Riddle in Stone (The Riddle in Stone Series - Book One) (7 page)

In the blackness of the crawlway, Edmund laid flat, his shaking hands covering his head, fragments of rock showering him from behind. Then a heavy silence settled in from the surrounding stone.

Oh god, what have I done? I should never have left Rood.

For many minutes, he lay trembling in the darkness, afraid of going further and finding that he was in his own coffin.

Something licked his face.

Extending his fingers, he found Thorax’s furry neck. “Thanks, girl. You . . . you saved us.”

She licked him again.

“I-I . . . I suppose,” Edmund said, weakly, “I suppose we better see if the old stories were true.”

If they aren’t, you’re going to slowly suffocate in here. Or worse . . .

He swept his hands in all directions. The passage seemed natural. Its walls were rough, its low ceiling irregular, its floor covered with sand and jagged stones. From up ahead, he thought he could hear the faint plink . . . plink . . . plink of water hitting rock, but his heart was pounding too hard for him to be certain. Thorax sniffed.

“Pray that Isa wasn’t prone to exaggerate,” Edmund said, his voice echoing around him.

They crawled blindly, Thorax leading the way, Edmund pushing his backpack in front of him. Gradually, the steady sound of dripping became unmistakable. Then the walls of the tunnel widened and the ground before them disappeared completely. Drops of water pelted their heads. Somewhere in the blackness, a waterfall roared.

“Well. At least we haven’t run into a dead end. That’s something.”

Fumbling in the dark, he unhooked his battered lantern.

“
Fyre av nå
.”

He turned up the flame.

They were at a top of a deep grotto. Drops of water plummeted around them, falling like thousands of shooting stars into a shimmering pool below. To their left, a waterfall cascaded over a rock outcropping and sent sheets of white water pounding against polished stone. To their right, a small stream burbled out another narrow passage. Above, reflections from Edmund’s red lantern light danced among the countless cream-colored stalactites.

It’s beautiful!

Edmund’s heart quickened, his fear replaced by hope and joy.

This certainly seems to be what Isa described.

Then there should be a way out through the tower.

“Remember, the boy I told you about—Isa?”

Thorax shook her head, a drop of water having pelted her brow.

“He, he . . . he was the boy who brought Iliandor’s diary to the Hansen’s ranch just outside of Rood. Anyway, this must’ve been how he escaped from the bandits. He climbed right up to this shelf and crept out the tunnel that we just crawled through.”

Edmund surveyed the grotto in wonder.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? It’s like walking into the history books. You know what I’m saying? Why, we’re probably the only beings to have ever been here since Isa fled.” He sighed.

A drop of water hit the top of the lantern, causing the flame to hiss.

Thorax sniffed the damp air again. Another drop of water struck her head. She shook herself.

“I still can’t believe it,” Edmund said after a few moments. “I honestly feel like crying, in both a good and bad way, you know? I mean, here we are, which is wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. It’s heaven! Yet . . . yet, it’s sad. I mean, I . . . I wasted so much of my life, so much of my life sitting in that horseshit of a town, dreaming and waiting . . . when I should have been out here exploring and doing something of consequence. Who knows what I could have done in my younger days. What things I could have found or discovered. Who knows . . . ?” His voice trailed off, but haunting echoes lingered.

The lantern sputtered again.

Turning down the flame, Edmund got to his feet.

“Speaking of doing something of consequence!” He said, hoisting his backpack onto his shoulders.

Thorax appeared puzzled.

“Our mission, remember? The Star is probably somewhere right above us and all we have to do is walk up and get it!”

And my first adventure will almost be over! I wonder what I should do next. Perhaps the King has other tasks he’d like me to perform.

Thorax examined the ceiling, a droplet striking her right between the eyes. Annoyed, she rubbed her face with her front paws.

Edmund flicked his chin across the grotto. “See that waterfall? That’s where we’re headed. Behind it actually.”

He began picking his way carefully down from the ledge onto a slender stone lip that encircled the pool.

“You know,” he said, “it seems that in every story I have ever read, important things are always hidden behind waterfalls. I don’t know why. It’s kind of like how every barkeeper is portly, bald, and absentminded. It’s just how things are, I suppose.”

Picking Thorax up, he set her on the ledge behind him.

