Runescape: Return to Canifis

by T. S. Church

  Kara did likewise. Through the tops of the bushes beyond she could make out the river. Theodore was right. It was not far at all.

  But the howls of the werewolves were unrelenting.

  “Castimir, look,” Arisha commanded. She had opened the flap that was intended for use in bringing the balloon in to land by releasing warm air. Kara felt the heat rise and saw Castimir move aside and out of its path.

  “I see it,” the wizard said. Below, the sound of the burner firing almost constantly was carried up to them. No doubt Master Peregrim was growing desperate.

  “Just another mile,” Kara gritted to herself. “Come on Hope Soars!”

  Castimir took his time. Kara saw him concentrate and watched as a ball of dense water flew from his hand into the interior of the balloon, where it was lost from her sight.

  “Did you get it?” Harold asked.

  “I got it,” Castimir said. Kara pushed her way to his side and stared down through the opening. She saw the Vyrewatch twist in the air as it fell, batting its wings violently. She saw Master Peregrim staring back up from his burner, his face a mask of fear as the vampire dived toward him. She watched in slow motion the gnome fire the burner and felt the wave of heat blast up toward them and saw how the flames engulfed the descending vampire.

  “Gods!” Castimir said in horror.

  She blinked and looked again. The vampire was a flame now. It soared up toward them.

  Hydrogen.

  No flames.

  Highly flammable.

  “Move!” Kara cried as she threw herself backward, cutting her safety line and leaping for the rope ladder.

  Something screamed behind her as she saw her friends get clear. The balloon seemed to jerk suddenly as a strangely muted roar bellowed up from inside the canvas, followed instantly by the yellow glow of flames.

  Kara fell as the balloon began to collapse on itself.

  Then she hit the black waters of the swamp.

  35

  Oh gods!

  Everyone was screaming. Castimir yelled as a stinging pain scalded his left hand as he fell backward over the balloon’s edge.

  I’m going to fall!

  But he already was. The safety line was slack at his belt. He flailed out to grab at anything he could, yet there was nothing within reach. The world turned end over end—the sky, the burning balloon, and dark waters rushing up, the howls of werewolves—

  Then he struck the swamp. His satchel wrenched itself around his throat as he sank into black waters.

  He surfaced with a cry as someone grabbed him and dragged him away from the ruins of the balloon. He kicked with his feet, trying anything to keep his head above the surface as he took in as much air as he could.

  And then he saw what had become of Hope Soars.

  It was impaled upon a dead black tree, the balloon rising and sinking into the very waters in which he had fallen, still collapsing slowly. He blinked away the moisture and sought the detail. He saw Doric shout a curse as the dwarf hacked his way free of the netting. He was one of the few left aboard, for in the waters near him splashed a dozen other survivors.

  The bottom half of the burner lay beneath the surface, but the balloon’s master clung grimly to the portion that jutted into the air.

  “We’re not clear yet!” Castimir was relieved to hear Kara’s voice. “The wolves of Canifis are coming. Come on, the Salve is probably no more than half a mile away.”

  “And what of the Vyrewatch?” he asked as he neared the shore and his feet found the bottom of the swamp. He still had his satchel, and the runes that lay within.

  At least I will be able to use fire magic now.

  “I don’t think there are any of the creatures left,” Kara said. “But where are Pia and Jack?”

  They might be dead, Kara.

  Castimir waded out of the swamp and onto dry land. People were calling out in the morning light, though now that they were on the ground again, the green vapour stole the sunlight, reminding the wizard of a murky twilight. The voices mixed with the sounds of their pursuers.

  The howls were closer now, and Castimir wondered whether they could make it to the Salve in time. He saw others that shared his worry. Quickly yet carefully he began to sort his runes.

  “Come on,” Karnac urged his people. “Get up and out of the water. Take the person nearest to you and do not leave them. We can still get out alive. Now, come on!”

