Betrayal at Falador (18 page)

“Are you all right, Kara?” Theodore asked. “You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to.” He stretched out a hand to help her up.

“Do not touch me, Theodore,” she said through gritted teeth. “I just didn’t know Marius was allowed to do that.”

“You can’t play the same game as him, Kara. Marius’s armour will cut your knuckles if you try to hit him—and you have no armour to impede his blows.”

“I am not going to play the same game as him, Theodore.”

“Are you rested enough yet?” Marius sneered. “Or perhaps you would like to return to the ward and your sick bed.” Kara sensed his renewed confidence. She knew he had strength on his side, and she was certain he was going to use it.

With a final deep breath, she readied herself.

“When I am done with you, Marius, it will be you who sleeps in the ward, not I!”

Her words goaded him and he charged once more, his training blade held before him to parry any counter-attack that she might make. But she was not going to let him hit her again. As he swung his arm back, Kara ducked out of his way, getting behind him before he could correct his stance. She ran her foot into the joint behind his kneecap and with a cry Marius fell once more to the ground.

But he would not linger this time. With a roar of animal rage he stabbed back behind him in a wild thrust of desperation.

Again she seized his wrist as she had done before and he tried to push up, opposite to the direction in which she was twisting.

“Do you wish me to end it, Marius?” she taunted. “Or would you like another chance?” She drove her knee into his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs as he had done to her only a minute before, and at the same time she increased the pressure on his wrist. The training blade landed with a clatter and immediately Kara kicked it away. “That’s
both
of your weapons I’ve taken, squire!”

She released him with a smile and Marius fell back to the ground, his breathing loud and quick, his face red from exertion. Kara turned and walked away.

“Don’t you dare turn your back on me,” he cried, standing up, his voice trembling with rage.

She was several yards from him now and she made no effort to turn around.

“Look at me,” he demanded. “I am a squire of the Knights of Falador, and you. You are nothing. A nobody.”

His words stung Kara and she stopped in her tracks.

The courtyard was silent.

Kara turned to confront him, her face ashen. There was a truth in his words that hurt her. She didn’t know
who
she was.

“Marius. Behave yourself,” Theodore shouted. “Those words are beneath you.”

“She cannot hide behind you, Theodore,” Marius roared, laughing savagely as Kara’s face fell. “But the contest isn’t finished yet,” he pressed. “Neither of us bleed.”

Kara raised her head once more to peer intently at him, and for an instant his mocking expression faltered.

When she moved, she did so with unexpected speed, her hand bent back over her shoulder, and in a single movement she threw the training blade at Marius, slicing the air in a path directly toward his face. Only his swift reaction saved him.

He caught the blade in his hand and staggered back, laughing as he felt his fingers close securely on the wood.

“I have taken your weapon from you. Now I will draw your own blood with your own blade.”

“It is over, Marius,” Kara said, her eyes misting from the tears that his words had provoked.

Preparing to stride forward, Marius raised his hand to point the weapon at her.

Then, with a startled grunt, he stopped. For his hand was bleeding. The wooden blade had cut his fingers in several places, and wooden splinters had shredded his skin. Theodore stepped closer to investigate.

“The contest is over. Kara is the victor,” he declared.

There was nothing else to be said. By all their laws Kara had triumphed. The actions of the onlookers prevented him from retaliating as the peons, without exception, swarmed to Kara, clapping her victory and shouting her name. Soon the chant, led by Bryant, could be heard from the courtyard, in celebration of the “Lady Kara”.

Theodore fought his way to her, pushing the more eager peons to one side.

“You must shake hands with Marius, Kara,” he said hurriedly. “The contest is over. There can be no ill thought between you.”

She looked at Marius, standing alone, staring down at his hand as if it had betrayed him. She hadn’t wanted to demean him so much, nor reveal her combat prowess to the knights. The contest had gone too far, but there was nothing to do about it now.

She nodded firmly.

“Very well.”

She strode forward, her eyes still tearful. Marius had hurt her more than he knew, but peace between them was something she wanted.

She presented her hand to him, and waited.

But Marius did not move.

“If she were one of our order I would have no objection in taking her hand, Theodore,” he said darkly, looking past her as if she wasn’t even there. “But she isn’t—she is no more than a feral cat.”

And in the shocked silence that settled over the courtyard, Marius turned and marched away, leaving his bitter words to haunt Kara.

TWENTY-THREE

Darkness settled over Falador, bringing with it a vengeful rain that lashed against the windows of Sir Amik’s high room.

“I am certain of it,” Sir Tiffy Cashien said. He spoke as if he feared even the walls might be listening. “I have spent the last few days reviewing the records of the Temple Knights, translating the code that keeps them secure.”

Sir Amik nodded in understanding. The Temple Knights were answerable to Sir Tiffy and charged with gathering intelligence concerning their enemies. Their secrets were impenetrable—or so he hoped.

“And have you identified the knight who went north with the Ring of Life in his possession?” Sir Amik asked. Like Sir Tiffy, he kept his voice low, despite the fact that they were alone.

“I believe so. I have recorded my findings for you.”

Sir Tiffy opened his satchel and withdrew a document written on vellum.

Sir Amik read it in silence. Then he read it again, to be certain of what it implied. Finally, he sighed.

Justrain
.

“We have not had any contact with him in over a decade,” he murmured, lifting his gaze from the document. “A man like him would not abandon our cause. I fear he is long dead, as we had assumed.”

“I was a senior knight back then,” Sir Tiffy said, “when he volunteered to spy on the Kinshra. Kara’s arrival has raised unanswered questions that have long lain dormant.”

