Betrayal at Falador (13 page)

She was there, in her bed. The sunlight was broken into bright shards by the high windows and it played upon her sheets, lighting her face.

For a long moment he watched her, not daring to move. Then her dark eyes opened and she stared at him in silence, her gaze unmoving.

“How do you feel?” he asked, the words feeling awkward in his suddenly dry mouth. He knew she could speak the common tongue, since she had done so upon her arrival. As far as he knew, however, no one had been able to convince her to talk since.

“It’s you.” She spoke slowly, as if she hadn’t done so in a long time, yet there was an excited tone in her voice that made Theodore step forward instinctively.

“I was on the bridge the night we found you,” he acknowledged. “I carried you here.” The blood pounded in Theodore’s head. He couldn’t think straight.

“I remember,” she said. “I was dying.” She blinked slowly and shivered slightly. Her blonde hair fell across her face and she raised a bandaged hand to wipe it back so that she might see Theodore more clearly.

He was about to speak when the matron’s song reached his ears, echoing down the ward toward him. She was singing one of the many nursery tunes that she claimed had finally revived her patient. The squire tried to leave before he was discovered.

But the girl would not let him. Her dark eyes would not release him, and he stood rooted to the spot, as though she had worked some unknown enchantment on him that surpassed the most powerful magic that even Castimir could summon.

“Theodore?” The matron’s voice was sharp and accusing. “Leave here at once, young man! The patient is not fit to be disturbed.”

That broke the spell. The squire bowed immediately and backed away, still unable to turn from the girl’s dark gaze.

“Thank you, Theodore,” she said as he retreated, and he thrilled at the sound of her voice speaking his name. Then her head fell to the soft pillow, her eyes closed again, and she seemed instantly asleep.

As he passed through the door the matron followed him and clicked it firmly shut behind them, careful not to awaken her charge. Then she turned and fixed her eyes on the squire.

“What have you done, Theodore?” she asked angrily.

“Nothing!” he protested. “She woke when I opened the door—that is all!” Theodore felt guilty. He had done nothing wrong save go into the ward, yet he felt as if he were lying. He could feel the hot flush on his face and could not meet the matron’s stern gaze.

“She’s never spoken before,” the matron said. “This is the third time she’s been awake, and no one has been able to convince her to say a word.” The woman’s face was red with anger. “I shall inform Sir Amik of this shortly, after I have tended to my patient. Who knows what damage you may have done.”

She re-entered the room, slipping through the gap so that he could not see past the door. As soon as she had shut it, he heard a firm
click
that told him it had been locked.

Theodore strode across the courtyard, his head bent low toward the ground—so much so that he did not notice the shadow that barred his way until he was within an inch of colliding with its owner.

He looked up, startled, and immediately knew that he was in trouble.

It was Marius, standing a full head taller and with his arms crossed.

There was a long-standing rivalry between the two squires. Marius was expected to rise to the height of his profession, yet Theodore—with his monkish adherence to duty—had advanced more quickly and had been entrusted with the trip to Taverley.

“Well, Theodore,” he said, “it seems you’ve attracted a lot of attention. Rescuing damsels and stalking monsters... You’ve become quite the hero!” His tone was openly mocking.

Several other squires stood behind Marius, and they shared amused glances. The large youth was more popular than the rest. His family was wealthy and he was more confident than Theodore, who drew more comfort from his duties than from the often raucous pastimes the other squires enjoyed.

“Get out of my way, Marius,” Theodore said softly, his face darkening. “I am on duty for Sir Amik himself—if that means anything to you.”

The insult was obvious. Marius was not as hard-working as Theodore—none of these squires were—and he and his followers would often break the less important laws of the knights, either in pursuit of their own pleasure or due to their own laziness.

Marius’s mocking expression turned hard.

“You cannot hide your cowardice behind the mask of duty!” he declared.

Theodore’s eyes flashed at the implication. As the blood rushed to his head, he forced himself to remain calm.

“I will not fight you here, Marius,” he replied loud enough for all in the group to hear. “Not today. But you have insulted me, and I demand justice—as is my right. The choice of weapon will be yours to decide.”

A gasp went out. Most such arguments were settled in an instant by a fist and a scuffle, with supporters cheering their champion on. The result usually was no more than a bloodied nose. But Theodore’s words were far more serious.

Trials of this sort were solved by skill in combat and it was believed that Saradomin himself judged the outcome, thereby ensuring that the victor was in the right. Men had been killed in the course of such challenges.

Theodore didn’t hesitate. The shocked silence gave him the advantage. He brushed by Marius with a strong look of resolve etched on his youthful face.

Sir Amik took the sword gently in his hands and laid it reverently on the table. With a quick look at Doric he pulled back the dark cloth.

The dwarf leaned closer, his eyes intent on the mysterious metal.

“It is adamant! I have no doubt of that,” he said after only a few seconds. His short finger traced its way across the surface of the blade, which was without a single mark.

