Riddle in Stone (The Riddle in Stone Series - Book One) (23 page)

He’s unconscious.

“Edmund,” Vorn pleaded. “Don’t waste time. Leave here. Take the other prisoner and go!”

Sheathing his sword, Edmund pulled Pond Scum over his shoulder and backed out of the cell.

“We’re all getting out of here. I found a way out. But it’s going to be closely guarded from now on. I have weapons, b-b-but I need your help. Together we can fight our way past the guards and get the hell out of here.”

“Edmund . . . ”

With Pond Scum draped over one shoulder, Edmund lumbered through the dim corridor attempting to discern which cell was Vorn’s.

Edmund retched. “I forgot how badly this place stinks.”

“Edmund, go. I can’t help you. Go now, before they return. Please, I’m begging you!”

“Keep talking,” Edmund said. “I can’t find you.”

“Edmund . . . ”

Here he is! Hurry. Get the door open.

He tried several keys in Vorn’s cell door. One glided in.

“We’re all getting out,” Edmund said.

Balancing Pond Scum on his shoulder, he snapped open the stolid steel door and looked down.

“Y-y-you, you, you’re an . . . ” Edmund stammered in disbelief. “You’re an . . . elf!”

Elves exist? They can’t! I . . . I must be dreaming.

Vorn lifted his head, revealing the deep holes where his eyes used to be. “We prefer the term Huldran. But yes, Edmund, I am an elf. As is Kar-Nazar, or at least he was before the Dark Magic made him a Vaettir and he began ruling the Hiisi. However, we can’t talk about this now. You’ve got to go. Flee while you can.”

“We, we all, we all can escape,” Edmund said, still amazed and horrified. He repositioned Pond Scum over his shoulder, the added weight making his knees buckle.

You can’t carry both of them!

“As you can no doubt see,” Vorn said, gesturing with fingerless hands to his missing eyes and the stumps at the end of his shriveled legs, “I can’t help you, Edmund.”

He’s right. He’s useless to you.

Edmund’s gaze darted up the passageway to the guardroom.

“But, but I . . . I can’t just leave you here. We have to get away!”

“I cannot help you,” Vorn said, dragging himself closer across the metal grate. Edmund retreated a step. “But you can help me.”

“How?”

“End my misery. Kill me.”

Edmund shook his head.

It’d be the most humane thing to do.

“Kill me, Edmund. Kill me and end my misery.”

“I, I, I . . . I can’t!”

“You must. Please.”

Edmund repositioned Pond Scum and glanced back up the passageway. “I, I, I can’t,” he repeated, his voice cracking. He drew out the knife from his belt and held it out to the blind elf. “You can—”

“I can’t,” Vorn replied. “Or I would have done so a millennium ago. My soul will not ascend if I take my own life. But you . . . you can end it for me. End my misery, Edmund. End it, please.”

Pond Scum groaned. His warm blood trickled down Edmund’s sweaty spine. Edmund stammered, his legs weakening under Pond Scum’s weight.

“Just promise me that you will never give Kar-Nazar what he craves,” Vorn pleaded. “Don’t answer that riddle. His heart is black. I should have seen that sooner. I shouldn’t have helped him for so long.”

He’s an alchemist! Remember what he told you before? Remember the stories he told?

“You’re, you’re Kar-Vorn . . . the, the Elven blacksmith . . . from the, from the old faerie tales!”

“Edmund,” Vorn said. “It is time for you to start connecting what you have read in your books with what is happening around you. You need to understand what those books of yours truly mean. There is more inside their covers than you have realized. But I cannot help you anymore. Please, help me. Please!”

Edmund lowered his knife, his grip on its handle loosening. “Please, tell me what this is all about. Tell me what I need to know. I don’t . . . I don’t understand any of this!”

“Kill me, Edmund.”

“I can’t!”

“You must.”

Kill him. Put him out of his misery. This could’ve been you. It still could be if you don’t get out of here. Is this how you’d want to live?

A thick burbling sound resonated far above them.

“Please, Edmund. This is no way to live for eternity.”

“What . . . what is all this about? What do I need to do to stop Kar-Nazar?”

“Get Iliandor’s diary and destroy it. Burn it. Make sure Kar-Nazar never gets the original.”

The diary?

“But why? He already has read an identical copy—”

The burbling grew louder.

