

T. S. Church
Return to Canifis
PROLOGUE
“So we agree then? You will provide me with the horses and men?”
Sulla sat with his back to the ruined wall, the light from the fire reflected in his blind left eye, his face hideously scarred. Six months of flight and hiding had thinned his once muscular body. His clothes were torn rags, the soles of his boots flapped loose, his hair had grown down to his shoulders, and a wild beard covered his face, which irritated his scarred flesh in the hot weather.
If I only had hands to scratch the mites! But she has denied me even that.
“We will indeed,” the man replied. “Although I would feel better if you had a hand I could shake.” The bandit leader smiled to his men, fifteen in all, who laughed at the joke. Sulla said nothing-he had endured far worse than cheap japes, as the ragged cloths tied about each of his wrists testified.
“Don’t worry, my friend, you can trust me,” the man continued. “I may be an outlaw, but Leander the thief always keeps his word.” The bandit stroked his short moustache, his eyes greedy.
“Very well,” Sulla said. “At dawn I will lead you to the treasure that shall be your payment, but now I must sleep. I am not as strong as I used to be.” He stretched out on the ground as best he could-and winced at the pain it caused.
Sulla closed his eyes to rest, yet he only feigned sleep. Instead, he slowed his breathing, and after a long stretch of silence the bandits began to murmur to one another. As they did, he listened carefully.
He could pick out Leander and his lieutenant, Barbec, speaking in low voices. Leander said something which made Barbec gasp.
Have they realised who I am? he wondered.
Soon after, he heard the scrape of a knife being sharpened across a whetstone.
He had taken a tremendous risk in walking into Leander’s camp alone. Jerrod had advised him against it, and he knew the werewolf would not be far away. It amazed him how close the creature could get to his prey before being detected-close enough that it was always too late for his victims. He was probably less than a stone’s throw away, even now, watching Sulla’s back.
The knife finished scraping across the whetstone.
Perhaps he means to cut my throat with it? Sulla mused, yet still he didn’t move. Have they guessed who I am? No doubt the Kinshra have offered a reward for my capture, and a description to go with it, for I know them well. Didn’t I lead them once, against her?
Sulla gritted his teeth at the thought of Kara-Meir and their last confrontation, when she had fought him in single combat and had severed both his hands.
It would have been a hundred times kinder to kill me, and you knew it. You knew it!
Suddenly Sulla felt his right hand clench into a tight fist.
He forced himself to breathe calmly. It wasn’t the first time he had endured such ghostly feelings from hands that he no longer possessed. For the last six months every day had been a trial for him. Without hands it was impossible to eat or ride or fight. He had become entirely dependant on his werewolf friend, Jerrod.
It made him… uncomfortable.
Together they had fled and then hidden, until, with agonizing slowness, Sulla grew strong enough to walk again. Eventually, they ventured out to the north, into The Wilderness, hoping to hide themselves in that lawless realm while they planned how best to revenge themselves upon those who had defeated them.
Nevertheless, they had done well together. Jerrod still had those who aided him on his journey, yet Sulla could tell that the werewolf feared his master, who twice had appeared to him, offering him council in The Wilderness-although Sulla had seen and heard nothing when it had occurred. Each time the information he had given them had saved them from certain death, so Sulla had asked no questions.
And that is how I know you are coming after me, Kara-Meir. You, Gar’rth, and that barbarian priestess. You are so near. Soon, we shall start our journey south, to Varrock, to complete this plan of Jerrod’s undead master. And I will be there to see it.
He dreamt, as he had on a thousand other occasions, of what he would do to Kara-Meir and her friends if ever they came under his power again.
I will be there to see it!
Leander the thief watched as his men sweated from the work, but made no move to assist them.
The ground was hard from the dry summer. They had travelled east all morning to reach their destination-a parched plain where only sickly-coloured vegetation grew. Farther south, the land undulated in a series of long wide barrows until their view was finally barred by a small range of hills. Beyond that, Sulla knew, was Varrock.
“Can’t they dig any faster?” he demanded. The thief just stared.
“I would ask you to help,” he said, “only I don’t think your handiwork would be of any use.” He smiled at his taunt.
Suddenly a cry from one of the bandits silenced them. The man drove his spade into the ground, where it struck a metallic surface with a loud clang. All attention turned to where he stood.
“Dig it out!” Leander commanded. The men dug furiously before dragging a box from the earth. Leander knelt by the lock, examining it intently.
“You’ll need the key,” Sulla advised.
Leander smiled and pulled an object from his pouch.
“Be patient my mysterious friend, and see how a genuine thief deals with such a simple barrier.” Deftly, he inserted his pick and listened, carefully teasing the teeth of the lock.
Seconds later, it gave a satisfying click and fell open. As Leander’s men cheered, Barbec moved to Sulla’s side, and the fallen warlord noted how the man’s hand gripped his sword.
As I anticipated…
Leander lifted the lid of the box, his eyes widening as he perceived the thick wad of paper inside. He turned his head and opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly he gave a cry and jerked his hand away from the lock, his face grimacing in pain.
“It’s a poisoned needle,” Sulla explained calmly. “Its effects are immediate, and the pain will drive you mad within hours.”
“Kill him!” Leander screamed, leaping to his feet and furiously massaging his arm.
Barbec drew his blade and held it to Sulla’s throat.
Sulla didn’t move as he stared at him with quiet malice. Barbec hesitated.
No sign of weakness. If you are weak, you die. When he spoke, his voice was calm, his words measured.
“If you spare me I can make you all rich, for only I know the true value of what is contained in those parchments,” he said. “Kill me, and you shall have nothing.”
Barbec looked back to Leander. The thief had collapsed onto his knees and was writhing in agony. While the men stared at their leader, a figure emerged from the shadows and stood silently behind them.
Perfect timing.
“Need I add that I will spare your lives?” Sulla asked as a low growl emerged from the newcomer. The bandits spun, and several cried out in fear as the hirsute figure neared.
“A w-w-werewolf!” one of them stammered.
Several of his fellows drew their blades and held them out. But none dared advance on the creature.
“Do nothing, for he is my associate,” Sulla said. “From Morytania. His name is Jerrod. Put away your rusted weapons-none of them can harm him. They will only serve to make him angry, and if that happens, you will not live out the day.”
“What do you want from us?” Barbec asked. He was a short bald-headed man with a nose that looked as if it had been broken a number of times, and he spoke in a low grumble.
“We shall go to Varrock,” Sulla replied. “It is a big enough city to hide in, and with the contents of this box we will make ourselves rich.”
The men hesitated.
Finally, Barbec decided for them.
“We’ll come with you… Sulla.”
So you do know me! With that realisation came anger-that news of his defeat had spread so far that even in The Wilderness, simple bandits dared to mock him.
“How long have you known?” he demanded.
“Since we made the agreement.” Barbec looked to Leander once, and licked his lips uncertainly. “Leander wanted to sell you to the Kinshra, but I thought we should first see the treasure.” His eyes fell on the box. “What’s in there anyhow?”
Sulla laughed.
“These parchments contain important information, but they are written in an old Kinshra code, and only I can decipher them.” He turned to face the men, who still clustered away from the werewolf. “For now that is all you need to know. Now, get the horses ready!”
The men moved to obey, while Jerrod reached for Leander. As he did so, the thief drew a knife in trembling hands, and found his tongue.
“It hurts!” he gasped, dropping his knife as Jerrod dragged him a short distance away.
“As I knew it would,” Sulla said gleefully. “Alas, it is a temporary poison that only lasts a single day. An old woman prepared it for me when I was still part of the Kinshra knighthood.” Briefly, he wondered what had become of the sybil who had served him so well, but swiftly he shook off such sentiment. He crouched and moved in close to the thief, nodding in the direction of the knife that lay on the ground.
“That is the easiest way to end your pain, my duplicitous friend,” he sneered.
“What is in the box?” Leander stammered.
Sulla leaned down to speak privately his ear.
“When I was in the Kinshra I made copies of certain secret documents. These documents contain sensitive information concerning a number of wealthy people and their organisations, from here all the way to Kandarin. In diplomacy, the Kinshra often have to persuade influential people to aid their cause, and blackmail has proved a most effective tool.” He stood again. “Now I have that tool. And I will use it.”
“The Kinshra will kill you for it!”
“They would kill me anyway, if they could. Meanwhile, I can have a little fun wrecking their spy networks-for a small profit-can’t I?” He looked into the distance. “I think I will start in Varrock. There is wealth there, wealth owned by people whose names appear in those documents.”
With that, Sulla brought his boot into Leander’s chin with a sharp crack. The thief’s head jerked, and he slumped into unconsciousness.
“Why don’t we kill him?” Jerrod whispered.
“No,” Sulla said. “We need his men’s loyalty, at least for now, and killing him might be too much for them to stomach. Besides…” He looked warily around him. “Lone travellers don’t last long out here-especially unconscious ones.”
A moment later, with Jerrod’s aid, Sulla clambered into a saddle. The werewolf stepped away and pulled his cloak about him, hiding his face as he returned to his human form. Once he had done so, he climbed up behind Sulla. He never rode alone-no horse would tolerate it, and he was as uncomfortable with the beasts as they were with him.
“We ride south to Varrock-if we make haste, we can be there in time for Midsummer,” Sulla said. “Our destination is an estate to the east of the city. The owner has lands that range from the River Salve to the edges of the city itself. There I will send a message to an old acquaintance of mine, the leader of the Phoenix Gang.”
And then, as darkness fell across The Wilderness, and creatures far more terrible than Jerrod stirred, they rode south toward more civilised lands, leaving Leander the thief to his fate.
1
It was well past midnight when the two men strode through the deserted streets. Theodore stifled a yawn, and his companion noted the sign of fatigue.
“What in Saradomin’s name inspired you to wear your armour to Lady Anne’s party, Theodore?” he inquired. “It’s no surprise that you are tired, after such a long evening.”
“I knew that I could not be asked to dance in my armour, Father Lawrence,” the young squire replied, stifling another yawn. “It provided me with the one excuse I could think to contrive.
“And it worked,” he added with a satisfied nod.
“Lady Anne is a most generous hostess,” the older man replied, peering intently at his friend’s shadowed face. “And she is a beautiful woman.”
“I would not have expected to hear that, coming from you,” Theodore said wryly. “Surely, a priest of Saradomin should have interests that are perhaps more… celestial?”
The old priest shook his head and laughed, mirroring his companion’s good humour. Father Lawrence’s clean-shaven face displayed the burden of years and just a passing familarisation with the sin of gluttony. His red nose and cheeks were a symptom of the Varrock ale he had consumed earlier that night, at the behest of the selfsame Lady Anne.
“I say it only to tease, Theodore,” he admitted. “As a squire in the service of the Knights of Falador you and I are similarly barred from the pleasures of a hearth and a home.” He nodded his head, as if to acknowledge the presence of a greater authority. “It is the vow we must all take, those of us who enter Saradomin’s service.”
“Perhaps you could kindly explain that to Lady Anne, then,” Theodore responded, a hint of irritation edging into his voice. “For six months now, she has repeatedly made unwanted advances, ever since my arrival here.” He glanced at the stars and exhaled. “And I do not trust her. She schemes as easily as you and I might breathe the night air.”
“She is a young woman of high birth, Theodore,” the priest said. “Consider it from her point of view. What better match to make than a hero of the war in Asgarnia? And her schemes are not malicious.” He paused as they approached the centre of the large square that stood to the south of King Roald’s palace. Theodore sensed a change in his friend’s mood.
“You are still only a squire, Theodore,” Father Lawrence continued. “As peons, you vow to serve your order, but it is only when you become a full knight that you commit yourself irrevocably to Saradomin and your mission.” His eyes were bright, in contrast to the shadows cast by the torches that ringed the square.
“What are you suggesting, Father Lawrence?” Theodore asked, his tone harsher than he had meant it to be.
“I am not suggesting anything, Theodore,” the old man answered hastily. “Everyone has heard stories of the war, and of its heroes. Of the passions that gripped those who fought together to defeat the invading forces.”
Theodore laughed, then stopped suddenly as the sound echoed off the walls of the square.
“I see,” he said, lowering his voice. “You think I refuse Lady Anne because I am in love with another? I suppose there may be an element of truth in it, but even if that is the case, it doesn’t matter. I am committed to my order. I took my vow, and I expect to reinforce it with a new one when I become a knight.”
Father Lawrence said nothing as he regarded the fountain at the square’s centre. It was a tribute to the River Salve and the safety only the legendary waterway could ensure. The fountain was a large pool over which a cross-shaped bridge had been built, the paving laid out from north to south and east to west. Where the two paths met-not quite in the centre-there stood four austere statues rising from the waters, armed as knights and ready for war. At the base of each a thin stream of water cascaded out.
Theodore sensed unease in the priest, as if he was withholding something.
Does everyone in Varrock know? he wondered. Am I really such an open book? After a moment of silence, he spoke again.
“It has been my life’s dream to become a knight, Father Lawrence,” he said. “I have fought and killed and carried out all my duties to the best of my ability. As for Kara, it was a message from our friend Arisha that actually informed me of her plan.” At that, the priest glanced in his direction.
“And you fear for her safety?”
“Who wouldn’t?” Theodore replied. “She pursues her enemies into The Wilderness, with only Gar’rth and Arisha to help her. She is a genuine warrior, Father Lawrence, but I fear for anybody who ventures north into that land.
“They say even the gods have abandoned it,” he added.
The old man shook his head as he ran his hand over his hairless cranium.
“You first came to me to confess your doubts weeks ago, Theodore,” he said, “and I have kept your confidences. I know the conflict that carrying out your duty has caused in you: you obeyed orders that endangered Kara.” Father Lawrence pointed to the fountain that stood before them, and the figures standing in the water.
“They knew their duty as well.” He indicated the nearest statue, representing a tall man of lean muscle with a grim expression carved onto his stone face. “That one there is Tenebra, who was the King’s heir at the time he went to war. He was just twenty, only slightly older than you, when he led his father’s nation against Lord Drakan. His three brothers make up the remaining statues-Bran, Hywell and Henry. None of these men returned from the battle at the River Salve, and the fifth and youngest son inherited the crown. Poor Tenebra, from what I recall, there weren’t enough of his remains to be recovered.”
Theodore regarded the statue.
“I suppose you’re suggesting that duty will lead to a short and unhappy life.” Theodore grinned. “Nevertheless, I do my duty here as a diplomat of the Knights of Falador, though I admit the role is making me feel lazy and entirely too comfortable.” He smiled wryly as he thought back over the evening’s events. “No, romance is not for me-that is a sacrifice with which I will have to live. I have made my choice Father Lawrence.”
“And what a noble sacrifice it must be Theodore!” Father Lawrence answered sarcastically. “Well, I know your friend William would welcome Lady Anne’s attention, so he at least will be pleased to know of your decision.” Then he lowered his voice, serious once again. “But to be a knight of Saradomin is to be respected by soldiers and kings far beyond Falador and the borders of Asgarnia. Here in Varrock and the realm of Misthalin, young men queue up to follow you and train for your order, to test their mettle. In your diplomatic role you have recruited and trained hundreds of candidates, and many more will follow. Indeed, so proud are the citizens of Varrock that we have even paid for their armour, white, like your own. It is-”
Suddenly the priest stopped and stared. He knelt and examined a portion of the fountain wall.
“Look here.” Father Lawrence’s voice had lost all trace of warmth. Theodore knelt at his side. At the base of one of the statues was a painted mark. What he had thought at first was an act of vandalism was evidently something more.
It was the image of an owl, with its wings spread and its head turned fully behind it.
“I have seen several of these images in my time in Varrock,” Theodore noted. “But what are they? What do they mean?”
“It is the symbol of vigilance, Theodore. We in Varrock are barely more than a day’s travel from the holy river. Being so close to such a powerful evil, we must always be watchful. Some whisper that the Society of Owls protects Varrock from Lord Drakan’s minions, that its followers venture into Morytania itself. It is a Varrock folklore, I fear, and in times of worry citizens are apt to scrawl the sign above doorways and upon walls to give one another confidence.”
“In times of worry?”
Father Lawrence stood, his face drawn.
“There is nothing to concern you, Squire Theodore,” he said. “Let us leave it at that. It is late, and you should return to the palace, while I find my way back to my church and to bed.”
The two men shook hands and made to part. As they did so, a passing black cat with a red collar arched his back and hissed aggressively.
Instinctively Theodore turned, following the cat’s gaze.
Something large flew overhead, in a westerly direction. He caught a glimpse of immense leathery wings and was reminded instantly of a bat.
“Did you see that?” he cried. “What was it?”
But Father Lawrence was already moving, running to the western side of the square.
“Follow me Theodore. We must act quickly!”
And in his hand, Theodore saw the four-pointed silver star that was the symbol of their shared god, Saradomin.
The two men arrived shortly at a street of tall grey-stone town houses that stood in neat, three-storey serried ranks which bespoke of commerce and wealth.
“There! The tailor’s house. Did you see?” Father Lawrence hissed. “It went in there. The top window.”
Theodore didn’t hesitate. He drew his sword as he ran, and by the time he reached the door he could hear the screams. It was a woman’s voice.
The door broke inward as he crashed against it. It was a stout barrier, and he winced as pain lanced through his shoulder. Quickly he cast the feeling aside and climbed the stairs. Above him, he could see weird shadows convulsing in the candlelight. A woman screamed again.
Saradomin give me speed!
He reached the top of the stairs as the shattering of glass sounded. It was followed by a wail.
“You can’t take her!” a man shouted as Theodore burst into the topmost room. He scanned the room in a second, taking in the chaos in the nursery, the desperate tailor and his wife and the thing they both fought against.
He had faced werewolves and goblins, as well as human foes of every shape and size. Yet all his experience had not prepared him for the creature that met his eyes in that room. Huge horned wings protruded from its shoulders, each like a curved shield the height of a tall man. On their underside they looked like those of a bat, but on the outside they were covered by a thick leather skin, tough enough to fend off the tailor’s attacks. But the thing beneath the wings was what paralysed Theodore.
He had the impression of a female, lost under a dark hirsute body. The face was like a bat’s, its nose a wide snout above a long mouth tipped with fangs and revealing a thin, whip-like tongue. But it was its eyes that held him. Orange flames burned in the pupils, sweeping across them all with an unnatural hatred.
It stared, its gaze baleful.
“Give me my daughter!” the tailor demanded, wielding a broken wooden chair leg that was utterly ineffective as a weapon. He smashed it against its wing as the monster stepped back and knelt in preparation to jump, and at that moment Theodore caught sight of a baby clutched in its arms, grasped by long fingers each ending with an inch-long talon.
Its arm snapped out and raked the tailor’s face.
The man dropped his club and pressed his hand over the wound, screaming as blood ran through his fingers. His expression shifted from rage to pleading.
“Please don’t take her,” he cried. “Please.”
That released Theodore from his paralysis. He ran forward, raising his sword, but the tailor’s wife leapt into his path, forcing him to twist his weapon to one side to avoid skewering her.
“She is needed,” the creature said, its voice animalistic and unnatural. “You will not be parted for long. Soon we will all share in his darkness.”
Theodore pushed the mother aside and brought his sword arm around in a wide sweep, intending to sever the creature’s legs. But already it had jumped back, quicker than he could have believed, diving through the window and out into the night.
Shouts echoed up from the street outside, followed by the twang of crossbows and the hiss of bolts slicing through the air.
The squire caught a last glimpse of the creature, flying quickly eastward above the uneven rooftops of Varrock. On the street below he could make out the yellow tabards of the city guard, accompanied by a number of men in black-leather armour. Curious citizens were being herded into doorways and instructed to return to their homes and draw their curtains.
“My daughter. She’s gone, gone.” The tailor’s wife wept upon the bed as Father Lawrence appeared in the door frame. “Why do you not speak? My husband…” She reached in his direction, but seemed rooted to the spot.
Theodore sheathed his sword and approached the tailor. The man had fallen backward, and his hand still covered his face.
“Don’t touch him!” Father Lawrence commanded. “There is more here than you know.”
The priest advanced and pulled the man’s hand away. The tailor said nothing, and didn’t resist.
Very quickly Theodore saw why.
“Gods!” He shook his head and stepped back instinctively, for the man’s face had turned black around the wound the creature had inflicted. As they watched, the tailor uttered an agonized rattle of breath, convulsed, and lay still.
The tailor’s wife let out a howl of utter anguish and ran to the dead man.
“Theodore, don’t let her touch his wounds!” Father Lawrence shouted.
Quickly the squire grabbed her and held her, ignoring her blasphemies, threats and pleas as he sought to keep her away from her husband’s body.
“Saradomin will care for him,” he said, trying to sound reassuring and knowing that he failed utterly. “I promise you.”
“And what of my daughter?” she demanded, choking back sobs of anger. “Where’s your god now? The city is doomed. We are all doomed. The time of the prophecy is upon us and there is nothing anyone can do.”
Theodore could not think of a suitable reply. As he restrained her he heard a host of feet trampling up the stairs. A body of the black-clad men he had seen in the street crowded into the room, a tall man, also in black, at their head. Theodore thought he had seen him before, at the palace.
The squire felt the man’s eyes fall on him, his gaze was cold. Then he addressed his men.
“Get the woman downstairs and into the cart,” he barked, his eyes still on Theodore. “You know where to take her. Handle the body of her husband with extreme caution,” he looked at the dead man, “and respect. Then board up the windows and doors and leave the mark of the plague upon the lintel.”
His men carried out his orders quickly and efficiently. One of them unwound a black silk sheet which they used to wrap the tailor’s corpse. It was bound at both ends and he was carried swiftly from the room.
“What’s going on?” Theodore demanded. “I know you-I’ve seen you around the court. Who are you?”
“Theodore, this is the Lord Despaard,” Father Lawrence said. The man in black offered the squire no greeting. Instead, he took off his gloves and adjusted the cloak that was secured about his neck by a silver chain.
Finally, Lord Despaard spoke.
“I know you too, Theodore Kassel,” he said grimly. “I know of the famed knights and I know well your own reputation. They say you are a god-fearing man.”
Theodore nodded. He was conscious of Lord Despaard’s soldiers, who had returned to the room in number. Two of them went to the window, which they began to board up, while the others surrounded him in a loose circle.
“My Lord Despaard,” Father Lawrence said earnestly, “Squire Theodore can be relied upon to keep the peace. He need not be imprisoned like the rest.”
Like the rest?
Theodore’s hand found his sword hilt.
“Imprisoned? What’s going on here?” he demanded.
“I know that as a hero of the war and a respected ambassador of the knights you have the ear of many nobles in Varrock,” Lord Despaard said coldly. “But these are matters in which you have no power, and none will aid you, should it come to that.”
Father Lawrence’s hand fell onto Theodore’s shoulder.
“Heed his words, my young friend. You must do as he says.”
Despaard spoke again.
“I command you to keep silent about what occurred here tonight,” he said. “If you do not then you will be… detained, as others have, to prevent panic from spreading.”
“What is happening, Lord Despaard?” the squire asked, making little effort to hide the anger in his voice.
“This is not a question of fighting an enemy armed with a sword, as you are used to,” the man replied. “These are the doings of Morytania, which we must fight as best we can.”
Theodore’s eyes narrowed.
“I have fought enemies from that land, as well, Lord Despaard.”
The nobleman gave a quick look of surprise.
“Then you should know that we fight for a greater good,” he said. This time his voice carried a hint of respect. “I haven’t just fought invaders from Morytania, I have been to Morytania. That land leaves its mark on those who walk there.”
Despaard walked to the window, and as he passed his men stood aside. One of the shutters had yet to be boarded up. He opened it to look out across the rooftops.
“Can you feel her, Theodore? Can you hear her?” He stared, as if his eyes could pierce the darkness. “I can, sometimes, when she is near, when she comes to Varrock to feed.”
“I have felt a presence similar to hers before,” Theodore answered, looking into the faces of the men nearby. They were hard men, he saw, soldiers who existed only for their secret war. “Last year in Asgarnia a werewolf named Jerrod crossed the River Salve and killed several people.”
But I will not tell you any more.
“Then you and I may have more in common than you think, squire of Asgarnia.” Despaard turned from the window, which was quickly nailed shut. “But for now, take your hand off your sword and return to the palace. If you refuse, then I shall have my men escort you.” He raised his right hand to reveal a ring on his finger. Theodore saw it bore the insignia of a black owl, resting on a ruby background, with its wings spread and its head turned around. He breathed out deeply to conceal his surprise, and looked furtively to Father Lawrence, who was standing too far away to see it for himself.
“This ring of office grants me whatever power I need to fulfil my obligations,” Despaard said in a tone that once again had become coldly matter-of-fact. “Now go.”
Theodore pursed his lips.
“I shall do as you bid,” he responded, “but covering up this evil will not make it go away.” At that he left the room hastily, aware of Father Lawrence following closely behind him.
They made their way back to the main square. Theodore said nothing at first, for the priest obviously knew far more about the creature than he had let on.
Finally, he could keep quiet no longer.
“How many others have there been, Father Lawrence?” he demanded through gritted teeth. “How long has this been going on?”
The old man bowed his head and remained silent for a long moment as they walked briskly.
“There is no other way, Theodore,” he said. “You do not understand.”
“Then explain it to me.” The squire’s back ached horribly after his exertion. He groaned slightly as he stretched as best he could in his armour. The priest glanced at him with concern.
“Do you wish to sit down perhaps? You are clearly in pain.”
“It’s a war wound, Father,” Theodore replied quickly. “A Kinshra knight bested me in single combat in the final hours of the siege. He would have killed me if Castimir hadn’t intervened with his magic.” He winced again. “My back has never been right since, but now I am more concerned with what is happening here. A baby was kidnapped tonight.” The memory of it caused him to shudder.
Father Lawrence ran his hand over his tonsured head before he spoke.
“There have been kidnappings, and there have been killings. This creature-what we call the Wyrd-has been plaguing our city for about eight months. Sometimes it will be a farm hand in the eastern countryside. That was how it all began. People disappearing, their bodies found mutilated. Then it was children, stolen from their beds at night, some never found. It is Lord Despaard’s unenviable job to take the relatives of the victims and make certain they cannot spread a panic throughout the city.”
Theodore stared at him in amazement.
“Would they not understand?” he asked finally. “Morytania has plagued your realm for centuries. Surely this is just the latest in a long line of horror that you have had to deal with from Lord Drakan?”
Father Lawrence laughed bitterly.
“What do you know of the High Priest of Entrana, Theodore-of the man known as Leo the Fifth?”
The squire was silent for a moment before he replied.
“Leo was the High Priest of Saradomin a century ago,” he said. “Famous for his prophecies…”
“Aha! Let me stop you there,” the priest said, holding up a hand. “Yes, exactly. He was famous for his prophecies, and that is the problem. Do you know what his final prophecy was?”
Theodore shook his head. He had little faith in prophecies, preferring to focus his attention on tasks he could perform with his own two hands-aiding the poor and hungry, defending Asgarnia from those who would do it harm, and opposing the followers of Zamorak. Living his life to be an example to others. In his experience, prophecies rarely came true, and were the work of charlatans.
Father Lawrence spoke again.
“It goes something like this,” he said. “Five score shall pass and a creature of death shall haunt the land, and in its wake, the true King will come. When he crosses the river, the lands will be one. One King for one kingdom. A kingdom of the living and of the dead.
“He uttered that prophecy on his deathbed, it is said-almost a century ago. Whether or not he actually spoke those words matters not in the least-it is believed across the land, and the coming of this killer has been enough to cause Varrock to begin to tear itself apart. That is why Lord Despaard is ensuring there can be no witnesses left after seeing this Wyrd.”
“Yet he let me go.”
“He did,” the priest replied. “You are not a peasant, Theodore. You are one of us. And you will keep the silence, for what else is there to do? Now, I must away to my church, for tomorrow I will ride out to the estate of Draul Leptoc to give what little comfort I can to those poor individuals Lord Despaard is holding.” He pulled his cloak more tightly around him. “Goodnight Theodore.”
He extended his hand, and only after a long moment did Theodore take it.
The squire watched as Father Lawrence left the square, and as he turned to take in a last view of the fountain, he was surprised to see a young woman standing in the shadows.
How long has she been there?
She watched him, carefully, and Theodore could see by her expression that she was afraid. She had the look of high birth, for her dark hair was brushed and her skin was without any blemish, yet her clothes were that of a lady’s servant. He moved to approach her.
“You are a Knight of Falador?” she asked.
“I am Theodore, a squire of the knights,” he corrected. “Is anything amiss?”
“I know the reputation of the Knights of Falador, and I have heard of you before for your conduct in the war. It is said you fought bravely and with honour.”
“I did my duty as best I could.” Theodore stopped some distance away from her. “Have we met before?”
“No, Theodore, we have not,” the woman replied, straightening somewhat. Her voice became stronger, louder as she spoke. “As I said, I know your order, yet I am puzzled. By you.” Suddenly she was shouting. “What kind of squire would help the authorities of Varrock kidnap innocent people?”
“But I haven’t…”
Before he could finish his sentence the woman drew back and hurled a stone toward him. He raised his arm only just in time to prevent it from striking his face.
By the time he had recovered, she was but a shadow fleeing to the south of the square.
“You are wrong!” he cried as she vanished into the darkness.
Shaking his head in anger and confusion, Theodore suddenly felt very tired indeed.
2
It was afternoon, and a grey light shone through the high windows of the palace’s great hall. The sweat on Theodore’s clothes was cold against his skin after the exersion of overseeing the training of twenty recruits for the knights.
The squire shook his head bitterly as he approached the grand staircase. Although the knights had triumphed in the siege of Falador, the cost had been tremendously high. He hadn’t been present when his order had been betrayed and surrounded by Sulla’s forces, where nine out of every ten men had died. Even now, it was something he found impossible to even imagine.
Afterwards, as a hero of the siege and a squire of the knights, Theodore had been sent to Varrock to recruit promising young men and replenish the ranks. Many responded to the call, and he had found a handful of promising candidates. By putting them through the paces they would encounter as peons, he weeded out those who would not pass muster.
“Squire Theodore!” a familiar voice called. He turned to see a young man only a few months his senior descending the stairs with great care. He was dressed as a nobleman of Varrock, yet his slight frame gave him a scholarly air-that of someone unused to physical exertion. His short black beard and moustache were neatly trimmed, for those who maintained a presence in the Varrock court were expected to be well-presented. Accordingly, his black cloak, trimmed in otter fur, was pinned by a silver brooch in the shape of a fox, the symbol of his house.
“Lord William.” Theodore greeted the friend who had acted as his guide in Varrock. William was honest and unpretentious, despite his noble background. He was intelligent, too, devouring history and keeping abreast of the latest news.
“You have a matter of great import to deal with,” William said. “One that requires all of your diplomatic talent, Theodore.” He paused and peered at his friend. “Just what are you going to tell Lady Anne?” he probed. “She wishes to dance with you at the Midsummer Festival, and everyone is waiting for news of Kara-Meir. You have told me repeatedly that she promised to be here by Midsummer for your reunion, yet still she is not here. The city can’t wait much longer.”
Theodore stared at the floor and shook his head.
“She hasn’t written to me for months, William. I know Ebenezer, Doric and Castimir are all coming, and should be here either today or tomorrow, but about Gar’rth and Kara I am still unsure.” He avoided William’s questioning stare. He knew his friend wished him to elabourate, yet he did not wish to do so. Kara’s long silence had both hurt and angered him, and he didn’t wish to admit such weakness-not to anybody.
“In that case, Lady Anne is seizing her chance,” William said after a moment. “She wishes to dance with the dashing knight who has refused the many fair maidens of Varrock. Your reluctance has made people think this Kara-Meir must be very special indeed.”
Theodore smiled at William’s jest. Yet he knew it was true. He had lived in the palace at Varrock for six months, an honoured guest feted as a hero. He had participated in hunts on the King’s own chase, and jousted with the greatest warriors of the realm.
But more than ever he missed Kara.
None of the noblewomen he had met could equal her. His aloofness had given him a reputation as a truly noble knight, and his chaste demeanour had marked him as an impossible challenge which none of the ladies at court seemed able to resist.
“She is special,” Theodore admitted, “as you shall see if she comes.”
At once he knew he had made a mistake.
“If she comes?” William’s face darkened. “I thought she had promised?”
“She did promise. But the last I heard of her she had ventured into The Wilderness.”
William exhaled in despair.
“Gods! Why would she go there? I’ve heard people say she promised never to fight again after claiming Sulla’s hands?”
“She gave up her quest for vengeance, but she never promised to stop fighting.” Theodore took two strides up the staircase. “I will let you know if I hear anything new,” he said, glad to end the conversation.
Only minutes later, he was finishing his wash when someone forced the door to his chamber open. It was William again.
“She is here, Theodore! Kara-Meir is here!”
At last!
Theodore’s heart raced. He felt such relief that she had arrived. Quickly he wiped the water from his face, hiding his smile with his towel.
“She is at the Flying Donkey Inn,” William continued. “If we hurry we can be there within half an hour.”
“We shall ride,” Theodore said, his hand gripping William’s arm in eagerness. “Soon you will see why she is special, William.”
“I know she is touched by the gods, Theodore.”
The two friends ran to the stables. As they rode out through the courtyard Theodore noticed palace guards chatting with great animation. He was struck by how the mere mention of Kara’s name had lifted the spirits of the men.
Theodore and William left their horses with a member of the city guards, for the crowd outside the inn was too dense for them to pass on horseback. A dozen of the guards, clad in yellow tabards worn over their chain mail, kept a wary eye to ensure that things did not get out of control.
Suddenly, a voice shouted from the second floor window of the inn, and a man waved for attention.
Quickly, the crowd hushed.
“Kara-Meir is here,” he called. “But she has travelled far, and is exhausted. She will spend tonight at the Flying Donkey, and already has retired for the night. Tomorrow afternoon she will appear at this very window, to speak to you before heading to the palace to attend the Midsummer festivities. There will be nothing more to see today, however.” With that he closed the shutters.
The crowd gave a collective groan and broke up.
How strange that Kara would arrive, yet send no word, Theodore thought, a sense of disquiet clawing at the back of his neck. And even more so that she would allow such a fellow to speak for her.
The disappointed populace quickly returned to their homes, allowing Theodore and William to make their way inside.
“Why didn’t she come to the palace?” William asked as Theodore ascended the stairway.
“I don’t know,” Theodore replied. “But I intend to find out.”
“Hold it!” a heavy-set man prevented Theodore from climbing any farther. “This whole floor has been given to Kara-Meir.”
“I am Squire Theodore, of the Knights of Falador,” he said. “I am Kara’s associate.”
The man looked back over his shoulder to the innkeeper, who stood on the landing above. Theodore recognised him as the man who had addressed the crowd.
“Your name is known to us Squire Theodore,” the innkeeper said, “but Kara-Meir has left very specific instructions…” He looked at once embarrassed and emboldened. “She doesn’t want to be disturbed… by anyone.”
Theodore opened his mouth to speak, but found he couldn’t form the words. His stomach felt as if it was being squeezed by an invisible hand.
“But this is Theodore!” William protested. “He is the man who saved Kara-Meir’s life, and fought with her at the siege of Falador!”
The innkeeper looked uncertain. After a moment he seemed to arrive at a decision.
“Wait here,” he said, disappearing from the landing.
Theodore listened for Kara’s voice, but the sounds rising from the main room of the tavern made it impossible to hear anything else. After a few moments the man returned, the expression on his face unreadable.
“I have told her you are here,” he said. “But she is very tired. She has asked you to return tomorrow.”
“What about her companions-Gar’rth? And Arisha?” Theodore said finally. “Are they also unavailable?”
The innkeeper shook his head.
“I know of no such persons. She is alone, aside from a street urchin she has employed as her servant.”
What could have caused them to separate?
“Has she been injured?” Theodore asked anxiously. It didn’t make any sense for Kara to behave in such a way, and the more he thought about it, the more the fact that Gar’rth and Arisha were missing concerned him. Had only Kara survived their trip into The Wilderness?
“She seems in perfect health,” the innkeeper answered. “You may write her a message from downstairs if you wish. Ask Karl for paper and ink. I shall see she gets it.”
The squire stood there, frozen, wrestling with the urge to push past the heavy-set man who barred the way. This was so unlike the Kara he knew, yet given the tension that had existed between them, to force the issue might only make matters worse. As he wrestled with his thoughts, a hand appeared on his shoulder.
“Come, Theodore,” William said, disappointment thick in his voice. “Let us get a drink, and you can write your letter. We can return tomorrow.”
Theodore nodded, allowing himself to be led to a table. Yet no matter how he considered what had happened, it simply didn’t make sense.
“I shall get you a strong drink, Theodore. A dwarven stout I think, imported from Falador. That will help you regain your composure.” The squire watched absently as his friend approached the waitress who stood near the kegs, being careful not to come into contact with any of the other men who clustered nearby. Not all of the townspeople had returned to their homes, and the news that Kara had taken a room here had brought in far more customers than usual.
A man approached, following William’s direction, and without saying a word deposited a pen, paper, and a bottle of ink on the table. Before the squire could acknowledge him, the man-Karl, no doubt-hastened away.
“Dwarven stout, Theodore, as promised.” William looked warily at the pint in his hand, and he must have spotted Theodore’s questioning look. “I’ve never had one before either. Not sure if I will again, but, as the saying goes, everything once!”
He took a tentative sip, and screwed his face up.
“Yes, just the one I think,” he said finally, before retreating to walk amongst the patrons, giving Theodore privacy to write his message.
At first he didn’t know what to write. There was little enough paper, and he had to be conservative with his words.
If I wrote what I really wanted to say, I would need a book!
The more he considered it, the more absurd the idea became. So he wrote a simple greeting, voicing his hope that Kara was well, and promising to return the next day. He was tempted to add, “with a representative of the King,” but decided against it. Instead he just signed it.
He read back over his words. Everything he wanted to say was there, save perhaps for the most important thing, something he had lain awake imagining over the many nights since he had last seen her.
The squire took a drink of his stout and, like his friend, grimaced accordingly. He wasn’t taken with drinking, despite the temptations that were a constant result of his diplomatic status, and he knew this foul liquid would not soon convince him to change.
After a few moments, however, he discovered that it did give him confidence. So he took another gulp, and before long he had drained his tankard. Then he reached again for the pen and paper.
I’ll do it!
She knows anyhow. I know she does.
Theodore wrote a final line. When he read through it again, he knew he didn’t need a book to say what he had so clearly stated.
He gestured to William before darting back up the staircase to hand his sealed letter to the same man who had barred his advance previously.
Finally, when he returned, William was seated at their table, drinking much more freely now. Standing opposite him was the same young man who had delivered the ink a moment before.
“This is Karl,” William explained. “He works here. He saw Kara today. Thought you might want to hear what happened. Go on Karl.”
Theodore returned to his seat and sipped another stout which William had brought for him. There was no seat for Karl.
“Begging your pardon sir,” he stammered to Theodore. “She told everyone who she was. She stood on that table near the kegs and said she was Kara-Meir, the saviour of Falador and that she had come to Varrock at the King’s request for the Midsummer Festival. Some people laughed at her and called her a liar, and then… well sir, she proved herself so to speak.”
Theodore shuddered involuntarily.
“What do you mean?”
“She held her scabbard up, sir. There was a blue ribbon tied to the hilt of the sword which prevented it from being drawn, or so she said. It was her promise to a man called Bewler or something…”
“Bhuler.” Theodore corrected. “His name was Bhuler.”
Karl nodded and Theodore saw that he didn’t dare contest the statement.
“Go on,” the squire prompted.
“Anyhow sir, she said to prove herself we could either fetch you from the palace sir, which we weren’t inclined to do being as it were a fair way away, or let her prove it to us. We cheered her on, and men asked her to prove who she was, and… erm… she did.”
“How did she do so, Karl?” William asked him with a mischievous smile. “You’re going to like this Theodore!”
“She drew a knife and threw it at a boy, sir.”
“She did what?”
“Threw it at a boy. A small boy who was standing right next to me. Before anyone realised it, she hurled the knife and we all jumped back. But she’s Kara-Meir you see. She didn’t miss!”
Karl laughed in the manner of someone sharing some private joke.
Saradomin give me patience!
“What didn’t she miss?” Theodore demanded before taking a long drink to prevent himself from saying anything that would demean his order.
“The boy was holding an apple, sir, and the knife went straight through it! Never seen anything like that in all my life sir! Straight into it. Ah, the juice was flowing on the lad’s fingers as he nearly fainted at the shock of it. Well, after that no one doubted her! We lifted her up on our shoulders and led her out into the street and then back into here-everybody was celebrating.” Suddenly Karl’s face darkened. “Varrock needs a hero, sir. I know you’re a visitor here, but there’s something going on…”
Theodore felt William stiffen at his side.
“Just get on with the story,” the nobleman instructed.
“Aye sir. Well after that, she said it was only right that those who had money to spend on drink could spare some for those that had nothing. She said that was how it was in Falador now, after the war, the rich giving money to help the poor. Like you hear in the ballads sometimes, sir. You know what I mean?”
Theodore nodded.
Incredible. Kara asking for money? Unbelievable.
He froze in his seat, a sudden realisation chilling him.
The message! Gods! Who have I passed that onto?
“Well, anyhow,” Karl continued, not appearing to notice Theodore’s sudden discomfort, “she passed a sack round and people put their money in, even me, what little I could afford. She said she would give it out to the needy tomorrow, before the Midsummer Festival. We was all proud at that.”
“And then?”
“And that’s it, sir. After that, after we had filled the sack, she went upstairs where she remains now, with the boy she took as a servant.”
“What did she look like Karl?”
“Oh, she was Kara-Meir sir, no doubt. Blonde hair to her waist, slim, pale skin.” Karl hesitated, scratching his head. “Well, sir, you should know what she looks like…”
William spat his stout out in sudden glee, laughing.
Theodore’s hand smacked down on the tabletop, silencing those nearby.
“Indeed I do know what she looks like, Karl,” he said more loudly than he had intended. Then in a more controlled voice, he continued. “I am trying to ensure that it’s the same person.”
“Who else could she be, knight?” a drunken man shouted. “No one else can be that skilled with a weapon. And do you know…” He staggered forward, launching himself toward their table. “We do need a hero. Karl is right. Varrock needs a hero who can help us. Not men like you, with your coats and your buttons and your… your titles.”
The man flicked his arm toward William, who was far enough away to be out of danger, and yet as he did so the young nobleman fell back from his chair, striking the wall behind. He looked terrified.
“William! You are safe. Calm yourself,” Theodore said, standing quickly to put himself between the two men. The drunk backed away, a look of surprise on his face.
“I didn’t mean anything by it, sirs,” he mumbled, aware that he committed a serious offence. “Please sir. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
The drunk began to weep as the yellow tabards of the city guard closed in.
“No,” William said in an even tone, and then again, louder. “No-it’s all right. No harm was done.” He scanned the room, then turned to his friend. “Come Theodore, let us return to the palace. Didn’t like the stout, anyway.”
He followed William out into the street, leaving behind a room shocked into silence, to where their horses had been secured under the watchful eye of a city guard.
“What was all that about, William?” Theodore demanded. “You dragged me from the inn, leaving me with unfinished business, acting like a…” He wanted to say coward, but he held his tongue at the last second. But it was already too late.
“A coward, Theodore? Isn’t that what you wanted to say?”
Theodore turned his head to avoid William’s gaze.
“Isn’t it?” William pressed.
“Yes, William,” Theodore admitted. “I am sorry, but it is.” Even as he spoke, however, he knew that he was wrong. This is not the way a knight of Falador would behave.
“I have heard it all my life,” William said. “Since I was old enough to understand the word and the insult it carries. My father said it often enough. My mother attempted to hide me from it, to tell me that I was ‘different to others.’ Either way, I came to realise that both were unhappy with me-the one told me so, the other simply tried to hide the fact.”
William smirked, and Theodore shivered when he saw his friend’s face, for it was a mirthless visage, one filled with contempt and self-loathing.
“Still, they were both disappointed in me,” he continued. “Their only child. The heir to a proud family of Misthalin who have counted generals and chancellors amongst their ancestry. Now, I am all that remains of their line.” Theodore saw the tears spring into his eyes as his voice broke.
“I have no love for your god, Theodore. I think you know that. I attend the services of course, as does everyone in the court of Varrock, but I cannot bring myself to worship him.”
Theodore frowned.
“What’s Saradomin got to do with this, William?”
The young noble pulled a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his tears away.
“Do you believe people are cursed, Theodore?” he asked suddenly. “Through no fault of their own?” He gave a deep breath and took the reins of his horse in hand as he mounted.
“You are being silly, William,” Theodore answered. “I know you. You are not cursed-you are a good person. And I was wrong to expect you to be someone you are not.”
William laughed bitterly.
“A good man? Theodore, I am not a good man.” He rode a short distance forward before reining his horse in as the squire mounted his own mare.
“I wished to be a good man, Theodore,” William said, a little louder now to cross the short distance. “I still wish to be one. Every day. If I had my choice I would wish to be born as you were-strong, healthy, able-minded and bodied.” He twisted his mouth in a bizarre grin. “But the gods rarely grant our wishes, Theodore. Always they find ways of corrupting that which we want most of all.”
William turned and with a sudden shout he flicked his reins, galloping north toward the palace at a dangerous pace.
* * *
It had been years since the old man had last seen Varrock. He had been born there nearly sixty years ago, leaving only after his wife had died in childbirth and his children had died of smallpox.
Twenty years ago, Ebenezer thought. Time enough for heroes to be born, and for some even to become legend.
“We could stop, if you like?” the old man’s companion said. There was a tender note in the dwarf’s voice that was seldom heard, but which Ebenezer had come to know well.
“I made a vow that I would never return to Varrock,” Ebenezer said. “I made it after burying my family. I decided to travel the world in the name of science, to combat dogmatic religion.”
The dwarf sat in silence by the old man’s side as the wagon stopped. Ebenezer glanced over the horses’ heads to the city in the east. The sun was losing its warmth, and the final leg of their journey had taken longer than expected. He hadn’t realised how difficult it would be for him to return.
“But time mellows all men’s rage,” Ebenezer continued, brushing his hand across his white hair. “The vow doesn’t seem so important any more. Come, Doric, let us press on. I would like to be at the palace in time for supper.”
He goaded his horses on, and the wagon rolled forward.
“I wonder whether Castimir will be there already,” Doric said, laughing suddenly.
“I, too, am eager to see our young friends. I find as I get older that the company of youth is more rewarding. Although I am worried about Gar’rth,” he said. “And Kara.”
Doric nodded.
“Kara can take care of herself, Ebenezer. It was she who rescued Theodore and me from Jerrod in Falador.”
You are right, my good friend. Kara-Meir can take care of herself. I just hope she hasn’t had to take care of Gar’rth.
The bells from Father Lawrence’s church, situated not far to the east of the palace, chimed the eighth hour of the evening as Theodore and William led their steeds onto the great square.
William had grown increasingly pensive since reining his horse in a few minutes from the inn, and Theodore knew his anger had turned to embarrassment. Perhaps, he thought, it would be best not to press him. Whatever he feels, he will likely tell me in time.
To that end, he persuaded William to dismount and walk with him back to the palace. But by the time they entered the square, it was Theodore who had apologised.
“I am sorry, William,” he said earnestly. “Kara’s actions defy reason-any that I can identify at least, and it angers me.”
William accepted the apology with a nod, but as he made to reply the sound of a man riding swiftly from the west caught their attention. It was Lord Despaard entering the square. The Varrock noble gave the squire a cold stare as he rode through the palace entrance, and Theodore bowed in return, once again conscious of the tension between them.
“Who is Lord Despaard?” he asked. “He claims to know me, and I’ve heard it said that he has tremendous influence, yet none have ever elabourated to explain how that influence is exercised.” And if the things he does became known, Theodore mused silently, would they be considered the actions of a man, or a monster?
William looked suddenly secretive.
“Some say he leads men into Morytania. He is apparently one of the few who has seen Meiyerditch, the capital of that realm, and lived to speak of it.”
“Has he ever fought a werewolf?” Theodore asked, allowing himself a moment of pride. Then he thought the better of it. But William responded.
“If he genuinely does cross the holy river, then likely so. People say his father died in Morytania years ago, and that it is his hatred of that place that drives him on.”
“Do you think he has anything to do with this secret society people keep talking about? The Society of Owls?” How much does William really know? “I’ve heard rumours of innocent citizens, abducted from their homes, all in the name of the law. Could these rumours be true?” As I know them to be, based on the evidence of my own two eyes, he added silently.
“Oh come, Theodore,” William said. “I have been at court for several years now. There are often rumours of things crossing over the Salve. But abducting our own people? That’s too much even for the wildest of rumour-mongers. Although…” William lowered his gaze, and looked uncertain.
“Now that you mention it, I have heard some outlandish whispers of a strange creature that is preying on children in the east, where only farmers live. A vampire or gargoyle or some such.” He looked up again. “Could that be what Karl and the drunken man were referring to?”
I have seen her William! Theodore wanted to say so much, but only at the last minute did he remember Lord Despaard’s forceful words as he was told to keep the conspiracy of silence. The less the young nobleman knew, the safer he would be. And another thought clawed at the back of his mind.
I cannot trust anyone at court.
“Look about you, William,” he said sombrely. “It is the height of summer, and yet the square is nearly deserted. I tell you there is something wrong, and the people of Varrock know it. They are afraid.”
But William said nothing, looking to the west of the square to where a weather-beaten wagon drawn by two horses rolled to a halt. A white-haired old man with a whiter beard climbed down from the seat, a dwarf at his side.
Theodore laughed, his changed demeanour planting a look of surprise on William’s face.
“What is it?” the nobleman asked. “Do you know them?”
“They are two old friends, William.” Two old friends who I know I can trust.
With an excited grin the squire ran forward.
One hour later, Ebenezer sat near the fire, smoking his pipe. Nearby Doric bathed his feet in a tub of hot water, sighing as he soothed his aching limbs.
Theodore had found a room for his friends on the first floor of the palace, tucked away from the busy goings-on that continued during all hours-for although it was the home of King Roald, the palace was also the centre of government for the city of Varrock and the country of Misthalin. Having been introduced to the newcomers, William had been gracious enough to allow them some time to catch up, and had left the three friends together.
“So tell me, Ebenezer,” Theodore began, “what has happened in Falador since I departed? I have been eager for news.”
The old man took his pipe from his mouth and sighed.
“The damage that was done in the siege has been repaired,” he said. “The walls have been strengthened, and the dwarfs have opened their mining guild in the east of the city. Life continues for the citizens much as it did before the fighting, and the knights are held in higher regard than ever for the sacrifices they made in the war.”
Doric winked at Theodore, and gestured.
“Haven’t you noticed Ebenezer’s new surcoat?” the dwarf asked.
“It looks more expensive than your previous garment,” Theodore observed. “When last I saw you, you had been asked to find a way to drain the moat around the castle and retrieve the valuables the people had cast into the waters, in the effort to prevent the invaders from claiming them. Has this made you a rich man?”
“It has,” Ebenezer confessed. “And in the process, my reputation as an alchemist has reached new heights. After the fighting was over and the repairs begun, Sir Amik granted me the resources to construct just the thing that was needed to complete the task. Crowds gathered to see the monstrosity that my friends and I had built.”
Doric shook his head.
“You should have seen their faces, Theodore!” the dwarf said. “When Ebenezer lit the fires and fed the boiler with coal and wood, and the beam at the top began to rock on its fulcrum, powering the pump. The citizens were amazed. The steam engine drew nearly ten gallons of water from the moat each minute. It must have been the first time in its history that it was drained, for a great many objects were recovered that didn’t match any descriptions offered by the citizens.”
“And my work was well rewarded,” Ebenezer said. He gave a satisfied smile and returned his pipe to his mouth, exchanging a knowing glance with his travelling companion.
“And what of you Doric?” Theodore asked.
“I remained in Falador for nearly two months, helping the dwarfs under Commander Blenheim strengthen the walls and open the mining guild, and I also pursued my claim against those who burned my cabin. The magistrates ruled in my favour, and the guilty were ordered to help rebuild what they had destroyed.”
The old dwarf stirred his feet in the steaming tub.
“That was enough for me, for I was not looking for revenge. And those who had done the damage admitted their ignorance and offered me their assistance and their friendship, both of which I accepted.” He looked furtively to Ebenezer. “And I have done something else, something which has taken me some time and no small expense. Something which will be a gift to my friends.”
With that, Doric yawned.
“Well?” Theodore prompted.
The dwarf gave a low laugh.
“All in good time,” he said. “When we are all gathered.”
“Very well Doric, you may keep your secrets,” Theodore said. “William has had rooms prepared for you both, here in the palace. All your needs will be met during your stay, for as companions to Kara-Meir you are honoured guests.”
The alchemist and the dwarf exchanged wary looks.
“Have you had any news of Kara?” Doric asked.
Theodore lowered his gaze to the floor.
“Apparently she is here, in Varrock,” he answered, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “But Gar’rth and Arisha are not.”
Ebenezer took the pipe from his mouth. Doric frowned in worry.
“They went into The Wilderness together,” Theodore continued angrily. “It might be that only Kara returned. And she has refused to see me.”
For a time no one spoke. Both of Theodore’s friends knew how he felt about Kara, and how hurt he must have been by her refusal.
Doric lifted his feet from the tub, water splashing onto the flagstones. He was about to speak when a commotion sounded outside in the passageway, of men running and giving commands in anxious tones.
Suddenly William burst into the room.
“There’s been a killing, Theodore!” he shouted. “They are no longer just rumours-the creature has entered the city!”
Theodore rode hard to the south of the city, to where the poorer inhabitants dwelt. Doric clung to his waist with his eyes shut, yet the mare easily outpaced William’s gelding. Even Ebenezer-had he decided to accompany them from the palace-could have outpaced the young nobleman on his horse.
But William is fearful, Theodore realised. I have never noticed it so acutely before. Even walking down stairs he is always unnaturally careful. And his behaviour at the inn today. His fear!
