Riddle in Stone (The Riddle in Stone Series - Book One) (28 page)

Grunting, Edmund heaved himself up into the stirrup and threw a leg over the ornate saddle. Underneath him, the grey Percheron snorted, apparently not happy with having Edmund on its barrel-like back. Pond lifted Thorax into Edmund’s waiting arms.

“What’s the horse’s name again?”

Norb handed him the reins.

“Apparently it’s Blake. Stupid name for a horse. But that’s what they called him. Seems to answer to it well enough. He’s faster than all get out, so don’t let the brute throw you.”

Towering above his friends, Edmund adjusted himself in the saddle. “I’ll meet you in six weeks. Are you sure you know where?”

“Where the East-West Road crosses the River Celerin,” Pond replied as if repeating something well-rehearsed.

“Right. Bring the knights occupying Rood and everybody else you can get ahold of. Tell them everything that I have told you.”

Norb didn’t look too sure.

“Ed, if they catch me, they’ll string me up. Them knights love their horses more than they like people. You know what I’m saying? And they know that I stole him.”

“Then have Pond go into town alone. You can hide in the woods. Or better yet, g-g-go, go to the Jensen’s farm. If I’m any judge, they’ll be madder than hell about this rejoining the kingdom business. They’ll hide you while Pond tells everybody about the goblins.”

At this, Norb’s expression lightened. “That’ll work. The ranchers are as upset as anybody.”

“Pond,” Edmund went on, “go with Norb to Rood and tell everybody what I told you. Tell them we know where Molly is. Tell them what I’m doing. They’ll be more willing to help if they know I’m bringing an army up from Eryn Mas.”

Winking, Pond saluted. “Absolutely, Captain!”

“There’s one more thing,” Edmund said as Blake dug at the snow with his huge hooves. “I need a book from my house. It’s a very old diary with a tat-tat-tattered
. . .
tattered black leather cover. It should be on the top, left-hand shelf as you enter my library. It’ll be the fourth book from the corner of the wall. Above all else, I need that diary. Do you understand? You must get it for me.”

“Why?” Norb asked.

“It may help us save Molly.”

“Then you’ll get it if I have to sneak into town and get it for you,” Norb said.

“Fourth book from the corner on the top, left-hand shelf,” Pond repeated. “Got it!”

“And don’t forget the other gear. The candles, rope, chalk, oil flasks
. . .
everything. I’ll see you all back at the River Celerin in six weeks.”

Lifting his head, Blake trumpeted.

“Here,” Norb said, handing Edmund his pack. “You’ll need food and other supplies for your trip. There isn’t much left, but it should get you a ways.”

“Oh, he won’t need food—”

“Pond,” Edmund interrupted with forced calmness. “It’s very important that you keep some things to yourself. No need telling people wh-wh-what we suffered through.” His remaining eye narrowed at Pond as he took Norb’s pack.

Pond saluted again. “Gotcha! No need to worry about that. I understand. I understand completely! You don’t need to tell me twice.” He tapped his temple.

If he tells people I’m a magic user, I’ll kill him.

Don’t worry. You can trust him with your life. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.

“Just make sure you get everything. Get the diary, and bring the knights and everybody to the river. Bring as many people as you can, anybody who can swing a sword or shoot a bow. Are you both clear as to what I need you to do?”

They said they were.

Edmund examined his companions in turn. Norb had an intense earnestness in his face mixed with some unresolved guilt. He could barely look Edmund in the eye. Pond was humming.

“Remember, if anybody in Rood balks, remind them that we’re doing this for Molly. And don’t take no for an answer. She needs us and we don’t have much time. I’ll be back with an army of knights!”

Turning Blake southward, Edmund raised himself higher in the stirrups; Thorax sprawled uneasily across the saddle in front of him.

“Ed,” Norb said.

Edmund lowered himself.

“I’m sorry for what I said, back behind the Rogue. About how you and Molly and all
. . .
I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I know, Norb. No hard feelings.” He nodded at his pit mate. “Just take good care of Pond here. I owe him my life.”

