Betrayal at Falador (39 page)

Castimir cried in gratitude at the precious gift. He pulled his horse close, and the two friends embraced.

“And take this also.” The alchemist handed over a small but heavy case. “It is a spyglass. It will help you see your enemies from a safe distance.” Castimir noted a warning in his eyes. “Just remember, Castimir, it is a rescue mission only—you are not riding into battle. Make certain Theodore knows this also.”

“I will.” The wizard bowed to his friend for a final time. “When I come back, Ebenezer, I look forward to continuing our debates on your science—especially in the context of this latest revelation.” He managed a smile.

Then he turned his horse to follow after Theodore and Doric. As he did, his eyes fell on Arisha. The barbarian priestess was watching him, her large blue eyes reflecting the hopelessness of her thoughts.

“Goodbye!” he said with a wave and another smile. “Please look after my yak.” His voice broke as she lowered her head and turned away, her long dark hair hiding a tear-streaked face. All humour in Castimir’s soul died instantly.

He tried to speak again, but the lump in his throat prevented him from forming the words. In silent agony he mouthed a single word to her,
Goodbye.

Finally the wizard spurred his horse to catch up with his friends.

FIFTY-TWO

Sulla’s heavy steel-tipped boot smashed into Kara’s ribs and lifted her off the sodden ground. She rolled onto her front and lay still, breathing deeply, knowing it was pointless to try to run or to fight back. She had already tried both, and her body bore the bruises of her captor’s anger.

“Tell me who you are—why do you want to kill me,” he demanded. Then he leaned in close and whispered menacingly in her ear. “That is all I want to know.” So far she had only revealed the name that Master Phyllis had bestowed upon her, but it wasn’t enough to spare her from Sulla’s brutality.

Now she mustered the strength to respond. Her lip was swollen, her face was bloodied and bruised, and her wrists were bound. Nearby a fire sputtered and flared.

“Why?” she asked weakly. “Why is it so important?”

“Because I have dreamed about you, Kara. Before I ever saw you I fought you in my dreams—and you always won! I want to know why.”

“Then I have bad news for you, Sulla” she said. “I don’t
know
who I am.” Somehow she found the strength to stand, her legs shaking from the effort. “I came here to trace my family in the archives, and now that those archives are gone, I have no hope of discovering my identity.” She paused and peered directly at him. “But I will die with the comfort of knowing that you fear me.” Her defiant speech had taken nearly all that remained of her strength, and she collapsed to her knees once more.

Sulla bit his lip in thought, and an idea occurred to him.

“I have news for you also, Kara-Meir. The archives weren’t all destroyed—you and Gar’rth saved four volumes that my men have recovered.” He moved closer, until his eyes were inches away from hers. “Do you wish to see them?” His scarred face betrayed no sign of emotion as he watched for her response.

Kara hung her head in defeat.

Sulla knew what her silence meant. He rose and walked swiftly away, returning with two of the heavy tomes, one held in each hand.

“Here they are, Kara” he said. “There is a problem though...” His eye glinted in undisguised malice. “My men need to keep warm!” He hurled the first book into the fire. The soldiers who had gathered to watch jeered as Kara slumped in despair.

He laughed at her as he picked up the second book and threw that onto the fire, as well.

Then he held the last one in his hand.

“Is there nothing you can do to stop me?” he taunted.

She said nothing, turning her face from his hideous glare, and Sulla hurled the last of the archives into the flames. Then he knelt down close to his mysterious enemy again.

“Why don’t you just kill me?” she asked, exhausted.

Sulla sneered in triumph, knowing his next words would damage her more than a thousand beatings.

“Oh, Kara—do you think me a savage?” he mocked. “No, I am not going to kill you.”

Kara raised her head from the ground to look at him suspiciously.

“No, Kara.
I
am not going to kill you. But
Gar’rth
is.”

Sulla stepped away from her to reveal the robed figure of the werewolf she had nearly killed, standing nearby. In front of him Kara could see Gar’rth, his body as battered as hers, his eyes black and his skin darker than she had ever seen it.