“It’s kind of like how big battles are never fought during cheerful spring days,” Edmund went on. “You know? They’re always fought during a storm or at night or something dramatic. The black clouds roll in, everybody fights, then the clouds part, sending a shaft of bright light down upon the victor. And they always fight in grim places like the Battle of Bloody Hills or the Battle of Deadly Dike. I’ve never heard of a battle fought in a field of fragrant wild flowers. But I suppose people wouldn’t write about ‘the Battle of Daisy Meadow.’”

He inched along the edge of the pool. Thorax followed, staying close to his heels.

“And another thing. Ever notice how princesses and queens are always beautiful? I mean, what happens to the ugly ones? Or even the plain ones? Why don’t they end up in stories? I don’t know, I suppose it’s all in the telling. The eye of the behold—”

Startled, he stopped, staring at the cavern wall a few feet ahead of them.

“Take a look at this,” he said, lifting his lantern, its ruddy light shining off the bluish grey stone.

Words were scrawled across the wet rock—not just written with charcoal or paint, but actually slashed into the smooth surface as if somebody had taken a sharp knife to soft wood.

“It’s written in Dunael,” Edmund said, feeling the deep gashes of the foot-tall letters. “Fortunately for you, I know it fl, fl, fluently.”

He waited for the echoes of his voice to recede.

“Loosely translated, it says:
‘The salvation of humanity can be found in buildings of wise men, doubly so in optimism of the learned, and in knowledge that is written on a daily basis.’
”

“It’s true enough, I suppose,” he said as Thorax shook off the water that had accumulated on her muddy fur. “Strange thing to write way down here, don’t you think? And why didn’t they use a proper chisel when carving it?”

Edmund felt the jagged indentations of the letters again.

“Whoever wrote it must have been a novice. He incorrectly capitalized ‘knowledge,’ ‘buildings,’ and ‘optimism,’ and several articles are missing. For example, it should be
‘the
optimism of the learned.’ Then again, that doesn’t sound very good. The whole thing is a bit off. Good writing should flow effortlessly from the t-t-tongue.”

Edmund snapped his fingers.

“Maybe Isa wrote it! He was merely a boy at the time he fled the tower.”

He shook his head as more drops of water pelted his damp hair.

“No. That wouldn’t make much sense. After all, why would he spend time carving this when he was trying to escape with the diary?”

Puzzled, he studied the wall a moment longer as if he were missing something important.

How could somebody have sliced this so deeply into the stone?

Maybe the stone is softer than it looks. Maybe being wet for centuries has made it brittle.

He rapped his knuckles against the cavern wall.

It seems as hard as any rock.

It doesn’t matter.

But it’s curious . . .

Think about it later. Remember the Star?

He sighed.

“At any rate, it’s of no concern to us, now is it, mighty Thorax?”

Constantly pelted by drops of water, Thorax scurried around him, trying to find shelter.

He motioned to the waterfall ahead of them.

“See there, that opening? We need to push through the waterfall and go into that crevasse. There’s going to be a stairway that will spiral up though the mountain and into a secret room of the tower where the knights held their last stand. We’ll start searching for the Star and Iliandor’s other belongings there. After we find the Star, we’ll just have to stroll down to Eryn Mas and complete our first mission! Of course, b-b-before that, I’m going to sleep the sleep of the dead. I’m exhausted to my marrow.”

Thorax watched the roaring sheets of water pound the ledge as Edmund regarded the words in the stone one last time. Seeing her concern, he left the wall.

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be fine. There’s plenty of room. But be careful. After all, I wouldn’t want you to fall in the water. Strange half-blind creatures with long tentacles always live in subterranean lakes such as this; at least they do in the stories I’ve read.”

Thorax eyed the pool.

“Ready? One . . . two . . . three.”

Shielding the lantern with his body, Edmund jumped though the ribbons of white water. Seconds later, Thorax followed.

“See,” Edmund said, brushing off of the top of his backpack. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Thorax shook herself, sending dirty spray in all directions.

Before them in the glittering stone was a deep cleft barely wide enough for Edmund to slip through sideways. Just inside, carved into the rock, was an uneven step. Beyond the step was another and then another and another, each winding its way erratically up in a roughly hewn fissure no more than five feet high.

Crouching, Edmund began climbing, his bright lantern leading the way.

Thorax didn’t move.

“What is it?”

Thorax looked back the way they came.

“The troll? I’m sure he’s still out there. They don’t give up easily. He’s probably waiting to see if we can dig our way out.”

She glanced up the stairs.

“Oh, I see what you are getting at. I don’t, I don’t think he’ll be waiting for us in the tower. How could he know about this passage, you know what I mean? He couldn’t fit down here. He probably thinks we’re trapped in the tunnel.”