  When the wizard looked up again, he saw that the survivors of Hope Rock had gathered into a group, now fewer than twenty. He recognised the pregnant woman, breathless and weeping, and the spirit woman, too. Pia and Jack were there, as well, the girl’s face a fearful white as she watched Albertus. He bore a wound across his face, though it no longer bled.

  The old man was perched upon Gideon Gleeman’s back. The jester bore him with ease, despite his own injuries, as if he were no more than a child. At Gideon’s side—his face a mask of pain—was the gnome Peregrim.

  From the perimeter of the group, he noted Theodore, wielding his sword in preparation. Doric stood behind the knight, his wolfbane dagger drawn. On the opposite side stood Kara, absolutely still, her adamant sword held in her right hand, the sword Kingsguard in her left. Thrust through her belt was her own dagger, unhindered now by any sheath.

  “Come on,” Despaard urged. “We haven’t much time left.”

  Swiftly, the frightened, bedraggled group moved off, until only the wizard and his friends remained, leaving Castimir feeling exposed.

  “Shouldn’t we follow?” he asked Kara, unable to keep the fear from his voice.

  “We will give them a few seconds to get ahead,” she replied, her eyes never leaving the foliage. “We fight a rear-guard action today.”

  Against the whole of Canifis?

  The howls weren’t far away now, and it seemed as if there were two distinct groups. One to the north and one to the south.

  If they have run all the way from Canifis they must be exhausted.

  “Maybe the pack has had to split up to find its way around this pool,” Doric suggested in a low voice.

  Kara nodded.

  “You might be right—”

  The foliage to the north burst apart as a grey wolf leapt out. He gave a great breath and turned to Kara, who stood nearest.

  “Where is the dwarf?”

  Castimir reacted instantly. The runes melted in his hands and he summoned his strength.

  “No!” Doric was at his side. The dwarf seized his hand and forced it up, away from the werewolf, where his half-finished spell sent a spark of discordant fire from his hands.

  The creature laughed. It had made no attempt to move.

  “I return my favour to you, dwarf,” it said. “I uphold my oath for the final time today. You and your companions are safe for now, for I led the pack to the edge of a lake. It will give you time enough to get to the river and escape.”

  “Thank you, Imre,” Doric uttered.

  The wolf laughed again.

  “Don’t thank me, dwarf. It is an old trick we use, the howling. Prey fear it, of course, but they believe it gives our location away. Not so. Five of Canifis’s best hunters have already moved to cut off those ahead of you, for such folk were not included in our bargain.

  “Like I have said, you and your friends here are safe. The others will die.”

  “No,” Kara yelled. “No!”

  She turned and ran to the west, and Imre called after her.

  “You are too late, little girl, too late. Can’t you hear? The slaughter has already begun!”

  A scream came from the west—a cry of terror followed by a snarl. The cry ceased, and Castimir thought of the pregnant woman, of her fear. He caught sight of Arisha at his side, already turning to follow Kara.

  No! No more deaths! No more!

  He ran to catch her up, Theodore and Doric behind.

  The sounds of violence were growing.

  36

  Pia heard Karnac’s voice over the growl
ing of the attackers who jumped around them, hemming them in.

  Like dogs rounding up sheep!

  A few of the humans had tried to run already, to break away from the main body and flee to the west, but they were the first to be brought down and slain. Harold had broken from the group to try and buy them time, but he had been brutally killed before Karnac or Lord Despaard could run to his aid.

  She clutched her brother tightly.

  “We’ll get out of this, I promise. We’ll—”

  But her words failed. The sight of bodies with their throats torn out or their innards leaking from their stomachs made anything she could say a mockery.

  “Gather together!” Karnac shouted. “The river is near!”

  One of the werewolves laughed viciously.

  “Then who will be the first to try for it? You? There are few among you who would dare fight us. There is no one who can save you.”

  Suddenly the spirit woman took Jack by the shoulder.

  “I need you, boy,” she said. “Remember what I told you? I will have need of your strength, to draw him to our aid. Come!” She took him forward, and stood squarely before the werewolf. Her actions were so unexpected, Pia was too shocked and afraid to object.