Gar’rth’s hunter had beaten him, forcing his bestial nature to the surface, and she was to be the innocent who would be sacrificed to secure his loyalty to Zamorak.

She was to die by Gar’rth’s hand.

Kara gave a strangled cry and hid her face, sobbing in despair as Sulla looked on in triumph.

“Can you see them?” Castimir asked from the shadows of the trees that grew to the north of the monastery.

Theodore nodded.

“Kara is there, but there is no sign of Gar’rth.” He gazed through the long telescope, the grey daylight making his spying easier. “But there are at least fifty Kinshra, as well as Sulla.” He groaned suddenly. “And the werewolf is still alive!”

Theodore scoured the monastery once more. He saw the red-cloaked chaos dwarfs, who were busy cleaning the iron weapons that had been dragged into the courtyard.

“Now that I see those devices in the daylight, they are less of a riddle to me. They are some new sort of artillery.”

Doric grunted impatiently. Knowing the dwarf wished to look, Theodore handed the spyglass across.

“What do you make of the red-cloaked dwarfs?” the squire asked his friend.

“It makes sense now” Doric said. “The new artillery are mortars, and they have cannons there also. I have seen them demonstrated by my people, and the red-cloaked dwarfs are chaos dwarfs. Just as you humans have followers of Zamorak, so do we dwarfs—and these chaos dwarfs have been a constant source of strife to us for many centuries.”

“What can you tell me about the cannons?” Theodore asked, knowing that Sir Amik would insist on a full report of his enemy’s capabilities.

“The walls of Falador won’t stand against them, if Sulla has more.” Doric’s voice trailed off as he pressed the telescope closer to his eye. “It
is
Kara!” he suddenly hissed, seeing her for the first time. “She has been badly beaten. They are moving her to the stables near the fencing.” His voice went suddenly faint as he looked on powerlessly.

“What is it?” Theodore asked.

“I have found Gar’rth,” Doric said, lowering the telescope to look at his friends. “But he is no longer human.”

Kara’s hands and legs were bound tightly to the iron struts that were normally used for securing the horses to the wall outside the stables. Wracked with pain, she took comfort in the thought that she would shortly be dead and away from all worldly agonies.

Before her, secured by a chain, was Gar’rth. He had crawled into the shadows to hide from her as if he were ashamed.

Sulla and his werewolf companion looked at her critically.

“I will cut her” the hooded figure suggested. “Gar’rth will pick up the scent of her blood and will not be able to resist.” The fiend stepped forward, his hand held out toward her face.

“Wait!” Sulla said. “I’ll do it.” He put his knife to her throat, and deftly cut her skin, but not so deep that she lost consciousness. “I want her fully aware of what is happening,” he sneered gleefully as the blood dripped from her wound and onto her bare shoulder, revealed through her torn clothing.

“Get up, Gar’rth!” the werewolf growled, grabbing him by the nape of the neck and throwing him to the ground in front of Kara. “Drink in her scent—know her fear!”

Gar’rth did not reply, his expression contorted with pain. But he began to sniff the air, and instinctively turned toward her.

“This time you will not escape, my nephew” the hooded figure continued. “You have brought embarrassment on our family by refusing your first blooding. I will make sure you are blooded today, make certain you feast on the blood of an innocent so that you can give your life to Zamorak. I don’t care how you kill this girl, but she
will
die by your hand.

“I will starve you until you can no longer resist the scent of her!”

He hit Gar’rth hard on the back of his head, causing him to yelp in surprise and cringe away.

A circle of Kinshra warriors had gathered to watch. When Gar’rth failed to act, a groan went up. With a frustrated cry one of them hurled a brick at him, hitting him on the shoulder and forcing him to crawl away.

“Do not damage him too much, men,” Sulla admonished. “He will be useful to us once he has accepted the spirit of Zamorak.”

“It will not harm Gar’rth to goad him on,” the werewolf said, peering from man to man. “Indeed, it will increase his frustration and anger, and he will lose whatever control he has left. Just make certain that you are all beyond the reach of his chain.”

