Betrayal at Falador (runescape)

by T. S. Church

  “Many families of influence in Falador today have members amongst the Kinshra nobility, though there is never any contact between them. When they left, the Kinshra vowed to return, to make Falador their own one day. For generations they have been attempting to do that, by strength as well as by subtlety.”

  Theodore smiled ruefully.

  “There are even rumours that the crown prince and his Imperial Guard are content to leave the Kinshra be, as long as they do not threaten the people of our nation. Some have said that the Kinshra have a special envoy in Burthorpe, seeking to turn the crown prince and his guard against us, and to pervert our rivalry into open hostility.”

  “And do you believe these rumours?”

  “I do not know,” he admitted. “But I do not believe even the decadent prince would permit it.”

  Kara lay back on her pillow, her eyes burning in quiet anger.

  “I wish they were all dead,” she said simply. She caught Theodore’s look and turned her head away. “The Kinshra do not deserve to live. I am going to kill them.”

  “What happened to you on the mountain, Kara-before you came here?” In his mind he already knew. The White Pearl he had found in her hand revealed her location, and her attitude toward the Kinshra confirmed it.

  “I would rather not talk about it,” she said flatly.

  “You went after them, didn’t you?” he pressed. “You fought some of the Kinshra?’

  She turned her head away from him and pulled the blanket over her as if she planned to sleep.

  “I am tired, Theodore,” she said. “Please leave me alone.”

  For a moment he did not know what to say, but Sir Amik’s words came back to him, reminding him that uncovering the knowledge this girl possessed was his most important task.

  “You did go after them, Kara,” he said. “And you lost.”

  The girl turned to glare at him with a feverish light in her dark eyes, and it pained him to think that he had hurt her so.

  “Yes, I went after them-and I didn’t lose. Even if I avenged myself on just a single member of their order, then it was a triumph worth dying for.

  “And I will go back there, Theodore.” she continued. “When I am strong again I shall take my sword and find the man they call Sulla and his Kinshra and I will not stop hunting them. You cannot stop me!”

  The force of her words, and the hatred they bespoke, shocked him. As a squire, losing control of his emotions was unacceptable. But now he had a name. Sulla. He had never heard it before, but he would carry it to Sir Amik.

  He rose and spoke gently.

  “I am going to go now, Kara. I will come back soon, when you have rested. I am sorry to have upset you.”

  His tone calmed her and she looked at him, seeming embarrassed. He turned and began to walk to the door.

  “Theodore,” she called. “Please, wait. Can you promise me something?”

  “What is it?”

  “I want you to teach me how to fight, Theodore. When I am strong again,” she said, her voice determined. “I want you to teach me how to be a knight.”

  He looked at her in astonishment. She was a young woman, barely out of girlhood, and the only thing she wished to do with her life was to fight. To kill. No woman Theodore had ever encountered had been of such a mind.

  He did not know what to say, and so he laughed.

  Her face fell and he saw tears appear in her eyes. Suddenly he felt very ashamed.

  “Kara, please forgive me,” he said. “There has never been any woman in the order. It is not permitted, of that I am certain. What you ask for is simply impossible.”

  She turned away, and did not look at him again. Finding himself lost for words, he left her under the watchful gaze of the matron who had heard everything.

  TWENTY-ONE

  It had been two days since he had scaled the wall of the castle, and a plan had developed in his mind.

  He had yet to put it into action. Instead, he was going over every detail of what he would have to do, and the resources he would need.

  The main problem was his lack of privacy. He had no base in the city, and for the third night running he would have to sleep in one of the narrow alleys. That was no problem for him-he had been sleeping rough in the country for the majority of nights during his hunt-but he needed seclusion to subdue the squire and conduct his interrogation.

  An irate voice attracted his attention and he found himself looking at a short, crooked-backed woman who was raising her voice in anger at a market trader.

  “My husband’s been dead for three years!” she said loudly. “How am I to afford food for my grandchildren and fuel to keep my home warm?”

  Her pleas were greeted by muted laughs, and several people shook their heads.

  “It’s the crazy woman!” someone said quietly to a friend.

  His hard eyes, hidden from view by the cowl he always wore in populated places, focused on the madwoman. He saw an opportunity.

  “Is she really crazy?” he asked the market trader. He could sense the man’s fear rise.

  “She’s been m-m-mad for years,” the trader stammered. “She wanders the streets, b-begging and cursing. The children think she’s a witch.”

  A few people overheard the words, laughed, and someone called over in agreement. Thus buoyed, he pressed for more information.

  “And does she truly have a home and grandchildren?” He managed to make his voice sound suitably curious, hiding the feral rasp that sometimes asserted itself.