He put his foot on the next step.

Thorax’s nose twitched.

“Come on, girl. I’m exhausted and need sleep. Let’s find the Star and lay down. I’ll even give you half of the salted pork we have left if you don’t dawdle.”

Hunched forward, Edmund started clambering up the cramped stairs. Hesitantly, Thorax followed.

For over an hour they scaled the narrow stairs, turning constantly upward and to the left in a haphazard spiral. More than once, Edmund banged his head on the low ceiling, his curses reverberating in the damp closeness around them. Then abruptly the steps ended in front of a brick wall.

Thorax groaned.

“Not to worry,” Edmund said, rubbing his throbbing back. He tried to straighten it, but couldn’t without cracking his head against the ceiling again. “This is the end. We’ve made it.” He patted the wall blocking their way with a tired hand. “This is the secret door to the room where they probably hid the Star and Iliandor’s other belongings. All we have to do is . . . ” Edmund pushed on the bricks, but nothing happened.

“All we have to do is . . . ” He pushed again, harder.

What if some piece of debris is blocking it from the other side? Or the masonry has settled, making the door immovable? After all, it’s been centuries. You’ll be trapped in here!

There’s a stream exiting the grotto. It might lead out as well. But don’t give up, not yet. Not when we’re so close!

Setting the lantern on the top step, Edmund threw himself at the brick wall. A crack appeared. Thorax pawed his leg.

“I know, I know,” he replied, drawing his sword. “I was just about to get it. Thank you very much.”

Sliding the tip of his sword into the crack, he wiggled the hilt. Inch by inch, the wall yielded, its bottom edge scraping across a wooden floor that emerged at Edmund’s feet. When an opening wide enough to slide through appeared, Edmund stopped.

“See,” he said, his gasping breaths echoing in the stairwell. “Nothing to it. Easy, easy as falling out of bed. Like I told you. Now onto the completion of our first quest!”

Fresh air blew into the stairwell.

Growling, Thorax retreated.

Edmund leaned against the wall, panting. “Oh, c-c-come on, girl. Don’t be so afraid of everything. It’s, it’s just the air from, from outside. I’m sure there’s a window or something in the tower. Relax. Okay? Just trust me.”

Taking a deep breath, he picked up his lantern.

Sniffing the air again, Thorax fled further down the stairs, the hair between her shoulder blades stiffening.

“What is it?”

Reaching through the opening, Edmund set his lantern and pack on the other side of the brick door. He poked his head around the corner.

“Just as I told you,” he said. “There’s nothing here. It’s just an interior room of the t-t-tower. I can’t see everything, but it looks to be a parlor or something.”

He peered around the open door.

“There are pieces of rotting furniture and a few skeletons lying about. That’s probably what you smell, the poor knights who died here. There’s also a few dead birds.”

Thorax growled.

“I’ll tell you what; we can use the furniture to make a fire. I’ll fry up the last of the pork and have a bit of hot coffee. Okay? Sound good? But first . . . ”

Lifting his stomach and twisting, he thrust himself through the narrow opening with a loud grunt. He beamed at his feat.

Squeezing through a doorway wouldn’t be such an accomplishment if you weren’t so fat.

The way I’m losing weight, I’ll soon be thinner than anybody in Rood! In fact, by the time I get to Eryn Mas, I’ll be even as muscular as that storytell—

“Well, well,” said a soft voice from behind Edmund, “look what we have here, Mr. Gurding.”

His grin vanishing, Edmund’s heart skipped several beats.

Stiff with fear, he forced his reluctant body to turn.

Behind him were two disheveled figures dressed in the baggy beggars’ garb of brown canvas. They were small, even compared to Edmund; their hunched backs made them appear the height of boys in their early teens. Under their oversized hoods, Edmund detected a hint of sickly white faces.

Monks? Here?

Relaxing, Edmund smiled. The two figures smiled in return, revealing many pointed yellow teeth.

He stepped back, his damp skin turning cold. “Goblins!”

“Oh,” the first goblin said, disappointed. “We don’t particularly care for that name, do we, Mr. Gurding?”

Producing a long knife from the interior folds of his patched robe, the other goblin shook his head. “No indeed, Mr. Kravel,” he said quietly. “It makes me angry simply hearing it.”

The one called Mr. Kravel took a step toward Edmund. “You see, the term ‘goblin’ is a bastardization of the word ‘gobel,’ which means ‘children of Gob,’ the evil guardian of the nether regions—in case you weren’t aware.”