“Please, Edmund. Do as I say. End my life and go destroy the diary.”

Edmund stared at the jagged blade in his shaking hand.

“Please.”

From up the passageway goblin voices echoed.

Kill him! You can’t save both him and Pond Scum.

Sewage plunged into the cells.

Pond Scum rolled over onto his bruised side, groaning.

“Where am I?” He coughed, chunks of blood spewing across the grey stone slab upon which he was lying.

Brushing the tears away from his remaining eye, Edmund’s voice croaked. “You’re with, with me—F-Filth. You’re safe.” He turned up the lantern’s flame.

Pond Scum surveyed their close confines through blackened eyes, his head teetering. Tiny crystals in the surrounding stone glittered green and yellow like constellations. He coughed again.

“Nice place. Very pretty.” Edmund stared at the ground.

Pond Scum sat up with an effort.

“Thanks, Filth.” He gave a bloody smile. “I appreciate what you did.”

Edmund grumbled something.

“What?”

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Edmund said louder. “We’re right around the corn-corn-corner from where they brought you, the wet cells. Guards are swarming all over the place.” He stared at the lantern, its tiny flame flicking in all directions, then added, “Thanks for telling me about the trap . . . and everything in the pit. I’m in your debt.”

“Cook me breakfast and we’ll call it square.” Pond Scum laughed and then winced, holding his right side.

A biscuit the color of sawdust fell into his lap.

Pond sniffed it. “What’s this?”

“Breakfast,” Edmund replied. “And lunch, and dinner . . . for the rest of our lives.”

Pond Scum bit into the biscuit.

“Not bad.” He finished it off. “Splendid, actually. Where did you get it? I didn’t realize the Hiisi were bakers.”

Edmund put his hands together. “
Mat av nå
.” When he opened them, a small, round biscuit was in his palms. He tossed it to the startled Pond Scum.

“You can make these?” he asked. “Magically?”

“It’s easier now than, than before. I’ve been practicing. I can feed an army of rats now. B-b-before, before when I was in the pit, I could only make one or two a day. Not enough for everybody, you understand.”

“Oh,” Pond Scum replied, his mouth full. “I’m not accusing you. I understand completely. I’m just impressed. Can you make anything else? Red wine, perhaps? Or honey? Honey would be great on these, give them more flavor.”

“No. None of that. Just this and water. Would you like another?”

“Actually, I would.”

Edmund handed him another biscuit. Pond Scum savored each mouthful with exaggerated moans. He gestured to Edmund’s face. “Sorry about your eye. Do you want to talk about it?”

Touching the indentation where his left eye used to be, Edmund turned away. “No.”

“All right then. Let’s sing songs!”

Edmund laughed despite himself.

“There you go,” Pond Scum said, grinning, blood and brown crumbs streaking his beard. “Things aren’t that black, now are they?”

“Wait until the oil in the lantern burns out.”

“But we’re alive. Have wonderful food. Water. And we’re free! What more could we hope for?”

Edmund’s expression turned bitter. “Free? It’s just a bigger cage, that’s all.”

“The world’s a cage, if you let it. The same with your mind. The trick is to make your cage what you want it to be.”

Edmund shook his head. “You keep saying things like that and I’ll send you back to the pits.”

“All right, all right. I won’t lecture. Still, brooding doesn’t help, now does it? I’m just tickled that I’m finally free, different cage or not.”

“We’re not free,” Edmund said angrily, his voice reverberating in the small cavity in which they were camped. He rubbed his head. “I’m . . . I’m sorry. But we’re not. In, in, in many respects things are much worse. The sooner you realize that the better.”

“But we’re alive. You can’t deny that. And that’s something to celebrate. They didn’t tell us anything about you, just hinted at the agony you were in. Then they took Crazy away. He never returned, the poor guy.”

Crazy Bastard . . .

“Actually,” Edmund said, picking at the pommel of his scimitar, “Crazy . . . he . . . he got away.”

Pond Scum stopped eating.

“At least,” Edmund went on. “At least, that’s what it looked like to me. I don’t know what’s true anymore.”

Don’t tell him what you did. Don’t tell him how you sentenced a pit mate to certain death.

But he didn’t die.

It doesn’t matter. You sentenced him to death.

Pond Scum was staring at him, mouth full, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s a long story,” Edmund said.