  “A home, yes, but no children.” The trader peered at him with nervous curiosity, then glanced away to avoid being discovered. “It’s a lie she tells in order to get money from gullible strangers. The guards will move her along in a moment.”

  And a moment later they did, ushering her out of the market and commanding her not to beg. She did not notice the tall figure in the robe follow her from the crowd and down the narrow streets.

  He moved without sound, catching up with her swiftly. Finally, just as she was fumbling with a key outside a door in a poor part of the city where the rooftops touched each other above the alleyway, he reached forward, his large hand resting on her shoulder.

  She gave a small cry, and tried to twist away from him.

  “Do not be alarmed,” he said. “I am new to this city. I have come in from the country. I have nowhere to rest. I have money-a great deal of it.” He smiled as he watched her fearful expression turn to curious greed. “I seek lodging, only for a few nights-nothing more.” He spoke softly and his voice purred with temptation. “I would be out in the daytime. I’m a busy man.”

  “How much have you got?” she asked, her voice sharp and rude.

  He reached into his robe and withdrew a bright red gem that caught the afternoon light as he held it up to her face. His smile grew as her eyes fixed themselves upon it.

  “I think that will be enough,” he said, letting her grab the gem that he had taken from the purple-robed men some days before.

  “But you won’t be getting food,” the woman snapped, and for one of the few times in his life he grinned in genuine humour.

  “No, dear lady, I will not be asking you for food,” he agreed. “I am entirely self-sufficient.”

  With a curt nod she opened the door and ushered her lodger in, no doubt wondering about this strange man from the country who seemingly conjured riches from the pockets of his robe. Likely she wondered what other surprises he might provide.

  Without doubt, she would find out in due time.

  TWENTY-TWO

  She stepped carefully, balancing her weight before taking a second step.

  It was the first time she had stood since coming into the castle, and she was doing so in secret. It was after midnight and she was alone in the ward, save for a snoring nurse who slept every time she was on duty.

  Kara took a third step forward, keeping her hands outstretched, ready to catch herself if she should fall. She stumbled once, her hands seizing the bed frame as she
caught herself. Silently she stood once more, her breathing sharp. The nurse’s snoring was the only other sound in the room.

  Cautiously, as if she were a burglar, Kara put one foot in front of the other. Her legs held, and within a minute she stood at the entrance to the ward. She turned to make her way back to her bed, feeling suddenly strong again. Her legs obeyed her now.

  But she would not stop there. Furiously she recalled Theodore’s words.

  There has never been any woman in the order. It is not permitted.

  Upon reaching her bed she turned and, moving more quickly now, returned to the door again and then back to the bed. She ran back and forth from one point to the other, back and forth, minding her stance to run silently-for when she had to be, Kara was as silent as the stealthiest cat.

  After a moment she stopped. Though winded, she was satisfied that her legs had strength enough for what she needed to do. It was her arms that now needed testing.

  She lowered herself to the floor and did fifty brisk pushups. Her stomach muscles cramped together from the strain of keeping her body straight, and before long her arms shook from the effort. She bit her lip to quiet herself as her arms finally gave way. Breathing heavily, she climbed back into her bed, her muscles warm and her skin breaking out in a sweat.

  Though frustrated, she was happy. In the darkness of the ward, with the nurse mumbling nearby, she smiled. Despite her injuries, her body had not lost too much of its strength, and she knew that within a few days she would be sufficiently recovered to do what she needed.

  For she was going to escape.

  “Do you think you can walk?” Theodore asked Kara gently. “Perhaps you should try and get some fresh air.” He was anxious to make peace with her after their previous harsh parting, and in hopes of doing so he intended to show her the castle.

  Kara remained as silent as she had been since he entered the ward. Now, without a word, she pushed back the sheet and lowered her legs to the stone. With an angry glance in his direction she stood for a second, and then-as her legs began to shake violently-she collapsed into his arms.

  When she looked up at him, it was still with anger in her expression.

  “Does that amuse you, Theodore? Do you want to laugh at me again-the girl who wanted to be a knight and who hasn’t the strength even to walk?”

  Not knowing what to say, he lifted her up and returned her to the bed as gently as he knew how. Finally he replied.

  “I do not want to laugh at you, Kara. Surely you know that.”

  When she didn’t respond, he felt an irritation of his own welling up. To prevent himself from speaking hastily he disappeared into the depths of the ward, returning a minute later with a wooden chair that ran on squealing wheels.

  “If you cannot walk, you can still get some fresh air. Can you climb in or do you wish me to help you?” He allowed no malice in his words.

  Kara stared at him, as if looking for an excuse to refuse.

  Theodore remained patiently silent.

  “I can do it,” she snapped suddenly, and quicker than Theodore had expected she lowered herself off the bed and into the chair, pulling the bed sheet after her and wrapping it about herself. “I do not want to be cold,” she said, before he could ask.

