Betrayal at Falador (17 page)

Kara’s bad mood waned as Theodore showed her the fortress. Her eyes widened in wonder at the grand towers and marble edifices. But more amazing to her still was the city that lay beyond the moat. Having climbed the spiral stairway to the battlement, leaning on Theodore’s shoulder to maintain the illusion of her weakness, she gazed from the ramparts.

It was like nothing she had ever seen before.

“Take all the time you need,” he said, watching her intently as her dark eyes absorbed everything.

“There are so many people,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know.” For the first time since climbing the high wall, she turned to look him in the eye. “I remember my father telling me stories of Falador. He must have been here, but he never told me why, and he never told me how many people there were. Thank you, Theodore, for showing me the city. I am sorry for being angry with you earlier.”

Theodore nodded. “Thank you, Kara,” he said. “I was rude to you before and I am sorry for it.”

He held her hand tightly, and suddenly a cold wind rolled down from the north. She shivered involuntarily the cold air turning her skin to ice under the white garments worn by patients of the ward. She stepped closer to him, to shield herself from the wind, resting her head upon his shoulder. The squire said nothing and made no effort to move away. After a moment Kara lifted her head and gazed at the mountain.

“That is Ice Mountain,” Theodore told her.

“How far is it?” she asked. “How many days’ travel?”

“It would take three days to get to the foothills, but the mountain itself is beyond our authority, for a colony of dwarves lives there, and we respect their territory.”

At the mention of the dwarf race, Kara’s eyes shone. She had not told Theodore of her discovery and adoption by Master Phyllis, the dwarf who had taught her so much. Back then, it had taken her weeks to regain the confidence to speak any words. Once she had, however, her foster father had educated her, speaking to her in both the common tongue and his own language. Kara was fluent in both.

She thought back to her final months in the underground city. She had lived there for eight years, rarely seeing the surface world, and by her estimation she was seventeen years old. Master Phyllis had been unwilling to keep her amongst his people any longer. One night she had discovered him at work in his forge, and it was then that he had presented her with a long sword crafted from adamant.

“It is yours, Kara,” he revealed. “It will cut through the toughest armour of any surface dweller, and through the hides of most beasts.”

Thinking about her sword, she turned her gaze from the mountain and looked up into the squire’s honest face.

“Can I have my sword, Theodore?” she asked suddenly. “It’s very important that I have it—it was made by someone very dear to me.”

He cast a wary look in her direction.

“Does fighting mean so much to you, Kara?” he asked. “You are safe here, in the most fortified city in the world. You do not
need
to fight any more.”

Kara turned her gaze from the mountain and looked down into the courtyard below. There were several peons and squires practising with their wooden training swords, trying out different combinations and fighting amongst themselves. They were uncommonly loud in their competition, and occasionally one or more of them glanced up in her direction, as if showing off for her.

One of them, however—slightly older and wearing training armour—did not shout out, and he seemed to pointedly ignore Kara’s presence on the ramparts, taking a greater interest in the peons’ practice.

“Who is that?” Kara asked, watching him command.

“Marius,” Theodore replied, and his voice sounded tight. “He’s a squire, like me.”

“Is he your friend?”

“No.” Theodore looked away. Kara noted his pained look.

“Theodore, you are upset.” Her hand rested on his arm.

“Marius is my rival.” He looked at her intently. “Rivals in all things, it seems.”

A cold wind blew again from the north and Kara shivered. Theodore pulled her sheet around her and carefully escorted her down to the waiting chair.

In the courtyard, one of Theodore’s own peons, Bryant, was fighting against one of Marius’s, their wooden blades clacking as they sparred. Kara had decided against sitting back in the chair and she walked with uncertainty, leaning on Theodore’s arm.

“Come on, Bryant!” Marius shouted.

Theodore’s eyes narrowed in anger.

Bryant yelled as his opponent’s blade smashed his knuckles and caused his fingers to bleed. He dropped the practice sword in shock. Several peons laughed in triumph, while others gathered around him to protect him from any further attacks— something Marius was quick to seize upon.