“Hey, we have nothing but time, right? Is he in the mines somewhere? Maybe we can find him.”

Edmund shifted, unsure of what to reveal. “You see, I . . . I was told . . . I was told to pick one of you for the Games. If I didn’t . . . ”

“And you picked Crazy. That’s perfectly understandable. I would have done the same.”

Edmund lifted his head in surprise. “You would’ve?”

“Sure. Look, being happy and optimistic is one thing. Being practical and keeping yourself alive is another. Go on. What happened?”

“So, anyway, they put him in this big pit, this . . . arena where tens of thousands of goblins were all chanting.”

At “goblin,” Pond Scum recoiled, then laughed. “There were tens of thousands of them . . . of
goblins
, you say? I never dreamt that there were so many.”

“My thoughts exactly. How did they go on for so long unnoticed?”

“We’re a long way from no place,” Pond Scum replied. “I don’t know about you, but it took them three weeks to drag me here after they waylaid my caravan. Who knows how many secret holds they have up and down these mountains? They are always talking like they have something big in the works. And the slaves are always digging new tunnels. But go on. What about Crazy?”

“At, at any rate, they threw him into this arena with this horde of goblins all stomping and waving their arms over their heads, screaming. Then an ogre came out.”

“An ogre?” Pond Scum whistled as he leaned forward. With the lantern’s flame beginning to die, the shadows around them deepened.

“Yeah, this big, monstrous fellow. He came in shouting and waving his spear and net around, getting the crowd all whipped up into a frenzy.”

“What did Crazy do? He must’ve been scared out of his wits, poor guy. Did he shit himself?”

“He was terrified. He hid underneath a table that had weapons on it.”

“So what happened then?”

Yes, Master Storyteller, what happened then?

Edmund shrugged. “I don’t know. I looked away. I didn’t want to see what was about to happen. So I just sat down. And then . . . and then the ogre was dead, just lying there with Crazy Bastard on his chest jumping up and down like a drunken rabbit.”

Pond Scum rocked back, glanced around him, and then leaned forward again. “What the hell happened? How? How did, how could Crazy kill an ogre? I mean . . . an ogre?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been playing it over and over in my head and I still don’t have the slightest idea.”

“So what then?”

“Then a horn blew and he was allowed to leave the arena. I was brought up to the top of the tower—”

“Tower?”

“Yeah, there’s a t-t-tower above us, hidden away in a deep fold in the mountains. It isn’t of human construction; at least, none that I have studied. It seems far older than anything else in this region.”

“Okay, go on. What happened next? To Crazy, I mean.”

“They gave me this telescope and told me to look at the path that led down from the front gate. And, sure enough, there was Crazy Bastard running away, screaming like he always did.”

“Were they, the, the . . . goblins . . . were they running after him?”

“No. They said that they would, but that they were going to give him a head start as part of his prize for winning the fight. I don’t know.” Edmund threw up his hands, helpless. “They could have killed him as soon as I left the window. But, at least he got a good ways away when I last saw him. A couple miles, I should think. He might have been able to hide, the forest outside is pretty dense. Finding food would have been his biggest problem.”

He’s probably dead in some hole somewhere, frozen solid by now.

Pond Scum rested against the cave wall. “An ogre? Huh.” He munched on his biscuit. “Do you think that maybe Crazy Bastard wasn’t all that crazy? Could it have been an act?”

“I don’t know. M-m-maybe I’m the crazy one.”

“Don’t be so negative. You got out. You’re free. Maybe not ‘free,’ but you are one step closer, now aren’t you?”

Edmund threw a small stone at the wall.

You should have rescued Vorn too.

I couldn’t carry both of them . . .

“Have you solved the riddle?” Pond Scum asked.

“No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No!” Edmund rubbed his temples. “I’m . . . I’m sorry. Just, just forget about the damn riddle. It’s meaningless. Let’s just worry about getting out of here.” He pushed his matted hair out of his eye.

Pond Scum pointed to the Star of Iliandor on Edmund’s brow. “What’s that?”

Edmund let his hair fall back over the gem. “It’s nothing. Just something I found.”

“Looks expensive. Perhaps you can sell it when we get out of here. Can I see it?” Reaching forward, Pond Scum flinched, his face contorted in pain.

“Here,” Edmund said. “I’m, I’m sorry. I should’ve, should’ve done this sooner. Hold still.”