Thoughts of his friend evaporated as he saw a crowd gathered before him in the darkened street. Some held lanterns, and in the light he saw Lord Despaard and his black-clad men, already present. The yellow-cloaked city guard helped them in keeping order. He also saw Father Lawrence, the old priest at the head of the crowd, his four-pointed silver star held before him as he invoked Saradomin’s mercy.
As Theodore reined his mare in and dismounted he saw the anxious looks of the citizens. One was vomiting into the gutter.
The crowd surrounded a merchant’s house that had seen more prosperous times. Following their gaze, Theodore looked up and saw that upon the slanted lead roof lay a dead body-that of a man whose collar was wrapped about an iron peg that held the tiles in place, his feet hanging over the edge into empty space.
And down the side of the house’s grey wall ran a red streak.
Theodore himself felt suddenly nauseous. He had been in battle before this, and had seen all the horrors of men mutilated and dying, but this was different somehow.
This is a spectacle.
“But how did it get up there?” a man cried out. “How was this done?”
“This is nothing human!” someone else added.
Instantly the crowd bristled with a collective anger. Quickly, Lord Despaard’s men took up discreet positions, preparing to subdue the mob should it turn violent.
Lights shone from the opposite rooftop, illuminating the corpse.
All eyes were fixed upon the hideous sight. The man’s throat had been torn out, and his abdomen-revealed to the onlookers through his torn shirt-had been viciously clawed.
“Gods! All that blood,” William moaned from Theodore’s side, having left his horse with the squire’s mare. The noble staggered on his feet, unable to take his eyes off the red streak that seemed so similar to an arrow on the dirty grey stone.
“I’ve got you, William,” Theodore said, reaching out as his friend swayed. Doric assisted him.
“Here, have some of this, lad,” he said, offering William his hip flask. “It’s stronger than water but it’ll do the trick.” The dwarf peered again at the rooftop. “And when you’re done, pass it back. Think I’ll need some too.” William nodded as he took a generous swig before coughing violently.
“Look to the left of him-look!” someone shouted. “There’s writing!”
The lanterns above shifted to follow the anonymous instruction.
And there it was. Written in the man’s blood.
“What does it say? What does it say?” cried an onlooker.
“Pay it no mind,” Lord Despaard shouted in reply. “It is designed to cause fear in all of us, and we cannot allow it to do so.” His words silenced the crowd, but then someone spoke up again, his voice heard by all.
“It says, ‘I am coming.’”
Pandemonium erupted as everyone spoke at once, every other person asking his neighbour what such a message could mean. Some wailed in fear, others cursed loudly. Theodore, seeing William regain his calm, moved away quickly and approached Lord Despaard.
“We can’t conceal this, Lord Despaard,” he said. “This Wyrd…”
“Just you remember your promise to me, boy,” the man in black replied angrily. “This is my business, and has been since before you were born. Now go back to the palace and enjoy a dance with a pretty girl, or a glass of wine-I care not. But keep the silence, or so help me I will have you returned to Falador in chains!” Hearing the exchange, Father Lawrence stepped up.
“You must do as he says, Theodore,” the priest said. “As must I. There is a survivor, a child, a witness in fact.” The old man lowered his voice. “I will take her to the others, and care for her as best I can with my meagre skills.” He hastened off toward a group of black-cloaked soldiers stood in a loose circle. Meanwhile, Lord Despaard’s eyes never left Theodore.
“You know far more than I would like,” he said. “But I trust you. I know your reputation for honesty and I know that your word is your bond. Everyone who would know confirms it. But do not interfere in my business.” Despaard followed in Father Lawrence’s footsteps as Doric appeared at his side.
“Come, Theodore,” the dwarf said. “We can do nothing here. Who ever this murderer is, it’s the duty of the guards to bring him to justice.”
Theodore smiled grimly and shook his head.
“Not he, Doric, she. And not human,” he muttered. “I shall explain when we return to the palace.” Together they headed back to their steeds. Theodore mounted his mare and helped Doric up behind him. As he did so he turned in his saddle, suddenly aware that he was being watched.
“You!” he cried suddenly.
It was the woman who had hurled the stone at him the night before. She held his gaze for a long second as a crowd of people bustled between them. Finally, she shook her head in disgust before vanishing into the masses.
Doric witnessed the exchange.
“Is there some reason we should go after her?” Doric asked.
“No, Doric,” the squire answered. “Her only crime is that she knows the truth.”
With an uneasy feeling, he turned his horse and rode away. William followed at his own speed.
Have I forfeited the obligations of my order in my promise to keep the silence? Theodore wondered silently. I must ask Saradomin for guidance in this matter.
Perhaps, indeed, she knows more of the truth than I.
Theodore’s doubts were interrupted by a nudge from Doric.
“So tell me what you know,” the dwarf instructed as they left the crowds behind them and rode out of earshot of anyone save William. “Tell me of this woman. This inhuman woman.”
Ebenezer was sleeping in his chair, his spectacles fallen to his chest, when Theodore and his two friends got back.
“It was a tiring journey to Varrock,” Doric explained softly, in an effort not to disturb the alchemist. “Even for me, and we are meeting King Roald tomorrow. Perhaps it is best if we got some rest so we can present ourselves in our best possible light, and be neither weary nor frayed?”
“I will ask a servant to escort you to your rooms, master dwarf, if you care to wake your friend,” William offered. He peered outside and gestured to a man who waited nearby.
Gently, Doric shook Ebenezer’s shoulder. The old man awoke with a sharp intake of breath.
“Oh-ho! You’re back,” he said groggily. “What time is it?”
“It’s half past ten,” Doric said, looking at the intricate clock that hung above the fireplace. “Although it feels a lot later. I for one need rest. Lots of fresh air and being bungled about on a wagon is enough for me. Now I know how a potato feels on its way to market. Come on, alchemist!”
Ebenezer stood delicately. As he did so a book slipped from his lap and onto the cushion.
“A history of the lives of the kings of Varrock?” William said as he picked it up. “Well, that’s enough to send anybody to sleep.”
“Oh, yes. I found it on the shelf over there. I remembered my childhood when I was forced to learn all their names from the Battle of the Salve down to the present day.” The alchemist smiled sorrowfully. “I must have had a better memory then than now, I fear. I had forgotten the names of the four princes who were lost at that battle.” He shook his head. “Never mind. It is ancient history. Now, what happened in Varrock tonight? Were your fears justified?”
Theodore nodded.
“They were. Another slaying. I don’t know how many there have been so far, but this time the killer left a message-and it was more public than any so far.”
“Tell me about it, while we find my bedroom.”
“We must not talk too freely, my friend,” William cautioned. “This knowledge is prohibited in Varrock by the highest authority.”
“I will tell you, when we get you to your room,” Doric said. “Theodore told me all on our return to the palace.” The dwarf took the alchemist’s arm and led him from the room, following the servant, while Theodore moved to extinguish the lights.
“Are you going to bed Theodore?” William asked, rubbing his own eyes and yawning.
“Not just yet,” the squire answered. “I think I will spend a moment in the chapel, in prayer. Will you join me, to ask for guidance in this matter?”
William shook his head.
“No. I am sorry Theodore. I find the chapel to Saradomin a very cold place indeed. I am aware of its importance to your order of course, but I prefer the guise of the roguish nobleman. Goodnight, good knight!”
The nobleman walked toward the door, then turned before leaving, his eyes holding Theodore’s for several seconds.
“I am sorry about my outburst at the inn today, Theodore,” he said earnestly. “Truly I am. Please believe me when I say that I will always be your friend.” He closed the door behind him quickly, preventing Theodore from replying.
After a moment of careful thought, the squire extinguished the final candle and left the room to make his way through the dim corridors of the great palace and to the cold chapel upon the second floor.
There, alone with his doubts, he knelt in prayer.
3
The yak stopped dead.
Its youthful owner gave an exasperated grunt and tugged on its lead from his position in the saddle of his horse. Reluctantly the yak took a few steps, and then stopped again, snorting in disagreement with its master.
“But we’re nearly there!” the blue-robed wizard argued, gesturing east toward Varrock. They were only a half hour’s journey away, and he was eager to enjoy a soft bed for the first time in several nights. Even in the last few moments of twilight, he could see the grey walls of the city beckoning him. Torches were lit at regular intervals along the parapet. Somewhere from the west, a bell rang out. He counted the carillon’s cry.
Was that ten, or eleven? Probably ten, for the light is not yet gone.
He sighed and tugged the yak’s lead again, while urging his horse on.
Neither animal moved this time.
“Oh, come on!” he cried.
The yak stared dolefully at him.
“If you don’t move, I’ll turn you into an ass,” he threatened. “How would you like that?”
The yak didn’t move.
“Could you really do that?” a voice called from the left, under the trees.
The startled wizard dropped his right hand to the pouches that were fastened to his belt. Something chinked, sounding like a number of pebbles being jostled together.
“Who’s there?” he demanded.
A dark figure moved under the boughs, and the wizard thought he detected the faint sound of… jingling? Quickly he grabbed the wooden staff which was secured at his horse’s flank. Deftly he undid the straps and raised its knotted tip. A red glow sprang forth and illuminated the scene, basking the shadowy stranger in comfortable warmth.
Startled, the wizard arched his back.
It was a jester, dressed in a red and black, close-fitting outfit. He held a sceptre in his hand and wore a three-pointed hat upon his head, bells jingled at the end of each of his three liliripes. His age was hard to guess, he seemed neither young nor very old. He was tall and skinny and his long legs reminded the wizard of the storks that frequented the shore near the Wizards’ Tower.
The outlandish character bowed, and as he did so he tripped. Head over heels he went, landing directly before the unamused gaze of the critical yak.
The wizard laughed involuntarily. That earned him a comical frown.
“It’s not nice to laugh at someone else’s misfortune,” the jester chastised, clambering to his feet as a second figure stepped into the red light. Uttering a small cry, the wizard swung the glowing tip of the staff in the direction of the newcomer.
It was a goblin. He carried a broken-tipped spear and sported ill-fitting chain mail that was too big for his small frame. As he moved, the dented bronze helmet he wore slipped down over his eyes. The creature gave a strangled gurgle in his confusion, and righted the helmet.
“Do not fear him,” the jester said. “He lives by the roadside, and begs off strangers.”
“I do not fear him,” the wizard replied, his composure regained. “From the look of him, he’s certainly not a fighter. But he should be careful not to make a nuisance of himself, for if he does, most likely he shall be slain.”
“He knows,” the jester replied, his expression serious. “But that is neither here nor there, my friend. Travellers of your order are rare indeed these days.” He paused, and his expression lightened. “Would you perhaps join us for a late supper? I’ve roasted a chicken over a fire.”
He’s certainly a friendly fellow, the wizard mused. Then he glanced in the direction of the walls, which the darkness had reduced to little more than a black outline.
“I would like to get to the palace soon,” he admitted, “for I have spent three nights under the stars.” The wizard eyed the yak. “Thanks to him!”
“Then we shall eat first,” the jester insisted, “and then I will take you to the palace, for I am heading there as well. But tell me, what is your name, wizard of Saradomin?”
The wizard dismounted stiffly. His legs ached after hours of riding.
“My name is Castimir,” he answered. “And you?”
“Castimir? The companion to the famous Kara-Meir? Then you must be a friend of Theodore’s.”
“I am.”
“My name is Gideon Gleeman. Jester to King Roald Remanis the Third,” the fellow said, extending his hand. “I am honoured to make your acquaintance.”
“Yours is a fitting name for a man whose trade is laughter.” Castimir smiled and took the jester’s hand in his own, content to spend a few more hours under the stars-as long as it was in good company.
It was an hour before midnight when Castimir entered the city. He led his horse, while the jester led the yak, for despite the wizard’s offer he had not dared to mount the beast. The yellow-clad guards at the gate knew Gleeman well, and when they saw Castimir’s blue robes they smiled broadly. It seemed to the wizard that their expressions were somehow hopeful.
“Did the Tower send you?” asked the first. “Have you come to stop the creature?”
Creature?
Despite his confusion, Castimir nodded purposefully.
“I help wherever I am able,” he replied, trying not to sound as uncertain as he felt. “But I come at the invitation of Squire Theodore, of the Knights of Falador.”
The guard who had spoken looked angrily aside. His friend bit his lip, as if summoning his courage.
“We don’t need knights,” he spat. “Not even those who come from Falador. Only magic can help us-”
“That is enough!” came the command from the parapet above. “Let them pass.”
The two guards parted and let them through, and they walked onward, passing those few individuals who were still abroad on the city’s darkened streets. In the light of the torches, Castimir caught the looks they gave him.
They are all afraid here, he observed. Even the guards. Whatever plagues them, they think that I may be able to provide some sort of salvation. I can see it in their eyes.
It was a look that made Castimir wince every time he saw it, for to him it represented betrayal. Few knew the vital truth that lay behind the wizards, and the reasons they were so few in number.
How they would panic, if only they knew. And how our enemies would rejoice! Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, he spoke casually.
“I would have imagined Varrock to be a busier place,” he commented. “Even at this hour.” Before them, to the north of a great square, stood the palace of King Roald Remanis the Third, its large walls surrounding two immense baileys that lay to the east and west of the fortified main building, where a single tall tower rose up into the night. “Why are so few out and about this fine evening?”
“Tomorrow is the Midsummer Festival,” Gleeman explained as they approached the guardhouse. The jester turned his head aside and continued. “No doubt folk are busily making preparations, and saving their strength for the celebration.”
He’s avoiding my stare, Castimir noted.
“I myself have been preparing for some days now,” the jester added. “Far away from the hustle and bustle of the palace.”
“And what will you do?” Castimir inquired. “For the celebration, that is.”
“Tight-rope walking, acrobatics, and more,” Gleeman replied with a flourish. “And my own flavor of magic. For example…” He opened his hand to reveal several of the pebble-like runes that were so precious to the wizard.
My runes! Castimir’s hand darted to his pouch. That’s impossible.
“Where did you get those?” he cried in alarm. “Give them back!”
“I took them while we ate,” came the reply. “Your dagger, too.” The jester spoke without a hint of guilt, sounding pleased that his skill had inspired such a vehement response. Without any hesitation, he returned the objects to their rightful owner. “The baubles are very pretty, my friend, and ever so rare.”
“Rare indeed and every one precious,” Castimir snorted, frowning and checking the rest of his pouches-as well as his deep pockets. Nothing more seemed to be amiss, and his good humour began to return. “How did you accomplish such a feat?” he asked.
“Sleight-of-hand, my friend,” the jester said whimsically. “Sleight-of-hand.”
Gleeman summoned the captain of the palace guard, and within a few minutes Castimir was standing in front of a short man with a belligerent face.
This is a man who takes his duty seriously. He looks as if he has no love for strangers.
“You are expected?” the man, Captain Rovin, asked him brusquely.
“I am, sir. Here is my invitation.” He handed the captain a letter with the royal seal of King Roald clearly displayed. Theodore had sent such invitations out to all his friends, promising them rooms at the palace for the several days surrounding the Midsummer Festival. Captain Rovin looked at it quickly and nodded.
“This seems in order,” he acknowledged. “A room has been set aside for you. Your friends have already retired to their quarters. A servant will stable your beasts and a maid will show you the way.” Suddenly the captain’s face turned grimmer, and when he spoke again, he did so in a cold tone. “It is not often we get heroes staying at the palace, and we are busy enough here as it is without pandering to the needs of arrogant youths. Perhaps, just maybe, we can find a use for you in Varrock.”
With that he turned away.
Castimir bristled at the deliberate slight.
Not so fast.
“Only if I think such use is worthy of me, Captain Rovin,” he replied loudly, so all could hear. “But regardless, a wizard still needs to sleep, and to eat, and to bathe-especially those of us who are famous. So if you will be so kind, I think I will take my leave of you now.
“Goodnight!”
The young wizard nearly missed breakfast, so unwilling was he to stir from the comfort of the soft bed. It was only when Doric threatened to split his door asunder did he finally dress and join his friends.
“You are pale, Castimir,” Theodore said as soon as he saw him.
“I have spent too long indoors, Theodore, at the Wizards’ Tower.”
“And you are late, Castimir,” Ebenezer taunted. “Could you not magic yourself here, or is that beyond your meagre capabilities?”
Castimir smiled, for he, like the alchemist, enjoyed their banter over which discipline was more important, that of science or magic.
“My tardiness is entirely the fault of my yak,” the wizard protested. “Arisha sent him to me after the war, but the summer weather is too hot for him. You know how stubborn he is.”
His greeting was curtailed when he spied the food on offer before him. Many of the palace’s inhabitants had already eaten, for it was the day of the festival and preparations were still to be finalised, which necessitated an early start for most. Nevertheless, there was still a feast to be consumed, and he dug in with great enthusiasm.
In between mouthfuls, Castimir told of what he had been doing since their separation in Falador, six months before. His reputation as one of Kara’s companions had made his position in the Wizards’ Tower uneasy. Older and more powerful sorcerers were jealous of his fame, and yet they knew how important it was that their order maintained a visible presence amongst the common folk of the human kingdoms. Castimir’s renown had given them exactly the excuse they needed to remove him from their presence, and he found himself being pushed toward a diplomatic role.
“But is that not what you always wanted?” Ebenezer asked. “To travel and see the world?”
“Yes, but it means I will not be kept aware of the goings on in the Tower,” he replied. “And it will cause me to forego any additional training I might have received, and that does not bode well for my future.”
“What of the spell books of Master Segainus?” Doric said, his voice lowered. “Have they yielded anything of interest?” Segainus was a master wizard who had died on the ramparts of Falador, and his diaries had fallen into Castimir’s possession. Such knowledge, he knew, could be very dangerous in the hands of one as inexperienced as he, yet he guarded it jealously.
“I have spent many hours poring over Master Segainus’s books,” Castimir admitted. “So many hours that I think I now know them by heart. I even used some of his theories in my thesis, though carefully, so they could not be identified as such. In truth, however, I fear I may have been too ambitious-some of his diaries contain text written in an ancient language that is unknown to me. Even the libraries of the Tower have provided no clues.”
He fell silent in order to focus on his meal, but his mind wandered over the books that had become his prized possessions. One phrase, scrawled in a margin, plagued him day and night, and refused to make sense.
Will the Dark Lady and her order be able to help?
Nothing in his studies had shed any light on the identity of Segainus’s “Dark Lady,” and more than one of his fellow wizards had dismissed the phrase as the ramblings of an old man past his prime. Yet Castimir had refused to do so.
Suddenly aware that his friends were waiting for him to continue, he looked up from his rapidly diminishing breakfast and grimaced.
“Indeed, I fear I might have failed my thesis,” he confessed. “If that is so, I will be required to submit another next year, and for now must remain an apprentice. While I am here, I am to meet a representative of the Tower in Varrock. Aubury is his name. He has been tasked to judge my work, and will tell me if I have passed… or not.”
The group looked up as William entered the chamber, and Theodore introduced Castimir.
“I have been asked to act as host to your friends, Theodore,” the young noble said, and he turned to face them all. “Will you accompany us to see Kara-Meir this morning?”
“So she is here?” Castimir said. “Is Arisha with her?”
“Neither Arisha nor Gar’rth are in Varrock.” Theodore lowered his gaze. “And Kara refused to see me last night.”
Castimir froze, his appetite souring instantly.
“Not here? But they went with Kara to The Wilderness.” He paused to remember. “Arisha sent me letters, and there was no word of them parting. Both of them went…”
“We don’t know anything definite yet, Castimir,” Doric said slowly, reaching out so his hand was resting on the wizard’s shoulder. “No one has spoken to Kara.”
Theodore nodded.
“In fact, I am far from convinced that it is her.” The squire described the behaviour that had caused him to doubt the identity of the woman in the inn. “It seems so unlike her.”
“But today we shall go and confront her,” Ebenezer declared. “If it is Kara-Meir, we must see how she fared in The Wilderness, and determine whether she needs our help.”
Theodore stood.
“I cannot come with you,” he said bitterly. “I have to ensure that my candidates are prepared for the festival. But I hope you have better success than I.” The squire gave a curt nod and left to attend his duties, while William offered to guide them to the Flying Donkey Inn, there to answer the riddle that was Kara-Meir.
A crowd stood outside the Inn, although the promised appearance by Kara-Meir was still some hours away. The sun had risen and the heat, made all the more stifling by anticipation, was causing visible discomfort, Castimir noted.
“I had no idea she was so famous,” he said, still seated on his horse to better peer over the heads of the masses.
“She has been the most discussed subject at court since the day of Theodore’s arrival,” William informed him. “Stories of her-and of you, her companions-are told daily.”
“And exaggerated no doubt,” Doric said with a grunt of laughter. “The way these things are told no doubt I am a giant by now!”
“What do they say of Gar’rth?” Ebenezer asked cautiously.
I hadn’t considered that, alchemist, the wizard mused. Exactly what do the minstrels say of our friend?
“He is the least known of your group,” William admitted, “and I was hoping you might tell me something that would give me an advantage over the other nobles. The tales generally agree that he is immensely strong, and never speaks. He is a mysterious warrior whom Kara rescued from certain death.”
Ebenezer mumbled something under his breath. When the alchemist went silent, William continued.
“With all of your group, it is impossible to separate what is real from what is not,” he said. “The things I know about you come from Theodore, and they are precious few. All he would say about Gar’rth was that he is from a foreign land, and speaks none of the common tongue.” He paused for a moment, as if carefully considering his next words. “Tell me, is there any bad blood between them?”
“Bad blood between Gar’rth and Theodore?” Castimir said as Doric and Ebenezer exchanged looks. “No, nothing nearly so strong as that. But there is a rivalry, of sorts.”
And her name is Kara.
William looked to each of the friends in turn. They all gave a brief nod, as if satisfied by the answer.
William knows Theodore well, Castimir surmised. No doubt he has guessed the truth.
“And as to the question of where Gar’rth is from, we are all unsure, since we do not speak his language, and cannot ask him.” Castimir inclined his head thoughtfully. “I believe he may be from the southern isles, brought here by a merchant vessel.”
That will suffice much better than the truth, he thought to himself. Especially here in Varrock, so close to Morytania.
A murmur sprang up from the front of the crowd, and Castimir craned his neck to locate the cause.
“Aha! Here we go,” William said, pointing. “A royal messenger is approaching the door.”
The messenger was accompanied by yellow-clad guards on either side, and together they forced a path through the packed throng. As they went, an expectant hush fell over the crowd. Castimir watched as the man was met at the door by the innkeeper.
The two figures conversed for a moment before the messenger forced his way inside, pushing past the innkeeper, whose face displayed signs of distress.
Something is wrong here, the wizard realised.
And he wasn’t alone. Those nearest the messenger began to speak rapidly. Each turned to pass on what had been heard, and what started as an excited whisper spread contagiously from one person to the next, leaving in its wake a growing crescendo of angry shouts.
“What’s going on?” William called down to a guard. The nobleman goaded his horse aside, away from the increasing agitation of the crowd.
The answer came from a torrent of voices that grew so loud that the guard’s answer was lost. The sound of breaking glass told the wizard that the riot had begun.
“She’s vanished!” came the shout, and it quickly became a chorus. “She and the boy she took as her servant. And they’ve taken the money with them!”
The nobleman turned his horse and cantered away to escape the angry crowds. Castimir and his friends followed his lead. As they rode north to safety, two dozen of the city guard, tightly grouped and armed with wooden clubs, pressed into the crowd.
When they had reached a safe distance, William reined in his horse and peered back at the slowly dissipating chaos.
“Well,” he said as the others joined him. “What an auspicious start to the day. This will no doubt be a Midsummer Festival to remember. But we must return to the palace, for the King will want news of this, and to know the reason why it has happened.”
As will Theodore, Castimir added silently.
The great square was teeming with people by the time Castimir and his friends returned to the palace. But unlike the angry mob they had just left, this was the beginning of a celebration. They made their way slowly through the sweating throngs of jugglers, fire-eaters and a hundred other entertainers, with a palace guardsman pushing the people aside to make them a path.
Like many of the buildings in Varrock, the palace was built of the grey stone that was quarried from the pits to the south and west of the city. It was immense, and Castimir-approaching it for the first time in daylight-was impressed by its sheer presence.
First they passed through the outer wall, a barrier which rose three times the height of a tall man and was wide enough for three men to stand abreast. The gates were wide open this day and inside the wall, on a road which was flanked by trees on either side, hundreds of citizens enjoyed the revels. Numerous colourful tents had been erected in the wide baileys that stood to the east and west of the castle, also enclosed by the outer wall, and the air was filled with the sound of a dozen different instruments-from hornpipes to lyres-and a hundred different smells-from sausages spitting in fat to the pungent scent of beer warmed in the sun.
Their journey delayed by the celebrating masses, it took them some time to reach the inner wall, as sturdy and as tall as the first. Here, the palace guards were arrayed in a line to make sure that no one could enter the castle without their leave. They parted when they saw William riding at the head of the small group, and with some amusement Castimir noted the sour face of Captain Rovin glaring down at them from above.
King Roald’s watchdog.
His levity waned however, when he noticed-standing back from the merlons in the wall-at least two dozen bowmen.
A watchdog with teeth, it seems.
Within the inner wall there lay a paved courtyard where the party dismounted, and eight broad stone steps spanning the entire front of the castle led them to a squat double door set back under an overhanging roof, supported by two rows of three pillars each to its right and left. Hanging at either side of the entrance was a yellow-faced shield with two embossed grey swords, crossed at the centre, reflecting the sunlight that came from the south.
No doubt polished daily by some lowly minion in military service. Probably by one of Theodore’s new recruits for the knights.
The thought caused Castimir to smile again as William led them through the double doors and down a hallway toward the throne room, off to the right of the main staircase. The nobleman paused once to commandeer a servant.
“Have Squire Theodore meet us in King Roald’s throne room at once,” he instructed. “No delay. He will be found with his men, probably butchering another legion of straw dummies in the gymnasium. Tell him we have news of Kara. Tell him she has fled-with the money-and caused a riot.” As the man ran to carry out William’s instruction, they continued on their way.
How strange that he still thinks it could have been Kara-Meir at the tavern, the young wizard thought, but he kept his tongue. If he knew her as we do, he would harbour no such misapprehensions.
They continued on their way, and negotiated several illogical twists and turns that wound through the immense interior, no doubt designed to confuse any attacker, and moments later the party found themselves in the throne room of King Roald Remanis the Third. It was a narrow room, constructed of a lighter grey stone than was used elsewhere. Yellow banners hung above the heads of the audience who stood along the room’s edges, clear off the yellow carpet that by royal decree was only ever occupied by the subject the King was addressing. The banners’ white fronds tempted Castimir, who in a moment of madness had to stop himself from leaping up to seize one.
At the southern end of the room, on a square marble dais, sat the monarch himself upon his yellow-cushioned throne. From the entrance the figure of the King seemed small, surrounded by a nimbus of pale light that streamed in from the high windows behind and above his throne.
To Castimir, it all seemed very divine-too much so, in fact.
Charlatan! he thought bemusedly. You’ve placed the throne so the sun is behind you. There is no magic here.
As they watched, and waited, the wizard’s eyes crept over the audience. He felt their stares upon him, for he was dressed in little more than his blue robe, the very same one he had travelled in. With a conscious glance at his friends, he suddenly realised that both Ebenezer and Doric were more formally dressed, both attired as wealthy merchants. Such clothes befit men who occupied but a single rung beneath the nobility on the social ladder.
I slept late. He shrugged. And I didn’t expect to be presented to a king.
Nonetheless, he felt uncomfortable-ever more so as the crowd in front diminished and the party moved forward. Before him nobles pledged allegiance to their King, as they did every Midsummer, upon the longest day of the year, repeating the words given them by an austere priest who wore Saradomin’s four-pointed star embroidered on his black frock.
Fitting for a realm whose enemy lives in a land of darkness.
One person in particular caught his attention as they approached the front. A tall, lean man, with streaks of white in his dark hair stood a slight distance behind the throne. He was dressed in black cloth decorated with intricate silver stitching, and when he moved slightly, the wizard noted that the stitching was in the odd shape of an owl, with its head turned behind it.
He is a man who is used to the shadowy work of government, Castimir guessed. Every monarch needs a knife in the dark, or a little something extra in the wine. He felt the man’s eyes upon him. It was an unnerving experience.
“Lord Despaard, again,” he heard Doric whisper.
And then it was William’s turn to step onto the yellow carpet and kneel before the monarch.
“My Lord William de Adlard, you were not expected to offer homage to me this morning,” King Roald said. “For you have duties in guiding our famous guests in the day’s event.” The King’s voice echoed from the narrow walls, strong, clear. Castimir was close enough now to view him properly. His frame was hidden under a ceremonial vermilion robe boasting soft ermine edges, but the wizard guessed he was of lean build. His narrow face displayed a short brown beard and moustache, and upon his head he wore his golden crown, with a bright red gem set in its centre, as big as Castimir had ever seen.
“But since you are here,” the King continued, “I will take what is given to me by God. I will accept your pledge to me in Saradomin’s name.”
Castimir saw the priest step onto the yellow rug, standing deliberately between the King and the kneeling William in what was supposed to form a spiritual bridge between the men. As the man spoke the words that scores of others had echoed that very morning, William repeated them.
“I pledge my blood and my life. I pledge my sons and daughters. I pledge all my worldly possessions and passions to keep King Roald Remanis the Third in good health upon the throne. I make this pledge under the eyes of Saradomin-”
William coughed suddenly. Then he hesitated.
A woman in the audience giggled behind Castimir.
“This is not the time for levity, Lady Anne,” King Roald chastised the woman who Castimir turned to see for the first time. She appeared to have only just come in. He could not avert his eyes.
She was beautiful. In fact, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
She can’t be real. Try as he might, he could not stop himself from staring. Women like her only exist in fairy tales, and live in towers assailed by knights and guarded by dragons. Or is it the other way round?
The blonde-haired woman caught his gaze and smiled. It was anything but demure. Her tongue curled between her white teeth as her blue eyes sparkled.
Castimir gurgled. To his relief, William continued.
“…My true god. The infinite and everlasting to whom all deceits are known.” His voice ceased, and the young wizard turned toward the front of the room again, feeling a red flush come to his face.
“I accept your allegiance Lord William de Adlard,” the King said. “Now you may rise, and tell me why you have come here when your duties did not necessitate it. Although I am glad my subjects are so loyal.”
“Even one who is remiss in his duty to Saradomin,” the priest muttered caustically, stepping back from the yellow rug.
William stood and bowed his head, to the laughter of the court.
“Please Master Raispher,” King Roald said. “Today is a day of celebration for all my realm. It is the longest day of the year, when the powers of our enemy across the river are at their weakest.” He turned his gaze again. “Now William de Adlard, explain yourself.”
The nobleman laid out the circumstances of Kara-Meir’s appearance the previous night, of how she had persuaded others to hand her money, and of how she had disappeared. The jovial atmosphere of the court grew frosty as his tale progressed, and finally, when it ended with an account of the dispersal of the rioters, silence fell while they awaited the King’s response.
In the silence, booted feet could be heard approaching.
It was Theodore, still wearing the practice armour he had donned for putting his recruits through their paces. His fair hair was in disarray, his face flushed and his breathing fast.
“My noble friend Theodore. Approach,” King Roald ordered. William bowed quickly and stepped away from the yellow carpet as Theodore stepped on. The squire’s heavy footfall became muted as he advanced down the centre of the narrow room. He bowed in front of the throne, and the King gestured for him to stand upright.
I don’t like the look on the King’s face, Castimir mused.
“Now then, young squire, how do you explain Kara-Meir’s presence, and the larceny she has perpetrated?” King Roald asked.
“I don’t think it is her at all,” Theodore answered, his expression resolute. “My King, Kara is not interested in wealth. She has rich friends who owe her their lives. She could simply ask any of them for money, rather than commit this subterfuge. There are others here today who will tell you the same.” Theodore gestured toward Castimir, with Ebenezer and Doric standing behind.
A voice sounded from the crowd.
“Kara should hang.” It was Lady Anne, speaking quietly to one of her coterie. “Such a crime is punishable by death.” The whisper fell in a moment of silence, and in the narrow room it was clearly heard by all.
Or maybe it was meant to be heard, Castimir thought as all eyes turned toward the young woman. She lowered her head, seemingly ashamed, and yet even that action was so artfully exaggerated it seemed to pour scorn on any apology.
“So you seek to usurp the position of my judges, Lady Anne?” King Roald asked. “It is a role that hardly befits a lady.” He gave an amused sigh. “Although perhaps you are thus eminently qualified.”
The court rippled with polite laughter, and if Castimir expected her to be angered by the King’s riposte, he saw at once it wasn’t so, for she even gave a curtsey to the throne.
Shameless, he thought with a mixture of amazement and admiration. She’s absolutely shameless. And quite clearly a favourite of the King.
Theodore however shot her an impatient stare as the King spoke once more.
“Nevertheless, Kara-Meir gave her word to be here for the Midsummer Festival, and that is today,” he said. “Yet still we wait. Tell me Theodore, have you heard from her? Has she made clear her intentions?”
Castimir saw Theodore hesitate. He knew the squire had heard nothing from Kara, for it had been Arisha who had forwarded word of her plans. He looked quickly behind him to Doric and Ebenezer, to ask their advice, and as he did so the motion caused him to step forward.
A sharp intake of breath caught his attention, followed by several more.
He turned and saw angry gazes from the members of court who were aligned along the opposite wall, facing him.
He felt the blood drain from his face.
“Do you approach me without my leave?” the King declared.
Castimir glanced down.
His foot was upon the yellow rug.
“Well?” the King continued. “Speak, wizard.”
Theodore gave him a resigned glare and stepped back, clearing his way. Casitimir moved forward.
“My name is Castimir, my King,” he mumbled.
Speak louder. You are a wizard, he thought furiously. A famous one, at that. Not a mouse in a room of cats. Marshalling his wits, he raised his head and spoke again.
“I am a wizard of Saradomin who fought at Kara’s side in the unrest in Asgarnia last year,” he said. “She and two others have undertaken an expedition into The Wilderness in pursuit of an evil that remained at large after the siege of Falador.”
A murmur ran around the chamber.
“Two others?” someone said.
“Just the three of them?” another voice added.
“Into The Wilderness, you say?” the King asked, standing in surprise. “Such recklessness borders on madness. For how long have they been gone?”
Castimir looked back to Theodore, and when he spoke, though still clear, his voice was lower than before.
“They have been gone too long, my King. My last communication from them clearly stated that they intended to be here in time for today’s celebrations. Truth be told Sire, their absence makes me fear for them.”
“A fear I share, Castimir. As do we all,” King Roald said. “Yet I suppose we must trust that Kara-Meir is indeed as skilled as the tales say she is.” He turned to address the crowd. “In the meantime, anyone claiming to be her must be brought to the palace immediately, by force if necessary, and presented to Theodore or his companions for identification. Now I will take my private council.”
With that he stepped down from the marble dais and exited through a door to his left, followed by Lord Despaard and two others. The first, an ancient man, was hidden under a black fur coat, the other was an elderly nobleman with sharp features that reminded Castimir of a hawk. Only when they had gone did the audience break up, to swarm throughout the narrow chamber in a buzz of voices, a hundred feet crumpling the yellow rug-for now the King had left its power had gone.
Castimir’s heart beat quicker as Lady Anne approached Theodore.
“So the King takes guidance from the librarian Papelford and the Lords Despaard and Ruthven,” she said. “Perhaps I should be included amongst such august company? Don’t you think so, Theodore?”
As she teased the squire, Castimir sensed Theodore’s anger build. He knew his friend as few others did. But the squire mastered his irritation.
“Good day, Lady Anne,” he said brusquely. “I have work to do, and time is running short.” He turned and gave a nod to his friends as he left the throne room.
From the look on Lady Anne’s face, if the insult had meant to wound, it had failed.
“He can be a bore, can’t he?” she said to no one in particular. “But I suppose that’s what makes him such a challenge.” Moving in their direction, she skipped by Castimir, ignoring him entirely as she put her arm through William’s. “Now William de Adlard, I want you to do something for me. When Theodore finishes his morning drill with his young men, I want you to lead him by the galleries. I will be waiting.”
“And why should I do this thing?” William asked, making no attempt to hide his own irritation.
“Because if you do as I say, I will put a good word in for you to Lady Caroline.”
Castimir saw Lady Anne’s spell work its magic.
“Would you?” the young noble said. “That’s very thoughtful of you.” Then, as he realised what he had said, his face wrinkled in a frown. “But what do I tell Theodore?”
Lady Anne gave that smile again. Castimir wasn’t sure, but he thought a part of it was aimed in his direction. He heard Doric huff behind him.
“You are both men,” she said blithely. “Men talk about things. I am sure you will think of something. I shall wait at the Salve gallery from midday until one o’clock. Don’t fail me, or Lady Caroline will be so disappointed that she may never talk to you again. I am very good at making things up William, a fact that could work to your advantage. Or not!”
With that she swept herself from the room.
“Come along, Castimir,” Ebenezer said with a cunning grin. “I think you need some air, and I know just where we can get it.” The alchemist turned to the noble who had been their guide. “Don’t worry William, I think we can find our own way. And I appreciate that you have greater priorities now.”
4
“Welcome my friends, to my home,” Ebenezer said. “Here, I am sorry to inform you, you are likely to meet more of my scientific friends.” The alchemist ignored Castimir’s sour expression and looked at the house he had left many years before.
Over twenty years before. More time than Castimir has been alive!
The dark oak door had been nicely varnished, while the white adobe walls-rare in a city built mainly from grey stone-had been recently repainted. To him, the whole townhouse looked fresher than he had ever remembered it being.
“It’s a big house, Ebenezer” Castimir said. “I’m surprised that you and your science cronies haven’t blown the roof off.”
Doric glared at him and shook his head slowly. The young wizard looked suddenly uneasy.
“It is all right, Doric,” the alchemist said in a good-natured tone. “Time has mellowed my pain.” Then he looked back at the structure. “My friends and I used to gather here to discuss the latest developments of architecture and engineering, chemistry and astronomy. Here, Castimir, you would have been the heretic.” He gave the wizard a smile. “But a welcome one nonetheless. Now, let us see who is in.”
He banged the knocker against the door. Almost immediately it was opened an inch. A woman peered through the gap, her round face and grey hair showing symptoms of her age. But her eyes sparkled with a formidable intelligence and, Ebenezer thought, force of will.
After all these years, can it be?
“Sally? Sally is that really you?” he said, peering at her closely through his glasses.
The woman remained silent for a moment, then suddenly she broke into laughter.
“Ebenezer! We’ve been waiting for you, Albertus and I! Your house is just as you left it.” The door was pulled open and Sally charged out to embrace him. Then just as suddenly she stepped back.
“Let me look at you!” Her eyes ran over the yellow waistcoat and blue jacket that he wore under his old travelling cloak. She stared at the golden fob watch that Lord Tremene had given him in Falador, in gratitude for all he had done in the war. Suddenly, her eyebrows rose quizzically.
“Surely this isn’t the same cloak you left Varrock with, all those years ago?”
Ebenezer laughed, feeling a happy tear appear in the corner of his eye.
“It is, Sally. The very one you hurled over my back as I promised never to return. It’s the one item of clothing that I have never parted with, even though the rest of my clothes are far too expensive, and hand-made by the tailors of Falador.”
Sally laughed again and looked past him, to Doric and Castimir.
“When he left Varrock, with his wagon full of rocks and chemicals, he sat out here in the road in the pouring rain, drenched. It was all I could do to force the travelling cloak on him, for it once belonged to my husband.”
Your husband… Ebenezer thought. I had forgotten Erasmus, and that is certainly no way to remember a friend. Have I really grown so old?
He felt more tears gather and threaten to spill over the lip of his eye. Yet somehow, he didn’t mind.
“It’s true,” he said with a tremulous voice. “I would have died of a chill if you hadn’t given it to me all those years ago, Sally.” He coughed and regained his composure. “Indeed, I have often thought that I wouldn’t have even made it to the home of the barbarian tribes, only a few days west of here.”
A silence fell, in which the two old friends stared at each other.
How you have changed Sally. You have replaced your beauty with dignity and grace, yet I am more glad for your kind heart.
But how have I changed in your eyes?
Finally, Sally spoke.
“Welcome home, Ebenezer, my dear, dear friend. Welcome home.”
“It was Eloise’s fifty-first birthday three weeks ago, Ebenezer. Albertus and I went to lay flowers by her grave. Your annuity has kept it in good shape since you left Varrock. She and the children rest well under the tree you planted next to them.”
The ash tree? Was it ash, or willow? How Eloise hated the children getting the sun on them. That was why I planted it there.
“Thank you for doing so, Sally. Your sister would be happy if she knew.”
“If she knew? So your travels have not yet persuaded you of the existence of the gods or an afterlife?” Sally laughed and he saw her look to Doric and Castimir, who sat opposite-somewhat stiffly, he thought, uncomfortably so. Castimir laboured with a biscuit, chewing slowly and deliberately, while Doric lit his pipe.
“Come Sally, our mawkish talk is making my friends uncomfortable,” he said, hoping to lighten the mood. “Although I feel I must answer your question, for that was a tradition of our debates, was it not? A question asked had to be answered. Yes, I believe in the gods. I think I always did. But I just don’t believe they care for mortals. I have seen too much ill in all areas of the world to think otherwise.”
“That I can believe,” she answered. “You don’t have to go far these days to prove such a hypothesis, alas.” Her voice trailed off, and Ebenezer saw the looks of his friends grow interested.
“What is happening in Varrock, Sally?” he asked. “What is this Wyrd that keeps taking people?”
Sally took a sip of her tea, avoiding his stare.
Ebenezer was content to wait.
“I first heard of it some months ago,” she said slowly. “Farmers from the east said that children had been taken from their beds at night, and devoured. Later on it started happening to adults, to farm hands. Strong young men who would fight a wolf, if it threatened.”
She lowered her cup.
“But it’s been said no one ever fought this thing,” she continued. “It kills with absolute impunity. Always in the night. Some have seen it, or so they say. It has been described as a giant bat, with fangs that drip blood, or poison. Some people say it is a woman. It has taken indiscriminately-men, women, children, the old and the young. Some vanish never to be seen again, other times remains are found, but still no one has an answer to stop it. Some say it has taken over a hundred souls since it first arrived in our lands.”
One hundred!
“What you say matches Theodore’s description to the letter,” Doric growled.
“Then it is true?” Sally asked.
Ebenezer nodded. “Theodore confronted her two nights ago. She took a tailor’s child and killed the father. Her talons are poisoned, he believes. She also slew a man last night and left his body on public display, with a message written in his blood. The message read, ‘I am coming.’ Theodore thinks it was her, anyhow.”
“‘I am coming,’” Sally repeated with a shiver. “It’s not just this that is scaring people, however. Have you heard of the prophecy of the High Priest of Entrana, made a century ago upon his death bed?”
“Theodore mentioned it in his explanation,” Doric said. “Something about a true king returning.”
Sally nodded. “That is what makes people afraid. They think it is Drakan, and that soon he will cross the Salve and take Varrock. Others believe it is tied to the legend of Arrav and the Necromancer. This Wyrd seems to me to be a thing from Morytania.”
“That is what Theodore believes,” Ebenezer agreed.
Sally shook her head.
“I haven’t seen Theodore since he first came to Varrock with your request for the steam engine.” Her expression relaxed. “I would have liked to have seen it working.”
“It worked better than we could have hoped,” the alchemist replied. “And speaking of science, what else do you have to show me? Your recent letters have mentioned phosphorous.”
“Ah, phosphorous is the least of our efforts. We have had some success in our experiments with the Kinshra’s black powder, but for that you must be patient. Albertus Black will be here shortly, and I know he is excited to show you what new inventions we have come up with. Only when he is here, and you have both shared a drink, will I unlock the door to the wine cellar.”
“That sounds like a very good idea,” Doric said. “I favour a strong red myself.”
Sally laughed.
“Then you are out of luck, master dwarf, for the wine cellar holds no wine. It is where Albertus and I carry out our research.”
Doric gave a brief curse and rolled his eyes-to the amusement of his friends-when suddenly the front door opened with a loud bang.
“That is him now,” Sally said in excitement. “Albertus is here!”
Albertus Black was a white-haired old man only three years older than Ebenezer. His sideburns crept down his face and met at his chin, where they ended in a short, ill-kept beard. Age had withered him to the extent that he was barely taller than Doric, no more than chest height compared to Castimir, and when he shook hands with Ebenezer, the alchemist was startled by how frail his old friend appeared to be.
“I am glad you have come back, Ebenezer,” Albertus said. “I had hoped to sit with you again for a time, and to talk about the past.”
“Not you, as well?” Sally chided. “We’ve already been over Eloise and her grave. We’ve even talked about the disappearances and killings that plague Varrock.”
“Oh, please!” Albertus said with sudden vigour. “She does go on, doesn’t she? Often I thought it would have been best if I had gone with you twenty years ago. It would have saved me years of nagging. No wonder poor Erasmus died so young.” He sat at the table, next to Castimir, and eyed the wizard with a hint of suspicion. “Do you know young man, I am only twenty years old? Yet look what she has done to me!”
Sally laughed and scolded him for a fool.
“If your bones weren’t so brittle, you would be out, Albertus Black!”
“So you don’t believe in this creature then?” Doric asked cautiously. “The one that is doing the killing?”
“No,” Albertus said without hesitation. “It is the imaginings of peasants drunk on cider or religion. Possibly it is a contamination in the wheat-sometimes that can happen with ergot. And if that is the case, coming at a time when this ridiculous prophecy is talked of and spread about, then is it any surprise that a fearful figure grips the imagination of a folk weaned on legends of vampires and werewolves from over the river? No, it is all stuff and nonsense, and would never stand up to the scrutiny of a scientific mind.”
“You remind me of when I first met Ebenezer,” Castimir said, turning to his friend. “Didn’t we argue about the gods? You believed that Saradomin, Zamorak, and Guthix were all elements of the same god. You are fortunate Theodore didn’t declare you a heretic.”
“I believed that they were like fingers on the same hand,” Ebenezer explained. “Although I have seen much since that time, only six months ago.”
Near enough to make me reconsider my opinions, perhaps.
“I too believe they aren’t as people say they are,” Albertus huffed. “Since time immemorial we have listened to High Priests of Entrana as they lay down laws that govern our lives, setting calendars and dictating marriage ceremonies. And, of course, collecting money from the masses. I have never been to Entrana, but I expect the Holy Isle is a wealthy place indeed!”
“So what do you believe in?” Castimir asked politely.
“Science. Theories to test and then to predict. Let me show you.” The old man struggled to his feet and approached the cupboard that stood against the far wall. From inside he took a copper globe with a pump protruding from the bottom. Gently, he laid it on the table, wheezing from the effort.
“Now, master dwarf or wizard, would one of you be so kind as to use the pump?”
Castimir stood and did as the old man asked. He did so until he had gone red in the face and sweat dripped from his brow.
“That is quite enough. Now, you have just pumped out the air that was inside this hollow globe, creating a vacuum. I believe that not even two horses could pull the two halves of this globe apart.” He peered at them, amusement in his eyes. “Try it.”
Ebenezer watched as Doric and Castimir did so. Once, when Doric spied a small plug, Albertus interrupted. “Not yet, master dwarf. Try using strength alone.”
Sally shook her head.
“It is impossible, Albertus. Show them how it’s done.”
The white haired old man bent over the copper globe and gripped the plug.
“Listen” he said as he pulled it aside. The sound of air passing through the gap filled the silence. Then, with a slight twist of his hand, he pulled the globe apart, and it fell into two neat halves.
“And what does that mean?” Castimir asked.
Albertus frowned.
“It means that the atmosphere that we breathe exerts a pressure.” He peered upward and waved a hand toward the ceiling. “It means we live at the bottom of an ocean of air and gasses. You see, the weight of the atmosphere presses the two halves together when there is a vacuum inside. However, when I remove the plug, as demonstrated, the air inside becomes the same as the air outside, the pressure is balanced, and it becomes extremely easy to separate them. I plan to show it to the King this very afternoon.”
Ebenezer caught sight of Castimir’s bewilderment.
“Well, perhaps you can show us something a little more practical,” he proposed. “Something that my sorcerer friend will appreciate. How about this phosphorous?”
“Yes. More practical and more fun,” Albertus said excitedly. “Come along!”
The small party followed Sally to the door that led to the wine cellar, where she made a great show of fiddling with her keys while the grandfather clock announced midday. Finally the lock parted and they descended into a stone room with arched ceilings, where tables, barrels, and all manner of glass-shaped beakers and tubes were arrayed. To one side was a furnace, and to another was a separate chimney.
Albertus opened another cupboard while Ebenezer looked on with great interest.
This is home to me. I recognise these smells and instruments.
“Here it is,” Albertus announced. “Just a small sample of phosphorus the light-giver. Stand back.” He held out a small stoppered tube containing a white powder. He approached a table, first filling a jug of water from a barrel nearby. Then he spilled the powder onto a dry cloth.
In seconds a pale smoke rose. It was followed by a flash of light as the cloth caught fire.
Ebenezer saw Castimir’s eyebrow rise in interest.
“That could be magic,” the wizard said. “Truly.”
“But it isn’t.” Albertus smiled as he doused the cloth in water. “It’s science. Now, is there anything else you would like to see?”
“Sally said you had experimented with black powder taken from the Kinshra weapons,” Ebenezer said. “Can we see those?”
Albertus smiled even more broadly as he returned to the cupboard.
“Here.” He held a metal tube up for their inspection. A fuse protruded from its top, and Ebenezer heard Castimir breath in sharply.
“But I don’t think we will do a demonstration down here,” Albertus warned, returning the explosive to its proper place in the cupboard. “For obvious reasons.”
5
When they finished training, as they did every morning, the twelve recruits made certain their equipment was cleaned and maintained. This was the part of the daily ritual Theodore’s men hated most of all, for there was no glory or excitement to be had in such a menial job.
But Theodore ignored their complaints as he too removed and cleaned his armour. The hard work and the duties of his mission helped to distract him from the nagging worry over Kara and her continued absence.
These men hope to become squires, and then maybe knights. And if a knight can’t look after his blade or check the rings of his mail, then he won’t be a knight for long.
However, he could see that the recruits were making a special effort today, for the Midsummer Festival was an opportunity for them to show off in a punishing melee fought against Varrock’s finest knights. The reputation of the order of Falador was at stake, and it lent new vigour to their efforts.
“Hamel, make certain the men drink enough water before we drill,” Theodore instructed a young man who stood nearby. “We might be standing under the sun for some time, and I would hate for any of them to lose consciousness.”
Hamel, a boy of sixteen, nodded enthusiastically. When he had first come to Varrock, Theodore’s biggest problem had been the sheer number of young men who wanted to become knights. Very quickly he had learned that he could not do everything himself, and so he had appointed Hamel as his aide. The boy could never be a knight, for his foot was clubbed. It had been ridiculous for him even to attempt to become one, and yet his dedication and his intelligence had impressed the squire.
After he had told the boy that his dream was impossible, Hamel had sat down and wept. But then Theodore had told him the story of Bhuler, who had also been denied his dream of knighthood, yet he had served Saradomin better than any knight in living memory. More so even than Sir Amik Varze himself.
When offered the opportunity to serve in his own way, Hamel had thrown himself into the task, and had never again questioned his fate. Since then, he had proved invaluable to Theodore.
They know now, these boys, he thought, watching his charges. They know that what goes on behind the armour, the organisation and the discipline, are a thousandfold more important than the strength of the steel or the sharpness of a blade.
“Squire Theodore,” Hamel said in his thick country accent. He nodded to the gymnasium’s entrance, where Theodore caught sight of William.
“Thank you, Hamel. Dismiss the men-though make sure they know that we are to meet here at two o’clock.”
William advanced with a faint smile on his lips, as though trying to appear natural.
He’s up to something.
“I know that look, William,” Theodore said guardedly. “You’ve some mischief afoot.”
“Oh, come, Theodore,” his friend protested. “That’s too cruel. Although Lady Anne was most distressed at your treatment of her in the throne room this morning.”
Ah-hah!
“She’ll live,” Theodore countered. “Somehow I suspect that if I hurled her into a pit full of vipers, it would be they who would crawl out first.”
“Now that really is cruel! But just so long as you didn’t throw Lady Caroline in with her, then I wouldn’t raise a hand to stop you.”
So that’s it.
“What is your plan this time?” he asked with a hint of amusement.
“Not mine, this time, Theodore. It’s Lady Anne who has a plan.” He paused, and looked uncomfortable. “She is waiting for you, right now. She wants you to partner with her tonight at the King’s dance.”
Not again. How obvious must I really make it to her?
“Very well,” he said. “Where is she?” A look of relief swept across William’s face.
“She’s waiting near the main staircase. Come, if we go via the galleries we will avoid her.”
“Thank you, William,” he said. “That would save me an uncomfortable moment. Lead on.”
“Don’t worry Theodore,” William said, flashing a smile. “What ever are friends for?”
The galleries of King Roald’s palace housed dozens of tapestries and paintings from many eras of Varrock’s history. They occupied the floor above King Roald’s throne room, and were scattered in numerous alcoves in the warren of passages.
Within his first week, Theodore had discovered the true value that lay in these galleries-they were very useful if you wished to avoid meeting anybody waiting on the floor below. True, it took longer to go up one of the many discreet stairways to the floor above, and to cross the castle via the winding maze of corridors, but it usually guaranteed secrecy.
The galleries were also frequented by youngsters of the noble houses, who used them for meetings of a more illicit nature.
Theodore followed William up a stone spiral staircase to emerge near the portrait gallery commonly considered the most boring of all in the palace’s collections, and hence far less likely to have visitors. It was an ideal path.
“I need your advice Theodore,” William said quietly as they progressed toward the southern end of the palace.
“With what?” the squire asked in equally muted tones. Austere and wrinkled faces of Varrock’s royal line stared down at him as they walked.
“Lady Caroline,” the young noble began. “She is pleasant enough to me, but I am at a loss of how to take it further. I am not a strong man, Theodore, as you know, so I cannot hope to impress her with any martial skill. In fact, violence scares me. I don’t know what to do,” he struggled finally, stopping near the entrance to the Salve gallery.
