Betrayal at Falador (54 page)

“It was a woman who surprised the camp, my lord... a girl!” The messenger cringed, as if he feared he would be struck down for uttering the words. “I was spared by her to deliver this to you, but few others were as fortunate.”

The messenger’s quivering explanation made Sulla stop.

“Is the letter signed?” he demanded, his heart quickening in anticipation.

The man’s mouth moved, but no words came out.

“
Is it signed?”
Sulla repeated.

“It is, my lord” the man said. “Kara-Meir.”

The Kinshra guns roared again, tearing their way through the knights, felling dozens.

“Why has Saradomin abandoned us?”a young peon cried despairingly.

Riding a horse he had taken from a fallen knight, Sir Vyvin could offer no answer. He had hoped to charge the guns in a last-ditch effort to wreck the Kinshra advantage. Yet Sir Amik had led them into the enemy infantry instead. Now they were paying for his hasty judgement.

“Can nothing silence those guns?” he shouted in impotent rage.

Then another sound echoed across the plain—a loud explosion, far louder than even the guns of the Kinshra had been, loud enough for the men near the walls to feel the vibrations on the air itself.

To the north, above the burning Kinshra camp, sat a huge cloud of smoke—vast enough to hide the mountain peak behind it—like a squat demon, intent on devouring the city and all those who fought on the plain.

“Is it the end of time?” a peon asked fearfully. “Is it the end of the world?”

Sir Vyvin shook his head, hope welling in his chest.

“Not for us!” he said. Then he let out a cry of savage hope, pointing to the northeast with his sword. For there an army marched under a white banner—and at its centre shone a golden ring with a white flower through its middle.

“It is her!” Sir Vyvin roared. “Kara-Meir has come!”

At the mention of Kara’s name a new energy ran through the tired knights and their forces, and men who had been so near to admitting defeat rallied under the battered walls of their city, gaining fresh strength from the knowledge that their struggle and sacrifice had not been for nothing.

For the fortunes of war had shifted at last.

Kara-Meir had come.

Marius threw his whole weight against the iron gate. His efforts were rewarded by another cruel laugh as the strong barrier barely shook.

“Why?” Sir Tiffy said, his voice worn.

Sir Finistere stepped into the faint light of the lamp, making sure he was beyond arm’s length of the gate.

“And how?” Sir Tiffy continued. “How did you know about our ruse with the gold, for only Sir Erical had been informed?” He sat resignedly on one of the crooked chairs, suddenly despairing, hiding his face in his hands.

“You ask me why, old friend?” Finistere replied. “I shall tell you. When I was as young as Marius and still a squire I accompanied a knight on his travels. It was winter, fifty years ago.” His eyes were lost in reminiscence.

Suddenly he looked at Sir Tiffy.

“You would have been a peon then, a few years younger than I, yet you probably remember the uncertainty of those times. We had suffered the worst winter for a decade. Only a few years had passed since Misthalin had been invaded by the undead army from The Wilderness, and the city of Varrock was near destroyed. It was a time of fear—when old values were threatened and old securities failed. The wizards had no answer and there were rumours that they had reduced the size of their order, leaving the three human kingdoms unprepared to defend themselves. Some said they had spent their magic in the defence of Varrock. Whatever the reason, people knew they could no longer be counted upon to protect them.”

“This is common history, Finistere” the alchemist said. “The turmoil of those times forced men of enlightenment to turn to more methodical and scientific ways to guarantee humanity’s progress. That cannot be used to excuse your treachery!”

Finistere laughed bitterly. “Yes, alchemist. It signalled the growth of a new movement in science, but it did not change my views. I had become disillusioned with the knights but I was still faithful to Saradomin. It was when my knight and I fell into enemy hands that the fallacy of my belief was made clear to me. We were captured, lured into a trap by starving peasants we had helped only days before. They sold us to the Kinshra for mere alcohol they would use to further degrade themselves.

“Eventually they killed the knight but they spared me any agony,” Finistere continued. “Rather, they showed me an alternative. They knew that in my youth I had been misled, inveigled into the service of Saradomin—a god who did nothing to protect my knight from the outrages committed against him. For a full year they kept me as a prisoner but treated me like an honoured guest, lifting the veil of falsehood from my eyes.

“They showed me how a man was meant to live—by the sword, with strength and passion!” His eyes glowed fiercely.

“You cannot imagine the liberation,” he continued. “I had power to decide whether people lived or died.
Real
power under Zamorak!

“Eventually they released me, and very few of them were aware of my existence and loyalties. I found my way back to Falador and worked my way up the order over the years that followed. Never did I imagine, however, that I would be so successful in my role that I would bring about the destruction of the city and the order, living to see them in their final despairing hour.”

Ebenezer coughed gently, afraid to interrupting the rant.

I cannot allow him to leave,
he thought silently.
Not yet.
In his hands he held several of the magical runes and his mind raced as he attempted to summon the power that he had turned his back upon so long ago.

But he felt only the faintest connection.

Not enough,
he knew.
Not nearly enough.

“Falador will not end today, Finistere” Ebenezer said. “The city might burn and its citizens might flee, but it will continue nonetheless. It will endure a simple battle and an assault from a host of misguided men. History has proved that our race is not so easily brought low—not even the gods in the time of their wars could do it, and you shall not do it either. Even if you did triumph today and sack the city, in a few generations it will be only a footnote in the history of Falador. It will be but a dark hour measured against long years of light, and your name will not be remembered in any book or by any man.”

Finistere ignored the alchemist.