“I owe you mine,” Pond replied.

“So, remember
. . .
six weeks. No later. Okay?” Edmund said, Blake shifting underneath him. “Five weeks for you to rush home, a couple days to get organized, and a couple days to get everybody to the river. Gather everybody you can muster. Okay?”

“I’ll be here.” Pond smiled. “You can count on me.”

“I know I can.”

Ready to charge off, Edmund rose in the stirrups again.

“Ed,” Norb said again.

“What?” Edmund asked, annoyed. “We have to get moving. Molly needs us!”

“Are, are
. . .
are they going to do to Mol
. . .
are they going to do to her what they did to you?”

Edmund touched the hole where his left eye used to be.

Lie.

“I don’t think so, Norb. They need Molly to get to me. They’ll keep her safe and sound, otherwise they won’t get what they want.”

“What do they want? What’s this all about, Ed? Why did they take her?”

But Edmund had put his heels to Blake’s ribs and was shooting southward through the melting snow.

For two weeks, Edmund and Thorax raced along the river, bolting out of the northern Highlands and into the snowless lowlands to the south where King Lionel and his army of knights still held control. Wide plains flatter than the ocean stretched as far as Edmund could see. The tall grasses were turning green in the early spring sunlight. Crocuses of yellow and blue dotted the river’s rocky banks.

Ignoring the beauty around him, Edmund went over his plan again and again until he was sick of thinking about it. Everything hinged on Norb or Pond mustering the people of Rood and King Lionel listening to what Edmund had to say. The townsfolk would come. They all loved Molly. It was the King who would need convincing.

If he’s half the warrior that I’ve heard him to be, he’ll want to fight. No king can walk away from a good battle. He just needs to send enough soldiers. That’s the biggest issue. He needs to believe that there are thousands of goblins and not just some isolated band.

On the morning of the fourteenth day after leaving Pond and Norb, Edmund came within sight of a long bridge spanning the swollen river. He had been deliberately avoiding contact with others, bypassing the occasional ranch, the small logging settlements, and merchant caravans for fear of being delayed. Now he was afraid he’d have to make contact.

“See those trees?” Edmund pointed to the line of ancient maples angling away from the bridge and extending to the horizon. “I bet they mark the Old North-South Road that leads up to Hillode, Rockdale, and eventually up to Rood. Which means that it leads south to Eryn Mas. That’s where we’ll find King Lionel and his knights.”

Propping herself up on the saddle in front of Edmund, Thorax examined the endless parade of trees and sniffed the fragrant spring air. Her back stiffened.

“I know,” Edmund said, scratching her ears. “But we have to start following the road southward. So we have to cross that bridge.”

He stroked the horse’s neck. “How are you feeling, Blake? Ready for a race? We may n-n-need some of your speed in a few moments.”

Blake reared up and trumpeted, almost tossing Thorax to the ground.

On the bridge, hidden figures leapt to their feet, weapons in hand.

“Well, they certainly know we’re here now. Let’s see if this is what I think it is.”

Nudging Blake’s ribs with his bare heels, they slowly approached the bridge.

Three men were standing in front of it, blocking Edmund’s way. One was a large, heavy-set man with a wooden quarterstaff. The other two were smaller and had makeshift clubs. All three were smiling as if greeting a long lost friend.

Even goblins don’t grin like that.

They’re just thugs. Don’t worry. I can deal with them.

“Hail, traveler!” the man with a wooden quarterstaff said.

Edmund reined Blake to a stop.

“Hail!” the man said again. “Fine morning, isn’t it, traveler?”

“It beats living in a p-pit,” Edmund replied.

The man with the staff laughed as his colleagues spread out and began flanking Blake. The hair between Thorax’s shoulder blades rose, but she swallowed her growls when Edmund stroked her head.

The two men with clubs whistled as they circled.