Through the door, in a dimly lit chamber, Theodore caught a glimpse of horrifying scenes depicting the events leading up to the battle of the River Salve. The undead of Morytania, led by the vampire Lord Drakan, had sought to cross the river and overrun the forces of the living. It was a gory chronicle.
“Have you tried poetry?” Theodore suggested lamely. “That seems to work in the romance tales.”
“Poetry?” William nearly choked. “I don’t want to torture her.”
Somewhere a clock chimed, signalling midday. Suddenly William turned, looking into the dark recesses of the Salve gallery.
His alertness made Theodore wary.
“What are you looking for, William?” he asked.
“Probably for me, Theodore.” Lady Anne’s voice carried along the length of the gallery. Suddenly, even the portraits of Lord Drakan’s undead seemed far less frightening.
Betrayed! I have been lured into a trap.
“William!” he hissed as the nobleman stepped briskly away, his expression one of uncontrollable mirth.
“Most men would be jealous, Theodore,” William said laughing. “Make the most of it-I would,” he added.
“But your price is less ambitious, de Adlard, and may I say probably far wiser, as well,” Lady Anne said. “I spoke to Lady Caroline this morning. She is so looking forward to a dance with you this evening. Who knows, before winter we might even have a wedding to bring joy to the small folk. So, run along and prepare yourself. I advise a brief rest, followed by a lot of red meat. Good for your energy, and from what Lady Caroline said, you might well need it. To dance, of course.”
Theodore debated whether to run, but decided that it would be far beneath his dignity.
Too late, he felt Lady Anne’s arm slip around his own.
I wonder if this is how a ship feels when it’s being boarded?
How stupid he had been! William’s giggling faded as the nobleman disappeared toward the nearest stairwell, no doubt planning to raid the pantries on Lady Anne’s orders.
“You have the advantage, my lady,” he said, resigning himself to the moment. “What do you plan to do with it?”
“I belong to one of Misthalin’s wealthiest families, Theodore,” the young woman said, her lips uncomfortably close to his ear. “My ailing father lives in the country halfway to Lumbridge, my mother is dead due to circumstances that even today make some suspicious, and I have no brothers. Like William, I am the last of my line.”
“Then perhaps you should marry him?” Theodore suggested, trying to sound glib.
“William?” she replied scornfully, then adjusting her tone. “I think not. He is a good man, in his own limited way, but he is no knight. He does not have the respect of the court in any meaningful way. No, Lady Caroline is the very best he can hope for. Trust me Theodore, they are a good match, and I know that she harbours a genuine affection for him. Truly, there actually is a possibility of a wedding.
“Ah, Lady Caroline,” she continued with a dramatic wave of her hand, “my meek little lamb.” She glanced at Theodore. “Although I’ve known many lambs who were considerably less meek.”
“You mock too much, my lady,” he responded. “Is there anything you take seriously?”
“Of course. But if I were to confide that to you, then you would only laugh. You have a heart of stone, Theodore. Incorruptible, yes, and I fear incapable of love, as well.”
She stopped, removed her arm from his, and very slowly walked around to face him. For a long moment she said nothing. The daylight shining through the windows fell upon her face. Her eyes sparkled.
Was that a tear I saw?
“Am I so wicked Theodore?” she asked, and the words sounded earnest. “Am I so detestable that you cannot even be civil to me? Is it because of the rumours of my mother, of her sympathy for Zamorak’s worshippers, whom she protected from persecution?”
Her voice rose in barely restrained anger, causing him to respond.
“No, Lady Anne,” he sighed, “I don’t believe you are wicked at all. And you are certainly not detestable. And it’s got nothing to do with your mother’s history. It’s just…”
It’s Kara, he finished silently. If anything happened between us, I would have betrayed her.
“I am a Knight of Falador, Lady Anne. My love is duty. I can have no other.”
“But you have not denied me either, Theodore. Because of that, I have refused the Kandarin ambassador’s son tonight, so I think I deserve an answer.”
Suddenly she curtseyed, and remained in that position before Theodore’s startled gaze.
“Don’t make me beg, Theodore,” she whispered. Her voice cracked slightly. “Please don’t make me beg.”
The woman is impossible. His thoughts were in chaos. And she is beautiful.
He gazed down at Lady Anne for several seconds. Her blonde hair was plaited down her back in Varrock’s fashion. She wore a diamond ferronniere upon her forehead, which complemented her perfect blue eyes. Her smooth skin was deliciously pale. He remembered a romantic verse he had once heard where a maiden’s skin had been described as being like shards of captured moonlight.
Was that what the bard had been singing about? he wondered. It can’t have been too different.
“Very well, Lady Anne,” he conceded. “You shall have your dance.”
I have waited for you Kara, and you didn’t even write to me.
Her blue eyes fastened onto his. He had expected them to possess a triumphant shine, but there was nothing save honest relief.
“Thank you, Theodore,” she said humbly. “Thank you.”
She rose slowly and looked to the nearest of the pictures on display.
“I understand that this afternoon you and your men are to be involved in a melee?” she asked.
Theodore nodded.
“We are. Against the finest knights of Varrock.”
“You are aware that Lord Hyett will be fighting against you?”
Theodore caught his breath. Lord Hyett, known as the Black Boar due to the tusked beast on his family crest, had taken an irrational loathing to Theodore since the squire had first arrived in Varrock. He was a dangerous opponent, as big and ill-tempered as his nickname implied. Yet Theodore had unhorsed him in their only competition.
“I will look for him then. I have beaten him before, and I can do so again.”
“Just remember, Theodore, Lord Hyett is vulnerable on his left side. His ankle is weak and his vision is apparently blurred in his left eye. In fact, you would do me a favour by humbling him and claiming his armour, as is the victor’s right. He has designs above his station, if you understand what I mean. Intentions. Unwelcome ones.”
Seize the Black Boar’s armour? Theodore was appalled at the thought. The Knights of Falador do not claim the property of others, even in such a contest.
“I will do what I can, Lady Anne.”
Lady Anne smiled innocently, but to Theodore her eyes were anything but.
“But enough of Lord Hyett, Theodore.” Her gaze wandered back to the tapestries on the wall. “I used to come here when I was a young girl,” she said. “I used to imagine participating in the battles, or being the princess in the paintings. My mother used them to teach me the history of Misthalin, for they tell a chronicle from beginning to end. We start with the painting of Avarrocka, the village that would become Varrock. In this gallery, all of Misthalin’s history is illustrated up until the tapestry depicting the battle of the River Salve.”
“I would like to see that,” Theodore said earnestly. He had grown up with tales of the war against Morytania and its climax upon the banks of the sacred river. Lady Anne, enthused by his interest, directed him to a tapestry hung in a prominent position. It was illuminated by the sun’s rays, streaming through a small window near the ceiling, giving it a slightly supernatural aura.
“It’s smaller than I imagined it to be,” he said after a moment.
“It is small, but it is incredibly detailed. See here, the five princes of Varrock who rode to battle.” Lady Anne pointed to the bottom left corner. “Only the youngest returned. King Roald can trace his lineage back to that one, nearly a thousand years ago.”
“How old is the tapestry?” Theodore asked, thoroughly engaged now.
“It’s over nine hundred years old, and was made by those who witnessed the battle itself,” she said. “This is the original. Some say it should be kept elsewhere, to prevent decay.”
“You do not agree?” he asked, knowing by her voice that she didn’t.
“This is real history, Theodore, a link to our past. Every time I see it I feel as if I understand my place in the world a little better. As if I understand what those who came before me had to fight, and of the hardships they endured so that we could enjoy a better future.”
She is absolutely sincere, he thought curiously. I had no idea…
Theodore laughed, and she looked confused.
“Here I thought your only interests were matchmaking and courtly mischief.”
Then it was her turn to smile.
“Well, don’t tell anyone, Theodore,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “I wouldn’t want my reputation to be damaged.”
They examined the tapestry for several minutes, standing close together. When she moved closer still, Theodore made no effort to move away. And when her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled his head down to hers, he made no attempt to resist.
It was only when a servant discovered them that they broke their embrace, and as Theodore left the gallery, alone, his head faint from excitement, he no longer felt he had betrayed Kara.
6
Pia awoke slowly. Her eyelids were heavy, and slow to open. Her body ached as painfully as she could ever recall and she felt utterly exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to fall back into sleep.
But as she stirred she felt the cloth tied over her eyes, so tightly that her head throbbed with pain, and the rope in her mouth that prevented her from crying out. On her first breath she gagged, an overpowering stench of apples covering her skin and clothing. It was instantly recognisable.
Someone nearby laughed cruelly.
“She’s awake,” another said.
She sat up and tried to move her hands, but found they were bound together at the wrists. Her feet were likewise restrained.
Ropes! Not ropes.
She struggled as hard as she was able, until the cords were burning her skin.
Finally, and to the laughter of her onlookers who were too numerous for her to count accurately, she fell back to the ground, exhausted.
“Straven wanted you dead, you know. He gave you to us.” She heard a man’s voice that she didn’t recognise, yet his words brought back a memory.
For she had only seen Straven that morning, an hour before dawn.
Now I remember. It’s all coming back.
Straven. The thief master of Varrock, in charge of the Phoenix Gang. She had first met him only a week ago, when she and her brother had proposed their plan to him, and he had given his permission for them to carry it out. Then, after making more money than they had ever possessed, they had tried to run. She had been taken within the first hour, and then she had been beaten. But what of her brother?
Jack! Did they capture you, too? Oh, gods…
“It’s true, you do look quite like her,” the man continued. “You could be a younger sister, two or three years maybe. You’re a head shorter than her, though, and little more than a rag doll. Your eyes are different, too. Straven didn’t tell me how much you conned from that crowd at the Flying Donkey, but when he caught you trying to run with his share, he wanted to roll you down a steep hill in a barrel of apples. Apparently that’s one of his ways of dealing with disloyalty. The severity of the treachery determines the height and inclination of the drop. Some are dropped in the River Lum, whereas particularly vile offenders have been sealed in their barrels in his cellar, with apples enough to last them a month.”
She felt someone’s breath on her face. As the man laughed, she felt his spittle on her cheek. She grimaced, and he laughed again.
“I am told that the smell when they are brought out is truly horrendous. I believe only one man has ever survived a full month, and he was mad and so near death that they cut his throat as a mercy.
“I am telling you this so you understand your position. Straven gave you to me after my messenger persuaded him that I could use you. He put you in a half-filled barrel of apples, and you were brought to me in a cart from the city.”
I am not in Varrock, then? Where am I?
“So you have a choice, thief. You are uniquely placed to help me get my revenge.” There was a pause before he continued. “I don’t know how yet, but there will be a way to use you to my advantage.”
She felt hands at the back of her head, untying the knot to the cord in her mouth. It fell loose and she gave a desperate gasp.
But she didn’t try to scream. She knew how pointless that would be.
“Where is my brother?” she said urgently. “Where is Jack? Did Straven take him, too?”
“Your brother? I know nothing of him,” the voice spat. A moment later, it continued. “Keep her ankles and wrists bound for now, and give her a bath. She smells like a rotting orchard.”
She was picked up roughly and carried a short distance. She knew from the sound of footsteps that she was inside a building-a spacious one, though she couldn’t guess any more.
“The water’s cold,” a man taunted as she was dropped into a shallow trough. She gasped as the freezing liquid engulfed her, and water filled her mouth. Her arms beneath her, she fought to push upward and get her mouth above the surface. Finally she succeeded, coughing and retching to the sound of laughter and applause.
“No! Wait! Please!” she shouted as a hand forced her head beneath the water again.
Where it remained. Firm. Unmoving.
This is it. I’m going to drown. At least it’s not from a rope. Never a rope around my neck.
Jack! Please gods, send someone to take care of him.
Suddenly the hand was ripped away and she burst upward, panting and retching once more.
“I said wash, not drown!”
“It was only a joke, Su-” A loud shout cut the man off.
The men argued as she forced herself over the side of the trough-feeling her way to the ground where she coughed up water and shivered uncontrollably-but she had not the strength to pay attention to their words. Then the voices stilled and she realised that something else had entered the room.
It’s like they are afraid.
“He has paid us what we asked,” a strange new voice growled. It reminded her of an animal. “The noble was not at his estate. He is on business in Varrock, but his steward had orders to pay.”
“He is rich enough,” said the man whose voice she had first heard. “He will pay to keep us silent. You see, men-you follow me and I promise you we will be comfortable by the winter. This is only the first noble I plan to blackmail. There is a great deal more information at my disposal. And remember, in case any of you get ambitious, I am the only one who can read the documents.
“Now, take our guest and put her in the cellar, for we have decisions to make.”
The girl knelt as two men grabbed her from each side and dragged her a short distance.
“Kick that bale out of the way, Owen. I can’t get to the trapdoor.”
A hay bale-am I in a barn? That would make sense, with the trough.
The blindfold slipped, and she found she could see a sliver of light if she stared down toward her feet. As her eyes grew accustomed to the shade she saw ears of wheat.
So it is a barn. I am out of Varrock, but where?
“Untie her legs, Owen,” a new voice said. “I can’t drop her down the ladder.” When her bonds were loosened she had the urge to lash out. But she resisted.
These men won’t hesitate to hurt me, she realised, perhaps even kill me. I will have to wait for a better opportunity, and learn what I can.
She caught sight of the trapdoor. On top of it she seemed to see a black image, faded with age. For some reason it reminded her of a bird with its wings spread and its head turned the wrong way.
“Down you go!” Rough hands pushed her into place. She felt her way backward down the short ladder, her hands grasping tentatively, one foot testing each rung. No one came after her, and so sure were her captors that they even left the trapdoor open. She listened breathlessly from the bottom of the ladder, the voices faint.
“If we need to go to Varrock we should go by the southern road,” the bestial voice said.
“That will take hours. The eastern road is quicker.”
“My master has told me that the eastern road is… watched.”
Master? Who is this man?
She needed to see, to find out who was holding her prisoner. As the men talked she struggled furiously with her blindfold, teasing it only slightly upward. And in the darkness of the cellar, that was next to useless.
“Can you still hear this song you keep going on about?” a man said sarcastically, to the guffaws of a few others. “It must sound terrifying, if it can scare a werewolf!”
What? A werewolf? She froze, straining to hear what was said next. Werewolves don’t exist. Surely it must be a nickname?
“It’s here,” the growling voice said in anger. “I have heard it since we first came into Misthalin.”
With growing urgency she tried once more to prise her blindfold loose. It was an impossible task with her wrists bound as they were. As she sank to her knees in frustration, breathing heavily from her exertion, her foot kicked the side of a wooden object.
Craning her head back, she could just make out a cupboard.
Why would that be down here?
She grasped the handle and attempted to open it. But it was locked.
Lucky Straven didn’t strip me when he beat me and sealed me in that barrel.
Quickly she reached down to her boot. Her fingers tore at the sole, and came away with a thin metal strip and two pieces of wire. She knelt at the lock, feeling for it with her fingers.
All those years of training in the dark. Thorn would be proud of me. And Ginny and the others, for I was the best. No hangman’s rope for me.
The voices carried on above her, but she was concentrating too hard to listen. It could have been a minute, or five, but finally the lock gave in to her teasing.
And when the cupboard fell open, she knew her luck had changed.
“So Jerrod, Barbec, and I will return to Varrock via the southern road,” said the voice of the man who commanded the group. “Until I return, you will have to keep a low profile here. I will, of course, be taking my box with me, as I am sure you will all understand.”
“How do we know you won’t run?”
“I have been running for the last six months, and I weary of it. We need to establish a secure headquarters, and I need men who I can trust to do what is needed. Now that you have seen the rewards I can deliver-and you know you can’t run from Jerrod-I believe you are such men.” He paused, and when no one objected he continued. “For the moment, our fates are intertwined.”
From her position, peering over the rim of the trapdoor, the girl watched. The view of her captors was obscured by the three hay bales that rested between them. She shifted the two-bladed dagger she had found in the cupboard. It felt heavy in her grasp.
I could go now, she thought, not entirely convinced. They are all standing together, away from the entrance. If I could make it to cover then I would be safe.
She tensed her legs in preparation for a fast run. The distance to the open barn door was unobstructed, so there was no chance of her escaping unseen. Outside, the sky was overcast.
“And what do we do while we wait?” countered the bandit.
She didn’t wait for the man’s answer. She jumped up, running as soon as her foot touched the floor.
When she was halfway to the door, she was noticed.
“Jerrod! Get her.” She glanced over her shoulder. A bearded man in a black cloak commanded as a small army of men rose in pursuit.
Didn’t know there were so many!
She made it to the door as something heavy landed behind her.
So quick. Impossibly quick.
She spun instinctively as her nearest pursuer snarled. The two-pronged knife darted out before her in a desperate, unthinking lunge.
“No!” she shouted as her attacked side-stepped at the very last moment. He wore a cloak that obscured his features, and something about him froze her blood. Behind him, she saw how the other men had stopped and looked on. They were grinning.
It’s as though this is a show.
I’ll give them a show!
“Give her a scare, Jerrod,” a man without his nose roared. “Show her your pretty face from under that hood.”
They laughed as the man called Jerrod jumped back a step, giving her room to wield the dagger.
“But I want her unhurt, Jerrod,” said the man in black. “She could still be useful to us, once you’ve quenched that fire in her.” The man who spoke-she realised he was their leader-strode to the front of the group. His face, when it emerged from the gloom of the barn and into the dim light of the overcast sky, made her gasp.
His left eye was a pale opal, blind of sight, while the right was bereft of mercy. His thin ragged hair fell to his shoulders, framing a face that was scarred beyond any she had seen.
Yet the torments didn’t end there. When he thrust his arms from his cloak, she saw the two bandages that were tied to the stumps where his hands had once been.
“Unhurt,” the man said again.
The figure in the hood growled in response. He advanced a step, crouched, his arms outstretched to seize her knife hand.
“Go on girl,” the noseless man goaded. “Prick him at least with your little dagger.”
“I’ll bet you a gold piece that she doesn’t get near him, Velko.” The speaker was a pale-faced man with a mole at his forehead.
“You’re on, Owen,” Velko replied. “Go on girl-if you fail, you will have lost me money. And I will be forced to cut it out of your flesh.”
He had barely finished his sentence before she leapt, thrusting her knife arm out as she carried her entire body forward in a lunge.
And if her enemy had been quick before, he was slow now. Her knife slashed the loose cloth at his wrist and went through. She felt the tip of the longer blade stab something beneath.
When she pulled it back, she saw that its tip was black.
But blood isn’t black. It’s red. It must be the light.
The figure howled. Not a human yell of pain but something else, like the cry of an animal in agony. As he jumped back, the men behind fell silent in shock.
“It burns!” Jerrod roared. His head tilted back and for the first time she could see the face under the hood.
And when she did, she dropped the dagger with a cry of fright. Her will to fight vanished.
For it was an inhuman face that stared at her. Jerrod’s eyes were blood red, his jaw hideously swollen and his teeth too long to be anything natural. Quickly he jerked the hood back into place.
“Get her,” the scarred man ordered, before she could run. He stepped forward and put his foot on her dagger as his men seized her arms. “Tie her to the ladder.”
Her heart calmed as she was bound. But even the hated presence of the rope wasn’t enough to clear her head of that hideous face.
“Well, Jerrod. What happened?” the scarred man asked as Owen picked up the weapon.
Jerrod pushed the hood back again from his face and she braced herself for the terror that was certain to grip her. But when she saw what was revealed, she gave a gasp of surprise. For he looked human. Gone were the red eyes and distended jaw, and now he sat on a hay bale, pale-faced, retching.
“Get that dagger away from me,” he mumbled to Owen, who backed away. “It’s a wolfbane blade, cursed by Saradomin. I cannot concentrate while it is near. Get it away from me!”
Jerrod stood and swayed like a drunken man, lurching from the barn. Velko climbed down into the cellar, and she heard a surprised whistle.
“She’s good,” he called up. “She opened the cupboard somehow.”
Good, she thought silently. Show them your worth. If they think you are useful they will keep you alive.
“I picked the lock,” she said softly. “I’m a thief after all-just like the rest of you.”
“Wrap the dagger up Owen,” the scarred man instructed. “I will take it with me. But you, little girl… you have proved yourself more resourceful than I had thought. You will not be harmed so long as you don’t try to run. I will return here in a day or two, and by then I expect I will have thought of a good use for you.” He advanced and fixed her with his opal-clouded eye.
Can he see me with that thing?
“What is your name, thief?”
She breathed deeply before answering, to ensure that her voice sounded strong.
It was all my parents left me with. It will not be mocked. It will not be whispered.
“It is Pia,” she said. “My name is Pia.”
Be bold, Pia. You have nothing to lose now.
Her chin jutted forward.
“And you?” she demanded.
The man laughed, slowly at first, and then with a hint of madness.
“Who am I?” he responded. “Who am I? You impersonated Kara-Meir, so surely you know her story. I have heard it spread throughout The Wilderness. About her and her friends, and their victory at Falador. Who do you think I must be then? Who else in all this world would have such cause to hate her that he would spare you in case you might be useful? Who has lost both hands to that wretched she-devil in single-combat?”
He leaned in closer, his foul-smelling breath disgusting her.
“You tell me who I am.”
The man was hissing now, spitting into her face.
Pia closed her eyes in sudden panic.
Of course, she thought. How could I not know?
“You are Sulla,” she said.
And this time, her voice did not sound so confident.
“Can we trust Sulla?” Velko asked his fellow outlaws.
“Not much choice, is there?” came the answer.
It was two hours since Sulla had left them and the men all looked tired. Pia was tied to the wooden ladder that led up to the gambrel. She was aware of the increasingly hostile looks the men gave her. She said nothing in an attempt to avoid provoking them.
She knew that she would have no other opportunity to escape. There were fifteen outlaws in all, armed with dirks, axes and swords. Even if she could free herself from her bonds, there was always someone watching. None dared to risk the anger of their leader-and the creature he commanded.
The shadows had darkened inside the barn. The only light came from a single lamp that was set well away from the dry hay. Outside, the sky was still overcast and the gloom was increasing.
After a time, resignation gave way to quiet desperation.
My only chance is to knock over the lamp, then escape in the darkness.
Unnoticed by her captors, she strained at the rope about her wrists, hoping that the old flax fibres would soon give.
My brother is out there-he needs me.
Finally, one of her captors spoke, putting a voice to the fears of his friends.
“What worries me is that we’re all wanted in Varrock,” Owen said.
“If we’re caught we’ll hang,” added another. “We lived in The Wilderness for a reason, and that’s ‘cause we have bounties on our heads. Every one of us.”
The flax rope gave way with a sudden snap. Pia took her opportunity and dived for the lamp.
“Get her!” Velko shouted.
A man moved to bar her way, but she ducked between his legs, her arm extended, knocking the lamp over. Someone closed the door to the barn. At the same time the lamp smashed.
The room went dark. She felt the man’s hands seize her legs. Pia kicked viciously, but the man held her tightly.
“Help me subdue her!” the outlaw roared.
Velko, she thought.
Someone nearby drew a sword.
Who would risk a blade in the darkness?
“Open the door to let in some light!” Velko cried, his hand around Pia’s throat.
A sword swung near the door. A man sighed as he fell.
“What’s happening?” someone shouted.
“I’ve heard enough,” a new voice, a woman’s voice, said. “I know you are all outlaws and murderers.” The calm coldness of the words brought no reply. “If you surrender now you will live to face trial in Varrock.”
Who is this? No one can fight if they can’t see.
“You speak boldly for a lone girl,” Owen said in the darkness.
Pia heard the outlaws ready their weapons.
Another sound came from the darkness, this time from the right of the barn. It was the sound of a sword tip puncturing leather armour. Pia imagined the blade severing internal organs and cracking the man’s spine.
She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes as the man screamed. The sound ended with a gurgle, followed by that of a sword being pulled from the body.
Shhhhhk.
“Rush her,” Velko shouted.
I must help her. She is my best chance to escape Sulla.
“There are fifteen of them,” she yelled as Velko squeezed her throat.
“You shut up!” he roared. She choked and thrashed, preventing him from cutting off her breath entirely. But he was stronger than she, and if he found a better grip…
“Only twelve now,” the newcomer said from the left of the barn. Somehow, she had moved through the line of men, who clamoured with confusion.
She is like a ghost.
Thinking they had located her now, the thieves turned and charged, and the sound of full battle erupted.
The outlaws, fighting in the darkness, stabbed at the air and confused each other, while the assailant herself fought silently, the only noise being her blade as it parried and stabbed.
“My arm!” A man cried.
Shhhhhk.
Another screamed as he was disembowelled.
A third yelled as he hacked at a shape in the darkness, striking the wood of the beams. Pia heard the solid thud of his axe as it found a body.
“You’ve killed your friend,” the woman said. “And you have lost your weapon.”
“No! No!”
Shhhhhk.
Then came a lull in the fighting, and no one dared speak, lest they be found by this ruthless assailant. The sound of men panting in fear filled the darkness.
Finally, the silence was ended by the woman’s voice.
“Surrender. Please. You will be taken to Varrock as prisoners.”
“That would mean our deaths,” someone replied.
“Then you leave me no alternative.” The voice came from a different place again, though there had been no trace of movement.
What magic does she possess?
“We’ll take our chances with you,” Velko shouted, “rather than with the hangman.”
“So be it.” The woman’s voice was followed by the sound of someone scrambling up the ladder to the loft, followed by a moan of desperation from several feet above the combatants.
“Please…” the man stuttered. “Please…”
There was a swooshing sound ending with the thunk of a blade-most likely an axe-as it embedded itself in flesh and cracked bone. The man above gave a brief sigh as his body fell crashing through the rungs of the ladder.
Pia felt warm drops fall upon the back of her neck, and her stomach heaved.
Above her, Velko cursed.
“She can see us,” someone said. “Open the doors…”
The girl heard the desperate survivors run toward the barn door.
“It’s been wedged shut,” one cried, tugging frantically.
Each cry was punctuated by the sound of another death.
“Just smash it open! Get some light.”
“Help! Help me!”
A man stumbled as Pia heard a hay bale overturn. He screamed as he fell.
“No. No.” It was Owen’s voice. He ran from the door, toward her. “Kill the girl, Velko, kill her.”
Pia heard Velko pull a knife from its sheath, but instead af cutting her throat he thrust it wildly forward. She heard it crack against a rib and sever the flesh and muscle beneath.
“Velko… Gods… it’s me…” Owen’s voice transformed into a choking gurgle as he collapsed in front of them.
She felt Velko above her, felt him shake in the darkness, his spirit destroyed, his fear absolute.
“Please,” he said. “I surrender… Please…” He wept and she felt his grip relaxing. Finally he fell to his knees.
Pia crawled away, her hand slipping on the liquid that covered the wooden floor. It had a metallic smell that was sickly sweet.
“I won’t kill you,” the woman said coldly, her breath calm as if she had felt no exertion in slaying fourteen violent men.
“But you…” A hand gripped Pia’s wrist. “You have caused me no small amount of trouble. And it nearly cost you your life, impostor.”
She was dragged toward the door. There was the sound of a bar of some sort being pulled aside, and at the same time there came a knocking on the wood, followed by a voice from outside.
Another woman!
“Is it done?” the voice asked.
“It is.”
Another plank was removed on the outside, the door was opened and dim light flooded in.
“Wait for me outside,” Pia’s liberator commanded, her features hidden under her hood. Without waiting for an answer, the mysterious woman turned back into the barn.
The daylight made Pia squint. As she blinked, she spied a dark-haired young boy waiting anxiously nearby, a worn brown-leather satchel hung across his chest. His bare feet were red with dried blood, cut as if he had been running over stony ground, and his face was so pale and his body so thin he looked as if he was about to fall from exhaustion.
My brother! Alive.
“Jack! I thought Straven had taken you. I thought… I thought you were dead.”
Pia broke into tears as she ran forward, crushing him in her arms. Her brother hugged back, his pale lips quivering with emotion.
“I saw them take you, Pia,” he said. “I saw Straven and his men and what… what they did to you, and I hid, Pia, I hid, as you always told me to do if ever you were taken. I saw them put you in the barrel and I followed them in their wagon from Varrock out to here. My feet hurt but I couldn’t abandon you…”
“Oh, Jack. Where are your shoes?”
“I lost them when we hid from Straven, Pia. I’m sorry.”
“Shhhh, it’s alright-don’t be sorry.” She smoothed his hair. “Be happy. We are alive. Remember Jack, always remember, never a rope for us.”
Pia shielded her brother from the open barn door, not daring to look inside where the floor was slippery with death. Suddenly she felt weak.
I have come so close to losing everything. It could so easily be my blood in there.
“But Pia, listen to me!” Jack said forcefully as she staggered against his smaller frame. Heroically, he tried to hold her up. “Pia, we are rescued now, for they came after us. She was angry at our trick, and so she came after us!”
“What are you talking about, Jack?”
I am so tired now, so dreadfully tired.
“Who else can see in the dark like her?” he said. “You’ve heard the tales. It’s her.”
Apprehension dawned in that second as her cloaked liberator left the barn, Velko shuffling in front of her as a captive. The hood was pulled back now, and Pia saw the long blonde hair tied in a ponytail that reached to her waist. Her skin was tanned from long days under the open sky. A crimson stain was splashed across her cheek.
But it was her eyes that held Pia most of all. Dark, angry pools, and Pia knew then that no matter what tricks she used, no matter how good an actress she was, she could never, ever impersonate the spirit that burned within them.
She swallowed once.
“Kara-Meir,” she gasped.
* * *
“Please my lady. Please let me go.” Velko wept. “They will hang me if I go back to Varrock.”
Kara shook her head as she walked over to a rain barrel that stood near the door. For Pia, it was like looking at an older version of herself, and she saw now how she had been able to fool everyone so successfully. Kara splashed the turbid water onto her cheek and cleared the bloodstain away. Then she washed her hands. Pia saw her purse her lips, and wondered whether she was contemplating Velko’s plea.
“I can help you my lady, my goddess,” he continued. “So beautiful you are, too much to be without mercy.” Velko knelt and began again to weep, making a great show of his misfortune.
“Stop,” Kara’s companion said. “It’s pitiful.” She was a black-haired woman in blue robes, tall and athletic, as if she had grown up with a man’s martial training. Yet her blue eyes were calm and observant. “Pia does not weep, and she has as much to fear in Varrock as you do.” At the sound of her own name, Pia tensed.
She’s right. If I am sent to Varrock I will hang too. She glanced around, considering for a moment her chances if she ran, for Kara had not restrained her. But she realised that she was just too tired.
“But I can help you!” Velko wailed. “I know things that will interest you. Things about a certain man who you chase. And his dog.”
You will not get away with this Velko, Pia thought grimly. I know about them, as well!
“He means Sulla and Jerrod,” she shouted abruptly, causing the two women to turn in her direction. “They were here only two hours ago.”
Someone cursed behind them. A third person emerged from the barn-a tall man wearing a hooded grey cloak and loose woollen garments. His face was sharp-featured and hard, his skin darker than most in this part of the land. His almond-shaped eyes were fierce, and his gaze was restless.
He’s not from this realm, she thought, as she realised that the sensation he evoked was strangely familiar. Not here, nor even so far as Kandarin.
Kara’s eyes remained fixed on Pia as she spoke coldly.
“Can you track them Gar’rth? Or is the impostor lying again?”
The man shook his head and when he spoke Pia knew for certain he was not from any land she knew. His accent was strange, and the words of the Common Tongue did not come easily to him.
“No. Too much blood,” he rasped. “The scent is lost.”
Pia shook her head.
“They were here. I swear it.”
“She tells the truth kind mistress-we have been hiding here for two days now,” Velko added. “Jerrod returned today from some errand in the east, and then he and Sulla and another of our party called Barbec returned to Varrock. By the southern road.”
“Again we miss them by bad luck alone,” Kara spat grimly.
“So it seems,” the blue-robed woman said. When she brushed her hair back Pia saw that she wore a small silver tiara. Her cold eyes settled on Velko first and then shifted to Pia. “Tell me-you and Pia both-of what you know.”
“You waste your time, Arisha.” Gar’rth interrupted angrily. “I can find no scent of them.”
Pia felt Jack nudge her discreetly, and he murmured in her ear.
“It was Gar’rth who tracked me all the way from the Flying Donkey in Varrock. I don’t know how he did it, but they caught me when I had decided to return to the city for help.”
“They were here. Both of them,” Velko persisted. “But it ain’t bad luck that’s allowed them to escape you. I know, you see. I travelled from The Wilderness with them after Sulla took charge of our band, after he tricked Leander, which is something I didn’t think I would live to see.” The bandit stood and laughed eerily. “They have help, you see. Jerrod has visions.”
“What visions?” Gar’rth demanded.
Was that fear in his voice?
“I don’t know. But twice in The Wilderness he told us how to avoid trouble. The first time was the very afternoon we left Leander behind. A group of Kinshra horsemen, about two dozen, would have run straight into us if we hadn’t followed Jerrod’s instructions.” Velko laughed. “They must have found Leander though. I wonder what they did with him?”
“We saw them,” Arisha said. “They did have someone with them, but they were too far away for us to identify them. Whether this was Leander or another captive, I cannot say.”
“He’s had dealings with them before. Perhaps they spared him. Perhaps he’s bargained with them for what he knows about Sulla. You see, I know a bit more, as well.”
Pia felt Velko’s eyes fall upon her. The mutilated man drew a hand across his throat in a clear warning to remain silent.
Sulla’s blackmailing, she knew. That is what he wants to trade.
“These visions of Jerrod’s concern me,” Kara said. “I never knew he could do that. Did you?” She looked to Gar’rth, who shrugged.
“Maybe Lord Drakan is helping him. From Morytania. Guiding him.”
“But why now?” Arisha asked. “Why not six months ago?” Kara motioned, and the three companions strode back next to the barn to converse in secret. Pia saw Gar’rth shrug again, and shake his head. Finally, Kara sighed.
“Arisha, Gar’rth, find out from Velko the names of his dead companions,” she said resignedly. “I don’t think we can catch up with Sulla-he’ll be in Varrok now, and we are already late. I promised Theodore we would be there for the Midsummer celebration.”
“Do you have paper, Kara?” Arisha said. “For the names?”
Suddenly Pia felt Jack move at her side.
“I have some, in my bag,” he said eagerly. “You can have it if you would like?”
Jack took the parchment from his bag and handed it to Arisha.
“Where did that come from Jack?” Pia asked her brother.
“You gave it me at the inn. It was the message that was passed on by the innkeeper.”
Pia gasped.
From the squire, Theodore, who so nearly ruined my plan.
Arisha took it and read the first line. Coldly, her blue eyes fell on the siblings.
“Explain this,” she said. “It is addressed to Kara.”
“What? What is it?” Kara strode back from the barn and took it. Her eyes passed over the short message and then fell back to Pia. “It’s from Theodore. You must have read this.”
“I…” Pia looked at the ground. “Neither of us can read,” she admitted.
“What does it say?” Gar’rth asked, his eyes narrowing visibly.
Kara looked at him steadily.
And coldly.
“He is most concerned with you and Arisha. He received Arisha’s letter telling him that we had gone into The Wilderness, and he wonders why neither of you are with me.”
“Is that all?” Gar’rth said.
“He also writes how worried he is that we are pursuing Jerrod, even all three of us.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing else, Gar’rth.” Kara folded the paper and put it in her satchel.
Suddenly Velko laughed, and he nodded in Pia’s direction.
“Jerrod? You should ask her about him. You cut him, didn’t you, girl? You made him bleed his black blood.” At his words, a look of absolute surprise appeared on the faces of Kara-Meir and her two companions.
“You cut him?” Gar’rth said. “How?”
“I found a dagger in the cellar. A two-bladed one. There is a cupboard there, and I used the knife to cut my bonds, and when I tried to run, Jerrod caught me.”
“And you are still alive? That is a miracle,” Kara said.
“Something happened to him, to Jerrod,” Velko offered. “The dagger made him ill.”
Kara’s eyes fell eagerly upon Pia.
“Show me.”
The girl led Kara back into the barn, but when the smell of blood hit her she wobbled. She felt Kara’s hand steady her.
“Take a moment,” she said calmingly. “It is a horrible sight, even to me, and I have fought in many battles.”
“I have never killed anyone before, Kara,” Pia responded. “How can you do it? They say you killed a hundred men in the siege of Falador.”
But Kara-Meir said nothing.
“And how could you see them, in the dark?” Pia asked as she recovered.
“I grew up with the dwarfs under Ice Mountain,” Kara explained. “My younger years were spent in very dark places. My eyes became attuned to see in such.” She gave Pia another moment to steady herself. “Now, are you ready?”
Pia nodded and found her way to the cellar. Stepping off of the ladder, she moved to the cupboard, where six of the two-bladed daggers still sat on a shelf.
“I heard someone say that Jerrod was a werewolf, Kara,” she said. “Is that true? Do such things truly exist?”
“It is true, Pia. Jerrod is a dreadful enemy, and I don’t understand how you could wound him with such a weapon as this.” Kara examined one of the daggers in detail.
“I saw his face, Kara,” Pia replied. “It was horrible. But then I saw it a few seconds later, and it was human. I thought I was imagining it. He said the dagger was cursed by Saradomin. Even being close to it seemed to make him sick.”
“Interesting, Pia.” Kara said. “Very interesting.” She sniffed the blade, and then, with a wary look up the ladder into the barn, as though she didn’t want to be seen, she tucked one of the knives into her satchel. Then, after a moment of consideration, she took four of the remaining five and did likewise.
“Tell no one of this, Pia. No one. Do you understand?”
“Yes. But Kara, what will happen to me?” Her voice was pleading. “And Jack? He has done nothing wrong. Please Kara, he’s not even nine years old.”
Kara pursed her lips.
“You committed a robbery, Pia, although it seems as if you lost all you gained when Straven caught you.” Pia frowned and Kara saw her look. “Jack told us everything he knew when we found him, bleeding and exhausted on the road. But as for you I have not yet decided what to do. Now, come on.”
“Wait, Kara. We are alone here, and I trust you, for you had no reason to come to my rescue after I abused your reputation,” she said, and she paused a moment to remember. “Sulla has a plan-it was what Velko is keeping to tell you in exchange for a pardon. He’s extorting money from a noble with documents that only he can understand. He said the noble was the first of many.”
“So Sulla becomes a common thief,” Kara said scornfully. “He was a warlord when I first encountered him, and since then I have reduced him to scraping a living. When I next meet him, Pia, I will do what I should have done six months ago. I shall make him a corpse.”
When they emerged into the daylight they found Jack trying on some new boots. Gar’rth had taken them from one of the corpses, the one with the smallest feet, and Jack smiled, despite the fact that even these were plainly too big.
“I have the names of Velko’s friends, Kara,” Arisha said. “Gar’rth found a scrap of parchment on one of the bodies, and that was enough for me to write them down.”
“Very good,” Kara said. “Then let us start our walk back to Varrock. We should still be in time to enjoy the Midsummer Festival, and at least now we can present King Roald with the gift of justice.”
Never a rope!
The thought echoed through Pia’s mind the nearer they came to Varrock. From the east, the land was pastoral, where dry stone walls divided it into the fiefdoms of influential noblemen.
“It’s a fertile country,” Arisha mused. “But it is quiet. I know my people of the tribes would find life pleasant here.”
Velko laughed derisively from the front of their small group. Of the captives, only he was bound. Pia saw that his subservience had vanished, to be replaced by anger now that his pleas for mercy had been ignored.
“So you are a barbarian?” he asked. “This is the east, woman. Nothing here now except open country all the way to the Salve. That’s why few live here. Even your uncivilized race surely has stories of what goes on across that river.”
“My uncivilized people don’t hang others,” Arisha replied. “The most common punishment for all crimes save murder is for the offender to be ostracised. Perhaps, in the few hours that remain to you, you should dwell on which of our societies is truly the more uncivilised.”
Velko mumbled under his breath. Pia could see that the barbarian’s words had chilled him. And she shared the feeling.
They paused to rest in the shadow of a tall yew tree. Velko began to weep again, shaking his head, as if refusing to believe that he’d been captured.
Perhaps his mind is going.
She took Jack’s hand and moved farther away from the thief. She had seen men hanged before, and knew the sudden burst of strength they could possess when faced with the gallows.
As she sat down, closer to Gar’rth and Kara, she saw that the heroine’s eyes rarely left her prisoner.
“I am unwell, Kara,” she heard Gar’rth say bitterly. “I feel light headed and I cannot smell anything, anything at all! It’s as if I’ve lost my sight.” He lowered his hood to reveal his face, pale and drawn. He breathed deeply, and every time nature made a sound his head would dart toward its source as if in paranoid surprise.
Kara shifted her satchel as she stepped away from him. Her dark eyes found Pia, and held her gaze.
She’s giving me a warning.
“Perhaps you should take Velko on ahead,” Kara suggested to her companion. “We have been tracking Sulla for nearly a month now, and we may be close to locating him. And besides…” Kara lowered her voice, looking at Velko briefly. “I want to separate the prisoners. I want to see if there is anything Pia can add to Velko’s account, to be sure we know everything. Don’t go too far ahead though, not beyond sight.”
Gar’rth nodded and stood. He lifted the bound man to his feet with a slight grunt of effort and led him in the direction of Varrock.
“I have never seen Gar’rth ill before,” Arisha said. “Not since the monastery.”
“He is his own man now, since the exorcism,” Kara replied. Still, her words were spoken with some doubt.
“Please Kara,” Pia said now that Velko was out of earshot. “What will you do with us? I know I committed a fraud. I admit it. But it was that or die. And I have told you everything I know.”
Kara lowered her head doubtfully.
Pia pressed on.
“We are not wicked people, Kara. I have never killed anybody. I have taken care of Jack since we were young, when our parents died. Last year we left Ardougne in Kandarin and since then we found our way here. If we didn’t steal, we would have starved to death!”
Hot tears sprang to her eyes.
“Kara?” Arisha asked as Pia’s vision blurred. She felt Jack’s hand on her shoulder. “What do you propose to do with them?”
A silence fell as Pia cleared the moistness from her eyes. When she could see again she saw Kara looking at her and Jack with a frustrated glare. Quickly, Kara looked to Gar’rth, and then back at them.
“I don’t know,” she admitted finally. “Velko will certainly be handed over to the Varrock guard. By his own admission, he has offended enough to warrant hanging. But you two…” She peered at them for a long moment. “I don’t know. I don’t want to be responsible for hanging children.”
Pia felt her face brighten.
Thank you Kara. Thank you!
“But then, I cannot let you go either. I have given mercy to those who should have been killed, and other lives have suffered because of it. Mercy to the likes of Sulla and Jerrod is a death to others, and each is a burden to my conscience.” She turned to her friend. “You know what they did to that man who found his way to the monastery, Arisha. And what they did to the rest of his party who were less fortunate.”
Arisha frowned and lowered her head.
“The point is, Pia, I don’t know you,” Kara said. “I don’t know what else you have done. Therefore I cannot let you go free. Even if I did that, you would only thieve again. I just don’t know.”
“They are still just children Kara,” Arisha said. “Children in need of a guide. You should think about the futures you can offer them-either death at the end of a rope, or a life under your tutelage.”
Kara looked startled and turned away, her brow creased in puzzlement.
“I saw the look on your face after you killed the men in the barn, Kara,” Arisha continued. “And Gar’rth and I have talked frequently since our journey began. You are changing. You are not so violent as before, since you defeated Sulla. If you had someone to look after, it would benefit you as much as them.”
Pia saw Kara’s face darken.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, anger in her voice. “I just slew fourteen men!”
“Fourteen men who deserved it. Fourteen men who refused your offer of mercy. You did it, but you didn’t like doing it. And now you can offer these two young thieves the chance of a better life.”
“The laws of Misthalin are not mine to make or withhold, Arisha,” Kara countered. “I cannot dare to claim as such. And nor can you.”
When Arisha spoke again, Pia heard a condescending note in her voice.
“I am reminded of a girl I saw once who rode into my village. She had stolen a horse to get there, all the way from Falador. That certainly would have been a hanging offence if subsequent events hadn’t turned out the way they did.” The barbarian woman looked west, to where Gar’rth walked with his prisoner. “And Gar’rth’s own history is not so different from Pia’s. He stole to survive, and had he found someone without Ebenezer’s humanity he, too, would have been hanged.”
“That was different…” Kara began.
“How?” Jack chirped innocently.
Kara remained silent, staring at the young boy. Then she shrugged.
“Very well, Arisha. You are right. As usual. Pia and Jack will return to Varrock with us.” The two dark eyes fell on Pia. “I shall take your case to the King himself, and if he accepts-and provided there are no other serious crimes you have committed-you will both enter my service. Neither of you will ever steal anything again.”
Jack grinned, and Pia forced a smile to her face.
No other serious crimes, she thought. How long then before I am found out, until I have to run again?
But for now, Pia hugged her brother tightly.
Never a rope!
7
Castimir’s face burned and his head ached.
He wore the ceremonial robes of his order, heavier than his normal garments, with wide cuffs and uncomfortable shoulder pads. Gone were the unsightly pouches on his belt, although he still kept a few runes in his pocket. He had learned painfully never to be without them.
Though they are not easy to get at, he mused irritably. It’s not at all practical, nor comfortable.
He stood with several of the off-duty palace guards and soldiers of Misthalin who had insisted that he join them in a drink of fellowship. They had been joined by Gideon Gleeman, the jester Castimir had met on the road to Varrock. All around them clusters of revellers drank and chattered and laughed.
As the church bell to the east chimed four times, he shaded his eyes with the flat of his hand and looked up to the palace’s easternmost outer wall. Upon the parapet, built up from the stone and protruding forward on wooden scaffolding in order to extend its width, was a purple-coloured canopied box, overlooking the bailey. In its foremost rank was a high yellow chair which Castimir knew was meant for King Roald. Already many nobles had gathered, and he noted Lord Despaard seated next to the man Lady Anne had named as Lord Ruthven.
I have only had two drinks, yet in this heat it is enough to make me feel drunk. I must sit down, get in the shade, and have some water.
He strode forward, making for the score of guards who stood in a line below the royal box. As an honoured guest of King Roald, he-like his friends-had been offered prominent seats from which to better experience the festivities.
“Come come, Castimir!” The jester’s voice pierced the hubbub of the crowds. “You’re not getting away quite so soon. Here, have another…”
Gleeman’s words provoked a cheer from the nearby listeners.
“You drink it for me, Gideon,” the wizard said as cheerfully as he could manage. “I need to be on my best behaviour today. As you can see, I am even dressed up in my ceremonial attire.”
“But I cannot. I dare not,” the jester said in mock seriousness. “I am to dance upon a high rope this afternoon. Would you have me fall and break my neck? Now, mighty wizard, you would be doing your new friends a dishonour by refusing them another toast.”
Castimir’s new friends groaned loudly to emphasise the jester’s point.
Yet beneath their drunken ramblings, they are afraid, Castimir knew. These slayings and kidnappings have them worried, and already today I have heard more mention of this prophecy that has everyone whipped into a frenzy.
Suddenly another player entered the fray.
“He cannot participate, Gideon,” William de Adlard said as he strode forward. “His presence is required by royal decree. Come, Castimir, before these wicked men lead you astray.”
The wizard bowed quickly-to the cheers of the party-and followed William through the boisterous throng. They passed a myriad of entertainments and once, when a fire-breather risked charring them, Castimir lifted his staff threateningly. From its knotted tip a red glow reached outward in all directions, warming those in its glare. Humbled, the fire-breather bowed and backed away, to the laughter of his spectators.
The guards parted for them at the bottom of the scaffold, and they ascended the stairs to the parapet. Castimir’s stomach rumbled.
“I am hungry, William,” he said over the din. “Do I have time to eat?”
But his question went unheard as the crash of metal and the neigh of a horse signalled the end of another joust. Men and women cheered as Castimir followed William’s gaze to the lists.
“That is the last for now, until the King comes,” William commented. Suddenly he paled. Looking down from their elevation, they could clearly see the fallen knight over the heads of the crowd below. Blood ran from the armoured man’s throat, for his enemy’s lance point had splintered and penetrated his leather gorget. Still he held his shield, its crest a silver sword on a dark background. From all sides men rushed to help him as the ladies of court looked on with blanched faces.
Castimir caught sight of Lady Anne. She alone looked unmoved by the man’s injury. Suddenly she laughed and Castimir saw her speak, her circle of friends craning their heads to listen. One of them, a pretty, dark-eyed girl with a gap between her two front teeth, gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, while others stifled inappropriate giggles.
It made Castimir feel slightly unwell.
When he turned back, he saw how William’s gloved hands gripped the wooden rail, and he noted the nobleman’s sickly face.
“Are you all right, Lord William?” the wizard asked.
“It’s these jousts, Castimir. Theodore participated in them when he first came to Varrock, much to his credit. Today, however, he has decided to play at melee with the most dangerous men in the realm.”
“You do not care for such sport?”
William’s eyes focused grimly on the injured man.
“That man will likely die today, Castimir,” he said. “Such a wound I doubt will heal, and Sir Prysin will have lost his first born for no reason other than pride. It is no sport. It is the play of madmen.” Then he gathered himself. “But come, the King will arrive shortly and we must be in our places for him.”
From the purple-draped box the view was very different. Smells and sounds rose up to tease Castimir’s aching stomach. Smoke and cooking, musicians and singing, all the happy mayhem of a grand revel. But not all was festive, for along the ramparts and on the turrets of the palace towers the wizard could see dozens of archers.
It must make the nobles feel rather safe up here, he supposed. If the crowd began to riot, they could flee along the walkways to the safety of the palace as King Roald’s archers turned each reveller into a hedgehog. They could even close the gates to prevent them from escaping back out into the city.
Shaking off such thoughts, Castimir looked for Theodore. His eyes crept to the far side of the bailey, where a stage had been built against the inner wall of the palace, on which the popular play The Betrothal of Glarial was being performed. Not far from the stage he recognised Theodore by his squire’s armor. A group of his men-all in white-were preparing themselves to fight against an equal number of Varrock’s finest knights, their weapons blunted to avoid fatalities.
Good luck my friend. Make us all proud.
He gazed up from the bailey to the southern parapet, where a small group of women stood, fussed over by Father Lawrence. Castimir had been introduced to him that afternoon.
He behaves like an anxious hen.
“I see you have spied the debutantes,” William said, nodding in their direction. “They are mostly women of high birth who have come of age and are to be introduced to society, though a few are of merchant families and lesser gentry. I am told it is a very nervous occasion for them all.”
Castimir peered at them. One, a dark-haired woman with high cheekbones, clearly seemed fraught. She wore a red toque and an olive-green dress, her headpiece making her stand out from the others. William saw her, as well.
“Poor girl is probably embarrassed,” he said. “She will earn the contempt of her peers if they think she is trying to upstage them.” He smiled before looking back toward where Lady Anne was seated. Castimir saw how she gave him a subtle nod.
“So you led Theodore into her clutches, Lord William,” Castimir said with a smile.
Theodore, you are too noble to know how lucky you are.
“I am ashamed to say that I did betray our friend, Castimir.” William smiled wickedly. “Lady Caroline is there, standing behind Lady Anne, as always. She has dark hair and a gap between her teeth. Do you see her?”
“I do.”
“Is she not worth a little treachery?”
Castimir laughed. “I think so, Lord William.”
“Then I shall go to see if Lady Anne has really made good her promise,” he said, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. “Good day, my friend, I shall see you shortly.”
As William left, Castimir became aware of a man sitting down on the chair next to him.
“Interminable robes, these,” the newcomer said in good humour as the wizard turned to greet him. Then, his voice lowered. “I think they are deliberately designed so we wizards can’t use our runes while wearing them, you know. Don’t you agree?”
Castimir’s attention sharpened. He saw the narrow grey beard, the thinning hair, and a green-tinted monocle that the man held to his right eye-and he noted, too, the man’s robes, similar to his own in design but differing in colour. Where his were blue, the newcomer’s were grey, emblazoned with yellow sigils.
“Are you Layte Aubury, sir?” Castimir asked hesitatingly.
“Indeed I am. And you are Castimir.” The man held out his hand, which Castimir took firmly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I have heard many things about you from our master, Sedridor, just this morning in fact. Most of them good.” His eyes narrowed and he looked Castimir full in the face. “But not all.”
Not all?
“Forgive me, sir, but I don’t understand,” Castimir said. “As far as I am aware, I have conducted myself appropriately. If I have erred, please tell me.”
Can he know? Can the Tower know about Master Segainus’s diaries and spell books and of how I kept them to myself?
He felt his face go red.
“I saw you drinking earlier, Castimir, with the clown.”
“Gideon Gleeman? We shared a drink, yes…”
“That is not quite appropriate. Gideon himself is not a problem- he is in fact a respected man at court. But not the other fellows he was with. To them, you are a wizard, young man. That means you must be more than they.”
Castimir said nothing. He felt suddenly embarrassed.
“I have lived in Varrock for many years. More than I would like to admit, anyhow,” Aubury continued. “I am a Master of the Tower, and my role here is to ensure that our order is properly represented in Misthalin and in the court of King Roald. It is absolutely vital that we have the crown’s support. We cannot allow that to be jeopardised by any unnecessary or uncouth fraternisation. Wizards must be held in awe by the common folk. We cannot be seen drunk or boisterous or prideful. You know this.” Aubury’s eyes narrowed. “And you know why.”
Because our power is an illusion, Castimir answered silently. Because we don’t know how to replenish our runes, and they are fast running out.
“I do know why, of course,” Castimir replied instead, biting his tongue.
“Good. That’s good.” Aubury spoke in the manner of a teacher encouraging a wayward pupil. “And I have news for you, Castimir. News I think you are expecting?”
Castimir felt his stomach curdle in nervousness.
“My thesis? Did I pass?”
His fingers pressed themselves into the wood of his staff. His heart thundered in his ears and head.
“You have passed. Congratulations. You are no longer an apprentice.”
Castimir sighed volubly.
Thank the gods!
“But you didn’t pass well,” Aubury continued. “It was a very close affair, indeed. In fact, you were the last in your class of five. The tutors thought the subject matter too complex for one of your years. Your inexperience showed.”
