Blood in Snow: (The Riddle in Stone Series - Book Three) Page 11

  People crowded around the west gate, talking and yelling at Edmund as he neared. Pond wasn’t among them.

  “Where’s Pond?” Edmund scanned the crowd. “Where is he?”

  Everybody was shouting, terror in their faces. When somebody pointed to The Buxom Barmaid, Edmund urged his horse through the crowd, knocking several people aside in the process.

  “Pond!”

  He leapt down before his mount fully stopped—

  “Pond!”

  —and sprinted up the stairs to the front door, threw it open, Becky sped to catch up.

  Pond sat at a table in the corner, crying.

  “Pond?”

  The common room was empty. Edmund stood in the doorway.

  “I’m sorry, Ed,” Pond whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  People ran up to Edmund, all talking at once. Somebody mentioned Vin. Everybody was agitated, many were yelling.

  “Give me a minute!” Edmund slammed the tavern door in their faces.

  “Pond?” He had the urge to draw his sword but didn’t know why.

  “I’m sorry,” Pond repeated, old and new tears on his cheeks.

  Edmund smelled the alcohol from across the common room. Pond was drunk. He could barely hold his head up.

  Outside the commotion continued.

  “Where’s Vin?” Edmund asked.

  “I’m so, so—”

  “I don’t care if you’re sorry! Where is he? What’s going on? What’s this all about?”

  Pond trembled, heaving breaths worsening. He couldn’t speak.

  “Where is he?” Edmund demanded.

  “I … asked … about … Vin’s beer,” Pond said, bawling. “I asked, I asked the others how, how much … how much he had been giving everybody and how much he’d come with …”

  “And?”

  “They checked.” Pond reached for the bottle in front of him, but it was empty. “Some of the men checked his barrels. They were all full—all of them.”

  “Where is he?” Edmund shouted.

  “I didn’t … I didn’t realize he was a, a magic user,” Pond said, nearly convulsing with sobs.

  Edmund’s skin turned cold.

  “Where is he, Pond? Where’s Vin?”

  “In the cellar.”

  Edmund looked at the stairs behind the bar, where Becky was descending as if stalking an animal. Reluctantly, Edmund followed. And then he saw it. On the floor in the corner lay a body covered by a blanket stained bright red at one end. The shape of its head told Edmund the skull had been bashed in. Blood had splattered across the nearby casks and was still dripping from the low ceiling.

  Oh no …

  “They killed him, Ed,” Pond said from up in the common room. “The, the town—they killed him. Word had spread and, and they rushed in at him. Somebody … somebody …”

  “Who?” Edmund stormed toward Pond. “Who did it?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody knows—”

  Edmund charged to the tavern’s front door and threw it open.

  “Who killed him?” he hollered to the crowd gathered outside. “Who did it?”

  They all started talking en masse.

  “He was a magic user!” someone yelled.

  “He helped the town!” Edmund shouted back. “He helped all of you! He was good, and kind, and funny! What had he ever done wrong?”

  “He was a magic user!”

  “I’m a magic user!” Edmund screamed.

  Everything stopped.

  Two hundred thirty-two people stared.

  Abby gasped. “Oh, Ed!”

  Edmund yanked his short sword from its sheath and threw it, clattering, at the mob’s feet.

  “So kill me!” he cried, unable to stop the tears. “Kill me, too! I’m tired of hiding, I’m tired of running. Kill me, too!”

  They blinked at the black-bladed sword and then looked up at Edmund.

  “He … he doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Roland the baker muttered. “It’s … it’s the shock. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

  Edmund drew out a knife he kept in his boot and slashed the palm of his left hand.

  A woman cried out.

  Sobbing, he made a fist, blood flowing between his clenched fingers. “Smerte av reise.”

  When he opened his hand, the crowd gasped as the wound slowly closed. They all stepped back a pace.

  “He’s a magic user!”

  “Kill me!” Edmund fell to his knees, wailing. “Come on, kill me! Why kill Vin and let me live? Why? Aren’t we all monsters to you? Aren’t we all evil?”