“Mighty nice horse you’ve got here, mister,” one of them said, pleasantly enough. “Mighty nice.”

“Don’t see many like this,” the other added.

Edmund didn’t say anything.

“We’re the official toll keepers for this here bridge,” the man with the staff said, still blocking Edmund’s path. “We’re charged with taking tolls from any travelers that use it, such as yourself. King’s orders and all.”

“The King, eh?” Edmund replied.

Snorting, Blake dug a hoof into the dirt.

“Don’t believe me?” the man with the staff asked with exaggerated surprise. “I’m not sure that I like being called a liar by a thief. How about you, lads?”

He took a step toward Edmund, the wood staff thumping against his palm. His friends shook their heads as if they were now forced to do something unpleasant. They strolled closer. Thorax’s teeth appeared. Blake’s tail thrashed.

“Thief?” Edmund repeated.

“You ain’t got money for boots, let alone clothes that fit proper,” the bearer of the staff said, laughing. Edmund examined the patched shirt and pants Norb had given him. They hung off his now svelte frame like robes. “No way this beautiful horse is yours. In fact, I think that I’ll have to commandeer him until we can find his proper owner.” Still smiling, he nodded at his companions.

The men on either side of Edmund took another step forward, clubs raised.

With a twist on the reins, Edmund turned Blake suddenly so that one of the men was in front of him and the other directly behind.

“Up,” Edmund told Blake.

Blake rose upon his hind legs, rearing high over the startled man in front of him. Blake’s hooves came crashing down, just as the highwayman dove out of the way.

From behind, the second man rushed forward.

“Kick,” Edmund said.

Blake tilted, his great hind end lifting off the ground. His rear hooves swept back, connecting with the second man’s chest. There was a crunching sound as the man flew forty feet down the road. He was dead before he hit the ground, his chest caved in, blood spewing from his mouth like a geyser.

Drawing forth his scimitar, Edmund pointed it at the man with the staff. “How f-f-far
. . .
how far to Eryn Mas?”

“F-five
. . .
five days ride,” the man with the quarterstaff said, pointing a shaking finger down the road.

“Get out of my way.”

“Absolutely,” the man said, running off the road.

“Let’s go, Blake.”

Whinnying, Blake pranced forward, his horseshoes clomping on the bridge’s wooden timbers.

The capital city of Eryn Mas rose up out of the southern plains like a bejeweled mountain. Edmund could see its golden domes and spires glinting in the sunlight a day before he actually arrived at the surrounding farmlands. As he drew closer, its majesty overwhelmed him.

Its walls soared four hundred feet overhead. The sentries strolling along its battlements looked like shiny specks, their armor flashing in the failing evening light. Flags and banners of every color fluttered on poles angling out from the parapets, many embroidered with the crests of royal families and heroes of old. Even the sparrows and swifts that swooped and darted about the cloudless sky seemed grander and more majestic than anything Edmund had ever seen in the north.

It’s incredible!

I can’t believe how tall those walls are! No wonder Arnett the Black never took the city by force. No seige towers could ever reach that high.

If only Rood had walls like this . . .

The memory of a heated argument came to Edmund’s mind. The wall surrounding Rood had fallen into disrepair. Wild animals were being seen in the streets. When a black bear wandered into the bakery and consumed all of the honey cakes, many of the townsfolk were finally ready to act. But nobody could decide how big the wall should be.

It was Edmund, of all people, who ended the debate.

“Making it f . . . fifty f-f-feet is a waste of time and m-m-money,”
he said, standing up in the town hall.
“Fifteen feet will do the trick. No bear is going to climb fifteen feet. Marilyn’s cakes are good, but not that good!”
There was laughter and clapping.

Most of the townspeople agreed with Edmund and his motion was passed. It was the first time he felt the thrill of influence and respect that he had always longed for.

Self-loathing smothered him.

The goblins must have scaled the walls. If they were fifty feet, everything might be different now.

“Might” be different. You don’t know. They could have found another way in.

Still….