Castimir’s relief turned to sudden anger.
“Inexperience?” he said. Realizing he had spoken loudly, he lowered his voice. “But I’ve done more than most do in their entire lives!”
“I know,” Aubury conceded. “But some fear it has made you arrogant. You have time enough not to rush things, Castimir. And nonetheless, you passed, and I have here the token of your new office.”
He produced a long thin box, which Castimir recognised immediately.
“My new wand,” he remarked drily. “I lost my apprentice wand when I was in Kandarin.”
“And this is a teacher’s wand,” Aubury told him. “Sent to us from our desert-dwelling colleagues in Al-Kharid. Please try not to lose it.”
Castimir took the box with care. He had never really liked wands, for they were limited in their use, but they did help a wizard concentrate his spells. Even so, he favoured his staff over a wand, for at least the staff could be used as a weapon, should his magic fail or his runes run out.
Then the thought of his thesis brought the riddle back into his mind.
“Master Aubury, have you ever heard of the Dark Lady?”
The older man thought for a moment.
“It could be a name for the daughter of Lord Drakan of Morytania, though her existence is only legend. Other than that I do not know. Why do you ask?” Suddenly Castimir realised that he might have spoken too quickly, and revealed more than he had intended. But as he struggled to come up with a plausible reply, Aubury spoke again. “Ah! Your friend Theodore is about to begin his melee.”
They looked across the bailey to the enclosure, a raised wooden structure a man’s height with heavy ropes strung along each side. The eleven men under Theodore’s command climbed the steps to the space within. It was not entirely free of obstacles, for two wooden spokes sat in the centre, with enough room for several men to fight between. They helped to keep the contest more interesting for the onlookers.
Behind Theodore’s group came twelve more men, their armour blackened to distinguish them from their opponents. At their head was a huge fellow in black-dented armour with tusks protruding from his helm. Castimir feared him instinctively.
He’s bigger than Sulla! Theodore, be careful.
“That’s Lord Hyett, the Black Boar,” Aubury said seriously. “The strongest knight in Varrock, if not all of Misthalin. Let us hope Theodore knows how to hunt boar-for his own sake.”
The marshal sounded the gong, and Theodore leapt forward. The smell of leather, already wet with his sweat, dominated his senses inside the claustrophobic helm.
Through his visor’s two eye-slits, he saw the nearest of his enemies. But his thoughts were of his charges.
Don’t panic, men, he willed. Remember what I told you. They may be the best knights in Varrock but they fight as individuals, not as a group. But we will fight as one. And we will win.
He was conscious of the pounding of armoured feet behind him, following his lead. A vicious knock caught his shield, but it was a tourney, and in such events only blunted weapons were used. Still, he knew that there were often fatalities in such a contest.
In he crashed, the sword wielded in his right hand landing squarely upon the head of his opponent. At his side a whitearmoured gauntlet drove a shield into his enemy’s side, forcing the man off balance and causing him to fall onto his back.
A cry erupted from the crowd.
That’s it! Together we target them, one at a time.
But the man on the enclosure floor still hadn’t yielded-to be the first to do so would be a sign of weakness. So Theodore knew he had to be ruthless. Once the first had given in, others would find it easier to do so.
He swung his blunted tourney sword down, intending to smash the man’s sword hand.
It never made it.
With a roar a hulking shadow filled Theodore’s visor. He caught sight of a black boar on a red shield as it smashed his weapon aside and bludgeoned into him.
Such strength, he thought, his mind reeling. The man is a giant.
Now it was his turn to stagger as his new foe bellowed.
“No knight of Varrock will fall before those of Falador!”
The crowd cheered as the Boar closed the gap. Theodore saw the sweep of his sword as it came in. Lord Hyett wielded a broadsword in just his right hand, though most men would have been forced to use both.
Instinctively Theodore swung his wooden shield up. But the broadsword cut through the lower half, and as it was withdrawn the crowd gasped and cheered, and Theodore saw how the blade glinted.
That is no tourney blade, he realised grimly. It still has an edge. And the Boar means to use it!
He stepped back as the Boar came on. Once more, however, his men heeded his instructions. Three went forward as one. The man on Theodore’s left parried the Boar’s blade and pushed his arm wide, while the man on his right hacked at the red shield.
Leaving Theodore to deliver as hard a blow as he could muster. He brought his sword over his shoulder and cleaved down. Metal rang out against metal as the blade smashed against the Boar’s helm and slid off to impact upon his shoulder.
The crowd drew breath as the Boar staggered, his knees giving slightly and Theodore remembered Lady Anne’s advice.
Attack him from his left. His eye is blurred and his ankle is weak.
Theodore ducked low and lunged with his blade at Lord Hyett’s kneecap. A blow connected with his shoulder and he fell forward, gasping in sudden pain, his lunge only managing a passing hit on the Boar’s leg greave.
But then the fighting opened up, and it was each man against another. Through his eye-slits, Theodore saw that still no one had yielded. He parried a thrust with his damaged shield, feeling it splinter under the impact. A second hack carried its remnants from his wrist entirely.
As he stood, his teeth gritted, the red shield of the Boar swallowed his view. He ducked as Lord Hyett’s sword flashed an inch from his gorget.
That could have killed me if it had struck.
Theodore went cold.
Maybe that is his intention. Here it will look like an accident. I humiliated him when I unhorsed him in the lists, and he is probably aware that Lady Anne and I…
A man in white armour came to Theodore’s rescue, his blow careening off the Boar’s chest plate.
Theodore stumbled backwards, painfully aware of the jeering crowds.
Castimir held his hand to his face. It was terrible to watch. He turned his head and winced when Theodore lost his shield, and he prayed when the giant advanced, hoping that Theodore might save himself. He sighed in relief when one of the squire’s men came to his rescue and gave him time to regain his balance.
The wizard saw William’s eyes upon him. The young noble pursed his lips and shook his head grimly.
Theodore isn’t finished yet, Lord William, he responded silently. He’s been through worse. Give him a chance.
Castimir remembered Lady Anne, and the dismissive laugh she had given after Sir Prysin’s eldest had been so gravely injured. He looked for her now.
To his surprise, the expression she wore was very different.
She looks afraid, he realised. Could she really be so attached to Theodore?
“The first man has yielded!” someone yelled from nearby, under the canopy. Castimir turned back to see that it was in fact two men who had left the enclosure, one wearing the white armour of Falador and the other the black of Varrock.
His eyes fell on Theodore. He gasped as he saw his friend rush in again to confront the strongest knight in Varrock.
Theodore’s saviour broke under the Boar’s relentless blows. The white-armoured man collapsed as his legs buckled, his weaponless hands palm up to show that he had yielded. Blood dripped from under his visor as the Boar gave three heavy blows with his edged sword, ignoring the surrender.
Theodore’s world went red.
Leading with his shoulder, he cannoned into the Boar’s legs from his enemy’s left. He felt the man stagger and then with a heave the squire sent him flying face down.
A sword smashed against his head as he crouched, but he ignored the blow, instead leaping forward to where he thought the Boar must be. He felt a man’s armoured body beneath him, face down, and with a shout he thrust his sword under his helm, pulling it back as he held the edge to the man’s throat.
“Yield!” he commanded as a roar arose from the spectators. “Yield or I swear I will cut your throat.”
The Boar swore in reply, his hand snaking toward his own sword, which had fallen from his grasp when the squire had barrelled into him.
Theodore increased the pressure on the blade, but too late he saw a Varrock knight appear beside him. This one wielded a heavy wooden mace, and Theodore knew he had to avoid it at all costs. With a cry, he rolled free as the mace sailed by.
But it was not a disaster. For his roll had taken him to within range of the Boar’s own weapon. He dropped his own tourney blade in exchange for his enemy’s, gripping the broadsword in both hands. At the same time he lashed out with his foot, his heel connecting with Lord Hyett’s helm with a satisfying crash that snapped one of the Boar’s tusks.
Now I have the edge, he thought. Your edge-and we will see what you think of that.
“He nearly had him!” Castimir shouted to anyone who cared to listen. “Come on, Theodore. Finish the brute off.”
And in fact, I thought you were about to kill him.
From his viewpoint the wizard could easily see the whole enclosure. At least five of the knights were down. From one- the man who had saved Theodore-the ground was soaked with blood. Six more yielded and left the enclosure to join the two who had already retired.
Which gave Castimir cause to smile, for now Theodore’s men had the advantage. Now, it was six against five.
“Come on Theodore,” he muttered. “You don’t need to be a hero today. Your men are doing you proud.”
Theodore fell as a man’s black gauntlet wrapped around his neck and pulled him backward. The Varrock knight fell beneath him, and as he landed Theodore thrust backwards with his elbow with as much force as he could muster.
He heard the man gasp through his visor.
Up! Up! Seize the advantage and force him to yield!
The squire made it to his knees and with both hands swung Lord Hyett’s sword, not bothering to stand, not daring to waste a single second that might endanger his advantage. The edged blade severed the top of the man’s finger and sent his weapon flying from the enclosure to the excited whoops of the crowds.
“I yield! Gods I yield!” the man roared as he crawled to the ropes to be dragged from the enclosure by the waiting stewards.
Theodore stood wearily, his body lurching from one side to the other. The weight of the weapon further threatened his balance.
I am exhausted. Can’t keep going for much longer.
But he knew that his enemies must be in a similar state, and in a rare moment of calm he had a chance to survey the enclosure.
We are winning! he realised then. We are two men up, six against four. But I need air, I need to breathe.
He opened his visor, thanking Saradomin for the wind that blew against his sweat-drenched face. He watched as Lord Hyett batted a man aside, still with his dented red shield. As the man fell, Theodore staggered forward to his aid while about him the four Varrock knights confronted five opponents.
The Boar had his back to him, yet somehow the knight turned in time to avoid a wild slash that would have smashed against the back of his head. Unbalanced again, Theodore staggered from exhaustion, drinking in great gulps of air, his visor still wide open. He stumbled to one side, crashing against one of the great wooden wheels used to divide the ground in the enclosure.
On the man came. Even now, the giant still possessed the strength to run and thrust. He was wielding the wooden mace which Theodore had only just avoided a moment before.
I am not sure if I can do it again! Too tired.
“You are mine, Falador,” Lord Hyett gritted. “You are mine.”
He swung the mace as Theodore collapsed, sliding backward alongside the wheel. His back throbbed with pain. He desperately attempted to parry, but the tip of the heavy sword went agonisingly wide.
Still, he kept himself out of the Boar’s reach.
“Open your visor, Lord Hyett,” he challenged, not entirely knowing why he did so. “Let me look you in the face.” Perhaps he could goad the man into making a mistake.
There was no reply, and Theodore had suspected he would be too canny to give in to such an obvious tactic. Behind him, on the opposite side of the wheel, a man screamed as the sound of armour crashing to the floor was drowned out by cheering shouts.
I don’t care if we win this match or not, he admitted to himself. Saradomin, just give me the chance to avenge myself against this murderous creature.
The Boar roared as he charged in, his red shield held before him in his left hand, the mace raised overhead in his right.
He is weak on his left.
His eye and ankle.
The squire leapt forward, hoping to catch his foe by surprise. His foot lashed out, connecting perfectly with Lord Hyett’s left ankle. Something crunched as Theodore’s foot came away.
The Boar screamed.
He tottered forward, the mace wavering as he fell.
And at the same time, Theodore thrust his sharpened blade upward, both hands driving the sword tip into the breastplate of his enemy.
The blade pierced the metal and sheered through the flesh beneath. Theodore felt the familiar sensations of horror and fascination as his blade struck home-the soft flesh, the sinewy muscle, and the hard but brittle bone beneath. The sword glanced upward as it ricocheted off the Boar’s breastbone and deeper into his body.
Red blood pumped from his wound as the immense man fell atop Theodore, yelling in pain.
The squire took a delicious elation in the man’s screams. He knew it was wrong to do so-that Saradomin as the god of peace would condemn him-but today he didn’t care. He had beaten an enemy who had come to kill by treachery. Lord Hyett was nothing but a murderer.
Theodore stood, breathing heavily, aware that the Boar was gravely injured.
The crowd was silent. No one had beaten this man in a melee for at least a decade. Looking behind him, over the wheel, he saw that two of his own men still stood, a single Varrock knight between them who sensibly yielded rather than face them both.
Labouring with the effort, Theodore pulled the blade out in a single movement, trying hard to block out Lord Hyett’s groans. Then he held the red sword up, and as he did so the crowd roared. He swayed uncertainly as his name echoed around the bailey, his vision blurred, his mouth parched and his heart thundering.
“Do you hear that, Lord Hyett? It is my name they cry now. Mine. Your subterfuge and trickery have failed.” He lowered the sword, and stared at it. “Normally, it is not the way of my order to take a fallen foe’s property, and had you fought with honour I would not do so. But today I shall.”
Theodore raised his voice as he staggered backward from the fallen knight. Already marshals and stewards were entering the enclosure to attend to those who had been injured and to offer what aid they could-a certain sign the contest was ended.
“By the right of victor, in all the traditions of Varrock and her long history,” the squire announced loudly, “I claim my right to disarm you. Your armour is mine. As is your blade!” He raised the sword into the air again and the crowd responded, shouting even louder.
Theodore allowed himself to be helped from the enclosure by the stewards. He insisted that they first aided those who had fallen, and made sure he was the last of his men to leave the arena. Then he found his way to Philip, the man who had fallen under the repeated blows of the Boar.
When the man’s visor was pulled back, Theodore saw that his face was caked in blood.
“Philip?” he said. “Can you hear me?”
Incredibly the man smiled and nodded.
“It looks far worse that it is,” he said weakly.
“We won, Philip. And without you I would have fallen. Thank you.”
“But the Boar? What happened to him?”
One of the stewards shook his head.
“His is the worst wound here today,” the fellow said, a hint of awe tingeing his words. “Squire Theodore may have killed him.”
“Oh,” Philip said. “Good.” His eyes found Theodore’s. “His was no tourney blade, sir. He came out here to kill.”
“I know, Philip. I took it from him, and made sure he knew it.”
Afterwards, with the cheers of the crowd ringing in his ears, he found his way to a small tent set aside for the fighting knights, where Hamel poured cool water over his head and helped him remove his armour. Somewhere outside, members of the crowd laughed, and he heard the spectators daring the jester Gideon to run along a rope.
Then Theodore slumped in his seat, exhausted, and without intending to do so, he fell asleep.
When he awoke Hamel was still there. Outside the sound of trumpets was blaring and the crowd had fallen silent.
“The King has entered the box, sir,” Hamel explained as he finished bandaging Theodore’s wounds and applying salve to his bruised flesh. “How is your back, sir?”
“It is numb,” Theodore muttered. All of him was numb, and suddenly cold. The signs of fatigue. He wrapped his arms around his body and shivered.
“Drink this, sir,” the boy said, holding out a cup. “It is a beef soup. It should help you recover your strength.”
Theodore did as he was asked. He was too tired to even think.
But after what seemed like hours he stood and dressed himself in his white tunic with the four-pointed star of Saradomin stitched into its chest in silver thread. Hamel guided him from the tent, escorting him to the King’s box. As he made his way up the wooden steps, the crowd erupted in cheers, and he caught sight of Lady Anne.
She gave him a long look and smiled-not the sarcastic smile she so often teased him with, but something that Theodore thought was more akin to admiration, supplication almost. Very deliberately she dropped her handkerchief in a gesture of surrender.
Then the spectators closed in on him, and this time it was Castimir who rescued him. There were too many hands to shake and questions to be answered, and Theodore was too tired to do so. The wizard forced his way through the press and led him to a seat a healthy distance from the admiring courtiers.
“Thank you, Castimir,” he said. “If I fall asleep, nudge me.”
The wizard smiled as Theodore closed his eyes, content to listen to the world around him rather than participate in it. Even Kara and the mystery of her whereabouts did not agitate him for now, for he was simply too tired to care.
“…but we gnomes have our own science, master alchemist. Albertus’s vacuum chamber is a handsome gimmick, I don’t doubt, but are you aware of the demonstration made last year at this grand occasion by an esteemed cousin of mine, the able Master Peregrim?”
“Albertus was kind enough to write of it in his letters to me.” Ebenezer’s voice cut through to Theodore’s addled mind. “Tell me, Ambassador Fernook, has there been any news of his whereabouts since that time?”
Castimir laughed suddenly and Theodore opened his eyes to look curiously at the gnome ambassador. He knew Fernook, for the gnome was popular in King Roald’s court. He wore the traditional deep-green clothing of his people. The diminutive being was less than waist-high to Theodore, yet he made up for it with his personality.
“This is no laughing matter, master wizard,” the gnome said angrily. “Master Peregrim was demonstrating a hybrid hot air balloon, kept aloft by heat and phlogisticated air. It is a technology of which you humans have no conception. Many of Varrock’s nobles took an interest, amongst them Lord Despaard who wished to examine its potential for reconnaissance over The Wilderness… and elsewhere.”
“Tell me in detail of it,” Ebenezer begged. “Albertus only gave the barest description of it in his letter.”
The ambassador gave a broad smile, happy to share the achievements of his people. “It was a huge balloon with a gondola that hung beneath it, large enough to carry twenty people, I should say. Each day for a week Master Peregrim would ascend from the bailey with bold men and women eager to view the city from above.” The gnome’s face grew dark. “It was always tethered to the ground, of course, for only a fool or a lunatic would dare make a flight without a safety winch to bring it back down.”
“And which was he ambassador?” Ebenezer asked tentatively.
“Neither. He was just unlucky. Very, very unlucky.” The gnome shook his head. “He took off from here a year ago today, as he had done for the preceding days, to test his contraption before risking others in it. But the line broke from its knot on the balloon and very quickly he was carried away. Carried away to the east where he vanished across the Salve into… that place. I do not expect we shall ever hear anything of our intrepid balloonist again.”
“I am sorry ambassador,” Castimir said. “Truly I am. I had no idea of his fate.” His words were sincere, and Theodore saw the suddenly shamed look in his friend’s eyes.
You laugh too quickly for a diplomat, Castimir, he mused. If you are to take on the role the Wizards’ Tower has asked of you then you will have to learn patience and to treat every word as if it was a trap.
The conversation ended as whispers of excitement rippled through the occupants of the royal box. Theodore saw a King’s messenger kneeling before the monarch, who was standing, reading a letter in absolute concentration. Captain Rovin appeared at his side, grim-faced as ever.
A silent moment passed during which the tension was so great that Theodore wondered if a foreign nation had announced its intention to declare war on Misthalin. Then the King’s expression changed to one of excitement.
“Bring her to me!” he shouted. “Immediately.”
Can it be?
The King’s messenger stood and waved. The signal was repeated and passed on, out of the sight of the onlookers. After a few moments, as murmuring grew, an escort of yellow-clad soldiers of the city guard marched forward with a small group clustered in their middle.
“She’s here,” someone whispered amongst the crowd.
“Can it be true?” another asked. “Has she really come?”
“That’s what the messenger said.”
“It is her. It’s Kara-Meir!”
Theodore’s blood froze. His vision blurred slightly, whether from a thankful tear or from his earlier combat he could not tell.
“Is it her Castimir?” Ebenezer asked. “My eyes are not so young as yours.” Doric walked to the box’s edge to see for himself.
Theodore wiped the moisture from his eyes and looked again. At the centre of the yellow escort were six figures. The first was a man whose hands were bound before him. Behind him came a boy and a blonde-haired girl, ushered forward by three cloaked figures who came last.
“That could be Kara’s younger sister, if she had one,” Castimir observed.
As they neared, Theodore saw that the man at the front was missing his nose.
“Well, Kara-Meir, you have come,” King Roald called. “As you promised you would.”
Two of the three cloaked figures pulled their hoods back.
And Theodore grinned.
“It’s her!” Doric said. “She seems unhurt!”
“And Arisha, as well. Thank the gods.” Castimir gasped.
Behind him, Theodore sensed a movement.
“So that is Kara-Meir?” Lady Anne whispered in his ear. “She is pretty, in a certain peasant sense no doubt, but she does remind me of a wild cat. I suppose some men’s tendencies lean that way, however. If they are low-born.”
Theodore didn’t answer, for Kara began speaking.
“I have come, and I know that I am later than I promised,” she shouted up. “But I bring you the impostor, Pia, and her accomplice who tricked many good people out of their money by using my name. And I bring you also a wanted felon from The Wilderness who had taken shelter in a barn to the east of Varrock. I have provided your messenger with a list of his associates, who now lie slain and untended. Fourteen of them.”
The crowd gasped, and then clapped wildly.
It is your gift Kara, Theodore thought. You have always been able to win people’s hearts.
Eventually, the King held up his hand for silence, which the crowd granted with some reluctance.
“Captain Rovin tells me that these fourteen outlaws are wanted for serious crimes, each with a considerable bounty on their heads. You claim that you and your companions dispatched all of them? Three against fifteen, including your prisoner?”
Kara-Meir smiled now, her own urchin expression filled with mischief.
“No, Sire… and captain,” she said. “I accounted for them alone while my friends prevented any from escape.”
A murmur ran through the crowd, and someone clapped at the reply that left Captain Rovin speechless. King Roald laughed.
“Even my best knight would have been hard-pressed to accomplish such a feat.” Theodore felt the monarch’s eyes turn on him for a second. “But you must come up here-you and your friends-and tell us of your adventures. Come, we will have music, we will have celebration! Take the prisoners to the dungeons, for they will be dealt with later.”
The crowd responded to his commands with yet more cheering as Kara ascended the wooden steps, followed by Arisha and now, as they neared, Theodore saw for certain that the tall hooded man was indeed Gar’rth.
My friends. All safe and well. Thank Saradomin.
A guard seized the girl Pia, and she cried out.
“Please Kara. You know we are not bad people!”
The crowd laughed gleefully.
“You promised.” At that, Kara turned to the monarch.
“Sire, may I ask that you not separate the girl and her brother?” Kara spoke loudly, so all could hear. “They should remain together, and I would appreciate it if they were kept away from this fugitive. I also wish to speak to you about their fate, for they are little more than children, and I think I can offer the crown a suitable bargain for their disposition.”
“She does not lack for boldness, this wildcat of yours,” Lady Anne said softly, a touch of irritation in her voice. “Coming here and presuming to bargain with a King whose lineage goes back over a millennia. Very bold indeed.”
“Kara knows what she is doing, Lady Anne,” he replied without anger.
“The justice of Varrock is not usually open to negotiation,” King Roald said, though his mood still seemed light. “However, in consideration of your reputation and the honesty of your friend, Squire Theodore, and of the gift of justice that you have delivered here today, we shall hear what you offer, and consider it with a generous heart.”
He saw Kara look toward him and nod in greeting, and suddenly he felt Lady Anne move close behind him. Very close indeed.
Too close. An obvious ploy to state her intention to Kara.
If Kara noticed, she gave no sign, and turned aside to sit on an empty chair at King Roald’s side. Quickly, both Arisha and then Gar’rth were presented to him and dismissed, for the monarch’s attention was entirely held captive by Kara.
As Arisha approached, Castimir advanced to meet her. Theodore caught her smile as they drew together in a long embrace.
“Well, Gar’rth, you are looking well.” Ebenezer’s first words to their friend were hesitant.
Can he now speak the common tongue? Theodore wondered. If he can, there is much I would ask him. When Gar’rth responded, it was plain how far he had come.
“Ebenezer, I am happy to see you. I have learned your language since Falador, thanks to the monks of the monastery. And with Arisha’s help.”
“Then we must sit and speak, Gar’rth,” Doric said. “For I have much to ask you, as I know we all have.”
“Some of your questions must wait,” Gar’rth replied. “I will answer those in private. Alone. But Arisha will tell you of The Wilderness.”
Gar’rth gave Theodore a long look, his dark eyes settling on Lady Anne next to him. He frowned slightly. Lady Anne laughed.
“Your friend is not from these parts, is he?” she said. “We must welcome him to Varrock, Theodore. Tell me, where do you hail from?”
For a cold second no one spoke.
“He comes from the southern islands, Lady Anne,” Castimir answered quickly. “You have heard of Gar’rth, have you not?”
“As I have heard of you all, save this young woman.” Her blue eyes focused on Arisha, who spoke without hesitation.
“My name is Arisha,” she said. “I am a priestess of the tribes to the west of here, across the River Lum.” She bowed gracefully, and Castimir beamed.
“A barbarian? I have known people from your tribes before, yet I cannot recall one ever as civil as yourself-nor so beautiful.” Before Arisha could reply, Lady Anne nodded in the direction of King Roald. “Ah, it appears that I am needed by His Majesty. I suspect I will be asked to find Kara and yourself something appropriate to wear for tonight.” She took two steps before turning back again. “I am so looking forward to our dance, Theodore.”
Suddenly it felt as if the eyes of all of his friends were upon him.
The occupants of the royal box thankfully left them alone, and very quickly news was shared and questions posed.
“It was at the monastery of Saradomin when we first heard word of Sulla and Jerrod,” Arisha explained. “An injured man was brought to us from The Wilderness, and he identified them. We set out some weeks ago, travelling northward in pursuit.” She shivered. “Everyone hears tales of The Wilderness, but it is a land of desolation beyond anything I would have imagined. Often, for miles and miles, day after day, there is nothing that grows there. Nothing thrives. It seems as if nature herself has given up in that land.
“On at least two occasions we missed them by misfortune alone.” Arisha and Gar’rth shared a look. “Or at least we thought it was misfortune. But we now believe that Jerrod is receiving help. It may be from his master.” She smiled grimly. “We do not know why he is doing so now, and didn’t before. We may never know. But Jerrod and Sulla are now in Varrock.”
What? Why? Theodore opened his mouth to give voice to his questions but Doric and Castimir both spoke first. Arisha put her hands up for calm.
“We don’t know why, though Pia told Kara that Sulla plans to blackmail wealthy individuals with some coded documents he has in his possession. It is dangerous of them to come here, yet they have taken that risk. We informed the city guard this afternoon, although we didn’t tell them the truth about Jerrod. That is a decision that should be made by the King and his councillors.”
“But I don’t understand,” Ebenezer said thoughtfully. “How is this Pia girl linked to Sulla?”
Arisha shook her head.
“She isn’t. The fraud she committed was of her own initiative, but she grew greedy and attempted to run without paying the gangs their dues. They sent her to Sulla as an amusing gift, aware she resembled Kara. When we first entered Varrock, this morning, we heard stories that ‘Kara-Meir’ was already here, and then later of the fraud she had committed. Kara insisted that we hunt the imposter down. Gar’rth tracked them from the Flying Donkey Inn, and this led us to Jack, who had followed his sister’s abductors.
“By the time we arrived at the barn they were using as a hideout, Sulla and Jerrod had left.”
“Can you track Sulla, Gar’rth?” Doric asked.
Gar’rth shook his head.
“No. Not in a crowded city, without a trail to follow. Not with Jerrod, who knows how to mask himself.”
Suddenly Theodore stifled a yawn. The relief at seeing his friends in good health had given him a momentary burst of energy, but it was not enough to keep him going for much longer. As he did so, William approached, and was introduced to Arisha and Gar’rth.
“Ah, Theodore,” the young noble said, “I am sorry to interrupt your well-earned reunion, but I am afraid your presence is required by King Roald.”
Theodore yawned again as he stood. His body ached in protest and, as ever, his back burned from his old wound.
“He’s been boar-hunting,” William explained to Arisha, who noted his fatigue. Before she could ask for an explanation, he turned to the squire. “Now, come along.”
William led Theodore quickly forward as the trumpets sounded. The squire saw King Roald stand, and he saw Kara’s smiling face.
“Come on, Sir Theodore. It’s time.” William muttered so quickly that Theodore thought he had imagined the words.
“What did you call-?”
But William pushed him before the King and stepped back as the trumpets ended their cry. Then the King spoke.
“Squire Theodore, of the Knights of Falador, kneel,” came the command
He did so, his legs stiff and heavy.
What is happening here?
He cast his eyes sideways to where he could just see Kara’s beaming face. Her dark eyes were filled with pride.
Is that all there is? he wondered. Pride and honest friendship? No chance of anything more?
Then he saw the vermilion cloak of King Roald swish gently as the monarch moved above him. Suddenly he felt the light tap of a thin blade upon his right shoulder, and then again upon his left.
What is he doing?
He looked to Kara again, and suddenly the look on her face made sense. Elation mixed with fear and, inexplicably, a sense of loss.
This is where I forsake all worldly passions.
King Roald’s voice sounded above him. He was a messenger ordained by god.
“Rise, Sir Theodore Kassel, Knight of Falador. And let all who stand here this day bear witness to his ascension.”
Knighted by a King of Misthalin! Few of my order have ever had such an honour! But where is the oath?
Sir Theodore stood as the crowd exploded with cheers. Trumpets sounded, and Kara jumped up to wrap her arms around him, her lithe body crushed against his in the press.
His mind went numb. He was aware of a thousand clapping spectators, of the trumpets that drowned them out, of Castimir, standing nearby under the canopy, shouting wildly.
He felt the tears tug at the corner of his eyes.
King Roald raised his hand, and the crowd fell quiet. Then he turned to the object of their celebration.
“I received a diplomatic missive from Sir Amik Varze, just yesterday,” he revealed, “asking me to elevate you as is my right as a close ally of your order. He offers you his congratulations, and bade me tell you that thanks in part to you, the Knights of Falador have renewed their numbers. Of course, you have yet to take the oath to Saradomin, but even I cannot ask that on behalf of your order. That is for Sir Amik himself to do when you next return home.”
The cheering resumed as the King sat. Kara let him go and he found himself thrust forward, hands landing on his shoulders, arms, and back in a happy torture for his bruised flesh. He saw Lady Anne appear before him, he felt her lips brush against his face in a brief kiss to which the crowd cheered, and then he was free once more, exhausted and elated.
“Well done, indeed, Sir Theodore,” William congratulated, having waited for the crowd to disperse before offering his compliments.
“Thank you very much, Lord William.” Theodore smiled to Father Lawrence as the priest made his way past, leading the young and nervous debutantes to be introduced to the King. The newly minted knight’s vision was still blurred from his emotion, and as he wiped the tears away he saw a woman with a red toque and high cheekbones walk quickly by, an unusual look upon her face. She wore a green gown.
Was that a look of fear? he wondered. Was she afraid of me?
Then Theodore’s world went cold.
Gods! I know her. She is the woman who insulted me on the square, who saw me last night when we found the body hanging from the roof. What is she doing here?
He stood, his heart racing.
King Roald. He might be in danger.
Theodore stumbled forward, pushing William out of his path. His action drew the attention of the guards and public alike.
“What are you doing?” William asked, the shove placing an expression of betrayal on his face. But Theodore ignored him and called out.
“Wait! My King, wait!”
The court went silent. No one moved.
“Speak, Sir Theodore,” King Roald ordered, an edge of anger in his voice.
At his side, Theodore saw how Kara’s hand tightened on her sword hilt.
“It is this woman, Sire.” He approached the woman in the green dress, and pointed. “You.” As he drew near he saw that she was panting heavily, as if panic was not far away.
“Ellamaria?” Father Lawrence queried. “What of her?”
“Why does she go alone around the city? For I have seen her there the last two evenings, under suspicious circumstances.”
His words caused a murmur to spread through the crowd. Two of Captain Rovin’s men appeared before the King, and two more, Theodore noted, appeared behind him.
“Is that a crime?” Ellamaria demanded, but her voice betrayed fear, and her lip was shaking. “No, the crime is that people are vanishing and being murdered. But is it a crime to ask why? Is it a crime to confront a conspiracy of silence, orchestrated by the very highest in the realm?” Her voice grew louder, and she wiped away tears. Suddenly she turned on Lord Despaard and pointed at him with a look of hatred. “You! You are the one! You are the one who takes people and paints the mark of the plague over their doors. I have seen you do it!”
“This woman is drunk, or mad,” Despaard shouted angrily. “Remove her!”
No one moved.
Someone in the crowd shouted in anger.
“She’s right,” they said. “It happened just last night!”
“And last week,” another cried. “An entire family, gone!”
In an instant the cries that had celebrated Theodore’s knighthood had turned to anger and fear. An apple disappeared into the royal box behind the King’s head, hurled from the bailey and striking the makeshift wooden structure with a loud thump.
Emboldened, Ellamaria shouted over the din, and those nearby stopped to listen.
“They are held at Draul Leptoc’s estate,” she said. “I have been there. I have seen it!”
“Saradomin forgive me,” Father Lawrence muttered, his head in his hands.
The crowd booed and yelled as other things were thrown. A tomato struck Theodore on his chest, leaving a red stain upon his white tunic, and a rock narrowly missed his head.
“The woman is right!” someone in the crowd yelled. “There is a plague upon this city!”
“The curse of Morytania is upon us. Our sins have doomed us all.”
“The true king is coming.”
Captain Rovin leaned down toward the King and spoke into his ear.
“Never!” the King replied angrily. “I will not order my archers to shoot on my own people.”
“Then confront them, my King” Kara said calmly. “Confront them and promise to hear their concerns. You must buy time.”
King Roald pursed his lips as he stood. He advanced to the wall’s edge and held his hand up. An apple core struck his golden crown.
But still he remained until no more missiles were thrown. Finally the crowd fell silent, and all eyes were upon him.
“I will hold a council,” he announced. “A parliament, as is the right of the covenant between the lords of Varrock and her peoples. Tomorrow morning we shall debate and decide what to do. Until then, this Midsummer Festival is ended.”
The crowd remained silent as the King spun and stalked along the northern wall back to the palace, many of the courtiers following in his wake.
They have tasted the barest power of the mob, Theodore realised. And they are afraid.
Lord Despaard remained behind, and he turned toward the source of the confrontation.
“Arrest her,” he instructed the guards nearest Ellamaria.
“On what charge?” she countered, but much of her confidence had fled.
“Treason,” he gritted. “Disrupting the public peace. Witchcraft. Any charge will do.” Two of the guards stepped up beside her and grasped her arms roughly. A little too roughly, Theodore thought.
As she was led away she cast a look back at him.
“I go to my prison knowing I have done right,” she said. “I will sleep well this night, Sir Theodore. But I wonder if you will do the same?”
And suddenly, his knighthood tasted slightly bitter.
8
“We haven’t time to send for Thessalia, with the dance only hours away, so we shall go to her. It really is most unladylike, but there is no time for an alternative.”
Surrounded by an escort of mounted guardsmen, Lady Anne led Kara through the palace at a swift walk to where a carriage was waiting.
“I have sent a messenger to tell her we are coming.” Suddenly, as she lifted her foot onto the step, she turned and looked at Kara with a frown. “Do you really need to bring your sword?”
Perhaps you are afraid? Kara wondered. That suits me well enough.
“I haven’t even had time to change from my travelling clothes, Lady Anne. Nor have I had time to bathe or rest since my arrival in Varrock this morning. I haven’t even had a chance to speak to my friends since you whisked me away from the festival.”
“There will be time for that later,” Anne said. Kara thought she detected a note of anger in her voice. “And I am doing you a favour Kara-Meir. If you want to attend the dance tonight looking like a… a woodcutter’s daughter, then that will be to your disadvantage.”
Woodcutter’s daughter? An interesting phrase.
Kara stepped up and sat opposite her on the plush cushions. She saw how Anne’s face ran coldly over her mud-stained leggings.
I wonder if I have left a mark?
I do hope so.
A second young woman climbed inside and sat at a respectful distance. She still wore the same happy smile that she had when Anne had commanded her to come with them. Kara noted a prominent gap between the dark-haired girl’s front teeth, which made her smile far more pleasing.
“What do you think Thessalia will be able to do with her, Lady Caroline?” Anne asked their companion.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Caroline replied, then she turned to Kara. “You have fine skin, Lady Kara. It is too tanned to be of fashionable tastes, but everyone knows you have been travelling in The Wilderness-”
“She is no lady!” Anne scolded sharply. Caroline bowed her head, and Anne turned to their companion, a practiced look of contrition on her face. “I mean no offence Kara, but here in Varrock tradition is what keeps our city in order. Everyone knows their place. You do understand?”
Yes I do. I most certainly do you spiteful-
The carriage shuddered violently as it jerked into motion, interrupting her thoughts.
Something in Kara’s eyes must have told Anne to calm her tongue, and instead she turned to Caroline, who sat nervously, looking out of the window as the carriage drove onto the square and through the crowds.
“Did I tell you that Lord de Adlard wishes to dance with you this evening, Caroline?” Anne asked lightly.
The younger woman-probably no more than seventeen- blushed and smiled involuntarily.
“No, you hadn’t mentioned it.” Suddenly she frowned slightly, and her voice wavered when she spoke. “What do you think people will say?”
“William de Adlard is not the most prestigious name in court, Caroline, that is true. But his is an old name, and although he may be a godless man, with no belief in Saradomin, and a man with no martial ambitions, you must remember that his grandfather was chancellor for a time, and an able one too, I believe.”
Kara saw Caroline’s dark eyes dip doubtfully.
“But is he not a little… dull?”
“That is to be commended, my dear sweet lamb,” Anne laughed.
Kara grimaced, hiding her eyes under her hand.
I am tired. I killed fourteen men today, and yet only now is it that I feel… unclean. It wasn’t like this before. Not in battle.
“How is that commendable?” Caroline asked.
“It means he’s a safe man. It means he would make an excellent husband.”
Kara dropped her hand in time to see Anne’s blue eyes widen in emphasis.
“Oh. Oh!” Caroline covered her mouth with embarrassment. “Oh…”
No one spoke again and the carriage continued its slow journey. Eventually it came to a stop at a two-storey grey-stone building at the south of the square. Green-tinted stained-glass windows gave the building an expensive look. Outside, guarding the door, stood a wide-shouldered man with a heavy wooden cudgel. On the lookout for thieves, Kara guessed.
Perhaps he will mistake me for Pia? That could be interesting.
“Come along, Kara. And stop grinning like that.” Anne looked at her with visible distress. “It’s… unnerving. The carriage and escort will wait for us.”
“It would have been quicker to walk,” Kara commented.
Caroline tittered behind her. Anne just stared for a moment, then spoke.
“That would not do,” she said icily. “You have much to learn if you wish to be a lady in court, Kara-Meir, very much.”
The door to Thessalia’s Fine Clothes led into a small passageway where a second door, stouter than the first, stood ajar. Inside stood a thin old woman with greying hair, and behind her waited a second woman-younger, with obvious similarities. Her hair was straight and blonde, her body thin and tall, her straight back and demeanour the sign of rigorous training.
Mother and daughter, Kara realised.
“Ah, the kind Thessalias,” Anne remarked as she led the way into the room. Kara stepped after her, her hand resting naturally upon her sword hilt. The chamber was large and square, with a multitude of dressed mannequins off to one side, and drawers filled with fabrics stacked all the way to the ceiling on the other.
“I hope you will be pleased with your gown for tonight, my lady,” the older Thessalia said, bowing quickly to Anne. Behind her, the daughter offered a curtsey which Anne acknowledged with a smile.
“I know it will be perfect, Madame Thessalia,” she said to the older woman. “Now, I need you both to turn your talents to this young woman. The King requires that she be well-presented at tonight’s dance.”
Madame Thessalia examined Kara with her piercing grey eyes, making her feel uneasy. She hummed to herself as she did so, taking her time. Every so often she would glance to one of the mannequins, and then back again. Sometimes she would shake her head and make a disappointed clucking sound with her tongue. Once she even wrinkled her face up, as if she had witnessed a dreadful accident.
“No, that won’t do,” she mused to herself. Kara caught sight of Anne’s face in one of the many full-length mirrors. She couldn’t be certain, but she believed the noblewoman was smirking. Then the older woman spoke.
“With such a short notice it will be a rather rushed job I am afraid, my lady,” Madame Thessalia warned. “Many of my best gowns have been sold already for tonight, of course.”
“Perhaps she should bathe first, mother?” the younger Thessalia said innocently. “I can ask Rupert to prepare the tub upstairs.”
Anything to get me away from those eyes, Kara thought. “I think that is an excellent idea,” she said aloud. “I haven’t had a chance to bathe, and I would like to do so. Now.”
The mother nodded and the daughter led Kara upstairs. The rest of the group followed.
Surely they are not going to watch me bathe, as well?
“I am sorry to have to inform you of some bad news, Lady Anne,” Kara heard Madame Thessalia say behind her.
Hopefully you’ll have left a pin in her gown.
Kara found herself smiling again. She turned to deliver the most unnerving grin she could summon. Her efforts were rewarded as Anne looked quickly away.
“Yes,” the dressmaker continued, “I am afraid that one of my suppliers-a tailor-passed away very suddenly.” She hummed uncomfortably. “It seems as if he and his family fell to the plague. I believe his wife has been isolated. It means that the mink gloves you ordered won’t be ready on time.”
Kara didn’t hear Anne’s response as she turned the corner in the stairs and emerged into the bathing room. Green light, filtered through the stained-glass windows, gave the room a natural ambience. Comfortable chairs were arrayed in the manner of a private lounge, and an unfamiliar yet attractive fragrance caused her to breathe in deeply. Upon each side of her, the room was broken up by two wooden screens. Behind the one to her left she heard the splash of water being emptied from a bucket into a bath.
“Rupert?” the younger Thessalia called. A young man appeared from behind the bathing screen. “The lady will take her bath now. Go and fuel the stove.”
Rupert bowed nervously and disappeared down the stairs as the daughter took Kara’s satchel from her shoulder and placed it carefully on a three-legged stool beneath the window.
“Remove your clothing and take your bath,” she instructed. “Go behind the screen if you wish to be modest.”
Anne settled upon the nearest chair, inspecting the cushion before she did so. She shot Kara a look of impatience. To her right sat Caroline, who occupied herself by looking over an open drawer of dyed fabrics.
Am I boring you ladies?
Caroline looked up, and she gasped.
“Oh!”
For Kara was swiftly undressing. She had thrown her cloak down onto the stool, quite deliberately draping it over her satchel. Her shirt followed, and then she reached for her leggings.
“Oh,” Lady Caroline said again, covering her mouth. “Oh, gosh…”
Anne’s eyes met Kara’s coldly as she dropped her leggings onto her shirt. There was nothing left for her to remove. She held only her sword, still in its scabbard.
“Modesty is only a fool’s pride, Lady Anne,” she said lightly. “It is the first casualty when you hunt murderers in The Wilderness for weeks on end,” she added with relish. “I have bathed in lakes and rivers under the sun and stars while my friends kept an eye out for enemies. Now I will take my bath, and I will take my sword with me, for I don’t like leaving it out of reach. It’s a habit of mine.”
The tub was enormous, and Kara sank into the hot water gratefully. She rested her hands on the copper rim. Steam rose from the surface and condensation dripped from a fogged mirror that hung on the wall to her immediate right, above a slate shelf. Next to the tub sat a small stool. She could feel the heat rising from below, for Rupert, downstairs, would be piling wood into a stove that would keep the water warm.
I just hope he knows how much wood to put in, or else I will boil. Despite that, the water felt wonderful on her skin.
The older Thessalia was saying something beyond the screen, but Kara didn’t catch it. Her daughter made a remark, and then Anne replied with a sharp tone. As ever, Caroline giggled. Kara could imagine the dark-eyed pretty girl with her hand over her mouth again.
The conversation ended as one or both of the Thessalias opened drawers and lifted cloth from cupboards. Basking now in the warmth, Kara was content to let them get on with it. Her muscles needed a soak, and she had looked forward to a bath for some days now.
She peered at the slate shelf below the mirror. A dozen bottles with granules of varying colours were lined up, ready for use. Kara didn’t know whether to eat them or pour them into the water. She picked up one with a red colour and a cherry scent, and suddenly she had a vision of running out into the room after smearing it around her mouth and face, grinning insanely and holding her sword aloft, waving it at Anne.
How she would scream.
Suddenly and quite uncontrollably, she laughed. Then she ducked her head below the water to silence herself. But when she resurfaced she found Caroline standing over her.
“Is everything well?”
Kara pushed her wet hair back from her face.
“Quite well, thank you,” she said. “Although… could you tell me which of these you would… recommend?” Kara pointed to the shelf lined with the confusing lotions. Caroline smiled knowingly.
“Any and all,” she advised, smiling meekly. She pointed to the bottle Kara still clutched in her hand. “I like that one, the cherry scent.” She lowered her voice and leaned forward. “Although Lady Anne thinks it’s too strong. She thinks a lady should be subtle in her fashions.”
“Well, then,” Kara replied with sudden glee, her voice also low, “something about Lady Anne reminds me of the wrong end of a horse. I agree with you. Cherry it is.”
Caroline gaped in shock at Kara.
Then she covered her mouth-with both hands this time, as if just one wasn’t enough to still the laughter that threatened to overwhelm her. After a moment, she regained control.
“You… you mustn’t talk like that,” she gasped.
Kara didn’t reply. Instead, she poured the red lotion into the water and mixed the bath with her hand. A strong scent was carried upwards in the steam. Kara gave a sigh of contentment.
“That is a good choice, Lady Caroline,” she said, resting her head on a soft cushion-like sponge that had been provided for her comfort.
“Can I stay for a moment?” Caroline asked.
It would be useful to have a friend tonight. I have a feeling that Anne might try some mischief at the dance.
“Yes, I would be glad of the company,” Kara said genuinely. “Tell me of events that have been taking place here in Varrock. I have been in The Wilderness and away from civilization for so long that there is much I don’t know.”
“Where should I start?” Caroline said as she pulled up the stool.
“About these murders and disappearances,” Kara suggested. “That sounds interesting.” She sniffed at several new lotions as Caroline told her about the prophecy of the High Priest of Entrana, given a century earlier, and of the rumours that were spreading through the streets of the city. She told Kara about the secret society whose symbol was an owl, and how more and more of the symbols were appearing in the oddest places. Much of her information was gossip, Kara deduced, though she knew Caroline’s account of Ellamaria’s accusation was accurate, since she had been there to witness it herself.
Still, if there have been as many deaths as she indicates, it is a wonder the city isn’t tearing itself apart. And Morytania is believed responsible. We must be careful, my friends and I.
Gar’rth most of all.
She was brought from her reverie by a question.
“Did you really kill all those men?” Caroline asked, her voice almost a whisper. “All fourteen of them, on your own?”
“I did,” Kara replied. “It was dark in the barn, though. They couldn’t see.”
Caroline hesitated. Kara saw her confusion, and continued.
“I grew up with the dwarfs under Ice Mountain, after my family were butchered by Sulla and his Kinshra,” she explained. “You learn to see in the dark there. Your eyes grow used to it.”
Although since leaving the mines I find it harder to see so well. Perhaps I am losing that gift, after spending so much time on the surface.
“I wish I could do that,” Caroline said. “But why did you never kill Sulla? In all the songs you bested him in single combat after destroying his army, after you killed a hundred men in battle. Are the tales true?”
You are filled with questions, Lady Caroline, Kara realised. I would be foolish to think you simple. She laughed to hide her suspicion, yet it was not entirely forced, for Caroline was open to the point of naivety and Kara found it delightfully easy to talk to her.
“I am not sure I ever killed a hundred men,” she replied. “Doric said later that he counted thirty or so of my enemies, but I don’t remember.” She looked Caroline in the eyes. “And I am glad I don’t.”
Though that is a lie. I do remember those who begged for mercy before I killed them. I offered them the same mercy they offered their victims-like my family.
None at all.
“Is everything well in there?” Madame Thessalia called with a voice that was more impatient than concerned. Kara replied that it was, then turned back to Caroline.
“As for Sulla, I had spent my whole life-over ten years- dreaming of the day I would kill him. I tried to do so, and my anger very nearly killed me.” She saw the eagerness in the girl’s eyes, and continued. “Fortunately, my father’s Ring of Life whisked me to Falador, where I was found by Theodore and the knights and nursed back to health. Finally, after learning things I had never suspected about my father, I found a sense of home. When the war came, and I had Sulla at my mercy, I spared him to honour a promise to a very brave man-the kindest one I have ever known.”
“The knight Bhuler?” Caroline squeaked.
“Yes,” Kara said in surprise. “You have listened to the songs and tales, haven’t you?”
The girl nodded enthusiastically.
“After the war I went north to a monastery which had been burned by Sulla’s forces. It was near to my village, and I had a memory of being taken there to be blessed by Saradomin when I was very young.” Kara splashed water in her face to hide her tears. “I don’t remember the time before Sulla. Or very little of it. I cannot remember my parents’ faces, nor do I know my mother’s name.”
Suddenly she grew angry, and grabbed the sponge from behind her head.
“I don’t even know my name!” she gritted. “Sulla prevented me from learning it by burning the monastery’s records when he held me prisoner. Unless the great library on Entrana ever received a copy of the monastery’s books then I will never know.” She twisted the sponge in frustration.
Then she noticed how Caroline shied away from her anger.
“I am sorry, Caroline,” she said. “I have lost so much that in all honesty, I envy the milkmaid her life or the seamstress hers. Death and war are not subjects for great songs or tales. Everyone expects so much of me now. I just don’t know what to expect for myself.”
A moment of silence fell between them. Kara stirred the water idly below her chin.
“I am sorry, Kara,” Caroline said. “I didn’t know you had lost so much, though I know what it is like to live a life governed by the expectations of others. My parents are looking to marry me off to some young man of an appropriate family, to the scions of great households, a match made for economy rather than love.” She looked at the floor. “At least for you there is an escape. I am trapped here.”
“But what of this Lord William?”
Caroline dared to smile briefly before a sharp voice called out from behind the screen.
“Lady Caroline! Come here please.” It was Anne calling.
“Do you see what I mean?” Caroline said as she stood and wiped her hand over her dark eyes.
Was that a tear?
Kara said nothing as she was left alone again.
Kara left the bath with some reluctance as a small clock chimed. She dried herself with a woollen towel and made her way slowly around the screen, silently delighting in Anne’s commands for her to hurry.
“Try this on,” the noblewoman instructed. “We all think it is best for you.”
Kara saw the gown on offer. The dress reminded her of a plum, its bulbous bottom ballooning out about her feet, far wider below the waist than above.
I won’t know how to walk in such a thing!
“Come along,” Anne said impatiently. “There is no time left for delay.”
Kara cast her eye to the stool to where her old clothes had been folded neatly.
Did they search my satchel? I have no way of knowing if she saw Theodore’s letter.
Anne followed her gaze and then looked back at her face.
She is unreadable. She considered for a moment. Time to bait the trap.
“Have you seen much of my friend Theodore, Lady Anne?” she asked. “Lady Caroline and I were just talking about him. You and he seem to have grown very close.” Caroline let out a little gasp, but said nothing.
Kara allowed herself to be helped into the gown as she spoke. Madame Thessalia tightened the garment at her back and Kara lost her breath.
Anne remained silent for a full minute as she watched Kara being dressed. Finally she spoke.
“He is a very fine knight, Kara,” she said coldly. “Today he bested Varrock’s most accomplished warrior, Lord Hyett, the Black Boar. It has saved me from any more of the man’s advances, and Theodore knows how grateful I am.”
Kara struggled to answer as both Thessalias fussed about her, forcing her to stand straight to better shape the gown. It was very low-cut in the front, she thought.
“Are you sure this is acceptable?” Kara asked Caroline, who nodded shyly before looking to Anne, perhaps to seek her permission. “It has a yellow ribbon on. Isn’t that the King’s colour?”
“Not exclusively so,” Anne said.
“And you don’t think it too… revealing?” Kara asked.
“It is the only dress left that suits your figure,” Madame Thessalia replied. After a moment she and her daughter finished their efforts, and stood back to assess the results.
“Well, that fits at least,” Anne said as she approached the older Thessalia. “Take it off, Kara, and we will return to the palace to prepare together.” She took her purse and dropped five coins into the old woman’s hand.
“My lady?” Madame Thessalia asked.
Anne looked at Kara, her eyes narrowing.
“That is a bonus,” she said. “I am very happy with my dress for this evening, and if things go as well as I expect, then I will pay you some more.”
I have missed something here.
Madame Thessalia bowed her head in respect.
“You are our very best and most generous patron, my lady.”
“But as I was saying Kara-Meir-” Anne spoke with a sudden relish, and Kara prepared herself. “-Theodore may be a knight, but he is also a man. A very good man in fact. Very good. And ever so eager to please.”
Kara went cold inside as Anne gazed at her in triumph. She forgot the dress in an instant.
Oh, Theodore.
The atmosphere in the carriage was tense as they journeyed back to the palace. Occasionally Kara would see Anne look at her with a superior smile. Caroline, for her part, stared always out of the window. When they arrived, Anne gestured to a man who was waiting for them.
“This servant will guide you to your room, Kara-Meir,” she said. “A chamber has been put aside for you in the palace’s guest wing, and your packs from your horses have already been sent up. You will be expected back down here in the Great Hall for nine. It would be most embarrassing if you were late, for you are a guest of honour.”
Kara followed the servant up the great staircase, while another came behind, carrying the dress that Anne had picked out for her.
I wouldn’t be surprised if she has found me room in the stables.
Her thoughts were so turbulent that when the servant stopped outside of a closed door, she nearly walked straight into his back.
“These are the very best guest quarters, my lady.” The man swung the door inward. A cosy anteroom led off through an arch to a larger space. “Three rooms-a bedroom, living room, and a dressing room.” He hesitated suddenly. “I was asked to find a servant for you. I know your friends have been appointed valets to help them, but apparently you have your own? Lord William de Adlard told me so. In fact, he asked me to tell you that he will be coming to see you shortly.”
“Who is Lord William?” Kara said, thinking quickly of the many faces she had seen in the royal box. She couldn’t recall being introduced to him, yet she knew his name from Anne’s scathing assessment in the carriage.
“He is a friend of Squire-” The servant coughed. “Forgive me, my lady. Of Sir Theodore’s.”
“Is he an honest man?”
“I really shouldn’t comment, my lady. But I do believe so.”
The second servant left her dress in the cupboard as the first man bowed.
“If you need anything else, my lady, the bell rope will call us.”
Once they had left, Kara lay down on her bed, dropping the satchel beside her.
Don’t let yourself get lazy, she told herself. Weapons first. Always they come first. With a sigh she got up and dug through her saddlebag to find a whetstone. Then she took her satchel off the bed and examined the daggers she had taken from the barn.
