Betrayal at Falador (23 page)

But since that time he had been going round in circles, unable to find his way out of the warren of old buildings that tottered forward on their foundations as if they were about to fall over. Every street looked the same in the dark, and there were very few people he could ask for directions now that the rain had become a torrent.

Finally, frustration getting the better of him, he banged on the nearest door with his fist tightly clenched. An uneasy voice called out from inside and the door opened a thumb’s width, only enough to allow the occupier to peek out into the dim street.

“What do you want?” the man called out in an accent that Doric could barely decipher, and through a mouth that had long since lost all of its teeth.

“Just some simple directions,” he replied, holding his ill temper. “I’ll pay, of course.” Doric huffed as he reached into his pouch, feeling the cool metal coins in his fingers.

He was beginning to hate Falador.

The traitor watched the house for only a few minutes. He debated whether to try and enter, to make sure that Bryant was no longer a threat, or whether he should return to the castle and deal with Kara.

She was the important one. Bryant was just an unfortunate witness.

He recalled the red-robed figure and knew he was afraid of him. There was something very powerful about the man who had seized Bryant—unnaturally so. That helped him make his decision—he would return to the castle right away. He relaxed his grip on the dagger and withdrew into the shadows of the surrounding dwellings.

Kara will die tonight,
he promised himself,
and then I’ll see if I have to bother with the boy.

Bryant awoke slowly, unable to comprehend where he was.

Gradually he understood that he had been blindfolded. When he tried to cry out, he nearly choked on the gag that had been secured about his mouth.

He jumped when a guttural voice came out of nowhere.

“Understand, young peon” the voice said calmly, “that I mean you no harm. But understand this also: if you do not cooperate, then I will hurt you.”

The voice drew closer. Bryant could feel the hot breath on his face, and suddenly he was glad of the blindfold. A rough hand removed the gag.

Bryant gasped for air before speaking.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing more than information,” the voice replied calmly. “I have been sent to your land to retrieve something that is precious to my master. For some months it has evaded me, always running. Then very recently I chanced upon your Squire Theodore. He knows the whereabouts of the thing I am seeking, but he is unaware of its nature.

“It is a dangerous thing, young peon. It has killed several times and unless I can catch it, then it will continue to do so.”

“The monster? Is that what you are hunting?” Bryant whispered in awe.

“You call it a monster, but I have another name for it. Regardless of that, the truth is that we are after the same thing—we both want it gone from this land. Will you help me?”

“Why then the subterfuge?” Bryant asked, at once curious and fearful. “Why not simply ask me?”

A low laugh emanated from deep within his captor’s throat.

“I doubt the servants of Saradomin would be so quick to aid one who looked like this!” In an instant his blindfold was torn off, and red eyes glowed savagely as the wolfish maw with its long teeth and longer red tongue breathed a rancid odour into the peon’s face. Only in his darkest nightmares had he ever encountered such a creature before—a werewolf!

Bryant cringed back in abject fear.

“Your kind are only legend!” he whimpered. A strong hand gripped his face, so hard that Bryant thought his skull would crack.

“We are very real, boy! But we do not come into your lands often and you should be thankful for that. I have been tasked with bringing back a traitor. Theodore knows where he is. If you help me, I will spare your life and his.

“But if you do not, you will suffer as none of your order has ever suffered.”

“What guarantees do I have?” the boy asked, regaining a portion of his composure.

The werewolf looked at him with something new in its expression—something akin to respect.

“You are brave, peon,” he admitted. “But I do not seek your death, not unless you give me no choice. If I were to kill you I would be hounded by your knights, making my search all the more difficult. Logic is your guarantee.

“All I wish to do is to call Theodore in your name, boy. I will write him a letter, telling him of an injury you have sustained, and you will make certain of its accuracy. Then, when he comes, I shall release you.”

“I shall help you then,” Bryant agreed. “If you promise me you will act as you have said.” He bowed his head low in a defeatist gesture.

The werewolf smiled.

“You have my promise, boy. Now, the letter...”

THIRTY-ONE

Kara was looking out of the window.

Theodore stood near the entrance to the ward. Both of them had been silent for a time, and when he spoke, she jumped slightly.

“You should come away from there, Kara,” he said. “I would like to see you practise with your sword.”

She looked at him curiously.

“Why are you armed, Theodore? You have never been armed before, on your visits to me.”

“It is the rumour of the monster, Kara. Doric left a message at the guard house, saying that it might be inside the city. I just wish to be ready in case we are called.” He was getting better at lying, he thought grimly. He was armed simply to protect Kara in case the traitor decided upon a desperate attack.

A loud thump at the door drew their attention. Theodore’s hand tightened on the hilt of his weapon, as if he expected to fight. But it was the same guard with whom Doric had argued that morning, and he saluted before handing the squire a rain-soaked envelope.

