Betrayal at Falador (14 page)

The Ring of Life that had spent its magic in teleporting the girl to the bridge matched all the descriptions contained in their secret texts. Even Sir Tiffy, who was old enough to remember the days when their agents had been issued with such powerful objects, was certain of its nature.

There were eight men who had been issued with such rings and as yet remained unaccounted for. All were dedicated knights who after years of service had decided to accept the dangerous task of living close to their enemies, gaining knowledge of their ways and agendas.

Two had been sent west, into the neighbouring realm of Kandarin: one to live amongst the hardy Fremennik peoples in the north, and the other amongst the vicious Khazard race of men, who were known for their war-like ways.

Three had been sent into The Wilderness, that great expanse of land that was untamed and unmapped, where the only certainty was a brutally short life lived in total lawlessness. A sixth man had headed into Morytania to live amongst the monsters that dwelt there. A seventh had gone south to the tribes of Al-Kharid, before venturing as far as he could into the Kharidian Desert to see what lay beyond.

But it was the last man who intrigued the knight most, for he had headed to Ice Mountain to live in exile, dangerously close to the Kinshra. Sir Amik was certain that this was the man who had passed the ring onto the girl, though whether willingly or not was something beyond his knowledge.

He was equally certain that the girl had nearly been killed on Ice Mountain, but whether she was one of the Kinshra herself or an enemy of theirs was a question he knew would keep him awake at night.

Theodore lay sleepless in his bed, his head supported on his hands as he stared at the high ceiling in the cold dormitory.

The twelve peons who slept in the same room as him were forbidden to talk after the tenth bell sounded from the sentry tower, its dolorous tone echoing across the courtyard.

He could not get the girl out of his thoughts. He was certain a special bond existed between them, and he felt a strange pride that he had been the only one to whom she had spoken. As he rolled onto his side his heart softened, yet he grew grim.

For it was forbidden for a knight to entertain such feelings. A life spent in devotion to Saradomin could not be shared by another love on earth.

A peon coughed somewhere in the room. All the others were silent, exhausted after a ten-mile run. It was one of Theodore’s duties to ensure that his peons were well disciplined and fit for their tasks, and under his firm guidance these twelve boys held him in high esteem. They made no secret of their fear—that if Theodore ever had to accompany a knight on his travels then another would take over their training. Marius never wasted the opportunity, regaling them of how he would treat them if ever they came under his management. He taunted them, and persuaded his own peons to undermine Theodore’s influence at every possible turn.

Firm, but fair.
Theodore knew that was what they said of him. This reputation had garnered him unrivalled respect amongst the peons, he was certain, but it served to make his enemies hate him even more.

There was another reason Theodore couldn’t sleep. He was certain Sir Amik had lied to him and Doric about the girl’s origins. Yet all in his order were taught from the very start that lying only demeaned oneself, that a true knight’s conscience must be clear. Saradomin prized peace as one of the chief virtues, and by lying a knight could not be at peace with himself.

He rolled onto his back once more, in an effort to find sleep. Yet even as he did so, he knew it would not come any time soon.

SEVENTEEN

Doric, too, found sleep elusive. He had been unable to find any lodging in the city, due to the many extra people who had come to seek sanctuary for fear of the monster.

That afternoon, Theodore had walked with him from one inn to another, beginning with the famed tavern The Rising Sun, yet none of them had a room to spare.

Neither did any of the lesser-known establishments. Theodore had even dragged him to the almshouses of the knights, situated near the park at the northern wall of the city. But they had already offered what spare accommodation they possessed to the more vulnerable of the country folk seeking refuge.

Finally they returned to the castle and found Doric a bed in a vacant peon dormitory. The usual inhabitants were away on an exercise south of Falador, learning how to forage amongst the natural elements. Thus Doric was left to his own devices, and he welcomed the time on his own. He felt awkward in crowds, and Falador boasted many of those, with its bustling peoples and offensive smells.

The only thing he didn’t like about his temporary bed was the fact that he knew it to be in a room that was high above the ground. He would never admit it, but he hated heights such as these. His suspicion of human engineering and the thin stone walls that they insisted on constructing made him nervous. As a young dwarf he remembered when the ground had shaken beneath him, causing a cave-in, and he had never discovered what it was that had caused the earth to move in such a frenzy.

To be underground amongst the foundations of the earth was one thing, but to build towers of stone that touched the sky could only be folly. If the earth ever decided to shake again, then the white towers would come crashing down.

With such thoughts making sleep impossible, he decided to get some air in the courtyard. He pulled on his soft doublet and boots, but decided not to don his armour. He rarely went anywhere without wearing it, yet he forced himself to remember that he was in a castle in one of the biggest cities that men had ever built.

Patting himself down with a satisfied sigh, Doric opened the door and stepped warily down the spiral staircase beyond.

He crossed the moat soundlessly, concealed in the shadow of its high banks. Despite his many years he had never learned to swim, and while he had a very real fear of water, he possessed a far greater fear of his dark master.

He used a log to support himself as he forced his way across the still water, moving slowly enough to appear natural and to ensure that he did not make a splash.