  Nobody moved.

  “What are you waiting for?” Edmund shouted, throat raw and burning. “Don’t I deserve to die like Vin? Bash my skull in, too! Get it over with.”

  He looked up at all of them gaping and recoiling as if he might touch them and suck out their souls.

  Ingrates! Let them all die here when the King’s army comes. Let them all die.

  Edmund snatched his sword from the ground.

  A lane formed as he stomped to his waiting horse.

  “Come on, Becky.” He mounted and wiped his bloody sleeve under his nose. “Let’s see them survive without any magic users.”

  PART THREE

  Chapter Sixteen

  Edmund sat on the outcropping where Vin had wanted to build his house. Temperatures were dropping fast, and a few fat snowflakes were beginning to fall.

  He sobbed, though the wind froze his tears before they could trickle far from his eye. He pulled his cloak tighter and wished he’d brought more provisions. He’d left Rood with nothing more than what he’d still had on his horse: a thin woolen blanket, a couple days’ worth of food, a coil of rope. Becky lay next to him, head across her front paws as if just as heartbroken.

  “I wish they had killed me and gotten it over with,” he said to her, wiping his tears away. “Then all of this pain would finally be gone.”

  He blew into his hands, which were reddened by the cold.

  “What now?”

  Go somewhere else.

  I’m tired of running and hiding. Tired to my very soul.

  More big snowflakes fell, flung about by the slashing wind.

  Becky bumped him with her nose.

  He stroked her head.

  “Where to now, Beck?”

  She didn’t answer.

  He thought about Abby and Pond. He knew he should feel guilty about leaving them. But he didn’t. He didn’t feel anything. He couldn’t feel anything at all.

  They’ll be fine.

  He gazed into the valley through the millions of snowflakes tumbling from the dark grey sky. Snow now covered the hard ground, and the lake on the northern side was finally frozen over with a thin layer of ice. Even the evergreen branches were lined with white. He should have thought it beautiful, but he didn’t.

  “What now?” he said again.

  He hadn’t a clue.

  At the valley’s eastern end, three figures trudged into view. Though Edmund couldn’t see them clearly through the swirling snow, they appeared to be some men-at-arms, maybe scouts, with blankets wrapped about their shoulders and heads as they led their horses to a grove of trees alongside the lake.

  Edmund half wished they would stray out onto the ice and fall in. They probably wouldn’t drown—they didn’t appear to be clad in heavy armor—but they would undoubtedly get frostbite with nowhere to dry off and the night growing beyond frigid. Already the cold crept into Edmund’s aching bones.

  The men entered the grove and strung blankets between trees to create a makeshift shelter.

  Snow continued to fall.

  “They look miserable,” Edmund said to Becky, feeling neither guilt nor pleasure. The surrounding evergreens shielded him somewhat, but pretty soon he’d need a fire as well. “I wonder how many supplies they have left. It can’t be much; a couple of days at most.”

 
The men appeared to have some difficulty lighting a fire.

  “You need kindling, you idiots. And the wood is too green to burn.”

  I should just go down there and kill them.

  That wouldn’t stop other scouts from finding Rood. If they keep heading westward, they’ll run right into it.

  Edmund peered through the trees and the swirling snow toward the east. Off in the distance, faint trails of black smoke rose up—dozens of them, scattered throughout the hills in a crude line. The King’s army would undoubtedly head west come morning.

  Then he peered toward Rood. To his disgust, smoke spiraled up into the late afternoon sky.

  Fools. You’re leading the King’s men right to you.

  They’re cold.

  They should drink Vin’s cider.

  They probably won’t touch it, now that they know how he made it. Idiots. All of them can just freeze to death.

  He thought about Toby, which made him think of Abby and Pond again. Some of his anger receded, replaced by a nagging guilt. He wondered how they were faring. He remembered Pond crying and begging for forgiveness.

  More guilt seeped into Edmund’s heart.

  “Damn it!”

  You’re going to have to go back, you know that, right?