Could they really have cut Jerrod?
But her questions died when she saw Theodore’s letter, the paper’s edge protruding from inside the leather satchel.
She read it again. There could be no mistaking what the knight had said.
And yet it appears he has made his choice, she thought. What does he really want or expect now?
Someone banged a fist on the door to her quarters.
Kara hid Theodore’s letter back in her satchel before answering.
“Kara-Meir,” said a hard man with an angry face. “I have some property that belongs to you, by order of the King. Two items. Each of poor quality.”
The man stepped aside to reveal Pia and Jack. The boy gazed at her hopefully. Pia looked sullenly to the floor.
“I have also added up your bounty,” the man declared. “It will pay adequately for the money these two took off the people yesterday. That was, after all, your offer to the King?”
Kara nodded.
“That is correct. See to it that it gets to the right people… Captain?” She paused.
“Captain Rovin, Kara-Meir,” the angry man said, seeing her expression. Then he bowed stiffly. “These people are your servants now. It would not do for them to be caught stealing again.” He turned and exited. “Good evening.”
Kara ushered the two inside.
“So neither of you can read?” she asked. They both nodded their heads. “Can you cook? Can you sew?”
Jack nodded and smiled.
“I can sew. Look.”
He tore a false front from his shirt. It was stitched on only one side, like a door with a hinge. Behind it, upon his body, was a board of some sort with thick padding behind that ran from his chest to his belly.
“What is that for?” Kara asked.
“Show him, Pia. Come on!”
“I don’t have my knife any more, Jack,” Pia sighed. “Straven took it.”
“I still have the duplicate,” Jack replied.
The girl stood angrily as the boy handed her a thin blade with a weighted hilt.
She hates me, Kara guessed. She hates me for saving her and putting her in my debt.
Pia walked to the far end of the centre room, leaving Jack still in the antechamber, his cork board displayed. She spun and with a grunt drew her arm back and hurled the knife. It spun, end over end, and landed straight in the cork. At the same instant, Jack folded his false front across, hiding it beneath.
The boy was smiling.
“I’m not sure I understand,” Kara said tentatively.
Pia tutted angrily.
“I pretended to be you. Therefore I needed to demonstrate my skill with a weapon. We rehearsed this often. Jack would play as an urchin, and with a duplicate knife he would stab an apple a few minutes before we performed. I would then throw my knife into his board and he would hide it, holding the apple up. In a crowded room, with him at the front, it worked perfectly.”
Kara laughed.
“That’s very resourceful. Perhaps we can learn from each other-”
Her words ended as another fist banged on the door. She moved to open it.
It was a young man with dark hair and a trimmed beard and moustache, expensively attired in a black cloak trimmed with otter fur and pinned at his shoulder with a silver brooch. He wore black gloves and underneath the cloak he wore a black velvet shirt. Unlike many nobles she had seen, he had no sword strapped to his side. The brooch, she noted, was in the shape of a leaping fox.
Behind him stood a much older man in blue and red finery.
Elegant. Elegant and harmless.
The first man bowed.
“My lady Kara-Meir,” he said. “My name is Lord William de Adlard. I am a friend of Theodore’s-or Sir Theodore, as it is now, of course. Ah!” His eyes fell on Pia and Jack. “I see Captain Rovin arrived ahead of me. He does so enjoy spoiling everyones’ fun.” She gestured and he stepped into the room. “I have been tasked with looking after you and your… friends, and to see that you have everything you need to make yourselves comfortable.” He looked warily at Pia and Jack, then turned to her and continued.
“But there is another matter I need to speak of.” He motioned to his companion. “Come, ambassador.”
The second man entered, wheezing. He was old and overweight.
“Let me introduce Sir Cecil. He is the ambassador to West Ardougne.”
Behind her, Kara heard Pia gasp. The fat man’s eyes fell on her immediately, and he spoke sternly.
“There is no easy way of saying this, Kara-Meir, but these two are wanted in my city. I recognised Pia’s accent when she cried out at the festival this afternoon, and knew that only very few people would undertake such a long journey unless they had to. And I am afraid your journey was one of necessity, was it not, Pia? For you will hang if you ever return to Kandarin. Hang for murder.”
Pia gasped and fell to her knees.
Jack ran to her and placed his arms around her.
“It’s not true! It’s not!” he shouted bitterly. “Pia didn’t kill anybody!”
“I have a description of both of you and a warrant for your arrest. You must be sent back to Ardougne to face trial. Justice must be done.”
“Justice? King Lathas’s justice?” Pia wept. “There is no justice there.”
“Speak ill of your King again and I will have you flogged!”
“Not here you won’t,” Kara said suddenly. “How dare you come here and make demands? These people are my property now, given to me by the King of this land-not yours.”
“But they were never his to give, Kara-Meir. They are King Lathas’s serfs. And one of them is a murderess, the other an accomplice.” The ambassador turned. “I didn’t believe you had so little respect for justice, Kara-Meir. But mark my words, we will talk of this again. And soon.”
Lord William pursed his lips as the ambassador turned on his heel and vanished down the hallway.
“This has been badly handled,” he admitted. “Sir Cecil can be prickly but I fear he may also be right. I do not think you can protect them, Lady Kara.”
“I am no lady, Lord William. Kindly stop referring to me as such. My name is Kara.”
She ran her hand over her face and growled in anger. Pia had told her at the barn that she had never killed anybody before.
And I believe her. The look on her face when she saw the dead bodies. Thief, yes-murderess, I doubt.
“Jack, you and Pia can sleep in my room tonight, on the floor,” she said as gently as she could. “Go now, and try and find rest. But remember, both of you-I will help you if I can.”
Lord William shook his head doubtfully and made to leave.
“Wait a moment, Lord William,” she said. “I would like a private word with you.” She closed the door behind the noble and waited until Pia and Jack had disappeared into the bedroom. “Can you tell me, honestly, what Theodore’s relationship is with Lady Anne?”
The young man stretched his face into an apologetic smile, and then back, perhaps believing it wasn’t at all appropriate.
“She wants him, Kara-Meir,” he admitted. “That’s the truth of it I fear, and what she wants, she usually gets.”
“Wants him? Or has already had him?”
Lord William blushed.
“I couldn’t be sure, Kara. They had a meeting in the galleries, a traditional place where people wish to meet unseen. But that was only this morning. And I don’t think… no… I really don’t think that’s what happened.”
The young nobleman backed toward the door, his face a deepening red.
“I should go now. Things to do.”
Kara watched him retreat, and a slight smile played upon her face.
So, they met only today, she mused. Perhaps Lady Anne feels her hold is weak, being so recent. She was relieved, and yet she wondered if she had any right to feel so. She hadn’t seen Theodore for months, and he was a famous knight at a court of ambitious young women. Had she any right to be jealous?
Especially since I never wrote to him. Perhaps I have lost him.
Kara sighed, and then cursed. She had forgotten to ask Lord William to send a maid to help her dress. Panic gripped her suddenly. She ran to the door and drew it back, to see if he was still near.
But instead it was a woman who approached. A maid of declining years.
“Lady Kara?” the maid asked stiffly.
Kara nodded.
“Lady Kara, my name is Lucretia. I bring compliments from my mistress, Lady Caroline. She has asked me to assist you in preparation for the dance. She has also asked me to tell you that you should arrive a few moments before the time you were advised.” The woman blinked once. “No doubt Lady Anne is playing one of her funny tricks again. She’s a lady only in name, that one. It is unfortunate my mistress associates so closely with her. Now, come along, for we haven’t much time.”
Kara flashed her most brilliant smile.
Lady Caroline. I am in your debt.
9
The Great Hall was a long rectangular room with a very high ceiling. At its southern end was a raised stage where King Roald and his most favoured subjects sat and ate, while below everyone else stood.
On the western side of the hall were great arched windows, stained with the yellow colouring of King Roald’s pennant, admitting the evening sunlight in a bright dazzle. In alcoves on all sides torches chased away shadows, while on tabletops and in chandeliers candles added to the celebration of light. On the eastern edge of the room, two large fire pits cooked pigs and boars on spits, and barrels of ale and wine were supported on a wooden scaffold. Above them, on a balcony, an orchestra played a lively tune that seemed contrary to the serious faces of the King’s closest advisors, who were already discussing the monarch’s promised parliament.
From his position on the stage, seated between Castimir and Ebenezer, Gar’rth watched the sea of well-dressed nobility below. No women were yet present, for their entrance was kept back for the ninth hour, only minutes away now.
“I am nervous for Kara,” Castimir said, looking warily in the direction of an older man who sat at their table some distance away, a green-tinted monocle clutched in his right eye. He was dressed in robes similar to his own, but of grey, not blue.
He is nervous, Gar’rth mused. That man is of the Tower as well, and very senior. And Castimir has not been honest with his masters.
He peered around the room irritably. There were too many people here, too many smells filling his senses, and far too much noise for him to think clearly.
He felt Ebenezer’s hand rest on his arm.
“Are you well Gar’rth?” the alchemist asked quietly. “I see you are drinking beer.”
“Yes.” He detected the old man’s concern easily, so Ebenezer probably meant it to be obvious. “So is Theodore… and Doric, and Castimir. And so are you,” he challenged, his tone harsher than he had meant it to be.
Ebenezer frowned and looked away, and Gar’rth felt a stab of guilt in his stomach. Castimir lowered his drink and gazed at him in concern. Doric, sitting across from them on a raised chair, did likewise. Theodore, sitting near the King himself, was too far away to notice.
Are they so afraid of me that I cannot even celebrate with them? My friends?
“I am sorry, Ebenezer,” he said. “I will only have one. I have been… better recently.”
“Good-it’s not a good idea to drink too much,” the old man cautioned. “Not here. Not when you are so unfamiliar with your surroundings.”
Gar’rth nodded and stood.
“I need air. The smells, the noise here.” He shook his head. “Too much.”
“I’ll come with you, I think,” Castimir said, glancing quickly at the old man in the grey robes who returned the stare with a raised eyebrow.
They descended the steps from the stage and found themselves in among the press of people. Gar’rth felt hands and elbows brush against him as he forced his way to the door which led out onto a terrace overlooking the western bailey.
I hate it here. These people are all so false.
A man barred his way and for a moment Gar’rth was surrounded, pressed in from all sides. Different odours assailed him-the grim decay of a man’s breath illustrated by rotting teeth, the sweat-coated body of another, and the artificial sickly sweetness of fragrance. He heard Castimir call to him from somewhere behind, but the wizard’s words were lost as the orchestra played faster and louder than before.
Then a woman shouted in sudden fear.
And above it all, he could smell blood. Fresh blood.
He couldn’t concentrate. A man pushed him in the back and as he gasped he was free of the crowd. A shape moved next to him, black and red, the scent of blood overpowering.
The woman screamed again.
Suddenly he was face to face with a wolf’s head on a man’s body. An obscene sight made worse by a man’s cackle from behind the wolf’s dead eye sockets.
“Gar’rth! Come on!” Castimir was at his side. The wizard took his hand as the jester with the wolf’s head leapt into the air and cackled again and for the first time Gar’rth saw the sick pantomime in full. A young maiden, dressed in white, ran through the crowds and onto the stage, shrieking with exaggerated gestures, while the wolf pursued her in a game of chase.
“What’s that about?” Castimir asked as the woman shrieked again, barely evading the jester’s groping hand to the laughter of the onlookers. They were near the western door now, and from the terrace beyond, their question was answered.
“It is a tradition,” said a pale-faced man with a hooked nose. “A wolf is killed on this day every year and its head is paraded around upon the jester’s shoulders as he pursues a maiden, pretending to be a werewolf. The maiden escapes, of course. A pity real life is different, for Morytania does not lose those victims it hounds.”
The speaker peered at them through narrow, cold eyes.
“Ah, Lord Ruthven isn’t it?” Castimir said as he bowed.
The man nodded. Gar’rth felt those eyes rest on him.
“You both know something of Morytania,” he said. “And of werewolves also, I believe?”
Gar’rth froze. He caught Castimir’s panicked eye.
“I know that Jerrod is in Varrock, with Sulla,” Lord Ruthven continued. “Kara-Meir told the King this afternoon. You have fought the werewolf before, have you not?”
“We have,” Castimir said. “He was at the monastery, east of Ice Mountain-and before that in Falador, where Kara wounded him.”
“Did your magic not work against him?”
Castimir nodded grimly.
“It did, but the werewolf took my runes. Without them I am powerless.”
“Ah, the runes!” Lord Ruthven lowered his voice. “There are too few of them now. Too few wizards, as well.”
Gar’rth saw a flicker of surprise pass over Castimir’s face, then the wizard and the nobleman exchanged a knowing look before Ruthven continued.
“Nonetheless, with or without magic, Jerrod must be hunted and slain. Werewolves and creatures from Morytania are given no quarter in Misthalin.”
Castimir glanced at Gar’rth, who remained silent, determined not to react.
I have known that for a long time. It is the same in Asgarnia as well.
An enticing breeze flowed in from outside, and Gar’rth breathed in deeply to clear the pollution of the hall from his senses. The bailey was populated with yew trees and grasses, an oasis of nature in the city of men. It was a relief.
He breathed in again, and this time he sensed the newcomer before he saw him. Clean robes and soap differentiated Lord William’s scent from most others.
“The ladies are about to enter,” the young man said. “Come. It would not do to miss them.”
Gar’rth followed Castimir back to the stage as the double doors to the north were opened. All eyes fell on Kara-Meir as she entered the Great Hall. She walked at the front of the column of women, her dress ballooning outward from below her waist, a yellow cloak hanging from a golden chain about her throat. Her waist-length hair had been ornately styled in curled plaits, with a yellow ribbon tied at its apex.
Behind her, Gar’rth saw Lady Anne, whose jaw was firmly set.
“I would have thought it would have been Lady Anne leading the girls,” Lord William mumbled to Castimir, who gave a smile. “It is so unlike her to follow in second place.”
A red rose leaf caught in Kara’s hair, thrown by one of the many young children of noble birth who were too young to participate in the dances. They lined the way to the stage, carrying small buckets and raining red and white leaves upon the women.
“Why do they do that, with the rose petals?” Castimir asked.
“It’s a symbol of summer, and with it, fertility, I imagine,” Lord William replied. “Ah! There is Lady Caroline, standing behind Lady Anne and next to your friend Arisha.”
“You should go and throw a rose petal over her,” Castimir advised.
Lord William laughed.
“I will do just that, Castimir,” he said. “Excuse me.” The nobleman gave a last grin as he hastened down the steps.
Their happiness is strange to me, Gar’rth thought as they arrived at their table.
“Arisha looks nice, Castimir.” He heard Doric say. Gar’rth looked to their barbarian friend. Among all the women, Arisha stood out, for she was dressed according to the customs of her people, and not the court of Varrock. Her arms, legs and midriff were exposed, for she wore a leather brassiere and short brown skirt. Her wrists and neck displayed elegant jewellery, and as ever she wore her silver tiara in her now-straightened black hair.
“But have you seen what Kara-Meir is wearing, Lord Despaard?” Gar’rth heard someone say not far away. The speaker was a shrivelled old man in a great black-bearskin fur. “The yellow cloak and ribbon? I am not sure if the King will be amused.”
“It has been over a year since she died, Papelford,” came the response. “It is important for the realm that he moves on. A Queen must be found, an heir needs to be born. If Kara-Meir has acted knowingly, then I applaud her boldness. If not, then it is a fortunate reminder.”
Gar’rth saw now that many people spoke to one another, their eyes all on Kara, some in puzzlement, one or two in open disbelief. And the King himself stared also, his face impassive.
Kara-Meir approached the stage as the orchestra ended their play. In the silence, the King stood.
“Kara-Meir, you will be seated at my side,” he said. “Your dress is an appropriate one for this time of year, and yet it bears a familiarity that is painful to me. You are aware of this, are you not?”
What game is this, Kara?
She climbed the steps, holding her dress carefully. Behind her, Lady Anne followed, her eyes burning wildly, a smile ill-disguised on her lips.
“I am aware of it, my King,” Kara replied. “Lady Anne was kind enough to explain to me how the last young lady who wore yellow was a favourite of yours. But she also explained how such a dress would serve to remind you of happier times, and she insisted that I wear it.”
Kara turned back to Lady Anne and gave a polite curtsey as the other woman looked on in amazement.
“I would not dare to presume-” Lady Anne stammered.
“Lady Anne,” Kara interrupted, “I arrived in Varrock this morning with no sense of style or fashion. Everything I wear today is entirely to your credit.” Her eyes flashed angrily. “And to yours alone.”
Someone laughed suddenly from below, and the tension relaxed. King Roald extended his hand and Kara took her seat at his side. Above, the orchestra commenced with a new tune.
She is angry, Gar’rth observed. Lady Anne hides it well but she is burning now.
The wolf-headed jester appeared at the base of the stairs. He gave a howl and charged up, where he danced around the simmering woman, assaulting with comical gestures as if intent on devouring her.
But Lady Anne remained still.
“It will take more than a wolf to humiliate me, Gleeman,” she said caustically.
“Ah, no doubt!” he responded. “But at least my ugliness is only skin deep.” There were gasps, and the room rippled with laughter as Lady Anne took a half-hearted swipe at him as he ducked nimbly aside. Then, with a suddenly delicious smile, she found her seat near Theodore.
As the music changed, a dance began on the floor in front of the platform. A circle of women stepped to the open area, joined hands, and danced in a round, while Gideon Gleeman disposed of the wolf’s severed head, then tumbled and jumped and leapt in their midsts, encouraging them with his acrobatics. Lord William successfully ambushed Lady Caroline, drenching her in a rain of rose petals while lutes and harps and voices provided a merry accompaniment.
Doric drank and talked with Lowe, the King’s fletcher, Castimir spent his time talking to Arisha, and Ebenezer fell into animated conversation with the merchant Draul Leptoc, explaining his steam engine and the role it had played following the war.
After the circle dances came the private ones. Gar’rth noticed Lady Anne’s look of triumph as she lifted Theodore’s hand in hers and led him to the floor. Kara shared a brief dance with King Roald.
Only I remain alone.
Gar’rth left the table and found his way into the crowd below the stage. At one point a young woman fell against him with a delightful cry, peering up at him, only to turn aside quickly when she saw his face.
Fear, he thought. They fear me. Even my friends. They all fear me. Do these people secretly know that I am different?
Gar’rth moved to the terrace door again, and this time continued outside. The sky was dark now. He took a deep breath at the terrace’s edge. The scent of nature, imprisoned in the walls of the palace, comforted him. He heard a voice behind, and he knew his privacy would not last.
I don’t want to talk now.
Not to anyone. Not even Kara.
He stepped back into the shadows, against the wall. Only a yard away a young man ran out, leading a woman by the hand. Quickly they ran down the terrace steps and disappeared into the darkness of the bailey.
But the night held no secrets from Gar’rth. He watched them find a spot below a yew tree, far enough from the hall to be private in their eyes. He tried to look away, but could not.
Suddenly his anger grew. There could never be anyone like that for him, not here.
He turned to the door as the old man Papelford appeared before him. The man’s scent was of old books. Behind him came Lord Despaard.
“Excuse me,” the old librarian muttered as both men passed him and walked some distance away, talking in low voices. “Not much farther Lord Despaard. I am not so young any more.”
“I just want to be sure we cannot be heard, Papelford.”
Gar’rth turned back to the balustrade, deliberately moving away from the two men who now stood at the farthest end of the terrace, out of the reach of the torchlight.
“Don’t be so paranoid Lord Despaard,” the old man whispered, though his voice was still clear to Gar’rth. “He can’t hear us. Not from that distance. No one could.”
Gar’rth smiled.
“This heroine, Kara-Meir,” Papelford said cautiously. “Do you think she knew to wear that dress? She risked the King’s wrath to do so.”
“I sense the hand of Lady Anne involved here, Papelford. Perhaps she sought to embarrass Kara-Meir, but it appears the King was more tolerant than she believed.” He glanced in Gar’rth’s direction. “But tell me, what did you really want to speak about out here?”
“It is my apprentice.”
“Reldo?” There was genuine surprise in the nobleman’s voice. “He is perfectly suited for this work, surely. His memory is incredible, he can recall anything he’s ever read. He is from a good and trusted family. He’s-”
“All of that and more Lord Despaard. Yes, I know. But he asks too many questions about what we do. He’s guessed half the truth, I am sure of it.”
“That is not an issue. In fact, it was an inevitability, if he was doing the job properly. You are an old man, Papelford. We need someone in the archives who can be trusted. Reldo is good at what he does.”
Papelford made a noise that reminded Gar’rth of a bird choking.
“He’s not good. I want him moved.”
Lord Despaard sighed.
“I will talk to Lord Ruthven about it,” he said. “The Society of the Owl needs a good and trusted archivist, more now than ever- with these killings and the approach of the prophecy.”
The two men fell silent for a moment.
“Tell me, old friend, do you really believe it will come true?” Lord Despaard sounded weary.
“I don’t know,” Papelford responded. “But who could claim to be a truer king than King Roald? His line goes back at least a thousand years.”
“I hope you are right.”
A new tune started from inside the hall, and a poet began to speak.
“Ah, the ‘Ballad of Tenebra and Ailane’,” Papelford muttered. “Come, this tragedy is a favourite of King Roald’s, for it reminds him-as well as the rest of us-of what his family have suffered at the hands of Morytania. Although he needs no reminding, not after this creature murdered his fiancee.”
Murdered his fiancee?
“The kingdom need not know that,” Lord Despaard warned as the two men walked back into the light of the torches. Gar’rth turned, feigning surprise.
They said nothing as they vanished into the hall, and Gar’rth was left alone.
He stood on the terrace for several minutes, half-listening to the ballad, before he caught a familiar scent behind him.
“Arisha,” he said without turning.
The barbarian priestess approached him, her booted feet crunching the gravel.
“I saw you leave,” she said. “You’ve been gone some time.”
“Yes.”
“Are you all right, Gar’rth?”
“I don’t like it here, Arisha. I am afraid.”
“You?” She didn’t attempt to mask her surprise. “Afraid of what? Jerrod won’t…”
Gar’rth gave a harsh laugh.
“Not Jerrod, Arisha. I am afraid of…” He paused and shook his head. “I have run from one place to another, then another. I can’t keep running.”
He looked at her, and felt a sudden anger when he saw her eyes widen in sympathy.
“Then speak to Kara, Gar’rth,” she said. “Tell her how you feel.”
“She knows, Arisha.”
“No she doesn’t,” the barbarian replied. “She suspects, but she does not know.”
Gar’rth shook his head again.
“She would say no,” he said grimly. “She knows what I am.”
“And she knows who you are, as well. She knows the good you’ve done at her side.” Arisha fell silent, and Gar’rth saw her shiver. “It is cold out here,” she said after a moment. “Will you come inside with me?”
“Yes,” he said. He looked her straight in the eye, and he thought he saw her blink nervously. “But not because I feel the cold. I rarely do.”
Inside the hall, the ballad was ending and had given way to more raucous behaviour. From his position near the door Gar’rth saw a small crowd gathered around a table, cheering. He noted Lady Anne looking on, watching from the stage.
The crowd around the table jostled slightly, revealing two men engaged in an arm wrestle.
“It’s Theodore,” Arisha murmured with a slight smile.
Gar’rth watched the contest with interest before the crowd hid the contestants from view. Someone gave a cry and then another man shouted in victory as half the crowd cheered and the rest groaned.
“Sir Theodore loses! It seems not even the finest warrior in Varrock can beat Sir Frey.” The crowd parted and Gar’rth saw Theodore stagger up and massage his right hand. The knight’s opponent was a much larger and older man, with arms thick and powerful like a blacksmith’s.
I could beat him, Gar’rth thought. I would be able to do so easily.
Arisha noted his hesitation.
“Come along, Gar’rth. Let us return to the stage.”
They got only halfway up the steps before Lady Anne stopped them.
“Oh, Gar’rth,” she said sweetly. “Would you care to escort me outside for some air on the terrace? You are the only one of Kara’s companions I have yet to speak with.” She pointedly ignored his silent frown.
“I am afraid Castimir requires his presence, Lady Anne,” Arisha cut in sharply.
“Castimir can wait,” Gar’rth said, anger edging into his words. “The hall, inside, too much noise,” he explained. “Outside is better.”
He felt Arisha’s concerned stare as Lady Anne put her arm through his.
They are not my keepers. I am not an animal, he thought as she led him back toward the terrace yet again.
“I can tell that you do not enjoy these occasions,” Lady Anne remarked. “I understand that. You are not from Misthalin, and our ways must seem strange to you.” They were outside now, in the cool air, alone. “And I have also seen the way you look at Kara-Meir.”
Gar’rth shook his head slowly.
Lady Anne laughed.
“Oh, don’t be so coy!” she said. “Your feelings for her are obvious.” Her blue eyes fixed Gar’rth’s back pupils. “And so are Theodore’s.” She turned her back on him and waited. But he did not reply. Instead, a man’s voice coughed gently, and Gar’rth turned to see a youth waiting nearby.
“Lady Anne,” the boy said. “Forgive my interruption, but I bring a message from Lord Hyett.”
“Oh,” her voice was flat. “Where is it?”
“I have been asked to relay it to you in private, Lady Anne.”
“Oh, how tiresome. Does the Black Boar have time enough to waste on me, rather than make his peace with whichever god he believes in? Very well.” She turned to him briefly. “Excuse me Gar’rth.”
He bowed awkwardly as Lady Anne strode to the opposite end of the terrace. As with Lord Despaard and the librarian Papelford, their hushed voices were clear to him over such a distance.
“Lord Hyett begs you to see him, Lady Anne.”
“I will go tomorrow to pay my respects.”
“He will be dead by then,” came the reply. “Sir Theodore gave him a heinous wound.”
“Well, good for Sir Theodore,” Lady Anne hissed coldly. “I have never liked your master. He is a brute. The Black Boar can go to his grave pining for me, for all I care. Go and tell him that, and tell him that I will think of his last hours with relish.”
“Lady Anne, please, have compassion to a man who has only ever deSired your love.”
She laughed.
“Don’t be a fool, boy,” she scolded. “The Black Boar was a monster in life. It is an open secret that he worshipped Zamorak, just as he was known to work with the Kinshra in their patrols in The Wilderness. He was an evil, evil man who sought to reclaim his lands by marriage and murder. His first two wives died horribly-and he then attempted to marry me. No doubt I would have died also. No. I am glad Sir Theodore has killed him. It has saved me the job.”
Lady Anne stepped toward Gar’rth. She stopped once and spoke again, this time without any attempt at privacy.
“Be sure to tell that to Lord Hyett, as I dance and enjoy myself tonight in the company of better men. And tell him I smiled when I said it. Smiled and laughed.”
As if to illustrate she gave a laugh that reminded Gar’rth of breaking glass. The youth bowed his head and ran quickly away into the darkness of the bailey. Lady Anne turned back.
“You must forgive me, Gar’rth,” she said. “It is news of Lord Hyett, the knight Theodore fought. He is not expected to live out the night.” She smiled happily. “As you can probably tell, I have no fondness for him. Theodore’s wound is a just one, and long overdue.”
She rested her hands on the balustrade.
“But what were we talking of? Oh, yes. Theodore and Kara. He wrote her a letter, you see. One that I read-quite by accident I assure you.”
Now it was Gar’rth’s turn to laugh. Lady Anne looked suddenly hurt, though he couldn’t tell if it was sincere.
“It was!” she protested. “I knocked her satchel over when she was bathing, and a strange dagger fell out of it. When I put it back I found a letter to Kara from Theodore. I know it was wrong, Gar’rth, but I couldn’t resist… what are you frowning for?”
“Which dagger?” he demanded. “Kara carries none in her satchel.” He knew that for certain, from their time in The Wilderness.
“It was a strange one, with two blades.” She waved her hand. But that’s not important-” She continued, but he didn’t hear her now.
The same dagger that Pia used to cut Jerrod, he knew with growing certainty. It must be! That was why I felt so ill on our journey to Varrock! Exactly as Velko said Jerrod suffered, I suffered too.
Fear and anger twisted themselves up in Gar’rth’s stomach as he doubled over, holding the balustrade, his face hidden in shadow. He breathed deeply, gasping, and felt fire burn his skin.
Not now!
He saw Lady Anne’s shadow move closer.
“Gar’rth, what is it?” she asked, confusion in her voice. “Shall I get help?”
Her scent was suddenly far more real than before.
Stronger, more tempting.
He felt her hand on his shoulder and he turned to see her, his face in the torchlight.
Lady Anne gasped when she saw him.
“Your eyes!” she said. “What’s wrong with you?” But she didn’t wait for an explanation. Instead, her face more pale than before, she fled back into the hall, leaving Gar’rth alone again.
He felt his tears on his face, and his skin went suddenly cold.
Why didn’t you tell me, Kara? You are a friend to me, more than a friend.
The fever subsided.
He breathed in deeply.
“Gar’rth?” It was Arisha’s voice now. Somehow he hadn’t picked up her scent.
“I am all right, Arisha,” he said angrily. “I don’t need you, or Kara or Ebenezer to keep watching me.”
“I saw Lady Anne come back into the hall,” Arisha replied. “She was afraid, I think.”
Gar’rth laughed.
“Perhaps you should be more careful,” she advised.
Does she know about the dagger also? Has she kept the secret from me?
“More careful?” He laughed again. “Perhaps I’ve been too careful.”
He turned and strode purposefully into the hall, Arisha following.
“Gar’rth! What are you doing?” There was a panic in Arisha’s voice-fear that he had never heard before. Not even in battle.
It made him feel powerful.
He strode over to the seated Lord Frey. The old noble gave him a grin.
“You wish to wager boy? I sent your Sir Theodore packing. Nearly snapped his wrist.”
“I am no Sir Theodore,” Gar’rth growled, and the man raised an eyebrow.
“Gar’rth you mustn’t,” Arisha told him sternly. Someone laughed.
“Listen to the barbarian, if you wish to keep your money,” an anonymous man joked.
Gar’rth dropped his belt pouch on the table. Lord Frey overturned it and then gave a gasp. For it was a gem, worth a small fortune.
“I won’t take your money, boy,” he said, looking up. “Not this. It is too much. I will not risk bad feeling between us over such a contest.”
“Very well,” Gar’rth countered. “Then we play without betting.”
Gar’rth put the gem back in his pouch and returned it to his belt before driving his elbow onto the tabletop. Lord Frey stared bemused as the cries of the onlookers grew louder. Finally, he nodded.
“Fine, boy. Fine. I don’t know what you wish to prove, but you have your game.”
Lord Frey grabbed hold of the table edge with his free hand and brought his other arm onto the surface, mirroring Gar’rth’s actions.
“You ever done this before, boy?” Lord Frey asked.
Gar’rth simply nodded.
“Then you know the technique.” He nodded again. “Good luck.”
“Stop humouring him, Lord Frey! The boy’s arrogance has earned him a lesson.”
Gar’rth looked to the stage and saw Lady Anne watching him fearfully. His behaviour had not gone unnoticed by his friends, either. Theodore and Kara were also staring anxiously, and Ebenezer, Doric, and Castimir were already walking down the steps toward him…
Lord Frey suddenly gave a push.
Gar’rth’s arm lurched backwards before he corrected it, slanting at an angle.
The crowd yelled.
“You are a strong one, boy.” Lord Frey grinned. “I’ll give you that.”
And so are you, Gar’rth realised. Maybe more than I. He gritted his teeth as he summoned his strength. He felt his bones creaking under the strain.
But slowly-near imperceptibly-Lord Frey’s arm was pushed back.
Yet the older man laughed.
“By the gods, boy, it’s been long since I’ve had a match with such as you. Maybe if I were younger…” He breathed in deeply, most likely in preparation for a final attempt to force Gar’rth’s arm back.
But Gar’rth would show no mercy. Not today.
He was waiting for the push when it came. His arm was like steel.
“That’s impossible,” Lord Frey moaned as the crowd shouted and clapped. Gar’rth added to the pressure, and the old man’s wrist snapped back onto the tabletop. There was a tremendous yell from the onlookers. Lord Frey rubbed his arm and looked at Gar’rth with a mixture of respect and concern.
As Gar’rth stood, he was aware of that look-of every eye upon him. He saw Theodore’s face, noted Kara’s sudden fear, and then he saw Ebenezer, marching toward him with black thunder all over his features.
“Outside,” the alchemist ordered in a cold fury. “Outside. Now.” Gar’rth nodded, but Ebenezer’s anger couldn’t wipe away the sense of accomplishment.
It was worth it. They know who is the stronger now.
Kara knows it.
Theodore knows it.
Gar’rth nodded and turned on his heel, back toward the terrace that seemed his constant destination for the evening.
“What in Saradomin’s name do you think you were doing?” The old man’s face was an angry bright red, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
Gar’rth didn’t reply.
“Answer me, Gar’rth!”
Booted feet crunching the gravel underfoot were the signal that Theodore and Kara had joined them. He was alone with his friends. Their faces wore concerned masks. Castimir’s hand was in his pocket, Doric stood with his arms crossed, Arisha looked on sympathetically, and Kara and Theodore waited patiently for an explanation.
“I just… I don’t like this. Here.”
None of his friends moved, or said a word.
But are they really my friends? He wondered silently. Kara has hidden things from me, Theodore sees me as a rival, and whose side would the others take? Finally Ebenezer spoke again.
“That’s no excuse. You cannot endanger yourself by such foolishness. You’re-”
“I’m different,” Gar’rth gritted. “I know. I know I am.”
“Gar’rth, what’s wrong?” Kara asked. “It’s clearly something more than just not liking this place.”
Gar’rth laughed as his eyes watered.
“You ask me that?” he said. “You? You have kept secrets, Kara, from me.”
Kara shook her head.
And now she tries to deny it.
“A dagger,” he continued. “The one Pia hurt Jerrod with. You took it. You didn’t tell me.”
Kara’s face fell, and in a suddenly triumphant moment Gar’rth knew he was right.
“I know why,” he said. “You don’t trust me.” He turned to look at them all, one after the other. “None of you do.”
He could feel the tears on his cheeks now.
“Easy lad,” Doric said. “That’s not true. We’ve fought side by side. I trust you the same as I trust Kara and Castimir.”
Gar’rth ignored his words.
I will hurt them now if I can.
“And Theodore, Lady Anne read your letter to Kara. She told me. The letter Kara has in her satchel.”
Theodore exhaled, and avoided Kara’s stare.
“You didn’t tell me you had that, Kara,” the knight said after a moment. She didn’t reply, and her eyes showed anger and confusion.
Gar’rth lowered his head and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. As he did so a strange song sounded from the palace, an odd tune which defied his attempt to imagine what person would sing it.
“I trust you Gar’rth,” Kara said finally. “I really do. There is no way I would have ventured into The Wilderness with you if I did not.”
“That’s true,” Arisha added. “You know it is Gar’rth. Our lives were in your hands on a dozen occasions, at least. You’ve never let us down.”
“And you saved my life on the glacier, Gar’rth,” Doric said. “When I was out cold-I’ve never forgotten that.”
“All things I have done for you,” Gar’rth snapped. “But what have you done for me?”
“Have I done nothing for you, Gar’rth?” Ebenezer said in a whisper, and at the sound of his voice, Gar’rth’s anger died in sudden humiliation. “Is that what you truly believe?”
Guilt and shame twisted their ice-cold hands in Gar’rth’s stomach.
He’s right. I’ve acted like a fool.
But then the anger returned.
“No! That’s not…” His words were a growl now. “You are right. But…”
He couldn’t think straight. The sounds coming from the hall wouldn’t let him.
“What is that singing?” he demanded.
Theodore shared a look with Castimir, who shrugged.
“There is no singing,” the wizard said. “The music in the hall has stopped.”
But to Gar’rth, it only seemed closer now-as if from somewhere high up above.
“But I hear it,” he protested. “Singing. A strange song-do none of you hear it? Have you gone deaf?”
Suddenly Theodore’s eyes widened.
“Of course,” the knight said urgently. “Castimir, run and get Lord Despaard. Tell him I think the Wyrd is here. We must arm ourselves at once.”
“I’ll get my sword,” Kara said as she followed Castimir back into the hall, holding her skirt up to avoid tripping over it.
“Gar’rth, can you follow the song?” Theodore asked.
He listened carefully, turning his head from side to side.
“It is strange, Theodore,” he said tentatively. “Not just a song. I can feel it. Yes. Yes, I can follow it.”
“Then find her,” Theodore said. “And don’t let her touch you. Her claws are poison. And don’t touch anyone else who gets scratched also, for the poison can spread.” He spun, speaking over his shoulder. “I must get my sword.”
The knight vanished. Only Arisha, Doric, and Ebenezer remained.
“I am sorry Ebenezer. Truly,” Gar’rth said quietly. “I am scared of what will happen.”
“We can talk later, Gar’rth.” Ebenezer said, with a gentle smile.
He is the father I never had. That smile which showed me such kindness when he found me. How could I have doubted him?
“Tomorrow,” Ebenezer continued. “When we have all day to ourselves. Then we can talk. But now we need to track this creature. Lives are at stake.”
Gar’rth nodded.
“Thank you.”
The song grew closer, but it was still from above.
“Up,” Gar’rth pointed as Lord Despaard and Castimir ran from the hall. “She is there. Above.”
10
Ebenezer wheezed when he was only halfway up the great staircase. Doric, a few steps ahead, gave him a concerned look.
Gar’rth and Lord Despaard had already reached the top, where they were waiting and listening. Arisha was further ahead, searching the shadows of the passages beyond. The nobleman held up one hand for silence. His other, Ebenezer saw, was on his sword hilt.
Below him stood Castimir, his right palm filled with the mysterious pebble-like runes with various coloured engravings upon their surface. The wizard gave a curse as one with a yellow symbol fell between his fingers and bounced on the step before careening down into the hall below.
At the top of the staircase, Gar’rth craned his head.
“I have heard her before,” Lord Despaard said in a whisper as Ebenezer rested his arm on the bannister a few steps below. “But never clearly enough to consider tracking her.” Ebenezer saw four armed men appear at the foot of the great staircase. Their leader drew his sword.
“Come on!” he shouted.
“Quiet, Captain Rovin,” Lord Despaard called sharply. “I don’t want to scare her off. She’s near. I can feel her now.”
“I knew I should have brought my axe,” Doric huffed. “How long will it take Kara and Theodore to get their weapons?”
“I don’t know-though I think Castimir’s runes will be of more use than cold steel,” Ebenezer replied, looking down the steps to where the wizard stood, sorting the stones into different groups in his palm. “Maybe more than cold adamant even.”
“But I don’t have many on me, Ebenezer,” Castimir said, looking up. “Not in these robes. More are in my room, in my belt pouches.”
A few moments later, Captain Rovin’s men reached them, moving quietly. Then, from the great hall, King Roald himself emerged.
“What’s going on Despaard?” he demanded.
“It is her, Sire. Gar’rth can hear her, and now so can I.”
The monarch’s face paled.
“Here. In my palace?” He grabbed an attendant by the shoulder. “Get me my sword. Now. I will have her head tonight.”
Suddenly, Gar’rth sprang forward.
“Follow him!” the King shouted from below.
Ebenezer threw himself forward, his legs burning from the effort, his heart pounding so hard that his chest ached.
“And someone find Aubury!”
Gar’rth had already vanished into the darkness by the time the alchemist reached the summit of the stairs. Castimir ran past him, one hand balled around his runes while the other held his robes to prevent him from stumbling.
Wait Gar’rth, wait! Ebenezer pleaded silently. You don’t know what it is. Wait for the guards! He saw Doric ahead as the first of the guards ran past. Somewhere in the flickering torchlight of a passageway he saw Gar’rth disappear around a corner, followed by Lord Despaard with his sword now drawn.
The King ran past. Ebenezer followed the sound of feet stamping on stairs, and as he reached the end of the passageway he saw the guardsmen climbing another staircase.
The servants’ quarters. That is where we are going! High up!
Ebenezer gasped as he followed the party, finally emerging into a hallway three flights above. The men had gathered ahead of him, King Roald with them, and Gar’rth in their midst. Arisha, Castimir, and Doric were nearby.
“Well?” King Roald demanded. “Where is she?”
Gar’rth held up his hand for silence, just as a crash of glass and a scream sounded from a room nearby. At once men cried out and Gar’rth ran. Ebenezer lost sight of him behind the guards as they rushed at a door, hurling themselves against it even as a woman screamed again.
“It’s bolted!” Captain Rovin shouted.
“Stand back,” Castimir yelled as he pointed his right hand at the door. A small collection of his runes melted and then evaporated in his hand as the guards jumped aside.
I have never seen this spell used, Ebenezer realised. From the floor at Castimir’s feet a column of yellow light spilled upward, and a great ball of heavy rock and earth materialised. The alchemist felt a rush of heat and as the light vanished the earth ball flew forward and shattered the wood. An instant later, Gar’rth was there, his strong hands pushing through the broken slats to force the bolt aside.
A final scream was cut short as Gar’rth pushed the door wide, a guard leaping past as he worked to free his hand from the wooden slats.
Don’t cut yourself, Gar’rth. Not here. Not in front of these people.
The hand came free as a second guard leapt through the doorway. Inside, Ebenezer heard a man scream and caught sight of a bat-like wing flash past the doorframe.
Gar’rth forced his way inside, the remaining guards close by.
“Castimir. We need you,” Doric called to the wizard who was standing a few paces behind him. Castimir shook his head grimly.
“I haven’t many runes,” he said. “Enough for only one or two spells and then…”
But then the way was clear.
King Roald charged in, Lord Despaard behind him, urging him caution. Ebenezer had seen the monarch’s face-anger and hatred had conquered all thought and reason. As he followed, he saw the creature that had plagued Varrock.
Two guards fought it, slashing at it with their swords, their blows seemingly ineffective against its calloused wings, which were like two unbreakable shields. Two more bodies lay motionless on the floor, and in a second Ebenezer saw their black faces twisted in death. Gar’rth was crouched away to his right, clutching at his chest, sweating profusely, and behind him was a dead nurse, her body fallen across a baby’s cot as she sought to protect the child even in death. The infant gave a cry as its chubby little arm flailed beneath the corpse.
As the wings parted the thing advanced, and Ebenezer caught sight of the bat-like face with its wide snout and elongated jaw. He froze as its eyes held his, two orange pits of malice. There was nothing human about it.
“Castimir!” he cried as the guards stepped backward.
“I’m here, Ebenezer,” the wizard said, sounding calm, his right hand extended toward the Wyrd.
But whatever magic he had planned to cast, the creature acted first. Its lower jaw dropped grotesquely and its narrow tongue coiled backwards as it screamed. The sound was hideous.
On and on it went, assailing their ears and forcing them to their knees.
Ebenezer’s vision blurred as dizziness swept over him. He saw Castimir at his side, curled up in ball, his runes forgotten. Lord Despaard, too, had fallen over Doric, and the King’s crown had fallen from his head as the monarch pressed his hands to his ears in agony.
Suddenly the cry ended, leaving a pounding inside Ebenezer’s head and a sickly feeling in his stomach. His vision still blurred, he saw what appeared to him like two of the creatures move forward, quickly running their talons across the faces of the guards nearest them, and then leap toward the blurred figure of Captain Rovin, his ears bleeding from its cry.
He blinked and the figures merged into one again. The Wyrd thrust its arm forward, attempting to cut Rovin with its talons. The man screamed and ducked as he swung his sword from a kneeling position. Ebenezer saw it retreat, cautious now.
“Run, my King!” Captain Rovin called.
“King? King of nothing,” it said, its voice was as inhuman as its song. “Soon he will come, and the lands of the living and the dead will be one, as was foretold. Now I will take this child.”
The Wyrd crouched in preparation for a leap.
Captain Rovin readied his blade, one foot in front of the other to steady himself.
But then Gar’rth stood and howled a challenge.
The creature looked at him for the first time, and froze in its tracks.
“You live?” it said. “Impossible!” Before it could say any more, Gar’rth charged forward.
“Get the child clear,” Ebenezer shouted. “That’s what she wants.”
Arisha leapt over him as Gar’rth tackled the Wyrd. The creature raked its claws across his back and Gar’rth screamed as dark blood soaked his clothing.
No, the alchemist cried inwardly. Please, no!
He saw Arisha take the baby and run to the door. He saw Castimir stand, his runes ready. He saw the fear on the faces of King Roald and Captain Rovin-but they were looking at Gar’rth now. He saw Lord Despaard reach for a dagger on his belt, an unusual one with a two-pronged blade.
He saw Gar’rth’s eyes turn entirely black and his skin turn grey as the change began.
Without thinking he ran forward to Gar’rth, to cover him up and to protect him as he had done before, to succeed where he had failed with his own children.
“No, Gar’rth, no,” he pleaded. “Not here! You must not-”
Suddenly the Wyrd’s wing turned and rushed toward his face, and he felt it crash against his forehead. He had the sensation of falling from a great height, and when he landed a cold numbness spread from his thigh, and something wet blinded his right eye.
But he felt no pain as the darkness descended.
After all, we have tomorrow Gar’rth. We all have tomorrow to talk.
Then everything will be made right.
Tomorrow.
11
Castimir saw Ebenezer collapse as he readied his runes. He knew he only had one chance.
“By the gods,” King Roald cried out from in front of him. “Gar’rth! He’s not human.”
Gar’rth’s face had changed entirely. His jaw had distended horribly, his nose had flattened and was now wide across his face in a wolfish snout. His shoulders, too, had become wider and black hair covered the backs of his suddenly long hands that now resembled paws.
“He’s one of them, Sire!” Captain Rovin shouted. “He’s a werewolf.”
Castimir saw the devastating effect of the captain’s cry on men already afraid. Lord Despaard leapt in front of the King with his two-pronged dagger held before him as the guards dropped back, leaving the two creatures to their fight. Only Captain Rovin remained in front, yet even he was stunned into hesitation.
The Wyrd tore at Gar’rth’s head as the youth continued his change.
He can’t protect himself. He will be killed unless I act.
“He’s not the enemy,” Castimir yelled. “It’s her-stand aside!”
But his words were lost in the din as Lord Despaard advanced and brandished the dagger toward both combatants, now locked in a deadly embrace.
Suddenly Gar’rth stumbled as Despaard neared. His grip on the Wyrd slackened and she shook him off.
“The dagger!” Gar’rth roared in Despaard’s face as the Wyrd turned to confront the two men. Castimir heard Doric shout. The dwarf bowled into Despaard and hurled him off his feet, propelling the nobleman away from Gar’rth, the two-pronged dagger still clutched in his hand.
“Majesty, you must listen to me,” Castimir shouted. “Gar’rth is not the enemy!”
Taking advantage of the chaos, the Wyrd jumped to the window, but before she could launch herself into space a renewed Gar’rth grabbed her right wing. She attempted to fight him off, but the werewolf was stronger. His knee crashed against her spine, and at the same time he pulled her wing back and grabbed her around the neck with his other arm, forcing her down.
You’ve got her Gar’rth!
“Sire,” Castimir cried. “We can take her alive.”
Either Rovin hadn’t heard through his tortured ears that were still dripping blood, or he didn’t care. The captain staggered forward and drew his arm back, in preparation for a lunge.
No… No!
Only too late did Gar’rth perceive his presence, yet whether Rovin was aiming for the werewolf or the Wyrd, Castimir couldn’t say. The man’s desperate thrust missed the werewolf by a finger’s width alone, yet it forced Gar’rth to relinquish his hold on the Wyrd who batted him free and leapt back to the window before launching herself through the shattered glass and out into the darkness.
Now all eyes turned to Gar’rth. From every side, the men of King Roald’s guard closed in. Castimir saw now that Despaard was free of Doric, and the dwarf was being held back by two men.
“You are an enemy of our realm,” Despaard said as he advanced, the dagger held before him. “Your kind have only one fate this side of the river.”
Gar’rth knelt, suddenly a pitiful sight. He hid his face under a paw and when he looked up again it was more human than before. It seemed to Castimir that the dagger was somehow countering his friend’s lycanthropy.
“Consider this a mercy,” Rovin grunted as he stepped forward and raised his sword above his head.
No. I will not allow this. I am a wizard of the Tower and I still have a spell or two left. Castimir breathed calmly and concentrated on the man’s sword. The runes melted in his hand.
Suddenly Rovin screamed and dropped his weapon. As it landed the hilt hissed, and glowed red hot.
“You protect him, wizard?” Despaard demanded. “A werewolf?” Rovin stared at his burned hand, aghast, then peered at Castimir with utter hatred in his eyes before fleeing from the room. Now the guards fell back, and Castimir could see their uncertainty.
Fighting a werewolf is one thing, but will they dare turn on a wizard? Be strong. Call their bluff.
“I do,” Castimir replied. He stepped forward and made his way to Gar’rth’s side, saying a silent prayer as the guards stood back to let him through. “And I will do so again if I must. Gar’rth is my friend who fled his homeland. He is not like others of his race, and has proved that many times.”
It was King Roald who responded.
“You have lied to us! You and your friends,” he spat angrily. “How dare you knowingly bring such a creature into my realm. He is evil.”
“No, he is not, Sire,” Doric said. The guards let the dwarf go and slowly he made his way to Ebenezer’s side. “And we must all remember that it is thanks to him that we managed to confront this Wyrd tonight, saving a child. We might have captured her, too, if the prejudice of your lords hadn’t blinded them.”
Castimir stood in front of Gar’rth now, relieved to see his humanity return. Still, he saw how weak his friend was, how the sweat poured off his skin, and how he shivered.
“Ebenezer?” Gar’rth whispered.
“He lives, but he needs a doctor,” Doric said, kneeling next to the fallen man. He turned to face the monarch. “And now King Roald, you must decide what to do. Will you truly murder Gar’rth, the man who came so close to giving you the Wyrd? To do so, you will have to go through me.”
“He is no man!” Despaard spat.
Theodore appeared at the doorway, his sword drawn. Behind him came Kara, armed only with her hunting knife, her face wild, and Castimir saw the wizard Aubury at the front of several guards. At the very back stood Arisha, holding the rescued baby in her arms.
There is no way I can fight them now. No way at all. The young wizard turned to face the King again.
“Just grant him time, your majesty, please…” he begged. “As Doric said, he nearly captured the Wyrd tonight, coming as close as any in your realm have come. Surely, surely that must weigh in his favour.”
King Roald turned and looked into Gar’rth’s eyes for a long moment. Then he spoke.
“His fate is yet to be decided,” he said. “But I will not kill him tonight, nor will anyone in my service, for what you say is true. But he will be imprisoned until a decision is made.”
“And what of the wizard, Sire?” Despaard demanded, sheathing his sword as if to give his words emphasis. “He threatened us, and injured Captain Rovin.”
Castimir felt Aubury’s eyes upon him. He could feel his anger.
Surely he will understand. I acted in the best traditions of the Tower, for truth and honour.
The guards placed Ebenezer onto a litter and lifted him carefully. Doric remained at his side.
“Take the alchemist to his room,” King Roald instructed. “And get Father Lawrence to have a look at him. As for the wizard, Captain Rovin has endured far worse injuries in the course of his duties. It is a case best left to Aubury and the Tower.”
Castimir saw Aubury bow to the monarch, then turn to stare icily at him as the guards carried Ebenezer from the room, followed by the dwarf.
“Yes, majesty,” Aubury agreed. “That would perhaps be best. I will consult with the Tower, but first I would speak with Castimir myself.”
“There is one more thing, Sire,” Kara said. All eyes turned to her. “Pia and Jack have vanished from my room tonight. They took my sword, and left a severed rope on my bed. I think I know why they have run, but I would like them brought back alive and unharmed.”
A guard knelt at King Roald’s feet and deftly picked up the fallen crown. The monarch took it with a sigh.
“It is a heavy crown, this,” he said, and the anger was gone from his voice. “The wearer must wield a conscience as cold as the gold it is made from, at times.” He stared at Kara wearily. “My men will be combing every street and alley of Varrock tonight, searching for the Wyrd. I will instruct them to do as you ask, to find your wayward servants. But know this-I cannot forget that you and your friends brought Gar’rth into my realm, knowing what he is. You saw fit to keep the truth from me, and it is a capital offence.”
His sword sheathed, Theodore approached Gar’rth, who still crouched, and helped him to his feet, letting Gar’rth lean on him.
“How do you feel?”
“It’s the poison,” Gar’rth answered, his voice little more than a croak. “It burns, but I will live.” Nodding, the knight turned to face the King.
“I can vouch for him, my liege,” Theodore said. “I thought as you do when I first met him and discovered his heritage. But I was wrong. And to demonstrate my faith in my friend, I will spend the night in his company, locked up with him.”
King Roald stared hard at Theodore.
“Very well,” he replied. “As you wish.”
“Thank you, Theodore,” Gar’rth murmured as the knight led him toward the door. “Thank you.” As they passed, Gar’rth turned to Castimir. “And thank you, Castimir. Thank you for your faith in me.” The further he moved from the two-pointed blade, the stronger his voice became.
Castimir nodded and made to follow, but Aubury stopped him. The King left the room, followed by the rest. It was only when they were alone-save for the dead-that Aubury did speak.
“You fool, Castimir,” he spat angrily. “Have you any idea of what you have done? You threatened a King of Misthalin and his lords! Do you have any idea, any idea at all, of what that will mean for your future?”
Aubury wiped a hand across his brow as Castimir felt the blood rush to his face.
“I protected a friend,” he protested. “A man who has fought at my side, and who needed help. What’s wrong with that?”
Aubury laughed in surprise as Castimir felt his eyes water.
“You are more foolish than I had imagined,” he responded. “If you think that will help you. You threatened the monarch of a powerful realm, and on whose support our order depends. It is politics we play at now, Castimir, and very rarely magic.
“I will consult with the Wizards’ Tower tonight,” he continued. “But you should prepare yourself. It may be that your days of wearing the blue robes are finished even as they have begun.”
Castimir felt as if he had been stabbed. His heart ached, and he lowered his head to hide his tears.
It is not fair!
“Go and get some sleep, Castimir,” Aubury said. “We will talk of this tomorrow, after King Roald’s parliament.”
