Riddle in Stone (The Riddle in Stone Series - Book One) by Robert Evert Page A

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