Betrayal at Falador (34 page)

The abbot looked at Gar’rth, who was being untied from the chair by the gentle hands of the monks. He was exhausted, his eyes closed in deep sleep.

“It might never come to possess him again,” came the response. “We might have driven enough of it from him that he can always remain in control of his actions. We will know nothing until he wakes.” The abbot looked at each of them in turn. “Brother Althric shall guide you to your rooms.” He bowed as they left.

The monk guided them through the dimly-lit corridors to a set of rooms in the eastern wing. Their belongings had already been laid out for them. Even Ebenezer’s chemicals were displayed, but for once the alchemist showed no interest in them.

Yet Kara refused sleep. As soon as Gar’rth was resting under the watchful eyes of her friends, she sought out Brother Althric and asked about the records. Theodore went with her, and although the two had yet to make their peace, she offered no objection.

Despite his own fatigue, the monk took them to a room filled with books and documents of every shape and size.

“We have set aside records dating from the year 148 to 156 of the Fifth Age” he explained. “That should capture the time when your father brought you here to receive the monastery’s blessing, when you were a child.”

Kara could not resist a hopeful smile and for the first time in many days she looked happily at Theodore, forgetting her anger toward him. Theodore smiled back.

FORTY-SEVEN

Fatigue was the victor, and Theodore stumbled away to his bed, hardly able to stand.

Yet still Kara refused to sleep. She remained, alone throughout the night as the wind howled down from Ice Mountain and swept through the corridors of the monastery.

She stared at the pages for hours, rifling through the calligraphic records in awe at the skill of their authors, for each writing was the work of an artisan. She read and reread many of the pages. Never before had she taken such a simple joy in reading.

Once she nearly cried out, for she read about a local man bringing in his child for the blessing of Saradomin. But her hope was short-lived when she saw that the child had been a boy. With a patient sigh she turned the page to continue, her mind blocking out the four other volumes she had yet to examine.

But eventually reading the fine writing by spluttering candle light took its toll, and she found herself squinting heavily at the text before her. She pinched her eyes to drive away the fatigue, but it was not enough. With another sigh she stood up, stretching her tight muscles, deciding that it was time to return to her room—for it was already dawn.

Kara took the candle and left the archives, shutting the door firmly behind her. For several hours she had heard no sound that indicated any other living person, and the silence unnerved her. In such a place it was easy to believe in ghosts.

She had gone only a few yards when she heard the padded feet of a monk. He was followed by a second man, and Kara heard them speaking in low voices, their concern easily apparent from their anxious tones.

“Who are they?” asked the first man. “What do they want?”

Kara extinguished the candle before the light could give her away. There was something in their voices that made her uneasy, and somehow she suspected it was best to hide her presence.

“I do not know—but they have surrounded the monastery.” replied his companion. “There are torches being brandished at every perimeter. We must wake the abbot!”

At once Kara’s mind screamed a single word.

Kinshra.

It had to be them, she thought. Only they had the strength and daring to assault a monastery. The roving bands of thieves and outlaws who dwelt in The Wilderness were not organised enough. But the Kinshra, Kara realised, with Sulla at their head, were capable of anything.

She raced to wake her friends.

“We are ready, Lord Sulla” the chaos dwarf hissed with anticipation. He squinted up at his master in the semi-darkness of dawn, the light of the flames making him look even more deformed than usual.

“Then begin the bombardment!” the lord of the Kinshra ordered. “Let us see what these new machines can do.”

The chaos dwarf gave the order and at once the five troopers standing above the heavy iron weapons lowered their burning torches onto the fuses.

Scarcely a moment later an immense roar perforated the silence of the night. Each of the iron carriages discharged a great plume of acrid smoke as they leapt, bellowing flames from their barrels.

Sulla’s ears rang from the noise. He motioned the dwarfs to reload their guns and fire again.

Kara was entirely unprepared for the explosion. Before she could react, she was knocked to the floor as the roof collapsed, showering her with brick and timber.

“It must be a dragon!”

Castimir’s voice reached her where she lay, and she groaned and coughed as Theodore, his leather armour already strapped on, came to her aid. He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her roughly to her feet. Their eyes locked. She was ready—even eager—for a fight.

“We cannot fight dragons, Theo!” Castimir yelled in distress.

“It is no dragon,” Ebenezer shouted. “It is a perversion of science.” All around them the many cries of “Fire!” increased in urgency.

“We must gather our horses,” Arisha insisted.

“You would suggest we flee?” Theodore said, his face darkening.

“There are too many of them” Arisha told him. “And the monks are not warriors. We must save those we can and leave this place.”

“She’s right, squire,” Doric said, his head appearing from behind the door frame to his room. “This is no mere band of outlaws—these men are organised. Sir Amik and Falador must be informed.”

Before Theodore could speak a second eruption sounded from beyond the monastery’s walls, and immediately several chilling whines came from the night sky.

“Get under cover!” Doric shouted, seizing Kara by the wrist and pulling her into his room, forcing her to shelter against the stone wall. The others followed and within seconds all were packed so tightly they could not move.

“If the shell comes through the roof and into this room...” Ebenezer looked fearfully at the low ceiling.