12
Theodore supported Gar’rth as they left the room. His friend’s inhuman strength had left him, and Gar’rth felt like a ragged doll on Theodore’s arm. Several guardsmen accompanied them, though they held back, despite the fact that the werewolf was now too weak to walk unaided.
“You must try to walk,” Theodore said as Gar’rth winced from the battering his body had taken in the melee. “You cannot lean on me all the way.”
Gar’rth tried to stand unaided, but his legs shook violently, and Theodore caught him before he fell.
“I’m sorry, Theodore,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “It is the… blade. It is nearby, and its effects weaken me even now.”
They reached the top of the stairs, where more guards awaited them, and descended with an escort in front and behind. Their progress was even more difficult on the steps. Theodore motioned to one of the guardsmen.
“You there, will you help me?”
“No, Sir Theodore,” the man said, his sword half-drawn. “We would help you, of course, but not your… friend. Not one of them.”
Before Theodore could respond, Gar’rth staggered, and he nearly lost his grasp, forcing the group to stop.
“Wait a moment,” Theodore said as struggled to regain his balance. “Let us pause here while you get your strength back.”
Gar’rth sat on the step as the guards waited. Above them, Theodore saw Lord Despaard, standing at the doorway, looking down impassively. He drew back his cloak and Theodore saw he held a two-pronged dagger at his side.
“I cannot smell anything, Theodore,” Gar’rth muttered, his hands over his face. “And my hearing… there’s a rushing, and everything is so faint.”
“Get used to it,” Lord Despaard advised. “I know how vulnerable that must make one of your kind feel. To us, it would be like losing our sight. But you should use this occasion to know that men are not so weak as you might have thought, nor without weapons against the savagery of your race.” The nobleman took a step down toward them. Theodore saw the cold anger etched on his face.
“You should fear us Gar’rth,” he continued. “It must be a new experience for you.”
“Leave him be, Lord Despaard,” Theodore said, striving to keep his voice calm and without anger. “You have misjudged him. In time, he will prove himself. I guarantee it.”
Lord Despaard smiled grimly and gave a snort.
“It is you who have misjudged him, knight. I don’t doubt that now he is as you say. But it cannot always be so. One day-perhaps soon-he will change. It is his heritage.”
The nobleman descended until he stood only an inch from Theodore’s face. Gar’rth folded in on himself as the blade came closer. Despaard spoke in a harsh whisper.
“And when he does show his true nature-as he will-who do you think he will go for? Castimir, with his sorcery? You, with your strength and armour? No. It will be Kara. You know it, and he knows you know it. They are animals Theodore, and it would take a blind man not to see how he feels about her.” He gave Gar’rth a quick look. “It is a feeling that can never be reciprocated, and his frustration will have only one possible outcome. In time, he will turn on her.”
Theodore shook his head, but couldn’t bring himself to answer.
For it would be a lie if I told him I had never had similar thoughts.
Despaard stepped past them and descended the staircase until he was lost to sight.
Finally, Gar’rth took a deep breath and stood, his legs swaying- but less so.
“Could you hear what he said, Gar’rth?” Theodore whispered.
“No,” Gar’rth said wearily. “But I think I can walk now.”
Theodore instructed his friend to grip his shoulder for support. They went quicker than before, for Gar’rth’s steps were surer and more purposeful now. Despite their progress, however, it seemed like an eternity before they were in the palace’s dungeons. The only light came from a torch carried by one of the guards, and each barred alcove was too dark for any occupants to be seen. Lord Despaard waited for them at the open gate to a cell. Inside, guards had quickly arranged two rudimentary beds and had left a large jug of water for each of them. Otherwise, it was a bleak stone chamber.
As Gar’rth sat down, a guard placed an iron cuff around his wrist, attached to a chain that was anchored to the wall. Then the torch was placed in a sconce. Opposite, in a similar cell, Theodore saw the woman who had accused him of complicity at the Midsummer Festival, still attired in her green dress. She stared at him in grim silence through the iron bars of her gate.
This will prove to be an interesting evening. I am exhausted, and now I will have to contend with this harridan.
“You should go to see Ebenezer, Theodore,” Gar’rth said. “I would like to, but…”
“I will do so now, and then I will return.” He put his hand on the werewolf’s shoulder. “I won’t be long, my friend.”
Theodore left the prison, and the iron gate was locked behind him. His last view of Gar’rth as he left the dungeon was of him sitting up in his bed, his back against the wall, lit by the soft glow of a flickering torch, his head bent low in deep thought.
Could he really turn on Kara?
It was a question for which he couldn’t find an answer as he headed to Ebenezer’s room.
Ebenezer lay in his bed, his head bandaged, his face pale and his breathing shallow.
At his side, on a stool, sat Doric. The dwarf held the old man’s hand tightly in one of his own while using the other to wipe the alchemist’s face with a damp cloth. Behind him stood Arisha, her head bowed, while Castimir sat on a chair and fidgeted with several runes. Kara was beside him, still dressed in her gown.
“How is he?” Theodore asked after watching them for a long minute. Had it been any other of us we would be awake now, he thought. Perhaps laughing and joking, but not Ebenezer. He is too frail.
Kara shook her head as Doric looked toward him, his face drawn with worry.
“His blood still flows, and he breathes still,” the dwarf said. “But at his age…”
Castimir ran his hand through his hair as he bit his lip. Theodore recognised his friend’s frustration.
“Guthix offers him no aid,” Arisha said sorrowfully. “I fear the alchemist’s atheism is known to Him.”
I fear you are right, Arisha, the knight mused. I was always uncomfortable with Ebenezer’s attitude toward the gods. Now, when he needs them most, will they answer? He jumped as Castimir cried out angrily.
“There is nothing any of us can do!” He lurched to his feet. “My magic is worthless here!” The wizard hurled his runes to the floor, where they clattered loudly across the flagstones.
“Castimir,” Arisha said severely. “What does that accomplish?”
“I’m sorry,” the wizard replied. “I am. It’s just it…” He breathed deeply. “It’s Aubury. He said my actions in protecting Gar’rth from Captain Rovin might end in my expulsion from the Wizards’ Tower. And now this-he may never awaken-everything I do seems to go wrong.”
“We all have our problems,” Arisha said. “But I think we should put them aside for tonight. We all owe our lives to Ebenezer. If it hadn’t been for him, none of us would ever have escaped the monastery. Let us not trouble his dreams with our own burdens.”
A brief silence fell. Castimir knelt to retrieve his runes, while Kara nodded and Doric returned Ebenezer’s hand to the bed and wiped his head once more with the damp cloth before returning it to a bucket at his feet.
“Have Sally and Albertus been informed of Ebenezer’s injuries?” Theodore asked as he advanced to the bed.
“A messenger has been sent,” Doric replied as he knelt to retrieve one of Castimir’s precious runes. “They have been asked to come here tonight to keep him company. But what of Gar’rth?”
Theodore felt all eyes turn upon him.
“He is in the dungeon. He accepts his situation, and is being held in as comfortable conditions as we could hope for. I will return to him after I leave here.”
“What do you think the King will decide?” Kara asked. “Will he really want to have him put to death?”
“It would be foolish for him to decide so,” Doric said gruffly. “Gar’rth is the nearest anyone’s come to catching the Wyrd. Killing him would solve nothing.”
Tell that to Lord Despaard, Theodore responded silently.
“He would be within his rights to do so,” he said instead, warily.
“What?” Kara stood, nearly toppling her chair. “Theodore, you almost sound as if you agree with him.” Her voice rose to close to a shout.
“Of course I don’t!” he answered quickly. “But this is Varrock, not The Wilderness. You’ve seen what the servants of Drakan do here. The horrors that cross the river from Morytania, despite the barrier. Can you blame people for being so fearful?”
The door opened before anyone could reply. It was Father Lawrence, and his face was red. The elderly priest gave a sharp breath as he entered.
“I have just come from my church,” he wheezed as he approached the bed. “And I have brought what help I may.” He held up a bag for their inspection and as he opened it Theodore caught the strong scent of herbs. Father Lawrence set a gnarled pale root upon the bed and then peered into his bag again. When he withdrew his hand the second time, the knight saw that he held a green leaf with a toothed edge.
“A limpwurt root, and a tarromin leaf,” Kara said, and the Father nodded.
“It is, although the leaf is a little grimy, I am afraid.”
The priest dipped his fingers into the jug at Doric’s feet and cleaned the leaf between his thumb and forefinger.
“Now I will need a vial of clean water and-”
“A knife to cut the limpwurt root. I find that the tenderest parts of the root work best,” Arisha said as she moved to the priest’s side.
He looked at her with an expression of surprise.
“You know your herbs, young lady,” Father Lawrence said as the two set to work.
Theodore, however, shared Doric’s look of slight bewilderment.
“They are making a potion for Ebenezer,” Kara explained. “Tarromin and limpwurt can revitalise an exhausted man.”
“But too much can be fatal,” Father Lawrence cautioned. “Too much of the limpwurt root can cause the person’s heart to fail. It all depends on our patient. Ebenezer is elderly, so I’ll only give him a little to start with.”
“Very well,” Theodore said, and he turned to leave. “Good luck. Let me know if there is any change in his condition. But for now, I must return to Gar’rth.”
The knight took his leave and made his way once more into the dungeons of the palace.
When the gate was locked behind him, he saw that Gar’rth had fallen asleep. The shackle that was still clasped about his wrist showed that the guards were not taking any chances.
There is so much I would ask you, now we are alone. About your history, about your people beyond the river and why you ran.
About Jerrod.
But mostly I would wish to know about Kara. You spent so long with her in The Wilderness…
It was only when he removed his boots and sat on his bed did he notice a man, a vague shadow just beyond the range of the torchlight, peer through the gate.
I wish I had Kara’s vision. She would see him with ease.
“Who are you?” Theodore asked quietly, so as to not disturb his friend.
“I am here by Lord Despaard’s order,” the man said. “To keep an eye on your friend.” He drew a dagger, and in the torchlight Theodore could see its two blades glint.
“He won’t be any trouble,” the knight replied.
The man laughed.
“You are right,” he said. “He won’t be. Not if he’s wise. You should know, Knight of Falador, that it is most likely that he will be sentenced to death. No matter what the judgement, he will not be allowed to remain at large.”
With that, the man took a seat on a low stool and stretched his legs out.
“Are you of the Society of the Owl?” Theodore asked, forcing himself to remain calm. But the man didn’t answer. Instead, it was Ellamaria-in the opposite cell-who spoke.
“I think he is,” she said. “He arrived just after you left and took a look at your friend, but I knew him, for I have seen him before. He was one of the men who was at the tailor’s house. The same night you were there, covering up the truth.”
Theodore bowed his head and sighed angrily.
“That’s not true,” he said after a moment. “You are mistaken.”
Ellamaria laughed from the darkness of her cell.
And now she taunts me.
“Ignore her, Sir Theodore,” the onlooker advised. “Like all peasants she doesn’t know what’s good for her,” the man sneered. “She’s broken the King’s sumptuary laws, wearing clothing that is far above her station, as if she were the daughter of a duke.”
“I never knew my father,” Ellamaria declared.
The man laughed.
“Typical peasant. They are like sheep, although sheep are more useful. Sheep don’t go around wearing others’ clothing.” The speaker turned aside and glared down into Ellamaria’s cell. “Sheep don’t hang, Sir Theodore.”
Ellamaria gasped in the shadows.
“Hang?” she said.
Her tormentor laughed viciously as Ellamaria choked.
“Enough!” Theodore hissed. He cast a brief look at Gar’rth who slept soundly, undisturbed by their conversation. “Leave the girl alone. I don’t approve of what she did but I don’t approve of your conduct either. What is your name?”
The man didn’t reply.
“I will have it from you or from Lord Despaard himself come tomorrow. It will be easier on you if you tell me now.”
The man growled from beyond the torchlight.
“It is Simon, Sir Theodore.”
“Then leave us in peace, Simon. I will watch Gar’rth tonight, and if my word is good enough to satisfy your King then it is certainly enough to satisfy you. Now leave us.”
Simon retreated, his footsteps fading into the darkness.
“Thank you, Sir Theodore,” Ellamaria whispered.
Has she been crying? he wondered. Perhaps only now does she appreciate the consequences of her actions.
“But please, Sir Theodore, will I… Will I really hang?”
“Not unless you have committed another crime I am unaware of. Kara-Meir broke the King’s sumptuary law this night, and there is no charge against her.” Theodore shook his head. “No, Ellamaria, Simon was just tormenting you. People don’t hang for breaking such laws, but there will very likely be a punishment for near inciting a riot.”
He heard her gasp in the darkness.
“But it was the right thing to do, Sir Theodore. Do you not believe that? I acted to correct an injustice. Isn’t that what you knights do?”
Her words injured Theodore.
“I do not make or pass judgement on the laws of King Roald, Ellamaria. That is not my place-”
“But you are a knight! A Knight of Falador. In every tavern from here to Kandarin they sing tales of the order’s love of justice. And you, Sir Theodore, are one of their most famed members.” Her voice broke suddenly and she wept. “That was why I was so angry at you, that night when I followed you from the tailor’s house. I believed in you, I thought you would help me. But then I saw how you left the house, and let those men carry on their work…”
Her words were lost in her sobs.
Is this really what I’ve become? he thought. Is this what I wanted, all those years ago? A knight should inspire not despair, but hope.
“But what about you then?” he asked quietly. “Who have you lost to this creature?”
“My own kin have suffered at the Wyrd’s hands. My aunt and uncle vanished one night, their children as well. I was working at the Blue Moon Inn when it happened. Like others, they were taken on the King’s command. I begged the authorities to help at first, and I was nearly imprisoned for my troubles. All that was left for me to do was to try and find them myself.”
She choked again.
“I don’t even know if they’re alive.”
Theodore gritted his teeth.
“Please, Sir Theodore, what will happen to me? Will Lord Despaard burn me for a witch? Will I be beheaded for treason? How will they make me disappear?”
“You took a tremendous risk, Ellamaria,” he said. “Truly, I don’t know. But I will ask the King to act with mercy.”
They spoke no more that night, and Theodore lay awake for a long time, considering her words. And finally when he did sleep, it was uneasy and unsatifying, despite his physical exhaustion.
13
Kara fumed silently as she studied the multitude of faces assembled in the round chamber. Her mind was in turmoil.
Theodore had relayed his account of Simon in the prison, and of his certainty relating to Gar’rth’s fate.
They can’t really mean to execute Gar’rth, she told herself. There is no justice in that!
Her mind also wrestled with the disappearance of Pia and Jack-still there was no sign of them. Could she have done something differently-something that would have caused them to stay?
But there is nothing I can do for them now. The city guards have orders to look for them, and I am faced with more pressing matters. She forced the loss of her sword from her mind with difficulty, aware that she would very likely never see it again.
She sat on the front bench, between Theodore and Doric-a place reserved for honoured guests of the King, or so she had been told. From there she faced the King’s vacant throne, elevated upon a dais which stood-in turn-upon a stage where the monarchy’s nobility sat. Above her, on all sides save behind the King, numerous balconies rose in three tiers, all packed with the curious faces of every class of citizen in Varrock. The parliament was, Theodore had explained to her, a means of hearing the city’s concerns, of showing them that something was being done.
Across the aisle sat the influential traders and craftsmen of Varrock. Kara saw Albertus seated at their front. She had met him only briefly-that morning-as he had arrived with Sally to see Ebenezer. The man’s eyes were dark with worry.
Her attention returned to the stage. Among the noble peers Kara recognised Lord Despaard and a few half-remembered persons from the dance the evening before. Lord Ruthven, with his aquiline features and constantly moving eyes, was there, and behind him sat the jester, Gideon Gleeman, along with the King’s religious advisor, the man with a strange name that Kara couldn’t immediately recollect. His fanaticism inspired an instant revulsion in her.
“That’s Aeonisig Raispher,” Theodore told Castimir, somehow reading Kara’s thoughts. “He’s a Saradominist who advises the King. And that old man nearby in the black coat is Papelford, the King’s archivist. Next to him is his apprentice, Reldo.”
“Where is Lord William?” Doric growled, keeping his voice low. “I don’t see him there.”
“Lord William isn’t deemed important enough to sit upon the stage today,” William said wryly as he took his seat behind them. “I am not a part of this.” The young man sat behind Kara, smiling slightly too much, his fingers caressing a leaping silver fox upon its chain.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. Kara noted how his eyes turned upwards, to look to the ladies gallery where the wives and daughters of the nobility sat to watch the proceedings. She saw Lady Anne sitting at the front of the balcony, and as she looked, the young woman’s eyes rested coldly upon her before moving to Theodore. Very pointedly, Kara paid Anne no heed, and instead found herself staring at Lady Caroline, who sat a short distance from her friend.
Enjoy the show, Anne. Let’s hope King Roald doesn’t rush things too much. I wouldn’t want your uncertainty to be so quickly ended.
Suddenly Lady Caroline waved, and Kara heard Theodore chuckle.
“I think that wave was meant for you, William.”
“I can but hope, Theodore,” the noble replied. “The dance last night was an outstanding success, I think.”
At least someone feels that way, Kara thought bleakly. Castimir muttered something uncharitable. He had been in a foul mood all morning, ever since he had been forced to leave Ebenezer’s bedside to attend the parliament. Arisha had remained by the alchemist’s side, in the company of Father Lawrence and a shocked Sally.
Ignoring the wizard’s mumblings, Theodore spoke.
“Where were you last night, William?” he asked. “You missed a great deal.”
“So I have heard tell. Gossip around the palace says that you interrupted the Wyrd from kidnapping a child, and nearly captured her. Word has it that Gar’rth was injured.” He lowered his eyes and the smile faded. “I have, of course, heard about Ebenezer, as well. I am very sorry to hear of his injuries.” Then he glanced around. “Where is Gar’rth, anyhow, and Arisha?”
Don’t you know Lord William? Don’t you know that he awaits the King’s decision as to whether he lives or dies?
“Arisha is with them,” Kara said quickly. “She wished to remain behind to tend their wounds.”
A horn blew as a door near the stage was opened. The parliament stood as King Roald entered. He was followed by the wizard Aubury and escorted by Captain Rovin, whose sword hand was wrapped in a white bandage. She saw him frown in their direction.
“Next time I should heat his helm,” Castimir muttered angrily, eliciting a surprised glance from William. “Then he would have a real reason to scowl so.”
“His ears have stopped bleeding at least,” Doric observed.
The King sat, and Aeonisig Raispher and Papelford shared a glance, then exchanged a nod before the religious advisor finally pointed to his apprentice.
Next to the ancient archivist, a nervous Reldo stood.
“Lords, Ladies, citizens of Varrock,” he began, his voice timid, “I have been asked by representatives of the monarchy to relay the following information to you in order to reveal what is being done about the terror that holds our city in its grip. This is what His Majesty promised you yesterday, and it is his intention to deliver on that promise.” The young man’s eyes fell to the paper in his hand as he began to read.
“For at least the last six months, near a hundred people have been reported as missing or have been found slain. The great majority of these attacks have been out to the east, among the rural communities not far from the River Salve. Many have been found mutilated and partially devoured.” That brought a gasp from the galleries. “Others have not been found at all. In many cases writing has been left at the scene, although in some instances, wherein the body was found by illiterate village folk, the existence of these messages cannot be confirmed.”
Reldo coughed before continuing. Kara took the opportunity to study the faces of the citizens standing in the balconies above her.
They are still willing to listen, to give their King a chance, she observed. Let us hope there is no more deception. If there is even the hint of such then the crowd will riot, and this time there are no walls to protect us.
“More recently, the attacks have commenced in Varrock itself. It was at this point it was decided that something needed to be done to prevent a panic. Therefore, Lord Despaard acted with the best interests of the realm at heart. The dead were removed and interred, and the witnesses detained to ensure their silence.” There was an angry grumbling at that. “The mark of the plague was placed upon the door to each house to explain why the family had been removed from the city.
“We confess to you now, upon instructions from His Majesty, that there has been no plague in Varrock this year. The people have no cause to fear it at this time.”
Kara watched as many heads nodded in understanding. The grumbling subsided, and a faint ripple of agreement sounded from above.
They have accepted it then. But where do we go from here?
Reldo continued.
“We do not know why this Wyrd is terrorizing the people. There seems to be no pattern to her actions that we can discern, although attempts are still being made to do so. As of this day, six children are missing, along with several adults. There may very well be others whose disappearance has not been reported to us. However, despite all this, there is hope.” He paused to add emphasis to the words. “Last night, for the very first time, the authorities came close to capturing this creature as she sought to take another child.”
A gasp of interest echoed around the chamber, and someone shouted a blessing on the King.
Reldo waited for the commotion to quiet before he carried on.
“Last night there were deaths, and injuries, but the child was saved. And the Wyrd itself was injured. Perhaps significantly.”
Smiles and expressions of relief appeared on the listeners’ faces. Some clapped and whooped.
They need a victory, these people. They have lived in fear and ignorance under the shadow of an inhuman terror, not knowing its true nature, and to hear she’s been hurt can’t fail to lift their spirits.
“However, the creature is still at large, and she is still dangerous. We must not forget that. Only this morning another body was found, of a young girl known to the city guard as Catspurse, her heart…” He stopped and composed himself. “Her heart and organs missing, her body savaged as if by a wild beast.”
Silence fell as Reldo returned once more to the paper he had been given to read.
“We have no doubt as to the Wyrd’s origins-she is indeed from Morytania.” Reldo paused and looked quizzically at Papelford. The old man frowned and waved with his hand. The apprentice hesitated briefly before continuing.
“It is the belief of… it is the belief of the monarchy that the presence of the Wyrd has something to do with the High Priest’s prophecy.”
I don’t think you believe that Reldo.
Reldo sighed as Papelford muttered angrily to him, the words lost in the murmurs of surprise that ran around the galleries. Aeonisig Raispher stood suddenly and shouted in order to silence the mutterings of the onlookers.
“We can have no doubt that it is so!” he proclaimed. Reldo frowned and buried his face in the paper, deliberately avoiding the advisor’s gaze. “The words of the High Priest of Entrana, uttered on his death bed a century ago, cannot be refuted. They are fact.
“Absolute fact.” He peered angrily around the room, as if daring anyone to contradict him. Kara saw Reldo shake his head as the crowd muttered uncertainly now.
“It seems as if we have a sceptic,” Doric said.
“Reldo is always sceptical,” William said from behind them. “He and I have debated the prophecy before. He doesn’t believe it was foretold by the High Priest of Entrana. He says the only records of it appeared in Varrock’s own library a century ago.” William lowered his voice. “He actually thinks it was written at the behest of the King of that time, to rally his people and to provide a united front against a shared enemy. In hindsight, it was a very foolish thing to do, as we now know due to the panic it’s causing.”
Theodore shook his head.
“Then how do you explain the Wyrd, William, appearing now to leave these messages all over Varrock?”
Before he could reply Albertus Black staggered to his feet and raised his right hand. As he did so, the crowd fell silent again.
“I must thank the monarchy for being so forthright with its information,” he said, his voice strong and clear. “I am certain it has eased many troubled minds present in this room. But as a representative of the people, I have some questions that have remained unanswered. To begin, will those who have been detained now be released? And can the monarchy confirm that the victims of this creature have received a proper burial?”
Chatter erupted in the balconies. Black sat back down, and Reldo looked suddenly uncomfortable as he gazed toward Lord Despaard, who in turn looked to King Roald.
The King nodded once and Despaard stood.
“They shall be released,” he announced. “But in answer to your second point…” He looked back to the King who pursed his lips and nodded again. “The bodies will be returned as soon as possible.” A clamour arose that indicated the audience’s dissatisfaction with his words.
That’s done it, Kara knew. People can tolerate many grievances, but if you dishonour the dead, Lord Despaard…
Albertus Black stood again in an attempt to calm the growing clamour. People booed and shouted angrily. Captain Rovin, standing next to the throne, half-drew his sword with his bandaged hand.
“Quiet! Please… we must have silence!” Albertus’ words were barely audible to Kara as the angry display continued.
“You don’t represent us,” someone shouted down at him. The man’s words were cheered as Albertus Black’s expression showed the pain they caused him. At his side, the wealthy traders and craftsmen peered in concern at the masses gathered above them.
Suddenly Kara sensed movement at her side. Theodore stood up and raised his hands. When the crowd ignored him, he walked from the bench and stood in front of the stage, his hands open.
What are you doing, Theodore? This is not our business.
“Quiet,” he shouted, then he repeated it louder as the crowd convulsed. “Quiet!”
“You cannot claim to represent us either, knight,” someone else called down as the shouting subsided.
“You are right,” Theodore called back. “I cannot. And I do not. But I think I know who you might be satisfied with.” The knight looked to Albertus Black and his well-dressed cohort. “You have berated those who traditionally represent you, and yet someone must. Is that not the way the King’s parliament works? An appointed representative of the people must be selected to air their concerns to the crown?”
Kara saw the sweat bead on his brow.
“Who do you suggest, Sir Theodore?” Aeonisig Raispher asked. “Who has the backing of the people, if these distinguished gentlemen no longer have it?”
Theodore looked briefly to the King. Kara found the monarch’s face unreadable.
“I suggest that the woman Ellamaria be brought here,” Theodore said.
And finally an expression crossed the King’s face-one of surprise.
“She has risked a considerable amount,” Theodore continued. “By her actions-and hers alone-do we convene here today.” In the stunned silence Theodore turned to address the balconies. “She is a representative free of any political goals. Her actions on your behalf have earned her a prison cell.”
After a moment, an answer came.
“She is still not one of us!” someone cried. “She hasn’t suffered like us!”
Suddenly King Roald stood. His face was taut, his eyes fierce.
“Suffered like you?” he spat out in a cold rage. “Suffered? I have suffered at the hands of this creature. I have lost something that was as dear to me as any you could have lost.” He stepped forward from his throne as Lord Despaard moved to intercept him.
“My lord you must not-”
“It must be said, Despaard,” the ruler said, brushing aside the objection. “My people doubt me.” He turned again to face the onlookers. “I am their King! They will doubt no more.” He stepped to the very front of the stage and glared angrily at the balconies above him.
“Lady Elizabeth never died from falling from her horse, as was told to the kingdom at the time. She was murdered by the Wyrd. She was its first victim.”
His words shocked the chamber into silence.
Behind her, Kara heard William breathe out.
“By the gods,” he whispered. “Lady Elizabeth, the King’s wife-to-be, murdered.”
The dress I wore, Kara suddenly realised. What must the King have thought?
King Roald continued. “The truth of her death is as follows: we were riding from a hunting lodge on the Eastern Chase. Lady Elizabeth got ahead of me, and when I caught up to her I found the Wyrd standing over her body, her face already black in death. I do not know why the monster didn’t try to slay me before she vanished, but a guard in my service touched her wounds first, and he too was dead within a moment. So, people of Varrock, when you think that you and you alone are the victims of this creature, know that you are not. The woman I loved was taken from me.”
The King looked to Captain Rovin and then across to Theodore, still standing below the stage.
“Bring Ellamaria from the dungeon,” he ordered coldly. “I accept Sir Theodore’s recommendation. I shall return when she is here.”
With that King Roald left the chamber through the door he had entered, followed by Despaard and Rovin. Theodore returned to his seat.
For a long time, no one made a sound.
Ellamaria entered the chamber in the company of two guards. As she did so the crowd gave a sudden cheer, and Kara saw her eyes widen. Theodore made to intercept her, and they spoke quietly.
“She looks like her, you know,” William remarked to no one in particular.
“Who?” Kara asked him.
“Ellamaria,” he said. “She resembles Lady Elizabeth.”
Theodore rejoined them as the young woman was led across the aisle to Albertus and the leading citizens of Varrok.
“What did you tell her, Theodore?” Kara said. If Anne is as inquisitive as I, then no doubt she will feel the knives turning in her stomach now.
She looked to where Anne was seated, and gave her best urchin smile. Anne raised her eyebrow and looked away.
“She occupied the cell across from where Gar’rth was imprisoned, and told me her story last night,” Theodore explained. “She isn’t a bad woman at all, rather she has suffered greatly. She lost her family to the Wyrd, and has asked for my help in gaining the King’s pardon. I think this should help.” For just a moment he looked satisfied with himself. “The guards who brought her here have told her all that’s happened, so it’s up to her now.”
King Roald entered again to the sound of a horn, and at once everyone stood. Only when he was seated on the throne did the parliament follow suit.
All save one, for Ellamaria had been left without space on the bench.
Struggling to his feet, Albertus Black offered her his place.
“Keep your chair, sir,” she said, “for you look as if you have more need of it than I.”
William guffawed in laughter. The merriment was shared by the onlookers, and even King Roald smiled slightly. Albertus, looking suddenly lost, sat back down in a daze.
Despaard moved forward and spoke.
“We all know what has been happening,” he said grimly. “The question we must answer now is what are we going to do about it. The King will offer a generous reward to anyone who can lead us to the Wyrd, more to the person who can track down and kill the creature, and even more if she can be taken alive.
“But besides that, what more can we do?”
Albertus Black shuffled to his feet once more.
“Indeed, there is the question of the Wyrd’s purpose. Why is she here? What does she seek to accomplish with her reign of terror? I know the thoughts of the prophecy are worrying to many. I myself don’t have such certainty in it…”
Kara saw Reldo nod in approval.
“…but I feel certain that we must somehow divine her role. She is not just a creature that has escaped the bounds of the holy river, and now feasts on our people. The words she has left about this prophecy tell us that she is more. The question is simply, in what way?”
Papelford, the King’s ancient archivist, forced himself to his feet. His breath was laboured, and he leaned on a thin ash stick that he held at his waist. When he spoke, Kara had to concentrate to hear, for his voice was feeble and wavering.
“She is Lord Drakan’s servant,” he said with conviction. “She is sent to prepare for his coming. The prophecy is nigh, and she must be located if we are to have any hope of preventing it.”
Reldo shook his head, and as Papelford sat down the young man leapt up.
“I must… respectfully disagree with my master,” he said, looking as if he expected retaliation. “All the references to this prophecy- without exception-are written by men who lived a hundred years ago here in Varrock, not Entrana. There is no evidence at all that the High Priest ever spoke those words.”
Papelford dropped his head and put his hand over his eyes.
“And yet the Wyrd still kills, and leaves hints of the coming,” Lord Despaard protested. “How do you explain that? You cannot separate the two.”
Reldo pursed his lips and twisted his head to one side. After several seconds of silent thought he shook it and sat back down, his face bitter.
“What about an invasion?” Gideon Gleeman piped up from behind Raispher. “Why don’t we make the first move?” His words were greeted with claps and cheers. King Roald shook his head as Raispher stood and replied.
“That is impossible,” he snapped angrily. “We cannot invade them-nor they us. So say the Edicts of Guthix, laid down under Saradomin’s guidance when the river was blessed a millennia ago.”
“That’s Raispher for you,” William commented drily. “Most people would say that Guthix is the most powerful god, but not him. Saradomin conquers all, apparently.”
Kara saw Theodore frown.
He’s right though, Theodore, she thought. This Raispher is a fanatic-even more so than you and the knights. But she didn’t say it aloud.
“Yet if we cannot invade, can’t we at least send someone into Morytania to determine the truth?” Ellamaria advanced toward the stage as she spoke, arms held wide, looking to the balconies above.
She is a performer, Kara observed, and a good one. She knows how to address the crowd. Ellamaria let the silence last a moment more before continuing.
“Can we not at least send an embassy of sorts across the river?”
Lord Despaard looked quickly to Lord Ruthven, and then to the King. Suddenly Papelford stood.
“It is possible to do so,” the archivist said. “I have read of it in the histories of our realm. There is such a thing as the blood mark, and it is said that whoever bears this mark shall pass unmolested through Lord Drakan’s realm. But we would need to verify this somehow. Never in living memory has there been an attempt to send an emissary from Varrock.”
Ellamaria glowered in frustration as she spoke again.
“But surely there is someone who has been to Morytania? Is there no one who can help us now?”
Kara stood.
She hadn’t intended to, but suddenly she found herself on her feet. All eyes turned to her, and she felt King Roald’s gaze upon her as she marshalled her thoughts.
They will only execute him otherwise.
“There is one man, my King, who can help us here,” she said. “Only one who has unique experience of Morytania and who would be willing to help us. He is loyal, Sire. I trust him implicitly. So, too, can Varrock.” Her eyes swept across the faces in front of her. “You know of whom I speak-he will help. He is the only one who can.”
She sat back down as the parliament digested her words.
“You may have condemned him, Kara,” Theodore hissed angrily. “He ran away from there. What if he has no wish to return, even if King Roald decides to send an embassy across the river?”
“At least in this way he is useful to Varrock, Theodore,” she argued. “The King won’t be so hasty to execute him now. It gives him a chance.”
Kara’s speech had lit a fuse of questioning. The onlookers cried from the balconies, demanding the identity of the mysterious individual and even William, sitting behind them, couldn’t contain his curiosity. But his questions were lost in the din.
“We can have faith in Kara-Meir,” Ellamaria shouted, but to no avail. It was only when the King stood that silence once again fell over the chamber.
“Kara-Meir’s words have persuaded me,” he said. “There is truth in what she has said, and a good sense that cannot be denied. I will meet with her friend in private, along with my most trusted councillors.
“This parliament is ended.”
14
Gar’rth could feel the poison still in his body, but he was stronger now, slightly recovered from the scratches the Wyrd had given him. Yet his wrist was still bound to the wall, and the pain he felt told him that there was a two-pointed blade nearby.
He had woken for the first time that day when Theodore had left him, the knight advising him to be cautious of a man named Simon, who had been charged with watching over him.
Gar’rth’s throat was parched and when he spied Theodore’s near-full water jug, he said a silent thank you to the knight. Still, even as he drank, he knew water wouldn’t assuage the hunger that cramped his stomach.
“So you are finally awake, werewolf,” a man’s voice said from the darkness beyond the gate to his cell.
“I am,” he said. “I am hungry.”
The man laughed, and the sound had a sadistic element to it.
“Your kind are always hungry, wolf. If I had my way I would chain you in a cage and leave you to starve in Varrock’s main square, to be jeered at by children and taunted by maidens. It is no less than you deserve.”
“What have I done?” Gar’rth asked. “I don’t know you. Are you Simon?”
“I am.”
A tall man stepped forward into the light of the torch. Gar’rth saw his black-leather armour, rugged face and perceived at once the two-pronged dagger he held. It made him feel nauseous, and he sat down again, for fear he might lose consciousness.
“A wolfbane dagger,” Simon said as he rattled it across the bars. “One of the very few weapons that gives me and my friends power over your ilk. Would you be angry to know that I have killed your race before? On three occasions.”
He rattled the dagger across the bars again, and the sound made Gar’rth wince.
“Please,” he said. “Please, I am… not like them.”
“Lord Despaard told me of your history. He told me how you would say something like that. The tragedy is that you might actually believe it, but your kind cannot deny your nature. Soon- or maybe not so soon, but one day nonetheless-you will change. The blood lust will become too strong.” He leaned closer and peered through the bars. “It would be better to kill you now. Better for you, and for us.”
Simon held his dagger in a tight grasp. As Gar’rth watched, he reached for a key on his belt.
“Don’t,” Gar’rth said. “Please… just wait.”
I can’t fight him. Not now, not with that dagger.
Suddenly Simon laughed and sheathed his weapon.
“I am not going to kill you. Not yet. My orders are just to watch.”
The man disappeared back into the darkness, leaving Gar’rth in silence. A cold sweat erupted from his pores. He cursed himself for being so weak, both in spirit and strength.
Would Kara ever have pleaded like that? he thought with shame. Would Theodore? Did Doric or Castimir do so when Jerrod beat them mercilessly?
Simon returned carrying a chunk of raw meat on an iron plate. He placed it on the ground at the edge of the cage and watched as Gar’rth scrambled forward to get it, the shackle on his wrist barely allowing him reach. It was the first thing he had eaten since being injured by the Wyrd.
“It’s only animal meat, I am afraid,” Simon said with a grin. “Lord Despaard wouldn’t let you eat any prisoners, even the one you and Kara-Meir brought in. He’s to hang this morning, by the way, in case you are interested. In fact, you might well be joining him.”
The guard vanished back into the darkness as Gar’rth’s appetite died.
They won’t let them hang me. None of them will. Not my friends.
But then his fear turned to anger. He hurled the iron plate against the bars of the gate. It clattered loudly in the darkness and the only reward for his hatred was a chuckle from his guard.
“That’s good, wolf boy. It’s good that you’re afraid.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong!” Gar’rth shouted back.
Simon only laughed again.
“You were born wrong, boy,” he replied. “It’s that simple.”
Gar’rth felt tears on his face, a rage against the injustice of his situation. Where was Kara? Where were Theodore and Castimir? Why weren’t they here for him?
Have they really done it? Have they abandoned me, finally?
He felt the urge to change, to become a wolf and revenge himself upon all humankind. But the urge ended with a convulsion in his throat. He staggered and fell and rolled upon the ground, upsetting the jug of water as his mouth foamed.
“I’ve seen it before,” his tormentor said. “You want to change, but you can’t. That’s one of the talents of these little daggers. They stop you from doing so.”
Finally Gar’rth gave a roar that only sounded feeble, before lapsing into a violent fit of coughing. His vision blurred as Simon laughed again, and Gar’rth tried to stand, but was too weak to do so.
He wept.
He had tried so hard to prove to his friends that he was different from the others of his race, and now he was condemned by prejudice alone.
Where are they-where are my friends?
Suddenly the door to the dungeons swung open as booted feet descended the three short steps. Gar’rth blinked away the moisture from his eyes to see Theodore and Kara in the company of a dozen guards.
Why do they need the guards? Have they come to take me to my death? Then he found his voice.
“Kara, you must help me,” he said. “Please, they mean to hang me…” But before she could reply, Captain Rovin spoke from behind the small group.
“Unchain him,” he ordered. “Have him shackled, just in case. Both his hands and his feet.”
“Kara? Theodore?”
“It is all right Gar’rth,” Kara said, reaching out to him through the bars, her hand on his arm. “No one will harm you. I have the word of the King himself. He wishes to talk to you-that is all. We will be with you all the time.”
“It’s true,” Theodore said. The knight looked at the conditions of the cell, his eyes taking in the upturned water jug and the remnants of Gar’rth’s meal which lay upon the ground. “Captain Rovin, I demand an explanation. My friend has been mistreated since I left here.”
Rovin gave a shrug.
“There are no friends of yours being held here, Sir Theodore. Only enemies of the realm.”
“You know what I mean, Captain,” Theodore said icily as the gate was opened and Gar’rth’s wrists were shackled together, followed by his legs. “Simon has abused my friend.”
“I’m sorry, Sir Theodore. Since last night I don’t hear so well. Did you say Simon?” Rovin gave an uncharacteristic and very false smile. “There is no Simon I know of, Sir Theodore.” Over their heads, Gar’rth could see that his tormentor had gone.
“Never mind that, Theodore,” Kara said. “Let’s just get Gar’rth out of here.”
Gar’rth staggered forward, his legs chained together at his ankles. Kara and Theodore stood either side of him, their arms around him, supporting him.
“We must hurry,” Rovin commanded. “We can’t keep the King waiting.”
Thank you my friends. Thank you.
As Gar’rth ascended the steps and saw daylight for the first time since his imprisonment, his strength returned. He followed Rovin through the palace, and noted how guards stood in front of doors and along corridors, barring any servant or courtier from seeing his shackles.
“The King wants your advice,” Kara told him as they went. “He wants to know about the blood marks that foreign emissaries have used to enter Morytania unharmed.” As they approached a doorway guarded by two men with familiar faces-men who had been present when the Wyrd had wounded him and who knew his heritage-Kara leaned forward to whisper in his ear.
“Please, Gar’rth,” she said, her voice urgent. “You must prove your worth to King Roald, otherwise he will not have a reason to keep you alive.”
He gave a nod as they entered the long throne room with its white walls and yellow banners. At the southern end, below the stained-glass window, the King sat on his yellow-cushioned throne, the morning light shining behind him. Gar’rth saw Castimir and Doric standing to his right, while facing them across the aisle were Despaard and Ruthven, with the old man Papelford before them. The librarian’s hard eyes followed Gar’rth as he approached, studying him intently.
Perhaps he’s only ever read of werewolves in books.
Gar’rth turned his head as he approached the throne and he noticed a small door he had not seen before, discreetly set in the stonework. At its side, leaning against a pillar, stood his black-clad tormentor from the dungeon, one hand resting on his scabbard. Simon never took his eyes off Gar’rth.
The small door opened and Aubury the wizard entered, followed by Arisha. The mage stood at the front of the King’s dais, his hands clenched around his runes, as if ready to cast a spell.
Do they really fear me so much? he wondered. Even shackled, am I still so dangerous?
He turned his head to look behind and noted the familiar guards who had been present the night before. Everyone in the room knew his secret.
“How is Ebenezer?” Doric said to Arisha as the priestess joined his friends at the King’s side. Arisha nodded.
“He is recovering,” she said, and the words caused a wave of relief to sweep over Gar’rth. “But slowly. Until he wakes I cannot be sure. Guthix still refuses to aid him.”
King Roald also heard, and he turned his attention to the prisoner, leaning forward on the throne.
“Just as he will refuse to aid you, Gar’rth, should you lie to me here, today,” he said. “The wizard Aubury will tell me if you offer a falsehood. His magic is powerful.”
Gar’rth saw Castimir frown.
Could he really do that? Castimir has never said anything of such magic.
He bowed his head to the throne before he spoke.
“I will not lie, Sire,” he promised.
“Good,” King Roald said, sitting back. “Soon we will be joined by others who do not know your true nature-some of the leading members of my parliament. We here all know of your curse, so I would take this opportunity to ask you if you know about the blood mark that some say allow men to pass unharmed through Morytania. Help us, and it will help you in your cause.
“Does such a thing exist?”
“The blood mark is true, my King,” Gar’rth replied, “But I have never seen one. There are other ways though. A respected member from Canifis, an elder perhaps, can give his protection to outsiders. This is done for gypsies and traders who visit.”
“How do we make the blood mark?” King Roald asked.
Gar’rth felt his brow crease as he recollected the tales of his youth.
“In our stories it is simply a cut on the hand to make you bleed. That tells Morytania you are an outsider. Then the wound must be bathed in water from the Salve.”
Papelford nodded.
“That is similar to the descriptions offered in the texts I have,” he remarked sagely. “Although a priest of Saradomin or Guthix must bless the wound.”
“But would the blood mark work, Gar’rth?” Despaard asked. “Would it be respected?”
“Yes. It is death to break it. More than death.”
“Would it protect you, Gar’rth?” Kara said. “If you had to return.”
So that is it! he thought as understanding dawned. Am I to be sent home, to save them from the bother of executing me? Is that all the clemency I am offered, after near capturing the Wyrd for them? He pushed back his mounting anger.
“I don’t know,” he said. “In Canifis it would, but… not against Him.”
“Who?” King Roald asked, angrily now.
“Lord Drakan, my King.”
Gar’rth’s reply chilled the air. No one spoke for some time. Lord Despaard shared a concerned look with Lord Ruthven, and the King rubbed his hand across his face in uncertainty.
“We believe it is Lord Drakan who wants Gar’rth returned,” Kara explained finally. “He sent the werewolf Jerrod to bring Gar’rth back, just a few months before the unrest in Asgarnia. No one knows why Gar’rth is of such interest, but to send him back, and force him to face such an enemy, would be inhuman, my King.”
“She is right,” Captain Rovin said. “Better to offer him a clean death now.”
“And yet we are plagued by this Wyrd,” the King said, still stroking his chin. “We need answers, Gar’rth, and the most sensible suggestion so far has been to send an embassy across the river to at least open a dialogue with Drakan’s regime. In your opinion, can this be done?”
Gar’rth nodded.
“The vampires rule Morytania. In Canifis, our lord is Malak, a powerful vampire, maybe even a relative of Lord Drakan’s. He would respect an embassy.”
“Then I must ask you simply-will you go?” King Roald spoke cautiously. “Will you lead an embassy from Misthalin into Morytania, to act as their guide?”
“That is suicide!” Kara protested angrily.
“It is death if he stays,” King Roald replied. “A quick, clean death to be sure but death nonetheless-I have no alternative.” The King stood briskly. “What say you werewolf? Will you go, or is today to be your last day?”
What choice is that?
“You don’t know what you ask,” he said aloud.
“Or maybe you don’t know what you fear,” Papelford interjected. “If Lord Drakan was really so obsessed with you, then how was it you were able to escape at all?”
Gar’rth could give no answer. The librarian continued.
“And do you know that he is after you?” the old man probed. “Why do you believe so?”
“Jerrod told me,” Gar’rth said, suddenly uncertain. “He was sent to bring me back.”
“But why?” Papelford asked. “Why would he go to that length, if you were just to be killed? Surely Lord Drakan could have arranged that far sooner, if that was his true purpose? It might be that you won’t be harmed at all. Have you thought of that?”
Not in Morytania, old man. There is magic and darkness there that make death just a whispered dream to many.
But Gar’rth shook his head and said nothing in reply.
“You have told us the blood mark will protect you, Gar’rth. That is enough for me.” King Roald said. “You either go, and take your chances in your homeland, or you die here.”
“That is murder,” Kara hissed.
“And I would do it again and again, a thousand times over, if it meant my realm was kept safe,” King Roald said icily. “Your choice, Gar’rth. I will have your answer. Now.”
Gar’rth lowered his head.
There is no choice. None. I escaped Morytania before, so perhaps I can do so again.
“What if I come back?” Gar’rth said, looking King Roald in the eye. “What if I go into Morytania and succeed? Will you let me live in your kingdom?”
King Roald looked to Lord Ruthven. The pale-faced noble nodded and spoke.
“If His Majesty permits it, Gar’rth, you shall live within the borders of my estate, to the east of Varrock. It is a sparsely populated land, being so near the river, and there you can remain for the rest of your natural life.”
“But you must remain there only,” the King added. “You will not be allowed into any towns or villages, and I forbid you to take a wife. I cannot have your curse passed down to plague my people in the future. And you should know that your presence will be tolerated, but not welcomed.”
Gar’rth stared at Kara, who looked away uneasily. He noted how Theodore shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.
Then that is it.
When Gar’rth spoke, he did so slowly, his voice unwavering.
“Very well, my King,” he said. “I shall guide your embassy.”
“Good. Now there remains one last task. You must swear fealty to me and all my descendants. I would have your oath, Gar’rth.”
Gar’rth gritted his teeth and nodded again.
First I am forced into helping them, now I must pledge my allegiance to him. Truly I am trapped.
“Repeat the words after me,” Lord Ruthven said to him, and Gar’rth complied.
“I swear by Saradomin that I will never bear arms against the rightful King of Misthalin or his descendants. That I will give my blood and my life to ensure the throne is safe from usurpers and assassins. That I will do all in my power to safeguard the King’s heirs…”
“…and uphold the King’s will,” he concluded with grim finality.
“Very good,” King Roald said. Then he turned to the leader of the guards. “Unchain him, and prepare to call in the representatives of the people.”
Gar’rth’s shackles were removed from his wrists and ankles. The King dismissed Simon, though Gar’rth was certain he would wait nearby. When he stood, no longer a prisoner, the doors were opened and several people entered.
At their head Gar’rth recognised the white-haired old figure of Albertus Black, Ebenezer’s friend whom he had met only very briefly on the day of the Midsummer Festival. Walking at the tiny man’s side, and towering over him as if she was a queen, was Ellamaria. He opened his mouth in surprise.
She will see me. She will guess that something is amiss.
Her eyes paused on him and he saw her frown slightly, then she gave a sudden smile and turned to curtsey the King.
I can smell her now. With a stone wall between me and the wretched wolfbane, my powers are returning.
He took the opportunity to explore his olfactory environment, feeling at once far less vulnerable than he had before. Such was his concentration that he ignored what the speakers were debating, focusing on their scents instead.
Lord Despaard, leather, metal and sweat. Ellamaria, flowers and subtle perfume, the same as that used by Lady Anne. Papelford with his smell of books and mustiness. Doric, always with the scent of the earth.
Finally he turned his attention to the discussion.
“An embassy is more than acceptable to us,” Albertus Black was saying. “And I am glad to know that Lord Despaard has volunteered to lead such a mission. But who else will go?”
A silence was left hanging after the old man’s question.
“I will go,” Kara said. “Gar’rth and I have shared many dangers. We have travelled through The Wilderness together. I will not abandon him now.”
Kara, you don’t know what you say!
But before he could protest, Doric spoke.
“Then I suppose we will both be going?” The dwarf said to Theodore.
“We will, if the King permits,” the knight replied. “Now that we are back together, I would not wish to split our company again.”
“And I will accompany them,” Arisha said. “As a priestess of the barbarian peoples seeking experience of the world, it seems right to do so, for an account of Morytania would be precious to my tribe.”
“Then I shall go also,” Castimir stared at Aubury as he spoke. The older man said nothing, but Gar’rth could sense the animosity between them. Finally, Aubury gave a slight nod.
“I will permit that,” the wizard said. “It is right that you should travel with your friends, although we have much to discuss before you leave.”
“My friends,” Gar’rth said loudly, “Please. You must not do this. Morytania is a… different land. I don’t want any of you to come.”
“If any wish to reconsider, then they may do so, now,” King Roald said.
Don’t be so stubborn!
“We are decided,” Kara said. “We are coming with you Gar’rth.”
“That is appropriate,” King Roald observed. “But who shall go for Varrock? Lord Despaard will lead the expedition-that is already decided. Such a mission must represent Misthalin as a whole. It is not one of war, and someone must go to administer the blood mark. Would you be willing to go Papelford, or would this task be more suited to your apprentice who can better undertake the journey to Paterdomus?”
“I am too old for such a journey, Sire,” Papelford said bitterly. At his side, Reldo smiled.
“I will go, my King,” the apprentice archivist said. “I will gather what books I need and accompany the embassy to Paterdomus.”
“That makes sense. But Reldo, this needs to be right. There can be no margin of error.” The King looked around the chamber. “Now, who else for Misthalin?”
Albertus Black gave the King a sideways look.
“I would go,” the old man said meekly. “I haven’t many years left to me-I don’t need to be a seer to know that. And as Ebenezer has yet to regain consciousness, I feel it my duty as his friend to fill his place. As many of you know I, too, am a scientist, and I have studied many things in my life, but the tales of the land beyond the river have intrigued me since I was young. I would dearly like to see how different it is to everything I know here.”
Despaard shook his head.
“Your motives are honourable, but you are too old for this expedition.”
“That is surely a fact in my favour?” Albertus replied. “As King Roald has said, this is not a military adventure. This is an embassy to petition Lord Drakan to withdraw his creature and to return those taken by her. And as an old man, I have less to lose than a young one, Lord Despaard. If I fall, then at best I have lost only a few short years that remain to me.”
King Roald nodded.
“I will accept your offer. Now, at least one other must go. Someone important at court but who can’t be threatening in any way…” The King leaned down to his guard and whispered in his ear.
But Gar’rth heard every word.
“Bring me the fool,” he said, and the guard departed.
Only when Gideon Gleeman appeared before them, attired in his black-and-red chequered shirt and leggings, did Gar’rth understand.
“I need your services, Gleeman,” the King said. “I need a man of importance at court to escort my royal seal. It can’t be a military man, for that is too confrontational, and this is a diplomatic mission. Will you go into Morytania with Lord Despaard and his expedition?”
The jester’s face paled.
“You want me to go to Morytania?” he replied. “Are you sure, Sire?”
The King nodded, and the jester’s eyes ran over the court.
“Usually I am the joker,” he muttered. “But I will go, if I am required, though I am neither strong nor brave, and the only sword I ever wielded was a wooden one.”
“Then it is settled,” Despaard said. “We will leave at the earliest opportunity, and will make for Lord Ruthven’s manor, halfway between here and Paterdomus, where we will attempt our crossing. I shall go and make our arrangements now.”
The council broke up, and Gar’rth suddenly found himself among his friends.
“You are foolish to come with me,” he said, trying in vain to hide his smile.
Grimly, he followed his friends from the throne room. As he passed through the doors a familiar and unwelcome sensation made him look over his shoulder. It was Simon, grinning horribly.
Even giving my word isn’t enough. If they doubt mine, then should I doubt theirs? If I do return from Morytania, will it be a sword or a noose that awaits me?
“I have been asked to accompany you,” Simon said. His hand was on his dagger, which was tightly sheathed. “For your own protection, of course.”
Gar’rth said nothing, and as he continued on, he was aware of Simon’s steps echoing his own.
15
Castimir left the throne room as quickly as he dared, knowing Aubury’s eyes were on his back.
If he wishes to lecture me again, then he will have to catch me first!
He ascended the grand staircase in the company of his friends, for they all had much to do before the embassy departed.
Ebenezer was still in his bed when they entered the room. Sally was sat beside him, her face drawn and tired.
“He hasn’t stirred at all since you left him this morning,” she said to Arisha, who put her hand on the old man’s shoulder and closed her eyes in concentration. For a moment she remained still, yet very quickly she pursed her lips and gave a sigh.
“I am sorry,” she said. “Guthix is unyielding. He refuses to help.”
Castimir nodded and turned his head aside, eager not to add his own disappointment to the frustrated gazes of his friends.
“Do not blame yourself-Father Lawrence says the same of Saradomin, Arisha,” Sally replied. “You have done all you can. Now it is up to Ebenezer.”
“Where is Father Lawrence?” Kara asked quietly, looking at the old man’s ashen face.
“Sir Prysin’s heir is near death,” Sally told them. “He was grievously wounded in the lists at the festival. His father has demanded that a priest of Saradomin attend him, as is his right.”
“Then it must be up to you to care for our friend, Sally,” Theodore told her gently. “We are all to go with Lord Despaard on an embassy to Morytania. We leave very soon, probably today.”
Sally gasped in surprise.
“All of you?”
“Albertus also, Sally,” Arisha confided. “I am sorry.”
The small woman looked in danger of choking on her disbelief.