“We’re not children,” Gurding added in a low, menacing voice.

“Well said, Mr. Gurding.” Kravel took another step toward Edmund, all the while cautiously scanning the rest of the empty room. “Nor are we evil. You see, evil isn’t a force of nature. It isn’t as if an entire race of beings can be . . . ”

Gurding interrupted in a whisper. “Perhaps we should take care of other matters first before you continue?” He signaled to the secret door through which Edmund had just pushed himself.

“Right you are, Mr. Gurding. Right you are.” Drawing a knife from underneath his robes, Kravel stalked to the edge of the doorway. “If you would be so kind, please tell the rest of your party to step into the light of your lantern. We’d dearly love to meet them.”

Edmund finally managed to swallow. “I-I-I-I,” he began.

Kravel pursed his lips. “Oh, that won’t do. That won’t do at all, I’m afraid. Please, comply with my request so that we can proceed to the next stage of this joyous event.”

Edmund swallowed again, opened his mouth, tried to speak and swallowed a third time. Knife in hand, Gurding came closer.

“I-I-I-I-I’m,” Edmund stuttered and then forced the words out of his lungs in great bursts. “Alone! I-I-I-I’m . . . alone. I’m alone. Alone. Alone.”

Kravel tutted. “You are making things difficult for yourself. Mr. Gurding, could you please compel our new friend to comply with my previously stated instructions?”

“Certainly, Mr. Kravel.” Fingering his knife, Gurding strolled toward Edmund.

“Alone!” Edmund croaked, backing away from Gurding.

“You disappoint me.” Kravel frowned. “Why, only a few moments ago, both Mr. Gurding and I heard you speaking to the rest of your party. But no matter. We’ll extract them from their hiding spot momentarily.”

Like a butcher entering a pig’s sty, Kravel took off his cloak, revealing a squat body with brawny arms reaching nearly to the floor. He folded the cloak into a neat square and set it on the ground by his feet. Drawing a scimitar from his belt, he contemplated which hand should hold it, and which should hold his knife.

Gurding continued striding toward Edmund.

Edmund retreated, but found that the space available to him was rapidly diminishing.

Run to that hallway!

How? I’d have to get past them first!

Do something!

“A-a-a-a,” Edmund repeated, his voice hitting ever-increasingly high-pitched notes.

“Oh, stop your squeaking,” Gurding said. “I haven’t even hurt you yet.”

Snatching Edmund by the hair, the goblin placed his knife against Edmund’s throat.

“For the moment,” he said, “I’d prefer you remain quiet.”

Edmund raised his hands in surrender, his body trembling. A shivering squeal continued emitting from his lungs.

“That isn’t being quiet.” Gurding’s knife poked Edmund’s neck; a drop of blood trickled down his convulsing chest. Edmund closed his mouth tight, but the squeal continued only slightly muted.

“I’m afraid this is as quiet as he’ll get,” Gurding said to Kravel, who had decided to hold his scimitar in his left hand and his knife in his right. “Shall I just end this?”

“No, no. No need to rush things. It doesn’t really matter anyway, now does it? They know we are here. Whomever he was talking to isn’t going anywhere, now are they?”

“As you wish. I’ll just handle him while you take care of the others. Or do you want my help?”

“That’s just like you, Mr. Gurding. Always being kind. But time will tell. Let’s first determine what we have and I’ll let you know.”

Kravel peered around the edge of the partially open brick door. A fierce snarling rose up from the darkness. Bewildered, Kravel retreated a step.

“There’s a stairway here,” he said, “a stairway going down. Has such a feature ever been noted in previous reports?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Gurding replied, still holding Edmund by the hair. “If you look at that door, it appears to have been made so it blends in. See what I mean? No handle. No hinges either. Perhaps the others have missed it.”

Kravel examined the door more closely. “I believe you are correct as usual, Mr. Gurding.” His thin white lips turned upward. “You know, I have a very good feeling about this. Perhaps our new friend here has guided us to what we have been searching for.”

Gurding grinned at the quaking Edmund. “If that’s the case, I’ll have a much better opinion of you.”

Edmund squeaked.

“Tell me, Mr. Kravel,” Gurding asked. “What’s making that growling noise?”

Stepping in front of the doorway, Kravel stared into the darkness. “It appears to be a dog of some variety or other. Not very useful looking, I’m afraid.”

Thorax snarled some more, the narrow stairwell magnifying the sound of her wrath.

“How many meals can we make from it?”