“It’s just been delivered, Squire Theodore. By one of Emily’s boys from The Rising Sun” The owner of the inn kept several street urchins on her payroll to run chores for her around the city, and they acted as Falador’s couriers, at least for those willing to pay to have their messages delivered.

Theodore took the message and read quickly. A look of alarm spread across his face.

“It’s from a citizen writing on Bryant’s behalf! He’s been hit by a runaway horse on a street corner near the apothecary.” He continued to read. “Bryant has asked that I come to aid him.” He hesitated—what was he to do? Go to Bryant and abandon Kara, or remain at her side?

She noticed his sudden anxiety.

“Well, Theodore?” she prompted. “What are you waiting for? Bryant is your peon, and he is under your care. You must go to him.”

Sir Amik’s words came back to him. He knew guarding Kara was the most important of his duties, yet abandoning Bryant would be against every rule of the order, and an insult to everything he had pledged his life to. After what seemed like long, agonizing moments, he came to a decision.

“Keep your sword close, Kara” he said firmly. “And do not leave the ward on any account!”

“I remember my orders, Theodore,” she said, an irritated note in her voice. “I am to remain here until Sir Amik is satisfied about my health.” Her brown eyes lapsed into deep thought. “But if Bryant has been hurt, then perhaps I should accompany you.”

“No, Kara. You will stay here—and you will not leave the ward” Theodore insisted. “I shall not be long, Saradomin willing.”

As he closed the door behind him, Theodore could not help but feel that fate was following closely on his heels.

Despite the promises made by his captor, Bryant was in pain.

His tormentor had sunk his claws into his left arm, and several times he had passed out. It was during one of his fainting sessions that his captor had hastened out to The Rising Sun, passing along the message he had written in the guise of a concerned citizen.

Upon his return he had splashed Bryant with cold water, waking the peon in order to find out more about Theodore.

“So I shall become a werewolf?” Bryant asked him after a silence. His voice was taut.

The creature looked confused.

“Do you not pass on your curse to those you injure?” the peon elaborated.

“Of course! I had forgotten about the fairy tales that you humans whisper to one another before bedtime. You believe that if I bite you, then you will change at the next full moon.” He laughed mockingly. “It isn’t true. A normal human being cannot be infected in such a manner. Maybe a half-breed, but I doubt if your ancestors deigned to marry into any of my race—not after Saradomin’s armies drove us back and cursed the River Salve to prevent us from leaving Morytania.”

“Then how did you get out?” Bryant asked, growing bolder. “How did you cross over the holy river?” His voice was weak from blood loss.

“Holy places can be defiled by sacrifices and powerful magic. But it was still very difficult for me to do it, and the dark lord of my realm had to have a hand in it himself. It has put me in debt to him, and that has put me in danger should I fail.”

Bryant fell silent, and the look on his face bespoke the pain he was enduring. Finally he gasped for air as he blacked out once more.

The werewolf was grateful for the silence, but he checked Bryant’s breathing to ensure that he was still alive. He wasn’t going to kill him just yet—for if Theodore proved to be as stubborn as his pupil, then threats would make little headway.

He would simply torture Bryant instead, until the squire complied with his requests.

Scant moments after Theodore rode across the moat, Doric rounded the corner.

“Not you again,” the guard said, noting the dwarf’s breathlessness. “What do you want this time?” He moved to stand on the centre of the bridge, his arms crossed tightly as if to dissuade the dwarf from any more nonsense.

Doric was angry. He was wet from the rain, he had been on his feet all day, and he was certain the monster was in the city and that the old woman knew where. A feeling in his gut had made him afraid of her house, as if he could somehow sense the monster’s presence there. It was a feeling he would never forget.

He needed Theodore, and nothing would deter him now.

“I only want to speak to Squire Theodore” he replied.

“Squire Theodore is not here” the man responded. “He has gone out in response to a letter that came from a citizen in the southern quarter.”

Doric’s attitude changed at once. His face paled, and his voice shook.

“Not Dagger Alley, not the Dens?” he said.

The guard nodded. “It is in the Dens but I do not know the address,” he replied. “Why should he not go there? Every citizen is entitled to the protection of the knights, no matter what their situation of birth or wealth. Saradomin is not an exclusive deity.”

“But he is in danger!” Doric insisted. “I trailed the monster there today.”

“Why would the monster want Theodore?” The guard’s patience appeared to be at an end.

“It followed us on our journey south! If it does not want me, then surely the only alternative is Theodore? Quickly, man, you must send help!”

“I will not be ordered about like a common guard. I am a knight of Saradomin!”

“Then Saradomin take you!” the dwarf roared, and before the guard could answer Doric turned and ran, heading south.