Twenty years ago Justrain, one of their boldest knights, had disgraced himself by accusing someone in their order of treachery. Such a charge, if not supported by evidence, led to expulsion. Sir Amik remembered the day vividly: the adamant Justrain resolutely clinging to his accusation and standing by his belief in the face of furious opposition.

While many believed and supported him, there had been no evidence, so he had handed over his sword and his armour, resigning from the order before he could be expelled. Sir Tiffy’s predecessor, then in command of the Temple Knights, had offered him one of the Rings of Life, as a final acknowledgement of the man’s ability and resolution. He was officially designated a Temple agent, charged to spy on the Kinshra, and sent to live amongst the foresters and the hunters near Ice Mountain.

For several years irregular reports had been sent back. Some hinted at his unwavering intent to prove his accusation of treachery at the highest levels of the order.

But then the reports had ceased altogether.

“How old is Kara?” Sir Tiffy asked.

“I think seventeen. Theodore has said that she herself is not certain. He told me her story: her village was the target of a Kinshra attack, and she was the only survivor. She has not yet revealed how she survived.”

“That is suspicious.”

“Theodore thinks she will tell him in the next few days. He did not want to force her to revisit the tragic attack.”

Sir Tiffy shook his head.

“Does he have the stomach for this work?” he asked frankly. “Kara-Meir is somehow important to us, and Theodore’s approach is long-winded. Time may be of the essence.”

“He will achieve the goals we have set him.”

The silence that fell between them was uneasy.

Finally, Sir Tiffy spoke.

“Do you think that Kara is Justrain’s daughter?”

“It is a possibility,” Sir Amik replied cautiously. He knew the way in which Sir Tiffy’s mind worked, and he was afraid of what he might suggest.

“If there is any truth to the accusations Justrain made all those years ago, then the traitor may still live.” He seized Sir Amik’s wrist, his grip strong in its fervour. “He may be in the almshouses in the city, even now.”

Sir Amik peered at him doubtfully.

“It was twenty years ago,” he said. “What could he hope to accomplish after all this time, even if he is still alive?”

“If a man has escaped justice this long, then it is our duty to ensure that he evades it no more,” Sir Tiffy insisted. “Think, my friend. If it becomes known that Kara is Justrain’s daughter, and that her father may have passed on to her important information, our treacherous knight would be forced to act.”

Despite his doubts, Sir Amik’s expression became more intense.

“You mean, Sir Tiffy, to use Kara as bait?”

The old man lowered his head, a dark expression clouding his face.

“I do,” he admitted. “Yet I do not suggest it lightly, for Kara will be in danger. But in the years since Justrain’s exile, events have indicated that he might have been right. Our agents have disappeared, knights have been ambushed, yet for no reason we have been able to discern. Often these things would have required information that could only have come from someone within our ranks.”

Sir Amik nodded. It was something he had been afraid to admit, hoping that this treasonous knight—if indeed he existed—was long dead.

“Very well,” he said, rising from his seat. “No one else must know of this, my friend—only you and I.”

“Agreed.”

The two men sealed their pact by shaking hands, and Sir Amik knew they were both uncomfortable with what they were about to do. Yet both were certain that it was the only way.

Bhuler led Sir Tiffy to a spare room, for the rain and the late hour prevented him from returning to the almshouse near the park. The knight had been withdrawn since his meeting, his expression strained, the valet thought, as he returned to Sir Amik’s quarters.

Sir Amik was no better.

“Bhuler, I would like you to tell me something.” His voice was tremulous. “I have always tried to do what is good for our order,” he began.

The valet nodded, and waited for more.

“But sometimes such dedication demands a sacrifice.” Bhuler noted a far-away look in his eyes. “What will they say of me when I am dead?”

“Sir Amik?” Bhuler asked, certain he had heard incorrectly.

“Have I been a good knight, Bhuler?” Sir Amik pressed. “Have I served our order with honour?”

“Undoubtedly, Sir Amik,” the valet declared. “Your name will live in the hearts of those who come after us, and will be held high as an example to them all.”

Sir Amik smiled wanly.

“Thank you, Bhuler, and good night.”

The valet turned and left the room, closing the door quietly, his mind disturbed. What could have prompted such unnerving questions? His thoughts turned to Kara. Her coming was the catalyst for many things, and he recalled the sad look he had seen on her face that afternoon after her victory over Marius.

Something drew him to the ward, and soon he found himself outside the wooden door, his hand unwilling to open it at such a late hour. He stood silently for a moment, unsure of what to do, when a sound from within caught his attention.

It was the sound of someone crying.

He could not ignore someone in distress. Silently he opened the door. There was only one person in the room.

It was Kara. She had the sheet pulled over her, as if hiding herself from the world.

“Kara. It is me... Bhuler.” The valet crept forward and spoke in a low voice as he reached out to pull the sheet back.

She didn’t try to stop him, and instead tried to hide her face in her arms, clearly unwilling to let anyone see her in such distress.

“What is wrong, Kara?” The valet reached forward and pushed the girl’s hands gently away from her tear-streaked face.

Her dark eyes met his.

“I am a nobody, Bhuler,” she hissed. “Marius was right. I can never be a knight. I don’t even know who I am!” Her words were wracked by pained sobs.

Bhuler unconsciously put his arm around her, drawing her into his comforting embrace.

“You fought better than any squire I’ve ever seen, Kara,” he whispered to her, pulling the strands of blonde hair away from her face. “None have beaten Marius in such a contest before— and you did it so easily.”

“It changes nothing,” she said into his shoulder.

“It changes
everything,
Kara,” he responded. “I do not know why, but the eyes of fate have marked you for a purpose. You have been granted a skill which few can equal.”