The men of the Kinshra avoided his stare, but they nodded, eager to see the youth exact a hideous revenge on the girl who had slain their comrades.

Gar’rth gave a despairing moan as he crept as far away from Kara as the chain around his neck would allow. He lay with his hands pressed against his ears, blocking out the taunts of the onlookers.

“Well, Kara-Meir, you have gone from one bad situation to another!”

The old man’s face betrayed a savage smile that said he found her predicament amusing.

“Where am I?” she asked. Her wounds were healed and all the pain was gone. She was standing beside the small red-cloaked man on the parapet of a black castle built in the middle of a great city. It was all strangely familiar.

“You are in Falador, Kara,” he said with a wave of his hand. “A Falador as it might be if you accept my proposal. Gone are the knights, for their righteousness and arrogance destroyed them. Your armies have overrun the known world. Your empire is the largest there has ever been, your laws are upheld, and men fear to utter your name. There are no more pointless deaths, no more wars.

“Look at all you have achieved.”

Kara looked at the dismal faces of the people who had become her subjects. The people of Falador walked about their city under the hard stares of dozens of black-armoured guards. In this new world, constructed over the bodies of impressed citizens worked to death, the people were no longer free. Suddenly she was certain who it was who offered her such power.

“Zamorak!” She turned to face him. “Why am I so important to you?”

The hunchback gave a childish giggle.

“I am a mere servant of the power, not the power itself,” he said. “When I lived, many centuries ago, I was an able pawn. You would best think of me as his high emissary. One of many.”

His burning eyes stared deeply into hers.

“The world cannot continue as it is, Kara. A new system must be found, a leader who can unite all men for the new age. Under his guidance you can create a world in which no family will be destroyed as yours was!”

“And what of my friends?” she asked. “The last time you came to me you showed me a future in which I had Theodore killed.”

She stepped away from the man, looking down into the courtyard where an execution scaffold stood on permanent display, its wooden deck stained a darkish brown.

“Your friends have abandoned you, Kara,” he said in a matter-of-fact way. “For you to achieve the destiny that was meant for you, you do not need friends.”

The execution stand attracted Kara’s gaze again.

“Send me back” she demanded. “For I refuse your offer. A world ruled by fear is not a world I wish to be part of.”

The old man laughed once more, but his eyes glinted in annoyance.

“Very well, Kara-Meir, but I shall appear to you one last time before my offer is withdrawn. In the meantime, you must save yourself.” Suddenly she was paralysed, and as she tried to move she found herself back in the monastery, restrained by the thick ropes and subjected to the cruel jests of the men, her body once more bruised and aching.

But this time she did not despair. For if Zamorak’s emissary was to visit her again, then she knew she would somehow survive.

That thought gave her the strength to think clearly, and to plan.

She looked at Gar’rth, and the chain about his neck gave her an idea. With a solid resolve she turned to the Kinshra onlookers. Mustering herself, she laughed back at them, and from their expressions she knew that her sudden change unnerved them.

She knew she had to play upon their impatience now, and draw one of them close enough for Gar’rth to reach.

“How is it, Jerrod, that you are able to speak the common tongue and Gar’rth isn’t?”

“My people only learn it after adolescence, after their blooding and when their true form is set. Gar’rth is simply too young.”

Sulla turned his attention to the captives.

“You know, some of the men resent me giving Kara to Gar’rth. But she is too dangerous to be left alive, and the men will be content with the spectacle as he devours her.”

Jerrod bowed his head in acknowledgement, aware that Sulla, like his men, was growing impatient for Gar’rth to act. Worse, Kara was mocking them, and the men’s tempers were becoming strained. If one of them slew Kara themselves, then Gar’rth’s blooding would have to be postponed,
again
! Jerrod turned to caution Sulla about his men, but as he turned to speak a hideous cry carried across the courtyard. It was followed immediately by yells of alarm and the scrapes of swords being drawn.