“Albertus? Into Morytania?” The words died in her throat when she saw the serious looks of the companions. After a moment, Castimir turned his attention back to the alchemist on the bed.
“Perhaps it would be best if we each wrote him a note, for when he wakes,” he suggested. “I shall write one to explain the situation. He will know that we had no choice.”
“I shall, too,” Gar’rth said. “As best I can. There is much I need to thank him for.”
So Castimir moved to the small desk that stood in the corner of Ebenezer’s room and quickly scrawled a note, explaining Gar’rth’s impossible predicament and how it was only right that they go with him under the auspices of the blood mark. He rolled the parchment up and moved to allow his friends to prepare their own messages. While they did so, he said a silent prayer.
Saradomin keep you, old friend. I will miss you at my side on the dangerous road. But as he embraced Sally tightly at the door, then departed from the room, he couldn’t help but feel that perhaps Ebenezer would be far safer than any of them.
The wizard then made his way to his own quarters, and when he opened the door he was dismayed-and somewhat angered-to find Layte Aubury sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting.
Not here! Not on my bed!
“We need to have a talk, Castimir,” the wizard said as he stood, adjusting his monocle. “Here, in private.”
Another lecture. Another threat. Will there ever be an end to it? But I need to appear busy. I cannot let my true fear give me away.
“Very well, Master Aubury. I am yours for the next few minutes, and as did Gar’rth, I promise not to lie. I have to say, however, that I do believe he saw through your ruse.” Castimir walked to the window and pretended to look out.
“My ruse?” Aubury smiled. “Perhaps. But it may be worth your while not to doubt your betters so much, young man.”
Aubury sighed.
“Nevertheless, I did as I said I would do. I have spoken to the Tower about your actions last night.”
Castimir’s heart leaped.
“And?” he said anxiously. “I acted for the best… you know I did.”
To his surprise, Aubury’s face softened.
“I am sorry, Castimir,” he said. “You are a good wizard. But you are young, you are inexperienced-”
“Yet I have fought in battles other wizards can only imagine,” Castimir protested loudly. “I have helped win wars. I am not inexperienced-”
“You are young and you are foolish,” Aubury gritted. “You are arrogant and naive! You think because you’ve ridden to war you know more than the rest of us about living magic.” He laughed mockingly. “The greatest of our order may no longer walk the world at large, but be under no illusion, Castimir-their powers are vast indeed. Their counsel is sought by Kings, their will works in ways often unperceived, protecting us from dangers that harken to other realms, dangers you cannot comprehend.” Aubury calmed and shook his head. “No, Castimir. There is much indeed you don’t know.”
The older man sighed and again adjusted his monocle.
“As I said, you are a good wizard, Castimir,” he continued. “But you have acted rashly. You want too much too soon. There are those in the Tower who wish to expel you, immediately, but I have calmed their anger and-whether you believe it or not-I spoke on your behalf. They have granted your wish to go on this adventure. And be under no doubt, this quest to Morytania is no small undertaking. Your friends will need you, and if it proves a success then your rashness will be forgotten.
“When you return, you will report back to the Tower and tell all you have learned,” he concluded, and then he took a single step toward the door, where he paused.
“Ah, I have nearly forgotten the most important reason for my visit. Here…” He gave Castimir a small leather satchel that was weighted with runes. “Try to bring some of them back. You know how rare they are.”
Aubury stopped at the door and gave a last look back.
“Good luck,” he said. “Keep your runes, your wand and your staff close to you, always.”
“Thank you, Master Aubury. I will.”
The door closed, and Castimir was left alone.
Perhaps he is not so ferocious as he appears.
And perhaps I have grown too used to my fame.
The footsteps faded outside the door and Castimir moved quickly to his bed. He pulled back the blanket in a single move and gave a cry of relief when he saw the book where he had left it that morning in his haste to attend the parliament. It was Master Segainus’s diary.
Could Aubury know, though? How could he suspect that he had been sitting on Segainus’s diary. If he did, I would be expelled from the Tower in an instant.
He picked it up and flicked through the worn pages to where his leather bookmark waited. Beneath the bed, he knew, were the other volumes of the deceased Master’s works.
Yet as he read he suddenly grew cold.
I read part of it last night, after the excitement with the Wyrd. But I am sure I didn’t leave the marker on this page…
Or did I?
Castimir felt the chill grow in his stomach. He had been too tired to remember where he had left it, but a sneaking doubt gnawed his innards.
Has Aubury seen it? Did he move the bookmark?
If he did, if he knows I stole these books, then my expulsion will no longer be in any doubt.
It was a question he couldn’t answer.
With a silent curse he gathered his belongings and made his way toward the stables to prepare his yak and horse for the journey ahead.
As Theodore left Ebenezer’s bedside, his mind was already building a list of all he had to do in the short time available. He knew his first duty, and that was to see to his candidates.
He found Philip sitting up in his bed, his head wrapped in a bandage with a dried-brown stain upon his forehead. He was tended to by the knight’s own unofficial squire, Hamel.
The youth moved to leave, but Theodore put his arm on the young man’s shoulder. “Wait, Hamel-I need to speak to you, as well.” Then he turned back to the wounded man.
“Sir,” Philip acknowledged.
“How are your injuries, Philip?” the knight asked. “I am glad to find you awake.”
“The Black Boar’s bite wasn’t as severe as it felt.” Philip smiled weakly. “How is Lord Hyett?”
Theodore shook his head.
“No one has said anything, as yet, but from what I saw of the wound, he is unlikely to live.” The knight breathed out. “I didn’t mean for him to die, in truth, but when I saw what he did to you…”
“Justice was done, sir,” Hamel muttered.
“Yes, yes, I think it was. But that is not why I am here.” He looked at Philip, then at Hamel. “I am leaving, and shortly. I will send word to Sir Amik Varze of my intention, for I am to accompany an embassy into Morytania.”
Neither of his two charges spoke, but both paled noticeably.
The fear inspired by that realm is a magic in itself.
“Hamel,” he continued quickly on. “I would ask you to go to Falador for me, to deliver a message to Sir Amik’s own hand. Can you do that?”
“Me, sir? Go to Falador?” The youth’s excitement had him flustered. “Yes sir, of course. I will leave today.”
“Good,” Theodore replied. “Now be about your duties while I write my letter to Sir Amik.”
There was a desk in the room, and he moved to it in silence. Within moments, his quill was scratching the parchment, and it was the only sound. He didn’t have the time to write in code, and in truth, he did not deem it necessary.
Who will come to take my place? he wondered. Will they perhaps send Marius?
The thought made Theodore smile. Theirs was a friendship that had been forged as others had died, for many of their own friends had fallen to Sulla’s army, lured into a trap by treachery. He and Marius had been among the few squires to survive the war.
He had just finished writing when he heard a small group of men gathering outside Philip’s room.
It was Hamel, he knew. He had assembled the candidates for a final farewell, and now they entered. Theodore handed his aide the letter, and looked at the familiar faces with a feeling of pride. He was even prouder when he noted that none were without bruises from the tourney-all upon the front of their bodies, not on their backs.
They didn’t run or cower. They took the Boar’s beating head on, and we prevailed.
He was about to speak, to congratulate them all, to tell them how proud he was, when the door at the end of the passageway opened.
It was Lady Anne.
“Excuse me gentlemen,” he said as they perceived her.
As he left them he was certain he could feel their smiles behind him.
“So,” Lady Anne said as they found their way up a flight of stairs to the gallery level. Memory of their last time there made Theodore’s heart race quicker. “You are to go to Morytania,” she said, and she nodded to the tapestry depicting the fall of the four princes at the battle of the Salve.
“How did you know I was going with the embassy?” he asked.
Lady Anne gave a smile devoid of humour.
“I am good at finding things out, Theodore,” she said coldly. “And you sought to leave me without saying goodbye?”
“No, my lady,” he said hesitantly. “It has all happened so fast-”
“Or is it Kara-Meir?” she said furiously. “Now that she has returned to you, and you have had your fun with me…” Her voice cracked and she turned angrily away.
“Lady Anne, that is not true.” His hands were on her shoulders and gently he turned her around to face him. “It has nothing to do with Kara. It is my sense of duty that impels me to go, duty to my friends and to Saradomin-”
“Saradomin,” she spat. “You’re a fool, Theodore. A fool.”
She broke away from him and once more turned her back.
So be it, he decided reluctantly.
“Lady Anne, I wish to part on good terms. I have much to do and my time is short.”
She didn’t reply.
Saradomin take you then!
“Goodbye, my lady,” he said bitterly.
Theodore turned toward the stairs and cursed under his breath.
“Wait, Theodore,” she said softly. Her tone caused him to hesitate. “Just promise me one thing.” She ran over to him and looked up into his face. Her tearful blue eyes sparkled like dewy sapphires. “Just promise me you won’t be brave, Theodore.” Suddenly she balled her fist and beat it against his chest. “Don’t you dare to be brave!”
And then she fled, running from the gallery.
Theodore breathed deeply.
I haven’t time for this. I can’t go after her, much as I would like to.
He forced himself to remain impassive. After a moment, and with another look at the tapestry of the four long-dead princes of Varrock, he left for the armoury.
Kara remained behind as Castimir and then Theodore left Ebenezer’s bedside to prepare themselves. She had arrived in Varrock with very few belongings, and although she knew she could ready herself for another journey in only a short time, she was painfully aware that she no longer possessed her own precious sword, thanks to Pia. The young girl had also stolen one of the wolfbane daggers.
“Gar’rth,” she said, after composing her own short letter to Ebenezer, with its promise to look after the werewolf especially. “I must find myself a sword. I will go to the armoury and see Captain Rovin. Will you be all right here?”
“I’ll be here for a while anyhow,” the dwarf told her. “Gar’rth can wait with me. We’ll meet you in the bailey.”
The werewolf nodded from his seat at Sally’s side. He had already written a letter of his own, without any help from Sally or Kara, or from Simon who waited silently outside the door.
Arisha taught him well, she thought as she made her way to the palace armoury. It won’t be long now before he can write as well as any noble’s son.
“I knew you would come,” Captain Rovin said when she arrived. “Take your pick of these available weapons.” The man pointed to a rack along one wall, where numerous swords were arrayed.
“What of the wolfbane daggers I took from the barn?” Kara asked. “I think we should each take one with us, only I would not want them to impede Gar’rth.” She noted his look of surprise. “It would limit his value to us in a way that would not be wise.”
Captain Rovin shook his head with a grunt.
“I was not aware that you had them,” he said with a combination of irritation and admiration. “You can take them in splitbark sheaths-that should prevent the silver blades interfering with your friend. But they are valuable. The bark is cut from trees in that realm, and they are fashioned by the Wizards’ Tower. I will have a man attend to that shortly.” He stared at her intently. “Where are they?”
“They are in my room, in my satchel next to my bed.”
At least Pia left me that. Suddenly angry at the thought of the theft, Kara took the nearest sword and gave it a quick swing, gauging its weight and balance.
“No,” she said.
She returned it and took another, trying out several different thrusts, followed by a hack and then a sudden block. This one, too, was returned to the rack.
And so it went. It was only on her twelfth attempt did she find one that satisfied her. Even so, her face must have reflected her uncertainty, for one of Rovin’s men spoke up.
“Could we not ask Sir Prysin for his blade,” he suggested. “The sword Silverlight?”
Rovin ran his bandaged hand through his hair.
“No, not even on a good day,” he said firmly. “And today is a particularly unfortunate day for him. His heir is very likely to die.”
Nonetheless, the name Silverlight had caught Kara’s attention.
“What is its history?” she asked the guard, putting the sword down before attaching its sheath to her belt.
“Silverlight was used-” the young man began.
“-In legend. Never forget that,” Rovin interrupted.
“Yes, sir. Sorry.” He turned to Kara and continued. “Legend has it that Silverlight was used by Sir Prysin’s ancestor to save Varrock from a demon. It is a sword famed in song from the dales of Lumbridge to The Wilderness sentries. But the present Sir Prysin is very protective of it.”
“It has never been out of its cupboard, not in many a year,” Captain Rovin said harshly. “Tell me Kara-Meir, what was your own blade’s name?”
“I never named it. The dwarfs, who gave me shelter as a child, don’t often name their weapons. They consider the weapon an extension of the body, of the warrior himself, rather than a separate being.” She looked at the blade she had chosen. “Does this sword have a name?”
Captain Rovin smiled grimly.
“It does. It was wielded by one of my predecessors, many years ago, and it is aptly named for the man’s duty to his monarch. It is called Kingsguard.”
Kara sheathed it slowly as Theodore entered the armoury. She could tell by his demeanour that something was amiss.
He is angry at something.
The knight nodded to them, and didn’t speak as he gathered his own blade and checked his armour. Behind him she saw his aide, the boy Hamel.
“I have some news for you, Sir Theodore,” Captain Rovin said respectfully. “The Black Boar died earlier today, no more than an hour ago. Lord Hyett leaves a six year-old son, and as he is under the age of the majority his estates-if you could call them that- will now pass to the crown. Well done.”
Kara saw Theodore’s face blacken.
“It is not a victory I am proud of, Captain Rovin. Nor one I was looking for.”
Rovin laughed.
“You should be glad of it, though,” he said frankly. “The Black Boar was an evil man. There are rumours-and I must say they are only rumours, as far as I know-that he even rode to war alongside the Kinshra against Falador last year, in the guise of a Kinshra knight. No, you should spare no sympathy for him, nor his son. For the boy’s life will be better without the influence of his father. And likely longer, too, I dare say. If you ask anyone about Lord Hyett, and they speak truthfully, you will only hear ill of him. Long has he been a thorn in King Roald’s side.
“So I say again, well done.”
Rovin left the armoury with the guard in tow then, and Kara watched as Theodore gathered his equipment.
“Take the armour to the horses, Hamel,” Theodore said. “I won’t ride in it.”
“Yes, sir. The others are readying your mare.”
“Good. That will save me time.”
The clubfooted young man left with Theodore’s breastplate and helm, and for a moment they were left alone. The knight strapped his sword belt around his waist.
“Are you ready, Kara?”
“I am, now that I have a sword.”
“I am sorry,” he said, “about Pia and Jack and the theft. I know how much Master Phyllis’s blade meant to you.” He straightened his back and grimaced, then reached over his right shoulder with his left hand and probed gently.
“They ran because they thought I couldn’t protect them, Theodore,” Kara replied. “Pia is wanted for murder in Ardougne, and Sir Cecil said he wanted them sent back to face trial. Little wonder that they bolted.”
“You can’t protect them from that, Kara,” Theodore said slowly. “If they are accused then they must face trial, the rule of law and justice-”
“King Lathas’ justice, Theodore,” she countered. “He is no King Roald, nor is he any Sir Amik Varze. Need I remind you of your master’s honour and dedication to law?”
She saw his face twist uncomfortably.
“No, you need not,” he said defensively. He shook his head and took a breath. “Oh, enough, Kara. I am sorry for what happened, of course I am-”
“Three innocent people died, Theodore, because of his, and your, idea of justice. Among them your own peon, Bry-”
“You go too far, Kara,” Theodore said coldly. “Not a day goes by when I don’t ask for Saradomin’s forgiveness for my failure. But I won’t stand here and be beaten with that stick. Not any more.”
She let it drop, but it still preyed on her thoughts.
It was your order that endangered me, Theodore. And you were a participant in that deceit.
Neither spoke again, and after a moment Theodore strode from the armoury, leaving Kara alone.
She cursed under her breath.
I still haven’t forgiven him for that. I don’t think I ever will be able to, even though I know he acted under orders from Sir Amik.
From far off, the bells of Father Lawrence’s church rang the first hour of the afternoon. Kara gripped the hilt of her sword and left the armoury to gather with the embassy. She hadn’t meant to wound Theodore so, but part of her was savagely happy that she had.
A few minutes later she walked out into the bailey where the group was assembling. A collection of horses and mules were being laden with supplies. She saw Doric clapping his hands in joy in response to something that his companion had said. It was someone she vaguely recognised from the dance. The King’s fletcher, a man called Lowe. Not too far away, standing on his own, was Gar’rth, sorting his pack. Kara noticed that even here Simon was keeping a watchful eye.
Doric noticed her gaze and waved her over.
“I was keeping this as a surprise,” the dwarf said with a wink. “Ah, Theodore, you will want to hear of this, too, for it was what I hinted at the first night I was in Varrock. The thing that took me many hours of hard labour.”
Lowe smiled as Kara watched Theodore approach. The knight gave her only the briefest of glances as Doric held an arrow up for their inspection.
“Look at the tip, my young friends.”
Kara leaned forward and saw green-tinted light reflect off the metal’s surface.
“It’s adamant,” she observed. “You’ve forged adamant-tipped arrows!”
Theodore gave a slight smile as he took a second one from the dwarf to inspect more closely.
“It was Ebenezer’s idea,” Doric said. “Remember those adamant bars that you helped me cart all the way from my burned cabin to Falador, Theodore? The ones you thought would give your mare a heart attack? Well, I melted one of them down last month and Lowe here kindly fitted them for me. Fletching isn’t a skill with which I have any experience, truth be told.”
“Doric told me of your adamant blade and the injury it did to Jerrod, Kara-Meir,” Lowe said in a deep voice. “It was the least I could do, fixing these dozen arrows for you, and Lord William paid me generously. With luck, they will pierce wolf flesh soon enough.” The fletcher looked to Doric quickly and Kara saw the dwarf nod. “And I have this for you also.” Lowe reached to the horse at his side and took a longbow from its flank. It was taller than Doric himself. The bow had attracted the attention of several onlookers, and now Gar’rth strode toward them.
“That is a fine bow,” Theodore said. “It will take a strong man to draw it.”
“It is a yew composite bow, with a coating of tallow to protect it from the weather,” Lowe explained. “Would you care to try it?”
Theodore took the bow and drew back the flax string with obvious difficulty.
“Let Gar’rth try it,” Doric said, waving him forward.
“He is no stranger to the bow,” Kara said. “I taught him how to shoot in The Wilderness.”
Responding to the dwarf’s wave, Gar’rth stepped over and took the composite bow from Theodore. He drew the string back in a single easy move.
“That would fell any werewolf,” Lowe promised. “With Doric’s adamant arrows, you need have no fear of such demons. Make sure you bring back a few pelts!”
Gar’rth released the string with a grim look at Lowe. The smile had frozen on Doric’s face, and Theodore pursed his lips. Not far away, Simon grinned. Lowe frowned, aware he had spoken amiss, but not entirely sure of exactly how.
“Thank you, Lowe,” Kara said quickly. “With luck we won’t have to use it at all. This is, after all, a diplomatic mission.”
The unfortunate man bowed and left.
“I will take the bow and the arrows on my mare, if you like,” Theodore volunteered. Gar’rth nodded and handed the bow across as the knight returned to his horse, which stood among three busy young men who checked straps, saddle packs and horseshoes.
“I am sorry, Gar’rth,” Kara said quietly. He nodded, accepting her sympathy.
The bailey was busier now. Albertus Black arrived from Ebenezer’s town house. He rode upon a horse with a pack mule behind him. Seeing him, Kara heard Castimir sigh in exasperation as he readied the packs upon his yak.
“So we have another alchemist now,” the wizard chided. “Have you brought any sodium, Albertus? Or that phosphorous? That one could be useful in dark places.”
“I have brought those and more,” Albertus replied excitedly. “And several of our black-powder tubes. That will wake Lord Drakan, if our embassy does not stir him.”
“Be careful what you wish for old man,” Despaard cautioned. “I would be happy for Lord Drakan to remain still for many years to come, yet this Wyrd is proof he is already stirring.”
“But it isn’t proof that he is, for certain,” Albertus said. “We don’t know enough about the Wyrd to form an accurate hypothesis.” Kara didn’t hear how-or if-the argument progressed, for she caught sight of Arisha, leading her horse into the bailey.
“One of the blacksmiths has reshod our horses, Kara,” Arisha told her. “Yours is still in the stables but will be ready very soon.”
“I will get it, Arisha,” Kara told her friend. “I am ready to go now, anyhow, as soon as Captain Rovin brings us the wolfbane daggers. He has offered us splitbark sheaths so they won’t incapacitate Gar’rth.”
Arisha nodded and led her horse on as Kara walked to the stables. She approached the terrace they had stood upon the night before, at the dance, meaning to head south, directly past it to the inner courtyard. She was nearly there when a sudden movement above its short balustrade caught her eye.
It was Lady Caroline. As Kara watched, Lord William stepped out behind her and put his arms around her waist, drawing a squeak and a smile from her.
Lord William and Lady Caroline? She smiled inwardly. Lady Anne has met with success again. Kara waited until their two voices faded as they vanished back inside again. Then, at a fast walk, she made her way to the stables, found her horse, and led him quickly back to the bailey.
When she returned she found Reldo in a heated discussion with Papelford, the old man insisting that his apprentice should take certain books with him on the journey. Nearby stood Gideon Gleeman, his long face fraught with worry, the King’s Seal held tightly in his hands, while at the entrance to the bailey waited Despaard and Ruthven, both men impatient to get underway.
“I want to be at my manor before dark,” Lord Ruthven shouted to everybody. “It will mean a supper for us if we can do it, and a bed for the night.”
“I am ready,” a young monk in brown robes said. Kara saw the four-pointed star dangle from a necklace. His tonsured head was burned by the sun, yet he showed no discomfort. “My pilgrims have prepared their wagons and they will follow us tomorrow. It should be enough to ensure that Paterdomus is supplied till winter.”
“I am glad you are travelling with us, Drezel,” Despaard said. “The Pass of Silvarea can be treacherous on occasion.” The monk Drezel gave a slight bow in his saddle as another horse trotted through the entrance to the bailey. On it rode Lord William.
“May I accompany the embassy to Paterdomus, Lord Despaard?” he asked. “It is, after all, my duty to ensure that Kara-Meir’s companions have all they need while in Varrock.”
Lord Despaard glared at the younger man. When he didn’t answer, Kara saw Lord William turn his gaze toward her.
“Do you find my company so unpleasant, Kara-Meir?” he asked sweetly.
Kara smiled.
“Not at all,” she replied. “I would be glad to have you with us on the road, and I know my friends would be too.”
“Just don’t go getting lost or left behind,” Despaard said, impatiently. Kara found it amusing. “We cannot afford time to pander to the vagaries of a dilettante.”
But Lord William replied at once.
“I can assure you, Lord Despaard, this dilettante is more than capable of pandering to his own vagaries.”
Despaard nodded grimly and looked about the bailey carefully.
“Very well. Then let me do a head count. There are nine of us in the embassy itself, with Lord Ruthven and Drezel to act as our guides as far as Paterdomus. Reldo also, of course. And an escort of twelve trusted men.” He caught Kara looking at him. “My rangers,” he explained, “including Simon. Twenty-four of us in total.”
Lord William coughed, his expression slightly wounded.
“Don’t you mean twenty-five?”
Despaard turned away without a reply. A short time later he ordered the embassy to mount. With their escort, they rode forward, preceded by a contingent of the palace guard who were to accompany them through the city. As they drew near the gate, Kara happened to cast her eye back to the palace, and became aware of someone staring at her.
She saw Lady Anne, standing in a window on the second floor. Her hand was pressed to the window pane.
Quickly Kara turned away, to concentrate on the road ahead.
Theodore has not seen you, Lady Anne, and I will not tell him. I wonder if you will go to bed cursing my name?
But as the gate neared Kara glanced upward again. Anne was still there. This time, their eyes met. “Please” she mouthed. The gate was only seconds away, and once they were through, the window would no longer be visible.
Kara turned away with a wicked smile that instantly made her feel guilty.
No! No I will not ride off like this. I will not sink to her level.
“Theodore,” she said gently, pointing up with her hand.
He turned sharply in his saddle and followed her gesture. Kara saw Anne’s face brighten as Theodore waved.
And then they rode through the gate, and Lady Anne was gone.
“Thank you, Kara,” Theodore said. “You could have said nothing. She and I parted on… awkward terms.”
“I am sorry to hear that, Theodore. Truly.”
And it is true. I am.
16
The day had thus far been foul.
The Midsummer Festival had ended as they entered Varrock through the southern gate, on the cart which had brought Pia in her barrel to the barn. As soon as they arrived in the city, Jerrod had whispered to him that they were being followed. Cautiously, Sulla had spied their shadow-a young girl, probably no more than twelve years old.
That’s how the gangs operate. Children take the risk for their elders, and swing for them if they are caught.
The cart owner-a man named Bareak who posed as a fur trader, but who in reality worked for Straven, the leader of the Phoenix Gang-had separated from them in the south of the city, among the squalor and the poor. He left behind the briefest of messages.
“Come to the Blue Moon Inn tomorrow, after midday. Straven will be there.”
From that moment on, as they wandered Varrock, Jerrod carrying the heavy case of documents as if it was empty, the young girl kept her eye on them, likely unaware that Sulla knew of her presence.
Although I wouldn’t have if I didn’t have Jerrod here, with his hunter’s nose.
She was still there now, some hours after the sun had gone down.
They had taken meagre shelter in an alley, among the dregs of Varrock. Sulla was roused from an uneasy sleep when a dozen guardsmen ran by, and across the city the harsh sound of men shouting could be heard. It passed quickly, but from that moment on sleep was even more elusive.
Just as he managed to doze, Jerrod’s voice dragged him back.
“I have news,” the werewolf said. “Important news.”
Sulla was angry and he was cold. He shivered in his torn cloak and tried to pull it tighter across his shoulders, fumbling with his wrists as he did so. Next to him slept Barbec, snoring gently and blissfully unaware.
Jerrod crouched, perched on the case.
“What is it?” Sulla hissed.
“Something is wrong, Sulla,” came the growled response. “Wrong in Morytania.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have just had a message from… someone. Not my master, but someone more powerful and far, far older.”
“Older than Drakan?”
Jerrod shook his head. And Sulla knew he was afraid.
“I don’t understand it,” the creature continued. “It was a woman, Sulla. She told me about the Wyrd. She told me where it is.”
What?
“Tell me,” Sulla demanded. If I could deliver this creature to King Roald then I would become a hero, able to demand anything I wished.
“She’s in the lumberyard, Sulla, to the northeast of here. That’s her hideout. The woman wants me to destroy her. But I don’t understand it. This is not my master speaking.”
“So who will you obey?”
“I will obey her, Sulla. She knows things, she is older than the one who sent me. She told me her name. It is one we fear to speak in Morytania. She is Vanescula, Lord Drakan’s own kin.”
“But I thought you were sent by Drakan himself.”
“I thought so, too. That’s what I was led to believe. But Vanescula is even more powerful than the being who sent me, so it can’t have been Lord Drakan. No, I must have been tricked. That’s how the vampires work their games, Sulla.” The werewolf growled in anger and clenched his fists.
So there are conflicting masters in Morytania, Sulla mused silently. And I know now where the Wyrd makes her lair.
“Very well,” he said after a moment’s deliberation. “Tell me Jerrod, is the girl still nearby?”
Jerrod sniffed the air and nodded.
“Good. She has something I want. Come!”
“The embassy left Varrock through the east gate an hour ago,” the man with the thin moustache told Sulla. He then pursed his lips in thought, ran his right hand through brown hair that was flecked with silver at the sides, and reached into the small bag that lay on the table between the two men.
“Kara-Meir and her friends went with them,” he added. “I saw them go.”
The man withdrew his hand to reveal a rounded pebble poised between two fingers. He turned it over and dropped it onto the table.
Sulla grinned when he saw the white markings on its surface.
“An air rune? That’s a point to you, Straven. So you have fifteen to my eighteen. And the death rune is among the three remaining.”
“Your turn,” the thief master replied. “Will you hold? Or will you risk it?”
Sulla shook his head and grinned behind his wild beard.
“I am ahead, and there is a one in three chance that you will pull out the chaos rune. Only then can you beat me. No, I’ll hold.”
Sulla saw Straven’s lip curl slightly in frustration, and he followed his opponent’s eyes as they settled on the item that sat at his side on the bench. Wrapped in a damp cloth, it dripped a brown liquid onto the wood and its smell reminded Sulla of a butcher’s shop. Straven gave a look of distaste. Very quickly, his eyes moved on, to pass over the Blue Moon’s customers.
From their position by the window, Sulla followed his gaze.
How many of them are your men, Straven? What are you waiting for?
It was early afternoon and the tavern was crowded, with at least two-dozen unfamiliar faces half-hidden in the fug of pipe smoke. The only man he recognised there was the gang-master’s own man, the fur trader Bareak, who had given him the message the day before.
Straven reached into the bag once more. Without pause, he withdrew his hand and dropped a single pebble on the tabletop. It was marked with salmon coloured lines stretching outward toward its edge.
Sulla laughed.
“A mind rune! Two points for you. I am still ahead by one. Now there is an even chance of victory or defeat, Straven. Only two runes remain, chaos and death. It’s a choice that reminds me of my own life up to this moment.”
“As I was saying,” Straven responded, “I watched Kara-Meir leave with the embassy. I am amazed that such a slight girl could have bested you in single combat. It makes no sense.”
Sulla shrugged.
“Much about her does not,” he admitted. “She even wounded my companion, and that’s no small feat in itself.”
“Ah, your companion. You’ve spoken highly of him, but he remains very elusive. From the moment you entered Varrock, Bareak had my footpads follow you, and yet you evaded them.” Straven looked Sulla in the eye, and continued cautiously. “I can’t recall anyone having done that before, not even that thief from Kandarin, the one who tried to run with my money. It unnerves me. And I don’t like being unnerved.”
His hand rested on the small bag which now only held two runes.
Is this the moment, Straven? Sulla wondered. Is this when you spring your trap and hand me over to the King? Or are you really unnerved by Jerrod and the ease with which he can vanish from sight?
He glanced subtly at a man who sat by himself. Jerrod was covered in a cloak he had stolen from a beggar the previous night. He had entered the inn an hour before Sulla, and had sat patiently by himself, watching and waiting.
“Come, Straven,” Sulla said amiably. “You have made a great deal of money from me in the past. When I was a senior member of the Kinshra, you worked for me a great deal, even though I could just as easily have used the Black Arm Gang.
“As I could now,” he added, leaning forward.
Straven’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t threaten me, Sulla,” he hissed quietly. “I have a dozen men in here right now. Within a half hour you could be trussed up and given to King Roald. Or worse. I could send you back to the Kinshra to suffer a slow death.”
Sulla smirked.
“And I have only Barbec, who waits outside in the street.”
“What of your mysterious companion. Is he here now, with us?”
Sulla shook his head.
“I won’t give everything away to you, Straven. But I will give you this-for your time and for a promise of a second meeting. Take my purse from my belt.”
Straven leant over and did as he asked. Without waiting for permission the gang-master loosened the cord and peered in. Sulla saw an eyebrow lift in surprise.
“The gem is yours, Straven. But there are more to come if you do as I request. Many more-it will be well worth your time.”
Request! he raged inwardly. Six months ago I made demands. A dark side of him wanted to laugh at his own fall.
Instead, he waited, watching intently.
“It had better be,” Straven said, “for I could profit a great deal from turning you in.” He licked his lips and glanced around the room. “What do you want?” he asked finally.
“A hot bath would be nice,” Sulla responded. “A shave and a haircut, too. A place to hide for a while. And…” He held up his arms, his wrists still wrapped in bandages.
“…new hands.”
Straven nodded.
“The first requests can easily be accomplished. I can’t help with the hands, however. You might need a wizard or a cleric for that, or even an engineer to fit some artificial appendages.”
“That would suffice for now,” Sulla agreed. “Something with sharp edges, so I can indulge my interest in pain.” He grinned, and noticed how the man squirmed uncomfortably. “I have a lot of pain to give. Six months worth of agony.
“But I don’t need you to arrange any of those things,” he continued. “And I wouldn’t want you to know where I plan to make my lair. The lure of Kinshra gold-or your duty as a citizen to your monarch-might outweigh your word to me. I want something else. I want asylum.”
Straven’s eyes went wide.
“What?” he said loudly. He glanced around, then leaned in and continued in a low voice. “You? The King would never grant it! You’ve too many orphans to your name-”
“Such as Kara-Meir?” Sulla countered. “I orphaned her, you know.” He waved his stumped wrists in the air. “She and her fellow victims have had their revenge on me, haven’t they?”
But Straven remained unmoved.
“No, Sulla. I have no way of contacting the King or his advisors, and you have nothing to offer them, even if I could.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Straven. Perhaps I have little to offer, but what of my companion? The one who evades your footpads with such ease?”
“Go on.”
“Jerrod is his name. Few know anything about him, though that may already have changed, thanks to Kara-Meir’s intervention in the barn. Regardless, he is a… man of unique value.”
Sulla leaned over to whisper.
“Jerrod is from Morytania. He is a werewolf.”
Straven gasped and pulled back.
“You keep ill company, Sulla,” he hissed.
“I am glad you realise that. Believe me when I tell you that he could find you wherever you hide in this city. Even if you were guarded by your best men, he would find you and eat your organs as you watched. I’ve seen him do it.
“But he knows things, too,” Sulla continued. “He knows about the Wyrd, Straven. His master can contact him from beyond the River Salve. It happened only last night, as we spent the night in an alleyway among the dregs, when Jerrod was asked to apprehend her.”
Straven’s face broke into confusion.
“Apprehend her? I don’t understand,” he said. “Why would he want her captured, if she is doing his bidding?”
Sulla smiled again.
“My question exactly. Interesting isn’t it? Something is afoot in Morytania, something that the King would give half his treasury to understand.” He paused for effect. “So here is what I want you to do. Find me fighters, Straven. I want you to recruit the most capable mercenaries Varrock has to offer. Men who are unafraid of The Wilderness and who will work under my command. Only a handful, but promise them they will be rewarded, for I intend to catch the Wyrd and give her to the King.”
“I know of four individuals, perhaps more, who will suit your needs, Sulla. Will that suffice? I think I can have them ready in three nights’ time.” Straven spoke carefully, eager to please, and Sulla knew he had the man in his grip. “Where shall we meet you?”
“Outside the city, to the east under the gallows tree. In three nights, just two hours before dark. Tell them to be ready for a ride. And I will need a horse for myself.”
Straven nodded and made ready to stand, but Sulla stopped him.
“Two more things before you leave, Straven. First, I have something for you. It’s the object on the bench next to me. Take it.”
Straven looked doubtful. He reached down, and grimaced as his fingers felt the damp cloth. He looked at Sulla warily, but the man with the ruined face only smiled a horrible smile.
“Perhaps you had best finish the game first,” he said. “Will it be chaos and victory-or death?”
The gang-master shot him a puzzled look as he reached into the bag and pulled out the first pebble his fingers touched. He held it up.
“So it’s death, Straven,” Sulla said mirthlessly, looking at the white skull painted on the stone. “You have lost. Now take my gift.”
Straven looked hard at the damp cloth again.
“Don’t worry, you keep it, Sulla,” he said stiffly.
“Take it, Straven. I brought it for you.” His eye hardened and he stared grimly at the gang-master. “Consider it a warning.”
Straven took it up in his right hand. He pulled the cloth aside, and instantly turned away.
“Gods!” he said, and he gagged. “What is it?”
Sulla smiled.
“Don’t you recognise young Catspurse when you see her, Straven? It’s all that remains of the young footpad who trailed us. It’s her heart. Jerrod ate her other organs as she died, and she did so horribly. He especially relishes the liver for some reason. Didn’t I say I had watched him do it? Perhaps you thought I was being theatrical, but now you know better.”
“She was only twelve!”
“Oh, don’t pretend that you care, Straven. You use children, to rob on your behalf, and are fully prepared to let them be punished in your place. How many other Catspurses have died because of you?”
“They know the risks… but this is…” Straven shook his head.
“Quite so. It’s monstrous. Like Jerrod. Like me.” Sulla stood. “Three nights’ time then, under the gallows tree. We will be watching for any deceit on your part. And just remember, you have a heart, too. And a liver. It is Jerrod’s favourite.”
17
For a long time, the land through which they passed was densely overgrown, branches and vines clawed at them constantly, and their progress was slow.
Finally they entered a lush wildflower meadow with a treeline on the other side. Pia, dishevelled by hours of travelling, sighed deeply. It had been a hard journey for all of them. The horse staggered beneath her, equally exhausted.
“Can’t we rest now, Pia?” Jack asked from his perch in front of her. He peered up at the sun, which lay directly overhead “We have travelled all night and morning. Please Pia, let us stop for a moment.”
Pia craned her head back over her left shoulder, to the west. She listened intently.
Nothing.
Nothing save the breeze among the trees.
Yet she felt unsure.
I don’t know anything about this land, she thought, studying the distant treeline. I don’t know how far we have come from Varrock, or if there are any settlements left to hide us.
Her ignorance made her angry. She had grown up in a city, in a place of crowds and shadows where it was easy to hide. Out here, in the country, she felt exposed and afraid.
But I will not show it. For Jack’s sake, I must be strong.
“Very well, Jack,” she said. “I think we can take the time-”
A horn blew from the west.
Jack gasped, and glanced around frantically. He turned to her.
“Pia?”
She tightened her grip on the horse’s reins. The horse was fast when it needed to be-it had proved that when they had fled from Varrock the night before. Even now, even so exhausted from the trip carrying both of them, its head rose determinedly in response to Pia’s pull.
The horn sounded again.
She felt Jack shiver.
“Who are they Pia?” he asked desperately. “Do you think they are after us?”
Before she could reply, the bay of hounds fought its way against the breeze to her ears. It was a sound that made her heart stop and her stomach ice-cold.
They are not far away. Perhaps only a few minutes.
“Pia? What will we do?”
“What we always do, Jack.” She dug her heels into the horse’s flank and goaded it onward with a savage pull of the reins. “We run.”
The mare broke into a loping gallop. Pia’s legs ached horribly and she grimaced with every passing yard.
“We need to hide,” Jack said. “There.” Her brother pointed toward the treeline that rose before them. It was the only place they could hide now, for they had left cover behind.
She directed the horse as best she could, as the horn sounded again. The bays of the pack grew louder until they seemed to come from all sides. After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the edge of the forest and again fought their way into the foliage. Thin branches whipped her face and hands and she heard Jack cry out in pain as the sting of a thorn cut her bare cheek, drawing blood, then raked across her face, as well. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.
“Pia. Stop!” Jack shouted.
She opened her eyes as the horse neighed in alarm and stopped abruptly. They were at the top of a steep bank that led down to a fast-flowing river. Across the straining water the opposite bank was hidden in the shadows of a wild forest.
“Is this the River Salve?” Jack asked, his voice low.
If it was, then it fell short of her expectations. Even in her homeland there were legends of the holy river. Some had even said it glowed with a white light, and that its waters could cure any wounds or illness.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think so.” She nodded to the opposite bank. “That doesn’t look like the land of the undead does it?” But even as she said it, she felt unsure.
Jack didn’t reply.
Again the horns sounded and the hounds bayed.
If I am caught I will hang now for certain, she thought desperately. And Jack will too. We have stolen a horse of the King’s stable, and we have stolen a hero’s sword.
Pia drew the adamant blade an inch from its scabbard. Its green-tinted metal caught the midday sun. She made up her mind.
“Do you think the horse can swim across, with us on her back?”
Jack shook his head.
“I don’t know, Pia,” he answered. “But even if it can, should we go? What if that is Morytania?” She sensed her brother’s fear, and tried to pretend the same thought hadn’t crossed her own mind. She made her decision.
“We’ll cross over, Jack, so long as the horse can bear us,” she said firmly. “Then we’ll turn south and cross back after a few hours. If that is Morytania, then we won’t be there for long.”
She didn’t wait for her brother’s objections. She kicked with her heels. After a few moments of dancing around uncertainly, the horse started down to the water’s edge, treading its way carefully.
But then she stood and waited. Pia cursed and dug her heels into the animal’s flanks.
Still the horse refused to move.
“Zamorak curse you,” she spat as the hounds bayed behind them, closer now. Somewhere over her right shoulder she heard a man shout.
They are probably in the meadow, just before the trees. They will be on us in seconds.
Desperation forced her hand. She drew the wolfbane dagger she had taken from Kara’s satchel and stabbed it into the horse’s behind.
The animal neighed and shot forward, its speed catching Pia by surprise. She dropped the dagger in her haste to steady herself as she gripped the reins and held tightly. They plunged into the river. Brown water fumed at their sides as the horse ploughed ahead. A dog barked loudly and frantically behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw several of the pack break through the undergrowth at the top of the bank.
When she turned back to face the front, she saw to her surprise that they were already half way across the river. The horse showed no sign of slowing.
Pia grinned suddenly.
“Never a rope for us, Jack,” she asserted. “I hope Kara understands the message we left.”
Jack didn’t reply. She knew he was still angry at her for stealing Kara’s sword, but she wouldn’t let that dampen her spirits now. They had escaped once again.
“Come back!” a man shouted behind her. “For the love of Saradomin, Pia, come back!”
The man’s panicked voice caused Pia to look over her shoulder again. She felt the horse rise beneath her as the its hooves found firm ground.
There were a half-dozen men gathered on the opposite river bank, clad in black-leather armour. Two or three of them were gesturing wildly, beckoning her to return.
Do they take me for an idiot?
“Don’t be a fool, girl!” another shouted, waving to her. “It’s not too late.”
“If I go back I die,” Pia shouted angrily. “My brother, too. We will take our chances-”
“But there are no chances in Morytania,” the first man yelled. “Please. Please, come back to us, Pia. Kara-Meir has asked that you be returned unharmed. The King will honour his pledge to her.”
“You don’t know what you are doing, girl,” a third man cried.
The horse broke from the water now and Pia couldn’t reply. She tightened her legs on the horse’s flank as the animal clambered wearily up the steep bank, water running off of it in long, thin rivulets.
She looked back at her pursuers. They were arguing, their arms gesturing wildly. They stopped, and one of the men put an arrow to his bow.
“Pia?” Jack said gently. He leaned back into her, as if trying to make himself small.
It seemed to happen in slow motion. The man sighted his arrow toward her and loosed.
The black-feathered arrow missed her by a scant yard, passing in front of her face.
“Pia, we must run!” Jack said in panic.
“You said you wanted us unharmed!” Pia shouted in anger. Already the man was reloading, and she saw how others reached for their bows.
“It is better for you, Pia,” the first man shouted. She couldn’t be certain, but it seemed as if he was afraid. “It is better for you to die now, before you go any farther.”
They mean to kill us. They really do. It was not a warning shot.
Pia shouted and slapped the horse’s neck, pulling the reins and digging in her heels as she forced the animal away from the bank. Arrows snapped past them and overhead, but none found their mark, and within a minute of riding, when she turned back, the river had vanished from sight in the deep undergrowth.
The sounds of their pursuers were lost, as well.
As if they were never there.
Although she was determined to keep track of the river, and cross it again after they had travelled a safe distance, within an hour Pia was lost.
She didn’t dare say anything to Jack for fear of making him afraid. The sun was obscured behind a veil of green fog that grew denser as they travelled, and the woods gave way to a swampy marshland. At its edge, Pia halted and dismounted for the first time in many hours. Her body protested in agony, and in an effort to spare her brother the same she helped him from the horse as gently as she was able. His inner thighs were coated in sweat and dried blood from where the jolting of the horse had chafed his skin. She had no doubt her own legs were in a similar condition, yet she refused to look.
“We will rest here, for an hour or so,” she told him. “Let the horse get her breath back.”
“And then we start south?” Jack asked. His voice was low. “We can’t be more than two miles from the river now.” Her brother spoke in a hushed whisper, as if afraid to offend some dreadful observer. He peered around them, into the mist. But there was no movement, no sound.
Pia nodded.
“Then we start south and cross back over the river a few miles downstream.” She gave her brother her most roguish smile. “We did it, Jack. We did it again. We survived.”
I haven’t the heart to tell him that I’m hopelessly lost. Nor that I lost the dagger that kept Jerrod so afraid.
The thought of the werewolf caused her to glance around, but the fog seemed impenetrable. They seemed so vulnerable here, intruders in a place that would never forgive their trespass. Pia shivered.
“Perhaps we should start for the south now,” she muttered. “I don’t like it here.” The horse fidgeted, as if sharing her anxiousness.
“Do you think they followed us across the river?” Jack’s face was doubtful.
“Maybe,” she replied. But she really didn’t think so.
It is not them I fear.
She ran her hand across her face and looked down. It came away with a bloody smear. She remembered the thorn that had cut her cheek in their rush to the river bank. Still it hadn’t dried.
The iron smell seemed to hang in the stale air, impossibly strong.
“Pia. Look.”
She looked to where he pointed across the swamp. In the hazy distance she thought she saw something. It looked like a cloaked figure, but as quickly as she spotted it, the fog rose up from the black waters that separated them, and obscured it. She strained to find it again, but the green mist hid the horizon from view.
She felt her stomach tighten.
“Pia… Pia I’m frightened.” Jack turned to look at her. “I want to go back. I want to go back to Kara and I want to tell her I’m sorry. Please, Pia. Please. Can we go back?”
We made a mistake coming here. A dreadful mistake.
“Get on the horse, Jack. Now.”
Suddenly she shivered. She breathed out as her brother did as she had instructed, and she placed her hand on the hilt of Kara’s sword.
What would she do here?
Pia was cold now-unnaturally so. Her hand shook on the sword hilt, her grip weak.
“Come on, Pia. Get up.” Muted though it was, Jack’s voice cut through her fear. Quickly she clambered into the saddle behind him. The horse snorted once, its body steaming from her exertion. Clearly the creature was exhausted.
From her vantage point, Pia looked back to the swamp. The green mist faded slightly, and she could see the place where the figure had stood. There was no sign of it now.
Jack was looking, too.
“Did you see him?” he asked.
“I thought I did,” Pia said, “but only for a second. I think it was a man. It doesn’t matter though. We’re going now.”
She turned the horse, and guided it forward, not sure of the direction she was going. Her route followed the firmer land that lay at the swamp’s edge.
Time seemed meaningless in that fog, and she didn’t know how long it had been before they heard a sound-like a man coughing-as it echoed across the dim expanse. Pia froze and she felt Jack stiffen. Her skin crawled uncontrollably.
There across the mire stood a diminutive figure, his arms draped around the gnarled form of a dead tree, his face hidden behind the decaying bark. As Pia stared she saw that saw it was an old man, with skin as white as milk. His clothes were torn rags through which she could see his ribs, and arms that were devoid of any muscle. She had seen people like that before, beggars who starved in the winter.
“Don’t let him see us, Pia,” Jack hissed. “Please. There’s something not right about him.”
The man coughed again, and as he did so he moved, his head sliding out from behind the bark.
“Gods.” Jack breathed. “Ride, Pia. Please. Ride!”
But she couldn’t move. She told her legs to do so, to dig her heels into the horse’s side, but they refused. She was frozen, the burning red eyes of the man looking into hers.
The horse neighed.
“Pia!” Jack cried, louder now,
The hair on the man’s head was torn out in great clumps. When he coughed and opened his mouth she saw that half his tongue was missing. He coughed again, and this time his jaw hung open, wider than nature had designed. Or it might have been a laugh, and Pia saw him give what she thought could be a leering smile.
His arms uncoiled from the tree and he moved toward them. His speed was unnatural.
“Pia!”
She had never seen anything so perverse, so wrong. The old man with a skeletal body leapt the first pool that separated them, a jump that even a young man in peak condition could never have accomplished.
Impossible. Still she remained transfixed.
The man opened his mouth wider as he charged toward them. He was as fast as a horse, she realised suddenly.
“Pia,” Jack cried, wriggling in her lap and turning to peer up at her. “Do something!”
Finally Jack’s voice broke her fear, and she kicked the horse into action. The horse bolted forward suddenly, as if it had been similarly frozen in fear. She looked behind, and on it came-for now she knew it wasn’t human-and it was gaining, its arms outstretched. She looked forward again, panic rising inside her.
When she looked back again, the skeleton creature was so close. She faced forward again and closed her eyes. But the tears came, and she couldn’t stop them.
No, no, no no no nononono…
She felt something hard grab her thigh and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of white as the thing’s hand slipped off her body. Her skin felt frozen where it had been touched.
Jack cried out in terror.
Pia leaned forward, ignoring the sound.
The horse reared suddenly and kicked backward. Pia heard a sound like a breaking twig, and she dared to turn to look.
The thing was there. Right behind her, its hand gripped around the horse’s rear leg. It pressed its face forward, into the horse, its mouth biting…
The horse bucked again as a torrent of blood gushed into the thing’s face. This time Pia lost her balance.
She fell from the horse.
Jack screamed as the horse bucked again. As she fell, Pia saw its hoof smash against the attacker’s temple. It was a blow that would surely have felled a giant. And it was enough to send the creature sprawling back, into the mire.
Pia gasped as her heart pounded. She watched in a daze as the thing vanished beneath the surface of the swamp, and the horse bolted with Jack holding on desperately, his arms wrapped around the frantic animal’s neck. And then he was lost from sight in the swirling green mists.
She tried to rise, but again her limbs refused to obey her commands. Minutes passed-or were they hours? Somewhere far away she heard Jack scream again and the horse whinny loudly. Then both sounds were cut short.
No! But still she remained frozen.
There was the sound of movement-of something being dragged. A form was thrust down to the earth at her side, so that she could see it without needing to turn her head. It was Jack, his face ash grey, his eyes unseeing.
Above her stood a figure wrapped in a black cloak. Behind him stood another.
She tried to speak, but no words came.
“You have trespassed into our realm, human,” the thing said, but still she couldn’t see his face, obscured in darkness and mist. “You were lucky to escape the ravenous, but that is as far as your fortune goes. Your horse is dead. It’s flesh food for Canifis. As you will soon be.”
Canifis! It’s a werewolf, she thought, her mind racing. The dagger…
The figure pushed its cowl back, and its eyes gleamed with malice and hunger. There was no wolf-like snout. No fur covered its face.
But within its horribly distended jaw, the unnatural light of the swamp glinted off two sharp and pointed fangs.
18
Gar’rth was miserable as they rode from the bailey and across the palace’s courtyard.
There the column turned south and rode down the tree-lined avenue to the palace’s outer wall. Once through the gate came the great square, with its four statues watching over the frothing pool, where a line of yellow-tabarded guards kept the way clear for Lord Despaard’s embassy.
And as they rode out, the people cheered. Some shouted out to Kara, others blessed King Roald, while other, bolder voices offered helpful suggestions as to what to do to Lord Drakan by applying sharp-edged weapons to various parts of the dark lord’s anatomy.
“I’m not even sure if Drakan has one of those,” Lord William said thoughtfully, raising a brief smile from those who heard.
As they rode east through Varrock and finally out of the city itself onto the King’s Road, Simon never left Gar’rth’s side.
This is worse than the dungeons. At least there we were separated by bars.
Shortly before the crossroads, when the city of Varrock was more than a mile behind and hidden from view by an army of willows and oaks, Gar’rth breathed deeply.
At least I am away from the city now, with its foul smells. Out here, I can take full advantage of the wild aromas.
He did so, and then he stopped suddenly, coughing.
Kara saw his distress.
“What is it, Gar’rth?”
“Something nearby. A familiar scent. A man. A dead one.” He gave another sniff. “Not long dead, either.”
The column stopped to hear him.
“It’s probably just Theodore, in need of a bath,” Lord William said, but no one laughed. Nor did they question Gar’rth’s observation, causing the young noble to frown in puzzlement. Reldo did likewise.
They don’t all know about me, Gar’rth realised. I should take more care in future.
Suddenly the silence was broken as Lord Ruthven laughed from the head of the column.
“The boy plays tricks upon us, Lord Despaard,” the hawk-like man said loudly. “He knows that we approach the crossroads. Come. Let us hasten on, and the answer to this riddle will no longer be left … hanging.”
The column continued, and as they journeyed to the northeast the scent grew.
I am right. A man has been killed here, and very recently. And it was at the crossroads that he was proved right.
A hanged man’s body dangled from the branch of a sprawling oak tree. It twisted in the afternoon breeze as a crow, perched in the branches above, cawed at the embassy, staking its claim. The man’s hands were bound behind his back and as the body twisted to face them. Kara gasped.
It’s Velko! Gar’rth realised.
The outlaw was missing one eye. The fatted crow high in the branches stretched its wings as a man might stretch his arms after a satisfying meal.
“You recognise him, Kara-Meir?” Despaard asked.
“I do,” she replied grimly. “One of Sulla’s band.”
“May Saradomin have mercy on his soul,” the cleric Drezel said earnestly.
“It is a dreadful waste of life,” Albertus bemoaned.
“He was hanged this morning,” Ruthven told them. Gar’rth saw him stare at the corpse in contempt. “And with luck we will soon have Sulla himself by the neck. How I would dearly like to see him swing from the gallows tree.”
Lord Ruthven wants Sulla badly. I wonder why?
Theodore and Kara shared a confused look, no doubt thinking the same.
Meanwhile, the elderly noble goaded his horse on and the column advanced once more. Despaard waited at the side of the road as the column passed, rejoining it only when Gar’rth drew level with him.
“When we get to Lord Ruthven’s manor tonight, I want you to tell the embassy your history in Canifis. It will be useful for us to know before we cross. I tell you now so you will have time to compose your thoughts.”
With that he was gone, galloping back to the head of the column, his going attracting the attentive gaze of their companions.
At his side, Simon gave a narrow grin.
And Gar’rth noted how even now, his hand still rested on the hilt of his wolfbane dagger in its curious bark sheath.
Darkness fell an hour before they neared Lord Ruthven’s manor, but the absence of light meant little to Gar’rth. As they approached the manor house, set on a small hill and surrounded first by a circle of dense thorn and hazel, and then by a shallow moat that had turned the ground to a black marshland, he couldn’t fail to detect the rotting stench that the combination of a hot summer and stagnant water produced.
It is not unlike Morytania, he thought at first, before reconsidering. No. Only superficially, as a painting resembles life. Here, the dead remain still.
They rode up through the gatehouse, where a single man stood beneath a burning torch that illuminated Lord Ruthven’s symbol upon a banner that hung nearby. Gar’rth caught sight of the sun at its centre, standing behind two pale moons and underlined by a silver sword.