“So, Theodore’s peons rush to aid their fallen comrade,” he taunted. “Why do we not make a mock battle of it then? You five shall defend the fallen Bryant against my six. What say you, Theodore?” he added, turning to face the newcomers. “Are your peons up to facing mine?”

“I would favour any of mine against yours, Marius,” Theodore replied. “I teach my charges to be honourable men in the highest traditions of our order.”

“Yet you don’t teach them how to win,” Marius snarled. “There will come a time when they will have to fight for their lives. Where then will their honour get them?”

“I have faith in Saradomin’s way, Marius,” Theodore countered. “I believe in his teachings.” Making certain Kara was leaning securely against the wall, he approached the small crowd.

“As do I, Theodore,” Marius replied. “But we cannot anticipate his will.” He huffed in frustration. “Look at him!” He pointed to Bryant, who clutched his injured hand. “If he can’t fight, he is useless to this order!”

Bryant bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears that were welling, from rolling down his face.

“Is he crying?” Marius sneered. “Unbelievable!”

“That is enough, Marius!” Theodore said, his voice nearly a shout. Marius’s own peons suddenly went silent, aware that the game had got out of hand.

“What will you do about it, Theodore?” Marius responded. “We cannot fight—our own trial forbids it. So why don’t you run off and take Bryant to the matron?”

Theodore’s face reddened with anger. But Marius was right. If he were to strike him now—a week before their scheduled trial—then Marius would be declared the victor, for Theodore would have acted dishonourably.

Suddenly a new person spoke up, and everyone turned.

“It seems Theodore cannot fight you, but I can.”

Kara’s voice was soft and provocative, and her eyes met Marius’s astonished gaze with mocking contempt. She pushed herself away from the wall and—to Theodore’s astonishment—walked confidently toward him, all signs of weakness gone.

“A girl dressed in the white linen of an invalid?” Marius snarled. “I will not demean myself.”

“If I am to fall so easily, then it will take little of your time, Marius,” she replied. “Surely you can spare a few minutes.”

Marius was struck speechless, and not knowing how to retort made him angrier still. He turned to walk away, but Kara would not let him go so easily.

“Come on, Marius,” she said to his back. “Are you afraid to face me? Perhaps Bryant would be a better match.”

The peon lowered his head again, fearful that he would be the victim of a new taunt. Kara noted his look, and her heart softened. By the time she had reached his age, she had hunted with the dwarfs in the blackness of the mines. But she was not malicious and she didn’t want to cause him any more embarrassment.
Everyone has their hour,
her adoptive father had told her, and she hoped that Bryant’s was yet to come.

Marius continued to walk away, his pace quickening.

“At least Bryant is honourable,” she persisted, speaking loudly. “And he is brave, Marius—braver than you, for he is not afraid to acknowledge his weaknesses.”

Marius stopped in his tracks and turned to face Kara, his face contorted in anger.

“Please, Lady Kara.” Bryant said as he struggled to his feet. “You mustn’t.”

“Shut up!” Marius shouted, seizing a training sword from the closest boy.

“Marius! Kara! This cannot be allowed to continue!” Theodore cried out. “I forbid it.” He stepped between them, his hands outstretched. But his rival shrugged him off.

“The girl’s brought it on herself, Theodore. I am not interested in what you have to say.”

“Theodore, please stand aside.” Kara’s voice was hard.

“Kara. Please—this is madness,” Theodore said.

“She must learn her place, Theodore—women do not fight,” Marius declared. He pointed his training sword straight at her. “They should be at home, scrubbing the hearth and nursing children.” When he saw her anger at his insult, a look of smug confidence crossed his face.

“Let us see, Theodore,” she said. “I wish to compare myself to the fabled Knights of Falador, and see how I fare.”

Theodore knew then that he had lost the argument.

“Very well then, but it ends when I say it does. The first to draw blood is the victor.” He retrieved Bryant’s sword and handed it to Kara. He then clapped his hands and the peons withdrew, giving the combatants plenty of room. All looked on with a growing sense of unease.

And they were not alone, for their shouting had attracted the attention of many in the castle. From high windows, faces gazed down in silent watchfulness.

“You cannot allow it to proceed, Sir Amik.” Bhuler pleaded.