Examining Thorax from a distance, Kravel scratched his bald head. “No more than two, I should think. Ask our friend how many non-canine creatures are down here, if you would be so kind, Mr. Gurding.”

Gurding poked Edmund with his knife again. “You heard what he said. So there’s no real need to repeat it, is there?”

Licking his dry lips, Edmund took a deep uneven breath and opened his mouth. “I,” he began, taking another breath and exhaling in uneasy fits. “I . . . am . . . alone. I . . . was . . . was . . . was . . . sp-sp-speaking . . . to . . . Thor-Thor-Thorax . . . the dog.”

“Thorax?” Kravel glanced into the stairwell and then back at Edmund. “Are you making a joke?”

Edmund’s head twitched side to side several times.

“Kind of a stupid name for a dog,” Gurding observed. “Is it ferocious looking? Like a black wolf or something?”

“No. In fact, it’s a runt. For a moment, I thought it was a groundhog or a creature of that sort. Though why he would be traveling with a groundhog is beyond me. Here, go take a look for yourself.”

Releasing Edmund, Gurding walked to the doorway. Edmund held his neck with quivering hands, trying to stop the bleeding from the cut just under the left side of his jaw.

Your sword! Your sword! Draw your sword!

No, you fool. Run! Get the hell out of here. Now, while you still have a chance!

Peering through the opening, Gurding tapped his chin. “Not much of a dog. Some sort of herding breed, I would think.”

“Quite possibly. Quite possibly.”

“Still,” Gurding went on, “I believe you’re right. It won’t make much of a meal for both of us, not after it is skinned, gutted, and deboned.”

“No, indeed, Mr. Gurding.” Kravel mused. “I do believe I overestimated its size during my first assessment of the creature.”

The two goblins stared into the darkness. Thorax continued snarling.

“I’ll tell you what I am prepared to do, Mr. Gurding. I’ll make you a bit of a wager. Whomever strikes the animal with the killing blow gets to eat the miserable thing.”

Do something!

“The entire animal?”

“Of course. It wouldn’t be much of a wager with us splitting the reward for the winner’s effort, now would it?”

“That’s very generous of you, given that I’m far more accurate with knives and all. Now had we our bows handy, I would have given you the advantage.”

“Perhaps, perhaps. But I think your recent string of successes have made you a tad overconfident. However, time will tell. Are you ready?” Kravel positioned his knife in his fingers, ready to throw.

“P-p-put . . . those . . . d-d-d-down,” Edmund said in as commanding a voice as he could muster.

Turning, the goblins found Edmund with his short sword drawn. It was shaking.

“Interesting twist of events,” Gurding said to Kravel.

“Interesting, indeed. But not completely unexpected.”

“P-p-p-p-p . . . ”

“Put?” Kravel suggested.

“I’m afraid he’s going to be rather frustrating to interrogate,” said Gurding. “I wonder if he hit his head at some point. Perhaps when he was a child.”

“Now Mr. Gurding, let’s be pleasant. Our friend here is about to make a decision that will undoubtedly alter the course of his life for a very long time, or at least until it comes to its eventual conclusion. Let’s not sully the moment for him.”

“P-p-put, put . . . y-y-y . . . ”

“Yes, yes. You want us to put our weapons down. We understand,” Kravel said. “Unfortunately for you, I’m afraid that isn’t going to happen. I will, however, propose a deal. You can concede defeat and give us your weapon, in which case we’ll take you prisoner and turn you over to the Questioners. They are not pleasant people, as a rule, you understand. Rather obnoxious and overpaid as a matter of fact. However, you will be alive, and you can dream about eventually escaping.”

“You might even die of old age,” Gurding offered in an optimistic tone. “Though that might not be too far off judging from the looks of you.”

“Or,” Kravel went on, taking little notice of his companion, “you can choose either Mr. Gurding or myself in a fight to the death. If you select this option, I would suggest you opt for Mr. Gurding. He’s not as skilled as he believes himself to be.”

“That isn’t exactly a polite thing to say,” Gurding replied. “You wound me.”

“My apologies. Allow me to rephrase. Of the two of us, my colleague, Mr. Gurding here, is less skilled than I am in the matters of lethal combat with a blade.”

“I’m not too sure that I like that either.”

“Th . . . Th . . . Thorax!” Edmund called out. The snarling in the stairwell subsided. “Do, do, do, do what I tell you. Okay, girl? Do, do what I s-s-say.”

“It’s a girl?” Gurding said to Kravel.

Kravel shrugged.