  “I count five of them,” Lord Despaard whispered to Karnac. “I might be able to take one with my dagger, but not all of them. Not a chance.”

  “Where are Kara and that mage?” Karnac asked bitterly. “Without them we are lost.”

  Then the werewolf noticed the two figures who had stepped up.

  “What is this? A boy and a hag?” He crouched and drew closer to them. “Come, let us hear your plea. Pick your words with care, for they will be your last.”

  They don’t need to rush, Pia knew. They like to torment their victims.

  Unless Kara and her friends come, we will die here.

  “They will be my last words, wolf, as yours may well be. If you leave us now, you may live. If not, you will die.”

  “Is that it? An idle threat?” the creature came so close that it was almost nose-to-nose with the woman. The boy cringed. “I will save you till last, hag, so that you may hear the screams of your family and friends. And before I kill you I will consume the boy there, your grandson perhaps? You will die with his blood on your face.”

  Lord Despaard yelled from behind Pia as one of the circling attackers jumped forward, grabbing a woman by her arm and dragging her away from the group. Pia heard her screams as the nobleman ran forward and slashed his dagger across the werewolf’s snout.

  “Back woman!” he commanded. “Get back!”

  The werewolf turned and ran, yet Lord Despaard was now separated from the group. Coming from both sides two creatures jumped forward, each feinting and ducking while the woman Despaard had rescued darted back to the group.

  They will rip him in half, and then we will follow. Where is Kara? Where?

  Then from behind her now, the spirit woman gave a great moan, the sound like a huge iron door being opened. Pia heard an animal scream, and she saw how even the werewolves who were closing in on Lord Despaard turned and backed away.

  An immense shadow, twice the height of a man, materialised before the spirit woman. It held an object of some sort, though she couldn’t see what it was. Jack was on his knees, breathing hard, sweat upon his brow, looking up at the thing that had appeared.

  From nowhere. What is it? How did it—

  The shape took a single step forward, the equivalent of three large strides for a tall man. Its back was hunched over, and from its massive shoulders two lines of pale bony spikes ran parallel to its spine. As it moved, the moan sounded again, and as Pia examined it more closely she gasped in amazement.

  The whole thing is made of iron!

  A gesture from the oracle spurred it into action. It swung its immense torso and Pia saw that it held a huge black double-headed axe. Seeing its face for the first time, she could only think of a bull. The thing took a step to Lord Despaard’s side.

  A minotaur! Pia realised. A minotaur made of iron!

  The torso swung back now, and the werewolf gave a squeal that was cut short as there was a sound like a butcher’s blade hacking through a thick joint.

  “What a contraption!” Pia recognised the gnome’s high-pitched voice from behind.

  Then the spirit woman turned and looked with sightless eyes at the remaining four werewolves who had gathered nearby. They gibbered with panic in their own language.

  “Let us pass or you will be destroyed,” the woman cried, pointing to them with a gnarled finger, as if she could see.

  “Death does not compare to undeath, for that is what Malak will do,” one of the werewolves shouted back.

  The iron minotaur ducked its head and drove a deep furrow into the moist earth with a single scrape of its foot. Pia couldn’t be sure, but she imagined that she saw its nostrils flare.

  Then it charged.

  Its speed must have caught the werewolves off guard, for only two managed to jump aside. Of the remaining two, the first was lifted into the air upon its huge horns, while the second had its skull smashed in a singe deadly jab from the end of its axe haft.

  Someone cheered.

  But the two that had jumped aside ran forward, passing the giant, making for the spirit woman.

  “Move!” Pia shouted to the old woman. But she paid her no heed.

  “Remember, Jack,” she said clearly. “Remember what I told you.”

  The werewolf’s jaws closed around her throat, dragging her down. The second ran in, its arm flailing out to rake the boy’s face, missing his throat and running across his jawline before it, too, fell upon the spirit woman.

  Jack fell to the ground, and Pia began to bolt in his direction, but Despaard stopped her.