Feet sounded outside the door as a monk ran by. In the very same instant the corridor shook with an explosion and the door to Doric’s room was wrenched off one of its hinges as dust and smoke swept inside.

“We have to get out of here” Castimir shouted. The wizard ran to the oak door, but its distorted shape meant that he could not move it an inch. Theodore moved to help, and the two youths put all their weight into forcing it aside.

It didn’t work. The one remaining hinge, twisted by the force of the explosion, held the stout oak door in place.

“We’ll suffocate with all this smoke coming in” Ebenezer shouted. The corridor was burning. Soon the flames and heat would finish them.

Gar’rth pushed past Castimir and gave all his strength to the door, with Theodore straining at his side. The squire coughed and brushed the tears from his reddened eyes.

“It is no good. We cannot get out.”

“If I had room to swing my axe I might be able to break it,” Doric muttered. “But there is not enough time.”

“Castimir,” Ebenezer wheezed, his head close to the wizard, “in the barbarian hall when you offered to melt that knife—can you melt the hinge?”

The wizard nodded grimly. He looked hard at the metal hinge that so completely denied them their freedom.

His hands delved into one of the many pouches at his belt. Kara noted how he had organised his pouches so that each one contained a different type of the mysterious rune stones that he needed to control his craft. In a few seconds Castimir held five of the small pebbles in his hand, four with a fiery red engraving on them and one with an obscure green symbol that she had never seen.

Castimir focused on the hinge, setting his jaw against the doubt that flickered briefly across his expression.

His hand opened to reveal the stones in his palm, stones that immediately began to dissolve into a viscous liquid which blended together. Theodore, standing closest to the hinge, pushed himself away with a sudden cry as heat radiated out from it as if it were a coal in a furnace.

Within seconds it was glowing red. With a sudden
crack,
the weight broke the weakened metal and the heavy door crashed to one side, clearing their path into the corridor.

“You did it, Castimir,” Theodore shouted gleefully. “We must get to our horses.”

They ran out into the burning corridor and were greeted by a sight that destroyed their sudden burst of optimism. The monk who had run past their room at the time of the explosion lay before them, his lifeless body shattered and torn.

“If we had been out here when that went off...” Ebenezer looked to Doric.

“It was just dumb luck,” the dwarf said. “We should take our weapons, for we may need to fight our way out” he suggested.

The company braved the flames to leap back into their own rooms and collect their most prized possessions. Castimir emerged with his fire staff and knife, Ebenezer the chemical bags which he struggled to haul onto his back, as if he were the mule. Kara took her father’s broken ring and the adamant sword.

They made their way down the stairs and out to the courtyard, where the monks were busy with buckets of water, trying to combat the growing fires which so far were restricted to the eastern wing. Though it was morning now, thick clouds hampered the sun’s attempts to light the landscape.

A desperate figure lunged toward them from the flames, his face blackened by the smoke. It was Brother Althric.

“Abbot Langley is injured,” he said frantically. “He is unconscious. What are we to do?”

“I will go to the abbot” Arisha said. “The rest of you prepare to defend the monastery and gather the monks for a breakout.” No one questioned the priestess, for she displayed a calm wisdom from which each of them drew a measure of courage.

The companions gathered the monks near the stables in preparation for a swift escape. But as Theodore finished explaining Arisha’s plan, the weapons of the Kinshra sounded again. The fearsome whining from high above made everyone look up in cold anticipation.

“Here we go again,” Castimir muttered grimly.

Everyone dove for cover.

FORTY-EIGHT

“The mine is ready,” Thorbarkin hissed. His excitement was apparent in every facet of his person, from his wringing hands to his manic smile and shining eyes.

“Then detonate it,” Sulla ordered without hesitation.

The chaos dwarf bowed and scurried away into the violent darkness. The wind had changed and the smoke of the burning monastery was blowing in their direction, carrying with it glowing embers and the smell of explosives.

“When do I get to join in?” The unearthly voice came from behind Sulla’s shoulder.

Several of his bodyguards stepped fearfully aside. They hadn’t even noted the werewolf’s presence so close to their master.

Sulla remained unconcerned.

“We need to get you across the holy barrier, my friend. The raiding party have instructions to desecrate the entrance with innocent blood. Will that allow you entry?”

“It might. A holy barrier is usually associated with some structure or place, such as a wall or a river. If the wall is breached, then it might be enough. But remember, the youth is mine. Gar’rth is his name. He must not be harmed.”

“Why is he so important to you?” Sulla asked.

Jerrod’s eyes narrowed.

“Gar’rth is my nephew,” he replied, his voice low. “He dishonoured his family and fled from our homeland, and it is my task to ensure that he is returned.”

“And what of the others?” Sulla asked, eager to unleash his soldiers.

“The girl is also to be handed over to me, for she has caused me great injury.” The werewolf held his hand in front of Sulla’s face and again the lord of the Kinshra noted the missing fingers.

“She did that to you?”

“She got very lucky in Falador” Jerrod growled. “I was playing with my food, and she must have heard me in the darkness.” He pulled his long sleeve over his hand. “She should not have been able to see me, much less strike as she did.”