As Edmund stared at the height of Eryn Mas’s walls and thought of Rood, Blake clomped up the causeway leading to the northern drawbridge. Many others were also entering the city—peasants, merchants, farmers, and travelers from neighboring towns. Some were openly staring at Edmund, evidently surprised that a disheveled, one-eyed man would have such a horse. Taking little notice, Edmund rode Blake through the immense gates.

On the other side of the walls, a red cobblestone avenue appeared. It forked off into three directions. To the right and left it skimmed the interior of the battlements, passing by guardhouses and narrow stone stairs weaving up to wall-walks behind the parapets above. The center road headed though a park of green grass, decorative alabaster fountains, and flowering crabapple trees. Long ribbons of yellow and green adorning the budding branches fluttered in the breeze. Past the park, the avenue wove by countless stone buildings before climbing up the steep hill upon which a colossal citadel sat, its golden towers rising up like pointy arms tickling the early evening stars.

Edmund looked around in amazement.

It’s . . . it’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. All of it . . .

Scores of people pushed past him. Several swore when a large pile of manure fell from Blake, splattering on the cobblestones under his swishing tail. A worker with a shovel appeared and quickly deposited Blake’s waste into a small cart.

This is the cleanest city I’ve ever seen!

It’s the only city you’ve ever seen.

Edmund gawked at the gleaming domes of the cathedrals and their stained glass windows of red and blue. Even Thorax seemed impressed. Blake snorted.

“It’s incredible, eh, girl?” Edmund said to Thorax, who was sniffing the mixture of sweet flowers, roasting meats, and fresh cut grass.

Somewhere in the park, people were singing and playing stringed instruments.

I wonder if there’s a festival. The Spring Faire will be starting in Rood soon. I wish I could be—

Focus! Think of Molly in the hands of those damned goblins. Heaven only knows what they’re doing to her.

An image of Molly being whipped sprang to mind, her soft skin splitting open, blood oozing down her spine.
He shuddered, her imaginary screams lingering.

She’s probably dead by now.

No. The goblins need her to get to me. They probably assumed that I went back to Rood, where I’d learn about her disappearance. They’ll be expecting me to return to the mountains to rescue her. What they don’t realize is that I’ll have a thousand knights with me.

Edmund studied the beautiful buildings, the masses of people going this way and that, and finally the children chasing each other in the park.

Sighing, his thoughts returned to his task.

So what now? Do I just ride up to the castle and demand to see the King? What if he refuses to see me?

He won’t refuse. Not since you have this.

He patted the Star of Iliandor in his pocket.

More people pushed past Blake as he stood idly in the road.

“All right Blake,” Edmund said, “l-l-let’s
. . .
let’s go see the King.”

At that, Blake heaved forward, plowing his way through the crowd with deliberate strides. He carried Edmund and Thorax through the bustling streets of Eryn Mas—past wagons full of merchandise, past markets with dead chickens, geese, and piglets hanging from hooks in the window, past taverns and shops and buildings of all sorts, past town squares where musicians played bouncy tunes as young women danced and spectators clapped. Through it all, Blake ambled, ascending the road leading to the fortress overlooking the city.

The fortress rose up from the hill, ringed by three golden walls. Around each wall were seven towers of heights grander than any construction that Edmund had ever seen. Each one made the tower of the Undead King seem like a child’s imitation built from sand. However, on the hill’s crown was the real jewel of Eryn Mas—Tol Aden, the Castle of the Kings. Tol Aden erupted like a crescendo in a symphony. With its gables and spires of white granite and mammoth statues of gargoyles and dragons, each level surged upward even grander than the last, until it reached a dome covered in glittering rubies and sparkling sapphires.

Staring at the magnificent citadel that could fit all of Rood within its walls, Edmund suddenly realized that Blake was approaching the fortress’s main gate. Two guards in elegant suits of silver plate mail and long halberds blocked the massive gate. On his own accord, Blake stopped before them.

“State your name and purpose,” the guard on the left said without enthusiasm.

