn this fear of magic. When will people just let us be?

Edmund stomped across the green park in the town center, beyond which a group of children taunted somebody, cursing and using language one wouldn’t expect even from drunken sailors. Some of them threw rocks, squealing with delight.

“Give me a second,” Edmund said to Pond. “I just want to see what’s happening.”

“All right,” Pond replied. “But it’s your turn to clean up the little brown piles Becky keeps leaving everywhere. I did it this morning!”

On a raised platform at the other end of the town square stood a row of pillories, all empty but for the center one, which contained an enormous bald man in his late teens or early twenties, his wrists, ankles, and huge neck encased in the wooden apparatus. Children skipped around him, kicked his sizable rear end, and smeared manure in his face as they chanted: “Fatty! Fatty! Stupid fatty moron!”

Bent forward at a painfully uncomfortable angle, the fat man simply stared ahead, past half-lidded eyes that were rather close together and much too small for his fleshy face. He neither flinched nor protested.

He doesn’t look like a magic user.

What? Do you think all magic users are short and stutter? Don’t get involved. There’s nothing you can do.

An amused constable stood at the far end of the platform.

“What’re you going to do?” Pond asked as Edmund pushed through the crowd.