  But he didn’t want to go back. He couldn’t just sit around Rood, waiting for the King’s army to arrive, while the townsfolk all stared at him and nervously kept their distance like he was a vampire.

  He shivered.

  Do you want Rood to survive or not?

  He knew the answer immediately: yes, of course he did. But he didn’t want to be their governor, not if they were going to kill magic users. Yet neither did he want to see the Highlands under the thumb of nobility. King Lionel would probably fell all of the trees and ship them south for some stupid building project. He’d probably start mining the hills for gold, polluting the rivers, and certainly he’d make Rood’s men fight in his senseless wars.

  If you want to save Rood …

  “I’m not going back.”

  More snow fell, now in great swirling sheets.

  He stared into the valley. Evening shadows had begun to obscure his view somewhat, but it seemed the men in the grove still struggled to light their fire.

  “I’ll bet you wish you had a magic user with you,” Edmund muttered. He wanted to laugh, but cold had numbed his face. “Idiots. This is all King Lionel’s fault. Him and his stupid nobility. If he didn’t spread such fears about magic users …”

  He shook his head.

  “At least it’s finally going to snow. And it’ll be freezing tonight. Without supplies, the King and his men will suffer.”

  So will you. All you have is one thin blanket.

  He examined the sky—a wall of grey, the kind of grey that wouldn’t yield to bright sunlight until spring. Winter had arrived.

  Tethered to a tree partway down the hill, his horse snorted. It wanted shelter as well.

  “Six inches by morning,” Edmund guessed. “Maybe ten.”

  Within a week, we’ll have two feet, and everything will be frozen solid.

  “Two weeks.”

  He glanced toward Rood again, then toward the smoke from the King’s campfires. Having explored the northern valleys near the River Celerin, the King’s men had nowhere else to search than westward, and the smoke from Rood’s chimneys would lead them right to east gate.

  “He’ll be there tomorrow,” Edmund said hopelessly. “Maybe the day after. But there’s nothing I can do to stop him.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Edmund huddled over a small crackling fire, bathed in its flickering orange glow, while in the surrounding darkness, the wind continued to whine and whip though the pine trees. Flames thrashed toward him; thick smoke and tiny shards of snow flung themselves into his face. He coughed and tightened his blanket around his shivering body. Looming over him as if trying to stay warm, his horse snorted steam and tossed its head.

  Hours earlier, he’d sent Becky to scout the immediate area for anybody who might have been near enough to pose a threat, but she hadn’t come back. Just when he was about to go look for her, she returned, bounding through the ankle-deep snow. Behind her, Abby led her horse between the trees, and farther back trudged Pond, head hanging.

  “My God!” Abby ran up. “You’re freezing.”

  She untied her bundle.

  “We brought you supplies.” She gave him a heavy woolen coat and fur-lined cloak. “Are you okay?”

  Edmund tried to put them on with numb, trembling fingers.

  “Here.” Abby took off her mittens. “Let me.”

  She started to fasten the coat closed.

  “Wh-wh-wh … what, what el-else d-did you br-bring?”

  He was going to ask her why they’d come after him, but that didn’t matter.

  Abby took Edmund’s blue, chapped hands, breathed on them, and rubbed them in her own. “A heavy coat, blankets, a warmer cloak. Gabe gave us some things—food, apple cider, and a pouch of something or other. He said you would know what to do with it.”

  Edmund fumbled with the drawstrings of a leather pouch as Abby pulled a fur hat over his head.

  “He also told me to tell you that wherever you go, he wants to end up there.” Abby wrapped a long scarf around Edmund’s face. “A lot of people have said the same thing. They want you back. Hendrick, Toby, the others—they all said they’re with you, no matter what.”

  Edmund pulled the scarf away from his mouth to slather the greasy substance from the leather pouch all over his red face. It smelled like bacon.

  “So,” Abby went on, “if you want to go back, we can go back. Or we can go wherever you want. We’re a family. We stick together, right?” She touched his frozen cheek, then felt the slimy stuff rub off on her fingers. “What is this?”