“Lord Ruthven’s family’s banner,” Reldo commented at Gar’rth’s side. “Symbolizing his role as a guardian of the Salve, standing between life and death. His family have had that for centuries.”
“My lord,” the gatehouse keeper said to Ruthven. “We received word of your passage a few hours ago via a King’s pigeon. The great hall has been prepared, as per your instructions, and the servants have been asked to leave the manor for you and your guests tonight.”
“Thank you, Ralph. We will go to the great hall now and take our supper.”
“But there is something you should know, my lord. Several men arrived a few hours ago, among them the master of hounds from King Roald’s own household. They tracked a fugitive and her brother east, to the river.” The man lowered his voice, but Gar’rth heard what he had to say. “The fugitives crossed the river my lord, the girl Pia and her brother.”
Ruthven spared Kara a glance, and saw that she had heard.
“Then they are likely already dead. I am sorry Kara-Meir. Your servants have erred most dangerously.”
“There is a chance they might live,” Gar’rth said. “If they find their way to one of the human villages hidden in the swamp.”
“It will be a hard life, and one without luxury if they have,” Despaard observed.
But better than no life at all. Or a hanging death, for that matter.
Kara said nothing, but her dark thoughts were visible on her face.
The column made its way through the gatehouse, passing several small farm buildings that constituted a small community housed under Lord Ruthven’s protection. Pale faces gazed out of shadowed doorways and mothers grasped children as the column rode by. Some even made the sign of Saradomin as they passed.
Their fear is palpable. Living within a half-day’s travel of the river, it is no small wonder.
“They offer us their blessing,” Despaard explained when they halted before the manor, with its pointed dovecote and squat church tower. “The people here know about us, and they are aware that we travel across the holy river. Lord Ruthven’s estates are on the front line in our secret war, and these people help as best they can.”
Gar’rth followed his friends through to the great hall, where a generous supper awaited them on a long table with fourteen seats. Of the dozen black-clad soldiers who escorted them under Lord Despaard’s direction, only Simon sat at the table. Roast pig turned on a spit, summer fruits and cheeses and fresh bread were offered up on wooden platters, yet despite the abundance, there was little conversation and no merriment. They were watched by the rest of Despaard’s men, for the usual servants had been dismissed for the evening.
“You don’t like bread?” Simon asked Gar’rth with an amused smile as the werewolf flicked the bun to one side of his plate. “Nor fruits?”
Gar’rth shook his head.
“Bread makes me sick.”
“A meat-eater then,” Simon replied. “I hope you can digest cooked meat, or else you will go hungry.”
“Leave Gar’rth alone,” Kara said frostily. “He is the best hope we have of succeeding in this mission. Varrock’s own efforts have been woefully lacking so far, a fact you had best remember.”
“He is guarding your friend, Kara-Meir,” Despaard said through a mouthful of honeyed bread. “By King Roald’s own command.”
Gar’rth saw how Lord William and the jester Gleeman looked uncomfortable, casting him inquisitive looks.
I wonder if they suspect?
Never mind, soon enough they will know.
After a strained silence that followed, Gideon Gleeman spoke.
“I see you have a minstrels gallery, Lord Ruthven. Are we to have music tonight?”
Lord Ruthven gave the jester a cold stare.
“The gallery has not been used for many years, fool. Not since my wife perished in agony, cursed by Drakan’s servants.” He looked to the painting above the crackling fireplace, and Gar’rth saw a younger version of the lord standing behind a young woman holding a babe in her arms. “And now I am the last of my line.”
Nothing more was said.
Very soon the supper was ended, and Lord Despaard turned his eyes to Gar’rth.
“It is time,” he said. “Time you told us all of your history, so everyone here will know the truth.”
Gar’rth nodded briefly.
“Very well,” he said. “I have prepared myself on the ride here. I will speak as best as I am able.”
19
At last. We will finally learn of Gar’rth’s history.
Theodore waited with intense curiosity. Castimir gave him a quick look of excited anticipation as their friend haltingly began to speak.
“Most of you know me. What I am.” Gar’rth looked to William and Gideon Gleeman. “I am a werewolf, from Morytania.”
“By Saradomin,” Drezel uttered fearfully, only to be silenced by a glare from Lord Despaard.
William raised his eyebrows and looked quickly at Theodore, who nodded his head slowly. Reldo’s face paled. Albertus lowered his goblet quickly. The jester’s hands gripped the table, but when no one else moved he relaxed.
Theodore saw Doric grin in the Gleeman’s direction.
“I escaped from Morytania months ago. You should all know that I have never taken an innocent life. That means Zamorak does not rule in here.” Gar’rth beat his chest with his clenched right hand, indicating his heart.
“I was different from others of my race. I was never trusted by them.” He paused to gather his words. “I was ten years old, I think, when I found out why. It was my parents. They were werewolves who had been sent to serve at Meiyerditch and Castle Drakan itself some years before I was born. Those who do so and survive are treated with suspicion, and not trusted.” Gar’rth took a drink of water and closed his eyes as he gathered his thoughts.
“That was no honour,” he laughed bleakly. “Many who go never return. Those who are sent are usually the losers in a game of chance, for none offer themselves up to serve such a master. Death offers no release there.
“But my parents were not chosen by chance. It is said the Lord Malak himself came to my mother in the night, ordering them both to leave the following day. Malak… may the Gods curse him!”
Gar’rth shook his head and gritted his teeth in anger.
“They say he corrupts the very earth he walks upon, that living grasses die from his passing. He is not one of my people. Malak is a vampire lord who commands the town of Canifis and the werewolf race. He is hated there, and he is feared-feared as no human lord can ever be. Legend says he is thousands of years old, that he fought in the God Wars and helped found Morytania. In Canifis, he decides who lives and who dies. He governs absolutely, and can overturn any decision made by the elders. It is even said that if you dream ill of him, he will know.”
So the magic of Drakan’s kin is true, then.
Theodore reached to his sword and drew comfort from its cold hilt.
Gar’rth breathed deeply before continuing.
“But whatever the truth, Malak sent my parents to Castle Drakan before I was born. Several years later, only my mother returned to Canifis, with me as an infant. My father, an elder, was killed only a few months before I was born.
“It was the thought of him-murdered on a vampire’s whim- that started my path to rebellion. I was ten when I first asked my mother about Castle Drakan, for by then I had heard the stories the other children whispered about me. She refused to speak of it, and we grew apart, for the memories were painful to her.
“When I was thirteen, her brother came and took an interest in me. His name was Jerrod. He was a hunter, and would spend weeks away from Canifis trading with gypsies-” Gar’rth looked at the table suddenly and avoided their stare.
I know what he will say. We have all suspected it.
“Sometimes he brought human children and slaves to Canifis, sold by the gypsies.”
The cleric Drezel groaned and took his silver star in his hand. Reldo watched, transfixed, his eyes never leaving Gar’rth’s face. Gideon Gleeman looked once to the remains of the pig on the spit and grimaced.
“I am sorry for what happened to them. But that year everything changed for me. My friends and I were forced to witness the blooding of those a few years older than we were. Malak carried it out, and each of them had to drink innocent blood and swear to Zamorak.
“They were different after that. They were cruel and enjoyed the pain of others. Yet my friends and I were terrified by what we had seen, as was intended by Malak, to prepare us for our own blooding, to make us strong.
“That night, I took an oath. I promised to escape. My mother knew I was different from others, and it made her hate me.” Gar’rth shook his head and wiped his hand across his face.
“She hated me,” he said quietly. “On the night she died, she said I was a curse on her, and when she was gone, Jerrod hated me more, blaming me for her death. That was when he took over my care.”
“Care?” Doric growled. “That is hardly the word I would use.”
Gar’rth smiled for a moment.
“You are right, my friend. Jerrod thought me weak. He often beat me, and told me how soon I would undergo my own blooding. He found amusement in that.
“But my blooding was put back. I was slower developing than my friends. Some said it was the curse of Meiyerditch, that my birth there had affected me somehow. In Canifis, being different makes you an outcast. Jerrod grew angrier, his punishments harsher, and I watched again as my friends underwent their blooding and gave themselves to Zamorak.
“Then I was alone in Canifis, so I decided it was time to fulfil my oath. I planned my escape, over many months.
“Jerrod helped me, though accidentally. He regularly took me with him on his hunts, forcing me to run until I collapsed, at first, before I grew strong enough to keep up with him and then to run faster than him. And he taught me the secret routes around Canifis. Ways used by the hunters, through swamps and marsh known to very few. In tormenting me, he had given me a strength beyond many of my race, and knowledge of secret ways which would allow me to escape.
“After several weeks, I crossed the Salve far to the south of here, forced to do so as Jerrod very nearly caught me. The power of the river prevented him from crossing, but it was no hindrance to me, for, as the monks found, I am still an innocent, untainted by Zamorak. Then I believed I was free, until some weeks later, when I caught his scent among the farming communities and woods.”
“That would be Lumbridge,” Ruthven said. “Last year we trailed a beast that crossed the river, and followed it there, where we lost the trail. That must have been Jerrod.”
Gar’rth nodded.
“Then I must thank you. He would have caught me if you hadn’t pursued him. I used all the tricks I knew to lose him. I followed rivers, I double-backed over many miles and long days and tried to hide in crowds. As the winter closed in, I turned west and north, before I found my way to Taverley and into the arms of Ebenezer. I was exhausted then. I could not have gone farther, and without his help I would have died. Or worse.”
Gar’rth took another draught of water.
“But Jerrod could not keep his discipline. I know that he murdered a young mother and her child south of Falador, and Theodore himself discovered the wreck of the gypsy caravan after he killed three more. How many others he slaughtered, before and since then, I don’t know, but their deaths haunt me.”
Gar’rth gave Kara a long look. In return she nodded slowly.
She has travelled with Gar’rth after the war. Theodore mused. She and Arisha will know all this already. He felt a sudden stab of jealousy.
“But I know this also,” Gar’rth continued. “To leave him alive is a death sentence to others. That is why we followed him into The Wilderness. He must be found. He must be destroyed.”
“That will be Varrock’s task now,” Lord Despaard said. “For all his evil, Jerrod is only one individual. Our task is more important, dealing with Morytania, and the unknown.”
Albertus Black slumped suddenly, waking to catch himself with a stir.
He is too old for this. He should not be coming.
“We have travelled far today,” Ruthven said with a sidelong glance at the old man. “And we have another journey tomorrow. I think we should all find our beds.”
Those at the table rose as a distant chime sounded.
“It is midnight,” Ruthven observed grimly as he listened. “And that is an eastern bell, for the wind heralds from Morytania tonight. Should any of you have cause to venture outside, do not go beyond the gatehouse. It will be guarded. And when you do rest, lock your windows and keep your weapons close at hand, for such winds have carried far worse than stale air.”
Theodore saw Doric roll his eyes.
“We aren’t even in Morytania yet,” the dwarf said with ill-disguised contempt. “Surely we are safe on this side of the river, dark or day, wind or no wind.”
Ruthven shook his head bitterly.
“There are those who think so. I was once one of them, yet I paid for that arrogance with everything I loved in life. Now all that remains to me is vengeance.”
Outside the manor house, but still within easy reach of the torch that burned above the doorway, Doric lit his pipe. Theodore watched the dwarf’s nose wrinkle in sudden delight at the smell. It was comforting to him, as well.
“Well, what’s on your mind squi-” Doric growled and corrected himself. “-Sir Knight?”
Theodore grinned hesitatingly. He still wasn’t used to it either.
And after wanting it for so long, since I was a boy.
Is it all I thought it would be? Something seems to be missing now. So much has happened in such a short space of time.
“I am worried,” he said, “about Albertus. Do you not think he is too frail to take part in this journey?”
“He’s a younger man than I by thirty winters,” Doric sighed, scuffing at the ground with his right foot as if kicking a nagging doubt. “But this is not a fight we are going to. It is a diplomatic mission.” He grunted softly and whispered. “At least I hope it is, anyhow.”
“It’s not just him I worry about, Doric. I am still worried about Ebenezer…”
“There was nothing any of us could do for him in Varrock, squire,” Doric said, making no effort to correct himself this time. “Better to be here, with your friends, by their side when they need you. Here, we can make a difference.”
“I hope so, Doric. I hope so.”
Somewhere beyond the gatehouse and near the moat, a goose honked several times. A duck replied with a high-pitched squawk of its own, as if they were two neighbours arguing.
“Do they have birds in Morytania?” Doric asked quietly.
Theodore shook his head.
“I don’t think so. Gar’rth never mentioned them.”
“Ah, but I am glad I know his tale now. Long have I wanted to understand his history.” Doric took the pipe from his mouth. “And Ebenezer would wish to know also. Might we ask Reldo to write down Gar’rth’s account of his past, so that it can be relayed to Varrock for when he wakes?”
“Yes. I will do that tomorrow,” Theodore agreed. “He can complete it at Paterdomus if necessary. It would good for Ebenezer to know what we have heard from Gar’rth’s own account, and William can take it back to the city when he returns.”
Doric nodded and remained silent.
“Are you afraid Doric?” Theodore spoke quickly, fearing he would falter unless he rushed the words. “I am, of what we will find in Morytania.”
Doric took the pipe from his mouth and beat it gently against his palm.
“Me, too. I think we all are. Especially Gar’rth himself. Lord Despaard’s man sticks to him like a second shadow. Perhaps they suspect he will run.”
The dwarf gave the knight a long look.
“What would you do if he did?” Doric asked quietly. “If you knew he was going to go tonight, with Kara?”
No! They won’t make it. Not with all of Misthalin in pursuit. Kara is too hot-headed.
“Are they planning that?” Theodore asked with a gasp. “Truly, Doric, are they going to do so?”
The dwarf shook his head.
“Kara suggested it to me on the journey here. Arisha and I talked her out of it, I think.”
“And what did Gar’rth wish to do?”
“Kara didn’t mention it to him. He was watched too closely. She thinks that if he goes back to Morytania, he will die.”
“Gar’rth doesn’t believe so, though,” Theodore said, but he knew he sounded uncertain. “And he knows better than any of us.”
Doric sighed.
“That is what I told her. The blood mark should be his guarantee, but she didn’t believe so-not against Lord Drakan.”
“That’s the real riddle behind all of this,” the knight said. “Why is Gar’rth wanted so much?”
The two friends fell into silence. From the moat, the goose and the duck exchanged a final insult before they too fell quiet.
It’s like a calm. A calm before a storm.
They stood a moment longer, enjoying the night, looking up at the clear sky away from the light of the torch, before they turned inside and made their way to their beds.
Theodore could not find sleep-Doric’s words plagued him.
It was shortly after the chimes sounded again, far off, muted by distance, and no more than four or five bells, that he heard another sound, the sound of a footstep in the passageway outside.
It’s her. I know it is.
He stood in silence, grimacing as his shoulder ached. He had kept the latch lifted on his door, so it would not give him away should he need to enter the passageway undetected.
She can’t be so foolish as this. I will confront her, quietly. If Despaard finds out, then she will be sent back to Varrock as a prisoner.
The door opened as silently as he hoped it would.
In the dim light, a shadow moved.
“Kara?” Theodore whispered.
The shadow stopped and turned, and then stepped closer.
It was Arisha.
“I know who you are watching for, Theodore. But she promised me she would not run. Not until Paterdomus at least. Once there, we will hopefully be able to test the power of the blood mark and see if it holds.”
“And if it doesn’t? Do you run then?”
“I shall do as my conscience dictates, Theodore. Goodnight.”
She vanished, leaving him alone and feeling oddly guilty.
He ground his teeth in silent anger and returned to his room.
And this time, he closed the latch behind him.
They left early, riding in a northerly direction before the sun was up. Theodore was tired from lack of sleep, and they had only been going a few hours when Simon gave a curse.
“It’s my horse,” he said angrily as the eastern horizon was drenched in a shade of pink which grew lighter by the moment. “There’s something wrong with him.”
The column halted as the man dismounted. Theodore rode near to see for himself.
“His breathing is irregular,” Simon muttered as the animal gave an excited neigh. “That is unlike him,” he commented, stepping back to avoid a kick from a rear leg. They waited several minutes, Despaard becoming increasingly impatient, as the man tried to persuade his steed to rejoin the column.
“We have a long ride today,” Drezel observed. “We cannot afford delays. We are still not far from Lord Ruthven’s manor, but there are few places along the road ahead where we will find shelter and aid. If the animal can’t go on, you should turn back.”
“He will come,” Simon shouted grimly. He mounted once more and glared at Gar’rth. “You’ll not lose me that easily, wolf.”
They continued on until midday, by which time it was obvious that something was wrong. And not solely with Simon’s horse. Four other animals that belonged to Lord Despaard’s men slowed and then stopped altogether.
“They are unwell,” one of the men observed. “My lord, these animals won’t make it to Paterdomus tonight.” He gave them a careful look. “Maybe not anywhere else, either.”
Ruthven cursed.
“We don’t have spare steeds for the men. They will have to turn back and take the animals with them.”
“You would reduce our escort by half?” Despaard asked.
“Is that safe?” Gideon Gleeman stammered.
“My lords,” Drezel intervened, “I have travelled this route many a time. The road from here-through the Mountain Pass of Silvarea-is rarely plagued by bandits, or anything else. Many pilgrims travel this route without a guard, so I think we shall be safe so long as the daylight holds. It is the darkness on the mountain road that is more dangerous, and no escort will alleviate that.”
“Very well,” Despaard said. “We will stop for lunch now. Then those with the failing horses will have to return home.” The column dismounted while three of the escort kept a loose lookout from a hillock at the road’s eastern edge. Theodore noted instantly how exhausted Albertus Black was, and knew he wasn’t alone in thinking so.
“You should rest Albertus,” Arisha told him as she helped him find his seat on a tree-stump.
“It’s my old bones is all, Sally,” he said wearily.
Theodore saw the amused smile on Arisha’s face.
“Sally isn’t here, Albertus. She is in Varrock. With Ebenezer.”
The old man made a gruff apology as he leaned his head back against the tree. Within a short moment he was asleep.
“He is not well,” Arisha confided to her friends a short while later. “Sally told me so before we left. That is one reason why he insisted upon coming.”
“A last adventure?” Kara sighed angrily. “We can’t protect him, though. If things go wrong in Morytania, then our swords-”
“Will be next to useless anyhow,” Doric interrupted. “It is Castimir’s magic in which we should have more faith against the forces of Lord Drakan. Besides, we go to parley, not to fight.”
Castimir nodded.
“Doric’s right, Kara. With luck we shouldn’t have to fight at all. Although thanks to a canny suggestion by Arisha, no longer will I make the mistake of keeping my runes in one place, where they can easily be taken from me the way Jerrod did at the monastery. Watch.”
Theodore saw him flick his wrist and a weighted paper, twisted at both ends, slipped from the inside of his voluminous sleeve, directly into his right hand. He pulled the paper apart and revealed three of the pebble-like runes inside.
“Arisha stitched pockets into my sleeves and at the top of my boots,” the wizard explained. “This way it will be highly unlikely that I will be disarmed as easily as last time. If we meet Jerrod again, then I will make certain of him.”
After lunch, Ruthven addressed the seven men whose horses showed the worst signs of illness. Among them was Simon, who cast the werewolf an angry look.
“Have my steward check their bedding and feed,” he instructed the men as they parted. “It might be that some poisonous plant has got into their food.” With that, the column continued onward.
“If it happens to our animals, then we will be left alone in the Pass of Silvarea.” Gideon Gleeman said as they rode on.
“Troll country is it?” Doric asked eagerly.
“No,” Drezel informed him sharply. “There are no trolls there, as you will see shortly.”
Theodore found himself riding alongside Lord William. The young man looked uncomfortable, and his face was pale.
Is he afraid even here?
The noble must have seen Theodore’s concerned look, for he responded with a wan smile.
“I am not used to riding for so long. Hurts the thighs,” he said, and sighed.
“Perhaps you should have gone back with the escort,” Theodore suggested. “You could be in Varrock shortly, back with Lady Caroline.”
William grinned, and when Kara rode alongside them she gave the nobleman a knowing look.
“She is a nice lady, William,” Kara said. “It will be a lucky man who wins her. And I would like to offer her my thanks, for she saved me some embarrassment at the dance by sending her maid to help me dress. Although I saw her on the day we left, on the terrace, I didn’t have time to stop.” She flashed her smile. “She looked very happy on that terrace, Lord William.”
Kara urged her horse on and rode to join Gar’rth near the front of the column. William gulped.
I have missed something there.
They rode on as William gazed elsewhere.
“So you and Lady Caroline…” Theodore said.
William lowered his face, and Theodore saw how he had gone red.
So it’s true!
“Say no more, William,” he said with a smile. “I can guess the rest.”
Up ahead, Ruthven was urging them to quicken their pace. It was afternoon, and the land had changed. The verdant green of the woods had given way to harder ground, and before them- rising like two gateposts set for giants-stood the entrance to the Mountain Pass of Silvarea. It was a daunting place, devoid of colour and life.
“Hard to think anyone would fight a war over this, isn’t it?” William said at Theodore’s side as they entered the pass. The pinnacles of the mountain tops were so high that the valley floor was near-permanently in shadow, save at midday when the sun was directly overhead, and that had passed some hours since. So they rode in a grey twilight, the cool air and the echoes of their voices upon the rock faces made Theodore think they were in an otherworldly realm.
“This is the Pass of Silvarea,” Drezel explained, his voice heard by all in the stifling quiet. “Legend tells that a battle was fought here between Morytania and Misthalin in a war that lasted a hundred years. Nothing lives here now, save one old man who scavenges bones for a living. He has been doing that since before I ever came here, the poor mad fool.”
Suddenly Doric gave a shriek. Theodore turned in his saddle to see the dwarf lean precariously to one side as a black shape vanished into the shadows. Castimir was by him in an instant, steadying him before he fell.
“What was that?” Ruthven shouted angrily.
“It was a bat!” Doric replied defensively. “A huge one. Came right for me.”
“For the love of Saradomin,” Ruthven cursed. “If you shout like that in Morytania, then the embassy will be short-lived indeed.”
“Not all creatures are what they seem,” Gar’rth warned. “Especially here, so close to the river.”
Drezel nodded.
“You are correct. And bats perhaps more so than others. Is it not true, Gar’rth, that the more powerful of the vampire race can turn themselves into a bat or a wolf?”
Gar’rth shook his head.
“I do not know. But they are powerful.”
“If they are that powerful, then how come they haven’t crossed the Salve in such a guise?” Doric asked. “Why not fly over?”
“The holy barrier that separates our world from theirs is best viewed as a sphere,” Reldo said. “The river is just one side of it, so you could imagine it towering into the sky and maybe deep beneath the earth.” The young librarian smiled sourly, and looked at Gar’rth. “I have been reading up on all things to do with Morytania. That is my job-to read histories and accounts of your land and try and see if they are true. There is much in the library in Varrock that isn’t, however. Such as that accursed prophecy,” he finished bitterly.
“Papelford believes it,” Ruthven told him. “And the Wyrd seems to, as well.”
Reldo lowered his gaze sullenly and whispered under his breath so quietly that only Theodore, nearby, heard him.
“Papelford’s a selfish old fool.”
Then Kara spoke.
“Tell us of the vampires, Gar’rth. What are they really like?”
“Time is nothing to them,” he replied. “Their plans span human lifetimes, but they become bored…”
“They have no ambitions,” Despaard added when Gar’rth hesitated. “They do not age, so if any were to study magic, for example, and possessed the will to persevere for centuries, then they would, inevitably, become as great as any sorcerer who has ever dwelt on this world. But, in truth, it must be a miserable existence, and they would likely forget all of their education after a century or two.”
“Oh, no. No, I disagree,” Albertus Black said. “Think what I could do, or what Ebenezer could do, if we had centuries to practise and perfect our science, to experiment and theorise and experiment again? Every field of discovery would be laid bare for the good of all peoples.”
“You would lose your ambition my friend,” Ruthven warned bitterly. “It is our mortality that defines us-it gives our human lives meaning and impetus. Not so if centuries become mere weeks or hours. What joy would you take in a summer afternoon or the simple blossoming of a flower? To you, these would pass by without notice. It would be but a pale shadow of your current existence, albeit a far longer one.”
Albertus made to reply, but the look on Ruthven’s face, suddenly angry, seemed to persuade him otherwise. After a moment, Theodore turned to Reldo and Lord William, and when he spoke he did so in an undertone.
“Tell me about Lord Ruthven,” he said. “He mentioned last night that his wife died in agony at the hands of Lord Drakan’s servants. Is that true?”
William nodded quickly.
“It is. The Gaunt Herald, many believe,” he said grimly.
“The Gaunt Herald?” Theodore asked.
“There is a legend,” Reldo continued, “going back centuries, of how a herald of a King of Misthalin displeased his monarch. The man was executed in an offering to Morytania. He was sent across the river to appease Drakan and his ilk. It is said that he appears to offer you your heart’s deSire, in exchange for something monstrous. In many tales that is the child of the victim, or the murder of an innocent…” He looked over his shoulder furtively. “Did you see that painting in the great hall above the fireplace? The one with the woman and child?”
Theodore nodded.
“That was his wife, before her illness, and the baby was Lord Ruthven’s daughter,” Reldo continued. “I have heard some whisper that one winter, many years gone, when Lady Ruthven lay ill, something came to visit him. People say it was the Gaunt Herald, on his horse of bones. He is supposed to be a hairless man of immense height, dressed in a black robe, his skin stretched so tightly he wears a permanent horrible lear. Others say that to see him is death-”
“Hardly very practical for a herald,” William mocked gently.
Reldo ignored him.
“No one knows what he offered Lord Ruthven. Some say it was the crown of Misthalin, or wealth to restore his family’s respect and influence, while others say it was his wife’s life, and no one knows what was asked in exchange. But whatever the truth of it, his wife did die. She died horribly.”
William and Theodore exchanged a look.
“Well?” the nobleman prompted.
“I have read an account of her last day, given by her Ladyship’s maid before she died. She dictated it to Papelford some years ago. Of course, he believed it to be the ravings of a mind strained by age. But nonetheless… the wife’s illness worsened. The account says it was a terrible affliction, and that at the end of it black maggots burst from her body to consume her, as punishment for her husband’s refusal to deal with the Gaunt Herald.”
“And what happened to the child?” Theodore asked.
Reldo gave a mirthless grin.
“I don’t know. Lord Ruthven has no children now. It might be she was the price asked for by the Gaunt Herald, and that the lord refused. You have to understand, Sir Theodore, that every man in the Society of the Owl has lost someone they loved to the lord beyond the river, or that is what palace whispers say. I am not yet a member myself.”
“Do you hope to be, if you have to lose those you love?” the knight asked.
“In my position as librarian and archivist, Sir Theodore, I should be exempt from that entry requirement. I believe Papelford was, years ago, and though we don’t get along he can’t doubt my ability. I can remember every book I have ever read, chapter and verse. It is Saradomin’s blessing.”
“We all have the blessing of the gods upon us, one way or the other,” William said darkly.
“And who has Lord Despaard lost that has turned him into such a man?” Theodore asked. Reldo shook his head.
“He has been doing his job since before I was born, Sir Theodore. I do not know his story.”
A cry went up from the head of the column as they rounded a bend in the pass. It was Drezel’s voice, raised in a cheer.
“There is Paterdomus,” the cleric said, pointing to the east. In the distance, framed on both sides by the valley walls, a land of trees and bare low hills drenched in evening sunlight extended all the way to a great black cathedral on the river’s western bank, its single tower taller than any Theodore had seen. Beyond that lay a realm in shadow, without feature, as if an artist had first painted the horizon and then smudged it to obscure any sense of detail.
“Paterdomus. I can feel its power,” Arisha said in awe. “This is what protects the Salve. This is Saradomin’s great work for our age.”
“And long may it continue,” Drezel said. “But now we must hasten, if we are to arrive before midnight, for a soft bed awaits each of you.”
He led the column forward, their eagerness to end their journey renewed now that their destination was in sight.
They rode down into the woodland, east along the King’s Road, and for an hour the tower of Paterdomus disappeared behind the trees and the low bare hills. In the darkness under the boughs, it was hard to see very far ahead.
Suddenly Theodore went cold.
If Kara means to run with Gar’rth, then surely this is the place. It’s dark to us, which would not bother them, and there is barely an escort now, since the horses fell ill.
He hastened forward on his mare and drew alongside Arisha.
“Kara promised not to run until Paterdomus,” he said. “That was what you said.”
The priestess nodded in the twilight.
“Are you certain they do not mean to do so now? It would be easy for them-with the escort halved.”
Arisha smiled wickedly.
What is so funny?
“Did you notice those blue plants that grew in the bailey in the King’s palace, Theodore-the ones with five petals?”
“No,” he replied. “What has that got to do with anything?” He felt his face flush in anger.
“I told you I would do what my conscience dictated. Those plants were lupins. I took many of their seeds before we left. Here, can you see them?”
She held her hand close to his face. Theodore could just make out a light coloured collection of round seeds.
By Saradomin! What has she done?
“What are you saying, Arisha?”
“They can be fatal to horses, but I only gave their mounts a small handful, coated in honey, before dawn. My people understand animals and plants Theodore, and we know what makes them ill. Not all the escorts’ steeds have been affected, and those that have been will recover very soon.”
“You… but why?”
Theodore felt his head spin.
“If they wish to go, then I have given them better odds,” she said. “I have done my duty by them.”
“Do they know?”
“Kara might. She knows something of plants herself, but I haven’t told them.”
Theodore looked down the column to where Gar’rth and Kara rode. They were barely visible in the darkness.
“You know how impatient she is,” he gritted. “You may have condemned them both!”
His hand fell to his sword as he galloped up the pathway to Kara’s side.
“What is it?” Albertus asked, suddenly alarmed.
I cannot accuse them of planning to run-not yet. Not in front of everyone else.
“Gar’rth, can you smell anyone?” he asked. “I thought I saw someone in the darkness off the road,” he lied. “We must be sure we all remain together.”
He stared hard into Kara’s face.
“We cannot have people wandering from the path,” he added.
He saw Kara frown slightly.
“Theodore is right,” Gar’rth said, much to the knight’s surprise. “There is someone nearby. But in front, not behind.”
“Unless there is more than one,” Despaard said as he drew his sword quietly.
“They might be pilgrims hiding from us,” Drezel commented loudly.
“Drezel? Is that your voice I hear?” A man called from farther down the road, to the east.
“It is I,” the monk called back. “Is that you, Martin?”
A monk appeared on the road, leading a mule behind him. Despite the gloom, Theodore saw Drezel smile as the man’s face drew close enough to be seen.
“Martin, what are you doing upon the King’s Road at this hour? It is not always safe.”
“I have come alone,” Martin said. “We received word of your arrival by pigeon from Varrock this morning, and with it news for your friends. Where is Kara-Meir and the Knight Theodore? For it concerns Ebenezer.”
“Here!” Kara shouted. “Tell me what word of him?”
“He has woken, but only briefly. However, his nurses are hopeful now. The message says he woke for the first time for an hour before slipping back into sleep, and that when he spoke he did so lucidly. It seems his mind is still his own, thanks be to Saradomin.”
“Now there’s a small mercy,” Castimir whispered with relief. At their side Doric gave a joyful cheer.
“Then come!” Drezel commanded. “This blessed news is an augur of good fortune for the dark road ahead. We cannot be more than an hour from Paterdomus now.”
The column surged ahead, and Theodore made sure he rode at Kara’s side, separating her from Gar’rth.
Let them think what they may, he decided. This is to ensure their own safety, to prevent them from acting stupidly.
It is not a symptom of my jealousy.
20
Kara remained silent for the short distance that remained, and refused to talk to Theodore.
His jealousy is obvious, she fumed. I put aside my conflict with Lady Anne, it is his turn to do so now. We have far more important things before us.
The ride was even quicker than Drezel had promised, and as the dusk deepened into night and the air grew cold against her skin, they crested the final hillock on the King’s Road to face the enormity of Paterdomus.
The temple of Saradomin rose above them into the darkness, its upper reaches impossible to see. A black edifice of towering strength that had long provided the first line of defense against the horrors that lay across the river.
Kara shared a glance with Gar’rth, and she felt Theodore’s gaze upon her.
But Gar’rth shook his head near imperceptibly, and Kara loosened the grip on her reins.
“Can you prepare the blood mark tonight?” Despaard asked Reldo as they approached the great wooden doors.
“I can, my lord,” the archivist replied. “Though I would be grateful of something to eat first.”
“You shall have it my friends,” Martin said from the head of the column as he dismounted from his mule. “The monks have been working since they received news of your journey. There is fresh bread, cheese, soups, roasted poultry and even wine.” The young man approached the door and banged the heavy knocker several times.
“We must try to make contact with Morytania tonight,” Despaard said grimly. “We cannot waste a moment.”
Reldo nodded.
“We must test the blood mark, before the embassy proceeds,” he said as several monks appeared in response to Martin’s summons.
“Then I will cross the river first to see if it works,” Gar’rth said.
“No, Gar’rth,” Albertus stated as he was helped from his steed by the monks. “It must be a valid test. The recipient must be… human.” The werewolf peered at him for a moment, then nodded.
The remaining escort took care of the animals as the embassy advanced slowly and with aching legs up the steep flight of black stone steps, then through the enormous doors. Across the cavernous interior stood an altar to Saradomin, larger than any Kara had ever seen. Even Theodore seemed impressed.
To one side, under the great stone arches that bordered the nave, a long table with a white cloth had been set up, illuminated with silver candles and laden with the food Martin had promised.
“Many of our order are in Varrock,” Drezel told them as the group was invited to sit and eat. “They will arrive in a day or two with enough supplies to see us through the winter. When the snows come, Silvarea is impassable.”
“This must be a lonely vigil,” Doric muttered as he took his first drink from his goblet of wine.
“It has been known to drive men mad,” Drezel noted with a sigh. “There was a time, according to our records, when serving at Paterdomus was regarded as an honour among the youth of Misthalin. Boys would come here, too young to shave, and they would leave as men, having learned to face their fears and to serve their god with honour.”
Lord William raised a critical eyebrow before hiding his expression behind his wine goblet. Drezel shook his head sorrowfully.
“I fear Paterdomus has been long neglected by rulers and the people alike. For many, the danger from The Wilderness has surpassed the threat from Morytania. Yet that is a serious lapse of judgement. Few are we who guard the east now.”
Kara finished her first goblet of wine in silence, she was too tired to talk now. As she buttered her bread, she watched Reldo finish wolfing down his food, then stand and step to the altar. The young man read to himself from a leather-bound book, and then examined a silver knife intently, before turning his attention to a silver chalice the monks had provided that stood upon the altar.
She had only taken her first spoonful of soup when Reldo looked up excitedly.
“I think I’m ready,” he announced. “Who wishes to test it?”
“So quickly?” Ruthven asked sceptically. “You must be certain it is correct.”
“It is a simple enough ward, in truth,” Reldo explained. “A slight cut on your palm to draw blood, which is then washed in Salve water and blessed by a monk of Saradomin. It serves to demonstrate that the bearer is human, an outsider and that they are to be protected by Saradomin’s blessing.” He handed Drezel a piece of parchment.
“Are you certain it will work, Reldo?” Kara asked. “At the Parliament you had your doubts.”
Reldo smiled sheepishly.
“Usually it is the other way around Kara-Meir. I am often the one who is accused of believing in legends rather than fact, but Papelford gave me this book before we left Varrock. He keeps his own library, you see, one that I am not yet allowed to view.” The archivist shook his head irritably. “It is what he regards as my apprenticeship. I am only permitted to catalogue the works in the palace library, help ascertain their true origin, and build an index of subjects for quicker reference. It is tiresome work.”
“Which books does he keep in his own library?” Castimir asked with interest.
“Proper books,” Reldo replied. “Books that are known to be valuable in the war against Morytania. Not the waffle I am forced to wade through-”
“Enough!” Despaard commanded from the head of the table. “Papelford has toiled for more years than you have drawn breath Reldo. He can be abrasive at times, and highly defensive of his library, but you know how old he is. I doubt he will be with us for too much longer, and then a new archivist will be needed.” He fixed the young man with his dour stare. “Someone who understands the basics, Reldo, someone who knows the books and remembers what he reads.
“You would do well to prove yourself.”
Reldo turned away, embarrassed.
“So who will test the blood mark?” Ruthven asked.
There was a brief pause.
“I would not object,” Albertus said. “I am old, yet I am human. If it goes awry, then I have the least to lose.”
“That is noble indeed,” Ruthven said. “But I would rather send someone who has a decent chance of escape, someone younger. What I propose is this-”
“Just outside the temple there is a bridge to the other side of the river. The bridge is hallowed ground. Once upon it, the tester will be safe. Whoever chooses to test it will step onto the opposite bank… and wait.
“Then we shall see how Morytania responds. The bridge will only be a few steps away.”
“Wait for Morytania to respond? What if no one answers? You could be doing the same thing every night for months,” William observed.
“There is a gong upon the eastern terrace that overlooks the bridge from above,” Drezel replied. “We can sound that to draw their attention.” The monk shook his head. “I have to say that no one has sounded that gong for many a year. Here, we like the silence, for it cannot be wise to draw the attention of the dead to the living. Nonetheless, who will go to test the blood mark?”
An awkward silence fell as the party thought on Drezel’s words. Kara saw Theodore look to her briefly, his eyes calm, as if he was reaching the conclusion of a long thought. She saw him turn to Despaard, drain his goblet, and prepare to speak.
“I will go,” Kara announced, pre-empting Theodore’s words. “I am fast enough-probably more so than anyone else here.”
“And I shall be behind you, Kara,” Drezel said. “I have crossed before and know what to expect, and I am a fast runner, as well. But we must be cautious, for if the ravenous appear, then I doubt the blood mark will offer any protection.”
“The ravenous?” Arisha asked.
“They are vampires who have been driven mad by their hunger,” Drezel explained. “Often they are so old they have forgotten all language and identity, and have been abandoned by their masters to starve in the swamps. They are rarely seen this far north, yet we should still be cautious.”
“Then the rest of us will watch from the terrace above the bridge,” Despaard said. “The escort has bows and arrows and will cover you as best they can. You just be ready to run, Kara, not to fight. Remember that, no matter what you feel out there.”
Quickly, ignoring the desperate looks of Theodore and Gar’rth, she stepped to the altar and held her right hand out to Reldo. The archivist held it in his clammy grip, the silver knife hovering above her palm.
“This might hurt a little…” he said as he made a small cut. Kara watched unmoved as a tiny red line grew in strength. Reldo then washed her hand in water poured from the silver chalice.
“Now, Drezel, you must bless the mark. Call upon Saradomin to guard her.”
The monk took her hand and did as Reldo said. He spoke in a language unknown to Kara, and as she turned to her friends she saw that Theodore was speaking in a similar tongue, his eyes closed in concentration.
“It is the language of the priests of Entrana, Kara-Meir,” Reldo whispered. “Some believe it was the language that Saradomin himself spoke when he lived among us, and that he prefers to hear prayers made in his tongue. I know a little of it myself, as does Sir Theodore, as you would expect of a knight of Falador.”
After a bare minute, Drezel finished.
“Let us hope Saradomin heard my prayer,” he said as he led Kara eastward to where a double door was revealed, hidden behind a heavy tapestry.
…or else this might be a short embassy indeed, she added silently.
She could tell by the dust kicked up from the tapestry that the doors had not been opened for a long time. When they were opened inward, a cold blast of air raced through from the outside. Kara shivered as Drezel led her out onto a narrow bridge-so narrow that two people would struggle to pass each other. At waist height an iron railing ran along the bridge’s edge. The land beyond was hidden in gloom, even to her eyes, yet it was no more than twenty yards away. Below, in a deep ravine, the sound of rushing water could be heard.
“It’s a long drop,” Kara observed.
“This bridge is strengthened by more than stone, Kara-Meir. This is the narrowest stretch of the river. Have faith.”
I have chosen Guthix over Saradomin, Drezel. I just hope he’s listening.
With a deep breath, Kara stepped onto the bridge. Overhead the rattle of a bolt being drawn back told her that her friends watched from above.
“Don’t go far beyond the bridge, Kara,” Doric called down.
“I shall sound the gong five times, Kara,” Martin called.
BONG.
The eerie sound seemed slow to Kara’s ears, as if the air through which it travelled tried desperately to hush it.
BONG.
“Come Kara. Let us go,” Drezel said behind her.
BONG.
She was halfway across when the darkness of the opposite bank began to clear. The shadows were unnaturally deep, as if there was something there, rather than the simple interruption of light. At the bridge’s end lay a small clearing from which extended a narrow road running eastward. Beyond that, the land was covered in dense foliage which hid the road as it rounded a bend to the north.
BONG.
There is little room for error here, she observed. If there is an enemy in the undergrowth, then I will have only seconds to avoid it.
BONG.
Then there was only silence, for the pounding of her heart made her deaf to any other sound. There was no rushing of water from below, no encouragement from behind her. There was nothing.
Kara took a breath and waited for a moment more to allow her eyes to adjust. Finally, she took the last step that carried her onto the bank, into Morytania.
The air was different. It tasted stale to Kara, and reminded her of mouldy bread. She felt as though she was a different country, as if she had travelled very far very quickly, for it was cold here, whereas it had been summer in Misthalin.
“Speak, Kara. Declare you intention,” Drezel called from behind her. She knew he was barely an arm’s length away, on the bridge, yet the sound seemed to come from a great distance.
“My name is Kara-Meir.” She tried to shout but her voice was faint. She took a deep breath and started again.
“I am Kara-Meir. I am here at the behest of King Roald the Third of Misthalin. I wear the blood mark, which the inhabitants of your realm have in times past honoured. My companions and I seek an audience with Lord Drakan.”
The trees nearby swayed in response, but there was nothing more.
For a long moment Kara waited.
“Is that it then?” she asked. “Are we to be ignored?”
Still, only the trees swayed.
“Very well, then,” she said. “I shall return tomorrow.”
Kara turned her back on Morytania.
She saw Drezel’s face break into fear as something crashed through the foliage behind her, something man-sized and hungry.
Gods!
Her heart pounded and a cold icicle ran up her spine. Never had she felt such fear. Something whipped overhead, a noise like tearing fabric.
“Run, Kara, run! In the name of Saradomin, run!” Theodore’s voice carried over the river.
She ran, not daring to look back, toward the thin sliver of light that poured out from the open doors.
It’s too far away!
Whatever it was snarled behind her, and something brushed against the back of her neck, but then her foot landed on hard stone and even as her legs gave way beneath her, she knew she was safe. She clutched at the iron railing as Drezel’s hand grabbed her shoulder.
“You are safe, Kara-Meir,” he breathed. “You are safe. Look now, if you will, at what sought your blood.”
Kara looked back over her shoulder.
Undead eyes stared back from only two yards away, at the bridge’s end. It looked to be a pale-faced man, with shoulder-length hair, great clumps of which were missing. It was clothed only in a ragged knee-length shirt. An arrow pierced its shoulder. It was a shot that would have sent any mortal creature reeling. But its red eyes remained fixed on Kara, as if it had not even noticed the arrow.
“Is that…?”
“It is one of them, the vampires.” Drezel nodded as he helped Kara to her feet. “One of the ravenous. They exist only to drink blood-they have no other purpose. You must beware, for they are faster and stronger than any human. Such creatures will not respect the blood mark.”
“I have never felt such a fear as that,” she confided to Drezel. “Not even when I first saw Sulla. I have fought in battles, I have killed men and have been near death myself. But nothing was as frightening as that.”
I was so scared I didn’t even reach for a weapon! I’ve never done that. Never.
“There is nothing like fear of the undead,” Drezel explained. “It is something you never grow used to. But still… I have never seen one so close to the river before. We might very well have to destroy it, or else it will pose a risk to the embassy.”
Drezel guided her back over the bridge toward the doorway. Inside she saw Theodore and Gar’rth waiting, the knight armed with his sword, Gar’rth holding Lowe’s bow notched with an adamant-tipped arrow.
“Was that your shot, Gar’rth?” Kara asked him. But the werewolf shook his head grimly and nodded to Despaard.
“It was mine,” the nobleman said. “I have had long and painful cause to be good with a bow. Even so it was a risky shot, and one I would not care to make again. Besides, with the ravenous, such weapons are next to useless.”
Kara gripped him by the shoulder.
“It probably slowed it down though. Another second and-”
She shook her head, afraid to dwell on what might have been.
“Are you certain we are safe here Drezel?” Theodore asked as the monk closed the doors.
“I am surprised a knight of Saradomin questions his god’s power,” the monk replied. “Yes, we are safe here. The blessing has lasted for more than a millennia. It will not falter now.”
“Are you so sure?” Lord William said. “I saw him step onto the bridge, when you had your backs turned and everyone else had come down to meet you.”
Drezel shook his head. “You are mistaken, my lord. There is no way Saradomin would permit that.”
“I tell you I saw it!” Lord William snapped suddenly. “Maybe Saradomin isn’t as strong as you would like us to believe. Perhaps the prophecy is true, after all.”
“My lord,” Reldo responded immediately. “The prophecy is not true. I am certain it was composed by Papelford’s predecessors a century ago, for it does not appear in any texts save those of Varrock.”
“Never mind about the prophecy,” Despaard said. “Did the blood mark actually work? Can we tell if it did?”
Drezel shook his head.
“We cannot. We shall have to try again tomorrow.”
“Then I suggest we all get some sleep,” the nobleman said. “We have had a very long day, and it looks as if we might have another one tomorrow.”
“Very well,” Drezel agreed. “Rooms have been prepared upstairs. In previous centuries they were intended for the royal family, but none have visited Paterdomus for many years. The last time was when King Roald came as a young man.”
As the embassy and its escort dispersed to follow the monks to the sleeping cells, Lord William took Theodore by the arm, his face earnest.
“I know what I saw, Theodore,” he said urgently. “I tell you it was on the bridge!”
“We are safe here, William,” Theodore replied. “Drezel said so, and he has been here for several years without incident.”
“I hope you are right, Theodore,” William said stiffly, his eyes falling on Kara.
He is sincere, she realised. And afraid.
“Ah, you worry too much,” Doric said as he patted William on the back.
Unprepared, William jumped suddenly.
“Don’t touch me!” he said angrily. “Just don’t touch me…” The nobleman calmed himself, gave a sigh, and fingered his silver brooch.
“I am sorry, Doric,” he said. “I am. Please, forgive me, but I am very tired. I am not used to such long rides. I shall go and take a wash. Goodnight.”
At least I’m not the only one with fraught nerves, Kara thought as she followed Martin up the stairs. She was aware of Theodore behind her.
“Kara, we need to talk,” the knight said gently as she entered the room offered her by the monk. Gar’rth waited in the passageway, his escorts nearby.
Even now they don’t trust him, she observed. And neither does Theodore. I know him too well.
“What about?” she asked bluntly.
“About you and Gar’rth, Kara. I-”
“There is nothing to say, Theodore.” Kara cut him off. “And it is childish and stupid, this obsession of yours.” She nodded to Gar’rth in the passage. “And so is his.”
“It is not that, Kara!” Theodore protested angrily before stepping forward and lowering his voice. “I know you were planning to run today, both of you. I am surprised you didn’t after what Arisha did to the horses.”
“Arisha? What did she do?” Kara frowned at him. “She has nothing to do with this, Theodore. It was my decision-and Gar’rth’s. I will not leave a friend to face certain death. But he has made his choice, Gar’rth has decided to stay. He will not run, and nor will I, which is what you are really worried about.”
Theodore drew a sharp breath and his eyes grew cold.
I have hurt him, she knew. Yet I am glad of it. He thinks it his duty to watch me, as if I am a possession. He has always thought like that, ever since he found me. Always judging, always protecting.
“You think ill of me, Kara,” he said finally. “You are wrong.”
Theodore left the room, his hand across his face. Kara exhaled loudly, frustrated, her sudden elation turned to anger and guilt.
We are all tired. And afraid. It makes everyone ill-tempered. I need to sleep.
She reached into her satchel and pulled out two pieces of a broken golden ring with a diamond still whole at the break. It had been her father’s most precious gift to her, for it was his Ring of Life, that had spent its power sending her to Falador, even as her life ebbed away.
She knew she would sleep better with it by her side.
21
Theodore’s eyes widened and he dropped his sword with a cry. His hand closed around his throat as blood flowed unchecked from his rendered flesh, a crimson jet shooting down over his white breastplate.
“Kara…” He fell to his knees, too weak to fight.
Gar’rth turned his attention away from the dying man and back to Kara. She crawled away from him, her adamant sword broken as his feet.
“No,” she said. “Theodore.”
Gar’rth reached down and took Kara by the hair as she screamed. She lashed out, kicking and punching, but her strength wasn’t sufficient to fight back. When she finally stopped, it was his turn.
And when he had finished, the girl that was Kara-Meir, heroine of Falador, lay still on the ground, her blood mingling with the mud, her breathing slow and weakening by the moment.
Gar’rth revelled in the power. He had never felt its like before. Then he turned as the scent of blood threatened to drive him into a frenzy.
They were all there.
My keepers!
Castimir’s corpse lay with Arisha’s head on his chest, her face even more pale in death than it had been in life. Doric’s head was sickeningly twisted, his neck broken. Theodore had slumped back into the mud as his torn throat had allowed his life to flow away, a life haunted in its final moments by the image of the ferocious attack on Kara.
And then his gaze came to rest on Ebenezer. Suddenly the blood lost its sweet smell, his frenzy died, and a great weight settled upon him.
“No!” he cried in spite of himself. “No, I won’t, I didn’t…”
And a voice replied.
“But you will, Gar’rth. You will-and soon.”
He awoke with a cry, drenched in sweat, his heart bruising his ribs. As he yelled one of his guards stood, his hand on the wolfbane dagger at his belt.
“No. No…” Gar’rth gasped. “It was a dream. Just a dream…”
But it was so real.
He could even smell the blood that had stained his hands. Gradually the sensation passed.
Then a cry from outside in the passageway roused the remaining escort. Fists pounded on doors as people ran back and forth shouting. Drezel burst into the room.
“We have an answer! Morytania has answered us,” the monk said over the din. All of the escorts leapt up, and the group followed him to the eastern balcony-the one that overlooked the bridge where Kara had stood only a few hours before.
It was dawn. The sun rose from the east above the blurred landscape that lay beyond the river. It was a blood-red circle that coloured the dawn pink, and although Gar’rth had slept for several hours he felt fatigued and fearful.
That dream. What I did to Kara… and the voice.
He saw the worn faces of his friends, who seemed similarly sapped, and wondered what this meant for their mission. Then he heard Martin’s voice, and turned to listen.
“A mist came up in the night, covering the eastern bank entirely,” he said. “When it broke a few moments ago, as the sun rose, it was as you see it now.”
A skeleton lay impaled upon the bank, at the exact spot where Kara had stood. The stake was large, waist-height, and made of a pale wood.
“It is the ravenous that attacked Kara,” Drezel observed. “It wears the same clothing.”
“But where is the message?” Theodore asked groggily, rubbing his eyes to see more clearly.
Martin gave a nervous cough.
“When I first saw it I ran half-way across the bridge to see. There is a note clutched in the hand of the skeleton, though I could not bring myself to retrieve it. Surely it means that our attempt has been answered, one way or another. Doesn’t it?”
“We need to know for certain,” Gar’rth said. “I shall get it.”
“Then I shall call the blood mark upon you,” Drezel said firmly. “We cannot take unnecessary risks. Reldo, we must act quickly.”
I don’t know if it will have any effect, but it’s best to be cautious, he thought.
Nobody tried to argue, and as they left the balcony Gar’rth was aware that Kara was staring at him in an odd fashion.
Is the guilt of my dream so obvious?
As the swift ceremony was performed, it seemed to him that it was not solely Kara who looked at him askance, but the rest of his friends, as well. But before there could be any questions, he was ready, and he made his way rapidly to the bridge. He advanced to the very end, his right hand held up.
I am being watched now, he knew. Their scent is plain upon the breeze. Werewolves.
“I have the blood mark,” he shouted in the language of his people. “I demand safe passage. I seek an answer to the request of King Roald of Misthalin, who seeks a diplomatic-”
“You have that assurance, Gar’rth,” a voice said in the darkness. “And your answer has been given. It lies in the hand of one who broke its terms. Take it, if you dare set foot in your homeland.”
“You have given me the assurance I need,” Gar’rth said as he stepped out, crouching, ready to leap back to the bridge. He bent quickly and withdrew the note from its skeletal grasp. Somewhere in the darkness, concealed in the foliage, came malicious laughter.
“Don’t be too long in your consideration, boy. Our master won’t wait.”
And then Gar’rth ran-back across the bridge, to Paterdomus-to where his friends waited.
If they are still my friends.
Lord Despaard took the note as Gar’rth re-entered the temple. The nobleman read it quickly before staring up at the expectant gathering. Reldo stroked his beard, Theodore gripped the pommel of his sword. Castimir toyed idly with his runes.
“Well?” Doric huffed.
“They have agreed to meet us,” Despaard said. “We are to cross as soon as we are able, within the next few hours.” The nobleman looked warily to Gar’rth. “And it is signed by Malak himself. Come, we must prepare.”
Many of the escort vanished as the embassy-all save Kara-stood before the altar and Reldo administered the blood mark on each of them. As they stood together, Gar’rth knew he had to take the opportunity.
“Kara, I am frightened,” he said.
“So am I,” she replied.
“Not of Morytania, Kara,” he continued. “Of myself. I had a nightmare last night…”
“I had one also. So did Theodore, Arisha, Castimir and Doric. We spoke of it very briefly while you were across the bridge. It was the same for all of us. You killed us all, Gar’rth, and then you…” Kara turned her grim face away from him.
It’s as if she is ashamed of me.
“I had it too, Kara,” he said. “I woke up screaming. Ask my guards, if you doubt me.”
“I don’t doubt you, Gar’rth,” she said angrily. “I’ve never doubted you,” she continued, more softly. “And don’t you ever start to think like that. It was a dream-that is all.”
“But a dream we all shared?” he replied. “There is more to it than that. What did Castimir say?”
Kara shook her head.
“If it was magic, he has never experienced anything like it, nor heard