  “Get behind me,” he said as he pulled her back.

  Pia glanced back to the Minotaur, but it had vanished, leaving two werewolf bodies motionless on the ground.

  Of course it’s gone! She’s dead. The spirit woman is dead, and she knew she would die.

  Jack was pushed to her side by Karnac. The leader of Hope Rock then gestured to the west.

  “Go! Run—the river cannot be far now.” He turned to the rest. “We can do it. All of us can.”

  The two werewolves abandoned the body of the spirit woman and moved to cut the group off. As they did a ball of orange flame hit one in the back, forcing it to its knees. It screamed as its flesh burned, yet even as it tried to stand Pia saw Kara run forward, her green blade skewering it in one thrust, the tip stabbing down into the soft earth beneath.

  Silence fell, and Pia’s heart raced. Then realisation struck her.

  We can do it now. We can.

  Castimir ran beside Kara, with Sir Theodore and Doric watching their backs. The knight ran awkwardly, grimacing each time his right foot bore his weight. In the centre came Arisha, her short bow drawn.

  Only one werewolf remained to confront them now.

  “Stand aside or be slain,” Karnac commanded.

  “I cannot. I dare not. Malak will take far more than my life from me if I do.”

  The werewolf charged in with a screaming howl. Arisha loosed her arrow which stuck in the creature’s shoulder, but it barely slowed. Kara was running forward, too, and Lord Despaard, with his two-pronged dagger held before him. A searing jet of flame overtook them, passing them to intercept the desperate werewolf, the flames driving it back.

  It thrashed upon the ground in agony as Pia smelled the burning flesh.

  “Kill me,” the werewolf moaned. “Kill me, or Malak will do far worse...”

  Pia watched as Kara-Meir stepped to the werewolf’s side.

  “Do it! Do it or may the gods curse you!”

  Pia blinked, and in that second Kara’s sword thrust down, entering the werewolf’s chest. She saw the black blood pour onto the ground beneath its corpse as the blade was withdrawn.

  There was no triumph on the woman’s face. Nor regret.

 
Like it was in the barn.

  Pia shivered.

  “On now! We are so close,” Karnac yelled out. As if to remind them, a great chorus of howls erupted from the east.

  “Run! Run, for we have little time!” Sir Theodore shouted, racing forward with his right foot dragging.

  Pia found Jack. He was conscious, though clearly in pain. She took his hand in hers, and with a last look at the body of the old woman, she ran.

  37

  Theodore stumbled on, ignoring the fire in his right foot.

  Ahead, he could hear the first of Karnac’s people as they made the jump from the bank into the river. Voices were shouting and screaming, a woman was crying. He heard the crack of branches and the shake of foliage as the desperate people fought their way to the water.

  Thank Saradomin! We’ve made it.

  “What I would give now for longer legs,” Doric grumbled at his side. They had reached Kara now. Beside her stood Castimir, a set of runes clutched in each hand as he stared back the way they had come. At the bank’s edge waited Arisha, her bow ready.

  “They can’t swim,” Despaard shouted up. “Gather some logs and branches from the bank, anything to help them.”

  Quickly, those few who hadn’t dared enter the water did as he suggested, tearing at even the most meagre vegetation in their haste.

  “We’re going to make it,” Castimir said with a quick look over his shoulder. Already, Karnac was halfway across the Salve, over thirty yards away. Guided in his arm, lying on her back, was the pregnant woman.

  “We should go,” Doric whispered. “But I will need help. I can’t swim either.”

  “Then drop anything you don’t need, Doric,” Arisha said. “I will help you across. Come on.” The two disappeared down the steep bank to the water’s edge.

  “How long should we wait?” Castimir asked nervously. “I can’t hear them any more.”

  That was true. Theodore frowned uneasily.

  “Perhaps they are close now, and mean to approach us by stealth,” he suggested.

  “Just another minute,” Kara whispered. “Wait till everyone is in the water, and most are halfway across. Then we go.”