  Edmund forced his stiff lips to move. “M-m-moose, m-m-moose f-f-fat.”

  “Ew!” She wiped her hand across her pants. “Disgusting!”

  “It h-h-h … it h-helps with the c-c-cold.”

  He spread more across his exposed skin.

  The fire’s yellow embers sputtered and popped as clumps of snow slipped from the bent branches overhead and splattered onto the burning wood.

  “Here.” Abby pulled out a pair of mittens and handed them to Edmund.

  “Inside out,” he said, shivering.

  She pulled his hat down over his ears. “What?”

  “Put the f-f-fur, fur inside the m-m-mitten.” Edmund struggled to turn his inside out. “L-leather outside. Keeps the hands d-d-dr … drier. Warmer.”

  “Oh.” Abby adjusted her own. “Nobody told me. That certainly makes sense.”

  She rubbed her bare hands together and placed them against Edmund’s face, ignoring the moose fat covering his taut skin. “Can you feel everything? Fingers? Toes?”

  “I’m f-fine. Thanks.”

  Pond still stood several paces away, holding their horses’ reins, hooded face staring at his snow-covered boots.

  “P-P-P-Pond.” Edmund tried to speak louder. “P-Pond!”

  Pond looked up, eyes as red as his cold face.

  “It’s okay,” Edmund said. “It’s okay.”

  “I, I … I didn’t, I didn’t know he was a magic user.”

  “I know.”

  “I thought, I thought he … he was trying to pull something.” Pond cried. “I thought he was in league with them, you know? How else could he have been getting so much beer? I thought …”

  Edmund beckoned to him. “G-g-get down by the f-f-fire. You need to k-keep warm.”

  “I didn’t know!”

  Abby took Pond’s hand and led him to fire.

  “I didn’t know!” he sobbed.

  “I understand.” Edmund stood, put his arms around his stiff friend, and patted his back. “It’s okay, it’s not your f-fault.”

  Pond’s shoulders heaved a couple of times.
“I was so jealous, Ed! I thought … I thought that …” He sniffled, snot freezing in his mustache.

  “I understand.” Edmund shook Pond and made him look up at him. “It’s okay. Honest. N-n-now get closer to the fire, get warm. Otherwise you’re going to get fr-frostbite.”

  Pond dropped to his knees with a lifeless thud and stared at the small dancing flames.

  Abby cleared a place of snow and sat between Edmund and Becky.

  “So,” she sighed, “where to now?”

  Where to, indeed.

  There’s no place to go. I’m staying here. We have to do something to save Rood.

  Even after what they did?

  There has to be some good in this world, even if I’m the one who has to make it happen.

  “Ed?”

  He watched Becky chew on a cow bone.

  “Where d-d-did she g-get that?”

  “Gabe sent it with us,” Abby said, “as well as other supplies. We also have something from that carpenter, Calvin I think his name is.”

  “Cav-Cavin,” Edmund corrected her, shivering.

  “Right. Anyway, he gave us something he called ‘snowshoes.’ He said you wanted him to make some, but he wasn’t sure if he’d made them correctly.”

  Abby rubbed his arm.

  “Everybody wants you back. They sent us out to tell you that, although we were headed out to join you either way. We stick together, right? Family?”

  Edmund thought about Rood.

  “Ed?”

  “Stick together,” he echoed, his face finally beginning to thaw out.

  They huddled closer to the fire, close enough for warmth but not so close their clothes would start to smolder.

  Keep an open mind. See all possibilities.

  “What are you thinking?” Abby asked. “Have a plan?”

  There was a popping sound. At first, Edmund thought it was the fire but then realized Becky had cracked open the cow bone.

  “We have to end this.” He pulled his fur-lined cloak closer to his body. He was feeling much warmer. The hat, mittens, and coat helped immensely, though he knew it would get a lot colder soon—so cold that no amount of clothing would help.

  He studied the fire.

  “I need to get King Lionel to just leave us be.”