“And how did I know about the lure of the gold? I have many spies in the city. They told me Sir Erical had received an important order from a messenger, and I proceeded to find out the details. It was not hard when I was living on the same corridor at the almshouse.”

As the traitor turned to leave, he added a last mocking comment.

“To think I had to risk everything because of a mere woodcutter’s daughter,” he said. “It is an amusing thought now the game has ended!”

The words stirred Sir Tiffy.

“Why do you call Kara a woodcutter’s daughter? All our stories were based around the probability that she was Justrain’s daughter, and he never mentioned being a woodcutter in any of his reports.”

The words seemed to catch the traitor by surprise, and he thought for a moment, then a new light appeared in his eyes.

“I see it all now.” He spoke with the voice of a man savouring the ultimate victory. “You deliberately endangered her life in an effort to make me act.”

He laughed, delighted by the knowledge of how desperate his enemies had been to find him.

“But Justrain
is
Kara’s father, for he did pose as a woodcutter. I know this because the Kinshra informed me that their agents had intercepted a letter from a village woodcutter who matched Justrain’s description.” He waited for a moment to allow them to comprehend what he had said. “And when I signed my reply, I signed his death warrant and orphaned Kara, as well.”

“So it was you who killed Bryant?” Sir Tiffy asked. “And Sir Balladish?”

“It was. I added several requests to Sir Balladish’s list before it was sent to the apothecary—he did not know the exact details, but it is a routine we had established over many years in the almshouse. I made certain I was available in the courtyard to await Bryant’s return, intending to destroy the list and remove my items before anyone knew exactly what I had ordered.

“But the apothecary had told Bryant of the possibility of using the herbs for poison, and the peon told me so. I knew that if Kara died from my potion, then Bryant would be suspicious. Therefore he had to die. Sir Balladish trailed me to Dagger Alley, however, confronting me after I slew Bryant. I do not know why he suspected me, but he died before he could make his suspicions known.”

Again Finistere turned to leave.

“I have heard everything I n-needed to hear,” a voice stuttered in grief from the entrance of the cellar. “And still I feel no triumph.”

It was a voice every one of them knew. It was Sir Pallas.

With a grim look on his face, the old knight of the almshouse stood before the traitor, his unsteady hand holding a sword.

Sulla wiped the sods of earth from his face. He had been thrown from his saddle by the force of the explosion that had destroyed his camp.

“Someone must have lit the black powder!” Jerrod roared angrily as men and horses attempted to recover. “I can smell it!”

Nearby, the messenger groaned.

“The black powder is lost to us now. Soon our guns will exhaust their current supplies and they will be entirely useless,” Sulla said grimly. “This is a failure that cannot go unpunished, and as you are the only survivor of those who failed me.”

He nodded to Jerrod, who stood over the messenger. The werewolf reached toward his throat before the man could defend himself. The messenger gave a brief cry before he died.

Sulla did not even bother to look, for he knew he had to rally his men.

“We must abandon the cannons,” he said. “We cannot get to them in time now. We must concentrate on the knights first, for they are exhausted. Then we will turn our attention to her!”

He clenched his fists at the thought of the girl who had dared to interfere with his plans so many times, and he promised himself that—one way or another—it would not happen again.

SIXTY-NINE

Kara rode at the head of her army, which marched in a line. Under Theodore’s direction, the cavalry remained hidden behind the burning encampment.

They had travelled south via ways unknown to any Kinshra patrol, under the earth, following Commander Blenheim. When they had come suddenly upon the enemy, they caught them totally by surprise.

Upon taking the camp, she had written her message to Sulla on his own paper and sealed it with his own crest, knowing it would enrage him. Then she had ordered everything else to be burned.

“Now is your hour, Kara! Now is the hour in which you will recognise your own power and take up my offer!”

The voice was one she had heard twice before.
His audacity is growing,
she mused. Before his words had made her fearful, but this time she was unmoved. Without even bothering to look at the ghoulish hunchbacked figure cloaked in red, she replied.

“So you have come to me again, Emissary, as you said you would.” Her voice was calm. “Have your say, for there are more pressing things I must do.”

“The way of the warrior is not the way of Saradomin, my dear,” he said seductively. “I am offering you a place as commander of Zamorak’s armies. Will you accept?” The High Emissary stepped toward her and held out his hand.

Kara looked at him for the first time.

“I have made my choice, Emissary. I will never follow your teachings. Nor will I follow Saradomin. I have suffered much at the hands of his followers, but I have suffered worst from your own. For me, the way is that of Guthix, the god of balance who exists in all things.”

The figure stared at her for long moments before responding.

“Very well, Kara-Meir. If you survive this day, then I am certain we shall meet again.” He turned his head at the sound of a horse galloping toward them. When his eyes settled upon Theodore he smiled evilly. “Know also that you have upset the balance. The Kinshra upset it first by marching on Falador and defeating the knights, but your refusal of my offer has made the pendulum swing yet again. This time the balance is too far toward the light. A sacrifice shall have to be made.”

Before she could reply the High Emissary had vanished and Theodore was at her side. The Emissary’s threat had found the one gap in her armour. Kara was not overly concerned for herself, but her friends were a different matter altogether.

“The cavalry is deployed as you instructed and the men are ready” the squire reported.

“Theodore” she said, as if she was seeing him for the first time in days. “I must tell you something, Theodore, before we go into battle.” For a second she avoided his stare. “I just wanted to thank you for all you have done for me, in case I do not get another opportunity.” She swallowed hard as she gathered her thoughts.

Theodore spoke before she could say anything more.