“Oh yes, m-m-my, my name. My name, yes indeed,” Edmund said, flummoxed.

The guards blinked at him. One yawned.

“Well, m-m-my, my name is Edmund of Rood. And I’m here to meet with the King on urgent matters of the utmost importance. You see—”

“Let me guess,” the guard on the right said. “You found something you want to give to him. Something priceless. A relic of some sort.”

Surprised, Edmund’s mouth opened, his hand falling on his right front pocket where the Star of Iliandor was hidden.

“Don’t tell us,” the guard on the left said, evidently wanting the challenge to break up the monotony of his day. “You have found the Ring of Ingram the Cleric.”

“Why would you guess that?” the guard on the right asked his comrade.

“Because Rood is over in the swamplands of Anthica, now isn’t it? Which make it more likely that he—”

“It’s not in Anthica. It’s
. . .
it’s by…” The guard on the right snapped his fingers. “It’s along the coast, by Endenbury. In Ringold Province. And he hasn’t gotten the Ring of Ingram the Cleric. That’s already been turned in.”

“Has it? I hadn’t heard. But I don’t think Rood is in Ringold. I’d wager a day’s pay on that.”

“You’re on then. And I say he thinks he has found the Shield of Uzbad, if he’s found anything at all.”

“Oh, that’s just a stupid guess. I mean, where would he put it? Under his saddle?”

“Okay, fair enough. You got me there.”

Lifting their visors, the guards inspected Edmund with increasing curiosity.

The guard on the right scratched his nose. “Maybe he’s bringing His Highness that dog. The King loves dogs, after all.”

“A dog? No, you’re wrong about that. He touched his pocket when we asked him what he brought. Whatever it is, it’s something small, like a ring or a necklace, maybe.”

Opening his mouth again, Edmund raised a finger to interject, but the guards waved him to be quiet.

“Something
. . .
small,” the guard on the right repeated thoughtfully.

“Honestly,” Edmund said, “I haven’t m-m-much time.”

“Be quiet or we’ll throw you in the dungeon,” the guard on the left said. He went back to studying Edmund and his gear.

Edmund closed his mouth.

The guard on the left pointed at Blake as he pulled great heaps of grass out of the ground alongside the road, dirty roots and all. “That there is one of those High Horses, that’s plain. They’re specially bred in Meadowshire. So what are people looking for in Meadowshire?”

“A golden horse turd?” the guard on the right suggested.

The guard on the left shook his head in defeat. “Okay,” he said to Edmund. “We give up. Where’s Rood and what do you think you’ve got?”

“Rood is in the northern province, in the Highlands—” Edmund began.

The guard on the right snapped his fingers again as if he knew where Rood was all along.

“The Highlands?” the guard on the left said. “I thought only sheep lived up there?”

“Evidently people do as well,” the guard on the right replied, gesturing to Edmund as if to prove his point. “Of what sort, however, I haven’t a clue. They’re poor by the looks of it.” He returned his attention to Edmund. “Okay, what do you have for His Highness? It’s jewelry of some sort, am I right?”

“I, I suppose,” Edmund replied, unsure if he was expected to produce what he had brought. “I have the Star of Iliandor and wish to talk with the King about—”

“What’s a Lilly and Door?” the guard on the right said to the one on the left.

The guard on the left lifted his palms. “Beats the hell out of me.”

“Iliandor,” Edmund said again. “The Overlord of the Highlands?”

They gave him blank stares.

“Supreme General during the Northern Goblin Wars?”

“Northern
. . .
Goblin Wars?” repeated the guard on the left doubtfully.

“Founder of the, the, the—”

The guard on the right waved for Edmund to stop. “We were mostly having fun with you. We don’t care who he is. One Lord is the same as another for all I know. Follow this road around to the left, go up to the second level and ask around for the Hall of Magistrates. If you see a bunch of old men who look constipated, you’ve found it.”

Without being told, Blake trotted through the open gates.