“I need to see what this girl can do, Bhuler,” Sir Amik said.

“But Squire Marius will injure her.”

“I will not let it go that far, Bhuler,” the knight replied. “And neither will Squire Theodore.”

Marius was confident—she could see it clearly. He had spent years fighting in similar circumstances, training against other peons and then other squires. Now he was fighting a girl who could barely walk!

Perhaps he will be overconfident?

Marius laughed for a second, then struck first with a swift lunge. His feet were a blur on the stone as he launched himself forward. Confident his lunge would strike home, he went in low to stab her stomach.

But Kara moved with equal speed, dancing back a brief step, keeping herself only an inch from the reach of his wooden practice sword. She laughed now, and chopped down with her blade just as he began to withdraw it. They connected with a satisfying
clack.

“Well done, Lady Kara!” Bryant called from the crowd and a murmur of agreement rang out from the spectators—even from some of Marius’s own peons.

Kara ignored them. Her mind was focused entirely on Marius, above all on the way his feet were spaced, for his movements there would dictate his actions.

He closed in again, this time lunging and cutting several times, moving with swift intent. He was not inexperienced. He knew how to fight and how to hurt. But his leather armour slowed him, and each lunge was met by a parry from Kara’s training blade.

Marius’s breath came in gasps now as he forced her back.

“Do you not attack?” he cried breathlessly. “Is it all you can do to run?” He pressed her once more, his attacks still skilled despite the fact that he was showing signs of fatigue. Her best strategy was to let him exhaust himself, she knew.

With each step he advanced Kara took another back, keeping him at a suitable distance.

“The girl intends to tire him,” a grizzled veteran observed from the onlookers. “Marius can’t keep it up in his armour.”

“Her speed is surprising,” the man’s companion replied. “And she hasn’t even broken a sweat yet. Nor does she even appear out of breath. It is unnatural.”

Marius made a sudden lunge for her, his face twisted in anger.

And Kara smiled.

Reaching out with her free hand she seized his wrist and twisted. At the same time she lashed out with her foot, kicking his ankle and forcing him to the ground.

Marius gave a startled cry as he dropped the training blade. Then he swore loudly as Kara shoved her open palm into his forehead, putting him flat on his back at her feet.

A cheer went round the courtyard as Marius lifted his head in surprise. Kara stepped away from him, quickly picking up his training blade as she backed away, her eyes shining fiercely.

“It is done!” Theodore shouted, stepping between the combatants. “I declare Kara the victor!”

The peons clapped and shouted, their applause echoed from many of the windows that had opened high up in the castle.

“It is not done!” Marius shouted angrily as he stood. “The victor was to be the first to draw blood. Neither of us is bleeding.”

“That is true,” one of the onlookers remarked cautiously.

“Do you wish to resume Kara?” Theodore asked.

She looked at Marius contemptuously.

“I am happy to, Theodore.” She nodded in her opponent’s direction. “But the boy should note that I’ve taken one weapon off him already. If he wishes to lose another, it is no trouble to me.”

“You dare to mock me?” Marius shouted, enraged, his fists clenched.

“Calm yourself Marius” Theodore advised.

“Squire Marius!” one of his peons shouted from the crowd of onlookers, tossing a training blade to his teacher. Marius grasped it firmly.

Kara saw the hate in his eyes and knew that he perceived her not just as an enemy that day, but as a threat to all he had become amongst the knights. If he were to lose, it would severely damage his standing in the order.

He ran at her, his speed catching her off guard. There were no thrusts or parries this time, for her wooden blade was no deterrent to Marius’s attack. A single cut would not stop him.

Kara’s blade bit into the leather armour at his shoulder as he drove his fist into her stomach. She doubled over, falling to her knees in pain and surprise as Marius triumphantly stepped away from her. He raised his arm and pulled the training blade from his padded shoulder, ignoring the groans of disapproval.

“No blood! The contest is still in progress.” he roared defiantly. “And I have taken my weapon back.”

Kara rose to her feet slowly, her breathing sharp and painful. She had not expected Marius to behave like that. For some reason, she thought that the rules of this game of skill would prevent such brutal assaults. He had not even used the training blade in his attack.