“No human made this weapon,” he continued. He grasped the handle of the sword and turned it over, holding it up to study it closely. “It is of dwarf-make, as I think you have guessed.” His eyes fixed on the symbol of the four-pointed star. “Yet Saradomin is not the primary god of the dwarfs.” He raised his head, and his grey eyes looked into Sir Amik’s. “Our god is Guthix, so this sword was made by a dwarf for a human. It is too long for any of my folk to wield.”

“What you say confirms our suspicions. We think the girl came from Ice Mountain,” Sir Amik said. “She appeared in circumstances that are unknown to us.”

The dwarf nodded, his attention still on the sword.

But Theodore knew something was amiss. He saw the uncertain look that passed between Sir Amik and Sharpe. Then the two men thanked Doric for his help, and instructed Theodore to find lodgings for him in Falador, for the dwarf had decided to remain in the city and pursue his claim for compensation via the magistrates. Such thoughts accounted for the dwarf’s silence as he and Theodore walked under the high white walls and across the bridge into the city.

But the squire was quiet for a different reason. He was certain Sir Amik and Sharpe knew more than they had let on.

FIFTEEN

He entered the city at dusk, his true nature concealed from the guards who cast a wary eye over those passing through the gates.

Rumours of the monster had driven many people to the city. Farmers and hunters had sent their loved ones south for the protection of Falador’s high white walls and crowded streets.

He hated the crowds. There were too many people and the smell of human fear taunted him, for he knew he could not act upon it.

With the cloak pulled tightly about him he kept to the shadowy alleyways. A child’s cry from the window above forced him to master his hunger. The mother’s soothing voice angered him still further.

Just two more,
he thought to himself,
and then I will go after the knight who knows my quarry.

He felt his heart quicken at the thought of the hunt and he salivated at the thought of the kill. His long fingers curled into fists.

There will be no more killing!
a sinister voice whispered in his mind.

At once he stopped, admitting to himself that he was afraid. Since beginning his chase he had never been afraid, not in these human lands.

The alley across the street darkened. It seemed to him as if it had become a gateway to a different place, a land in perpetual shadow. Several people passed it by, unaware of its existence, seeing nothing unusual in the passage that had been there for many years.

No human could see the gateway.

He sensed a great power reaching out to him. He had only been in the presence of such power once before, months ago when he had been chosen to travel across the holy barrier to the human realm.

There will be no more killing!
the voice repeated in his head, louder now and in the darkness a shadow moved. He could sense the terrible strength of its stare and instinctively he placed his long hands over his head in a reverence born out of fear.

“Only two more, my lord,” he said pleadingly, keeping his voice low so that none would hear. “These lands are so well stocked!”

No more!
came the reply.
You have work to do in Asgarnia. You have to bring him home.

The shadow seemed to be drawing closer, but it stopped at the very edge of the darkness, its features hidden.

You have spent long months here already—too long. Remember who I am! Know what I can do. Killing endangers your mission.

“Then I shall hunt no more,” he replied. “All my energies will be devoted to my task.”

See that it is so. Even from so far away, I can still reach out to you. Even here, you are not immune to my will!

The shadow raised its hand and pointed directly at the robed figure. Immediately he felt very afraid. He knew it was pointless to run, however, for no speed could outrun the powers that this shadow possessed, perfected throughout the many centuries it had ruled its dark domain.

He cringed, awaiting the pain that did not come. So he straightened, and spoke.

“I swear to you it shall be done. I shall bring him home!”

The shadow lowered its hand and receded. The fear lessened, but did not abate altogether. Soft voices drifted down from the window, the mother soothing her young child in the cold winter night.

He couldn’t remember anyone ever speaking to him in such a way. His childhood was a thing not of memory but of fabrication, for so much time had passed that he had forgotten it.

Such is the life of a monster,
he thought—more than a century of living, and now forbidden to hunt by his dark master. He knelt in the narrow alley, his eyes staring at the castle that housed the Knights of Falador and towered over the centre of the city.

That was where his quest would take him. For a young squire there knew where his quarry was to be found.

SIXTEEN

The darkness was kept at bay by a sole flickering torch that cast a furtive light on the meeting. The three men talked in hushed tones.

“It must be the case, Sir Amik,” Nicholas Sharpe said anxiously.

“Yet it changes nothing,” Sir Tiffy Cashien cautioned, his voice calm. “What we need to know is how she came to possess the ring. Until we ascertain that, we will not know whether she is a friend or foe.”

Sir Amik nodded.

“You are right, Sir Tiffy. We must be cautious. Though she possesses one of the remaining rings, it does not mean she is necessarily a friend.”

“But the matron hasn’t been able to get a word from her, and we shall never learn her origin if she refuses to speak.” The master-at-arms was suddenly loud, his frustration getting the better of him. “We are at an impasse.”

“That is no longer the case,” Sir Amik said. “I spoke to the matron this evening. The girl
will
talk—not to her, but to Squire Theodore.”

Sir Tiffy propped his chin in his hand, intrigued.

“It would appear that young Theodore has been seized by fate in this matter,” he said, his age-wrinkled hand stroking his white-bearded chin.

Sir Amik nodded.

“And who are we to deny the will of Saradomin?” he said.

An hour after their secret discussion, Sir Amik sat alone in his high chamber, considering all that had been said.