He put his hands on Pond Scum’s purple ribs.

“
Smerte av reise
.”

The swelling began subsiding. The purple hue turned to a dull brown.

Pond Scum exhaled easier.

“Well, you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Edmund put his hands on Pond Scum’s bloody face.

“I can’t make eyes grow back,” he said. “B-b-but I can heal some things. Minor cuts and bruises, simple broken bones. That’s about it.”

He cleared his mind.

“
Smerte av reise
.”

The bleeding from Pond’s face slowed and then stopped.

“Sorry that I wasn’t much help in the pits. I couldn’t—”

“No need to explain,” Pond Scum said, wiggling his jaw and pursing his lips. “Oh! This is much better. It’s still tender, but . . . ” He twisted his torso. “But, the pain is almost completely gone. And I can breathe better. Thanks! Now if you can sprout wings and fly us out of here, I’d be much obliged.”

“It won’t be that easy, I’m afraid.”

“It can’t be that difficult. What’s the problem? I see you have a couple swords there and some other gear. What do you say we start freeing some more Pit Dwellers? We could raise a small army. Like you said, you can feed them now.”

Don’t take any more risks. Hide and wait for the spring.

“I don’t know. I think it would be better just to lie low for a bit. And then see.”

“But you have a plan, am I right? I mean to get us out of this cage and into the bigger one we call the world.”

“It’s not much of a plan, I’m afraid.”

“But at least you have one, so there you go. Let’s hear it.”

A thin ribbon of blue flame skated across the lantern’s burnt wick, black smoke spiraling up to the cave’s ceiling. The lantern’s oil was nearly gone.

Edmund lay down, staring up at the glittering stone a few feet above his head. “There’s . . . there’s a way out. There’s this passage that leads out to the west side of the mountains—”

“Terrific! So, what’s the problem?”

“The first is that it’s the middle of winter. Everything is frozen solid. There must be five feet of snow outside. We’d die within ten minutes if we left now, even if we had decent clothing.”

“All right. So we wait. Bide our time. Hide. Sing songs. We’ll have fun. You can tell me more stories from those books you keep talking about.”

Books . . . They got me into this mess. I should have been a carpenter.

“The second problem is that they know I’m still here and that I know where the exit is. It’ll be heavily guarded. You can only surprise the guards so often before they start looking for it. They’ll be armored in plate mail and have bows ready. They’ll cut us down before we step foot outside.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic.”

Edmund raised an eyebrow. “How good are you with a sword?”

“Me? I’ve swatted flies before. It’s the basically same concept, right?”

Edmund rolled his eye.

“Well then, if that way is no good,” Pond Scum said, “how about finding another way? Maybe the River Gate.”

“River Gate?”

“Yeah, it’s only a legend. Just something some of the Pit Dwellers talk about, you understand. Vomit claims that one of our predecessors saw it once—”

“What happened to Vomit, by the way? Why wasn’t he with you and Turd?”

“Ah, that! Your friend, Mr. Kravel, didn’t think you would believe that all three of us escaped to the mines, so he only had the two of us sit there.”

Makes sense.

“G-g-go, go on. What about this River Gate? What did Vomit say about it?”

“From what he told me, and this was years ago when I first got here mind you, back when we used to talk every night and share stories, he said that there’s this big river that runs underneath the mountains and goes outside. It’s gated with bars or something, so nobody can get in or out that way. But maybe we can open the gate or knock it down. At least it’s another option.”

A big river . . .

Maybe the Hawthorn?

I think we’re further north than the Hawthorn. Perhaps a river heading east to the Sea?

“And we have time to look for it, you know?” Pond Scum went on. “That or, when spring comes, we can make a mad rush for the other exit you found, swords a’swinging.”

Maybe with both of you, you can fight your way out. If you hide for a month or two, they might think you’re dead. There’ll be fewer guards . . .

“So what do you say?” Pond Scum persisted. “Shall we go looking for the River Gate?”

“Let me think about it,” Edmund said.

From time to time, Edmund had heard rushing water as he explored the mines. Occasionally, he found small streams, here and there. However, whenever he followed them, they either plunged down a chasm or disappeared into a crack too small for Edmund to crawl through. A river, on the other hand, would almost certainly have to flow out of the mountains and into the lowlands. The trick was going to be finding it.