No one challenged him as he swiftly ran to the base of the wall, soaked through, his hunter’s instinct alert to anything that might give him away.

He could smell the men on the wall above, his glowing red eyes enabling him to see them in the darkness. He was not there to kill, however—he was searching for the young squire who knew the location of his quarry.

He would need to wait until he was dry before continuing. When the moment arrived, long claws found purchase in the white stone which would have defeated any human.

But he was no human.

With a grunt he began to climb, his shape obscured by a tower that stood scant inches to his left. His wide nose took in the night air cautiously. The men on the wall and at the bridge were not alarmed, for the scent of their sweat was no more than was usual on a human being. Swiftly he ascended, always keeping at least two points of his body gripping the white stone.

It would not take him long now; the parapet was near.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

The sharp scrape of steel sounded as the guard drew his sword.

Doric sighed.

“It’s me! Doric—the dwarf who arrived with Squire Theodore today,” he growled. It was the third time he had been challenged, and now—here on the northern wall, as he gathered the courage to walk upon the parapet—the man’s words raised his ire.

“I beg your pardon, my friend,” the man said with a nod of his head. “Vigilance is imperative, you know.” The sword scraped as it was returned to the man’s scabbard. “You may proceed—but I should warn you of the guard at the other end.”

Doric thanked him and stepped warily onto the walkway. The stone gave him comfort, and with each step he gained confidence until he was striding as if he had forgotten his fear of heights.

Squire Theodore!

He felt elation as he hung from the wall only yards away. He could smell the dwarf—the very one he had stalked in the forest—and his animal senses enabled him to discern every word.

And now his prey had a name.

He waited for the footsteps to cease. As soon as he heard the next sentry’s challenge and the dwarf’s gruff reply, he reached for the parapet.

But try as he might, he couldn’t grasp it. His hand could not touch the lip of the nearest merlon. Even though he put as much strength into it as he dared, he was prevented from touching it by only the slightest distance.

He had felt this power before. He was not a creature of this land and coming into it had been exceptionally difficult for one of his kind. The sacred river that separated his homeland from the realms of men could be crossed only by the vilest desecration and the most powerful will. Only the power of his master had enabled him to do so. But he could not turn to his master here, many miles from his home. He would have to find another way to reach Squire Theodore.

He looked to the moat below. He hadn’t planned on climbing so high only to be forced to climb down again. He wasn’t even sure he could. But if he leapt from the wall his presence would be betrayed, and he might drown.

No, he would have to climb back to the ground.

As he lowered his leg he knew his efforts had not been in vain. He knew the squire by name now. He would lure him out into the city and away from the castle’s holy protection on some pretext, and then take his time in the interrogation.

He would have to kill again, and soon.

EIGHTEEN

“You look concerned, Castimir. Tell me, what is on your mind?” Ebenezer gently disturbed the young wizard’s reverie, and he looked up.

“Soon I shall return to the Wizards’ Tower to complete my training,” Castimir replied. “For my year’s journey is nearly at an end.” His voice trailed off as his hand unconsciously squeezed one of the many pouches on his belt. Those pouches held the most precious things a wizard could possess, the alchemist knew. For they contained the rune stones he needed to control his magic. Without them, he could no more accomplish magic than the meanest charlatan.

Ebenezer didn’t speak, leaving it to the young man to reveal his concerns in his own time. Gar’rth entered the room and stood nearby, awaiting the first instructions of the new day. The old man drew a large book from the shelf and ignored the scowl Gar’rth adopted when he saw that it was a book on human language.

“It was the mages’ discovery of the rune stones that enabled human civilisation to thrive,” Castimir mused aloud. “Using them we were able to dominate the lands of Gielinor at the end of the Fourth Age.”

Ebenezer glanced sympathetically at the young man. He knew, of course, the history that was preached by the wise, but he didn’t necessarily believe it himself. He knew the mages saw themselves as the saviours of humanity, whose actions had enabled mankind to dominate the world so much that the Fifth Age was often called “The Age of Humans.”

And yet Ebenezer could recall times from his youth when the blue-robed wizards had been a more common sight. It seemed to him that they had lessened their wanderings, as if they were growing afraid to send members of their order abroad.

In fact, Castimir was the only wizard he had seen in months.

“Are you having doubts about the path you have chosen, Castimir?” Ebenezer sat down next to Gar’rth and took a long sip of his coffee, savouring in the taste.

The first of the season’s trading caravans had made its way across White Wolf Mountain, arriving the day before and bringing with it exotic fruit and coffee beans that had found their way from the southern islands to Catherby. Being the first to cross the mountain, they had expected an excellent profit, but they had been disappointed. Fear of the monster had deterred many Falador traders from making the usually safe journey to Taverley.

Recognising that fewer buyers meant better prices, Ebenezer had decided to purchase several sacks of coffee beans. He had tasted coffee before, but not for a long time.

The alchemist sipped from his cup while he waited for the blue-robed youth to reply. The wizard was obscured from view by the steam that rose from the hot liquid and fogged his glasses. With a sigh he finished his drink, set the empty cup down, and wiped his spectacles on a small cloth that he kept for that purpose.