  Without another word he wheeled her out, guiding her gently down the wide stone staircase one step at a time.

  Kara’s bad mood waned as Theodore showed her the fortress. Her eyes widened in wonder at the grand towers and marble edifices. But more amazing to her still was the city that lay beyond the moat. Having climbed the spiral stairway to the battlement, leaning on Theodore’s shoulder to maintain the illusion of her weakness, she gazed from the ramparts.

  It was like nothing she had ever seen before.

  “Take all the time you need,” he said, watching her intently as her dark eyes absorbed everything.

  “There are so many people,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know.” For the first time since climbing the high wall, she turned to look him in the eye. “I remember my father telling me stories of Falador. He must have been here, but he never told me why, and he never told me how many people there were. Thank you, Theodore, for showing me the city. I am sorry for being angry with you earlier.”

  Theodore nodded. “Thank you, Kara,” he said. “I was rude to you before and I am sorry for it.”

  He held her hand tightly, and suddenly a cold wind rolled down from the north. She shivered involuntarily the cold air turning her skin to ice under the white garments worn by patients of the ward. She stepped closer to him, to shield herself from the wind, resting her head upon his shoulder. The squire said nothing and made no effort to move away. After a moment Kara lifted her head and gazed at the mountain.

  “That is Ice Mountain,” Theodore told her.

  “How far is it?” she asked. “How many days’ travel?”

  “It would take three days to get to the foothills, but the mountain itself is beyond our authority, for a colony of dwarves lives there, and we respect their territory.”

  At the mention of the dwarf race, Kara’s eyes shone. She had not told Theodore of her discovery and adoption by Master Phyllis, the dwarf who had taught her so much. Back then, it had taken her weeks to regain the confidence to speak any words. Once she had, however, her foster father had educated her, speaking to her in both the common tongue and his own language. Kara was fluent in both.

  She thought back to her final months in the underground city. She had lived there for eight years, rarely seeing the surface world, and by her estimation she was seventeen years old. Master Phyllis had been unwilling to keep her amongst his people any longer. One night she had discovered him at work in his forge, and it was then that he had presented her with a long sword crafted from adamant.

  “It is yours, Kara,” he revealed. “It will cut through the toughest armour of any surface dweller, and through the hides of most beasts.”

  Thinking about her sword, she turned her gaze from the mountain and looked up into the squire’s honest face.

  “Can I have my sword, Theodore?” she asked suddenly. “It’s very important that I have it-it was made by someone very dear to me.”

  He cast a wary look in her direction.

  “Does fighting mean so much to you, Kara?” he asked. “You are safe here, in the most fortified city in the world. You do not need to fight any more.”

  Kara turned her gaze from the mountain and looked down into the courtyard below. There were several peons and squires practising with their wooden training swords, trying out different combinations and fighting amongst themselves. They were uncommonly loud in their competition, and occasionally one or more of them glanced up in her direction, as if showing off for her.

  One of them, however-slightly older and wearing training armour-did not shout out, and he seemed to pointedly ignore Kara’s presence on the ramparts, taking a greater interest in the peons’ practice.

  “Who is that?” Kara asked, watching him command.

  “Marius,” Theodore replied, and his voice sounded tight. “He’s a squire, like me.”

  “Is he your friend?”

  “No.” Theodore looked away. Kara noted his pained look.

  “Theodore, you are upset.” Her hand rested on his arm.

  “Marius is my rival.” He looked at her intently. “Rivals in all things, it seems.”

  A cold wind blew again from the north and Kara shivered. Theodore pulled her sheet around her and carefully escorted her down to the waiting chair.

  In the courtyard, one of Theodore’s own peons, Bryant, was fighting against one of Marius’s, their wooden blades clacking as they sparred. Kara had decided against sitting back in the chair and she walked with uncertainty, leaning on Theodore’s arm.

  “Come on, Bryant!” Marius shouted.

  Theodore’s eyes narrowed in anger.

  Bryant yelled as his opponent’s blade smashed his knuckles and caused his fingers to bleed. He dropped the practice sword in shock
. Several peons laughed in triumph, while others gathered around him to protect him from any further attacks- something Marius was quick to seize upon.

  “So, Theodore’s peons rush to aid their fallen comrade,” he taunted. “Why do we not make a mock battle of it then? You five shall defend the fallen Bryant against my six. What say you, Theodore?” he added, turning to face the newcomers. “Are your peons up to facing mine?”

  “I would favour any of mine against yours, Marius,” Theodore replied. “I teach my charges to be honourable men in the highest traditions of our order.”

  “Yet you don’t teach them how to win,” Marius snarled. “There will come a time when they will have to fight for their lives. Where then will their honour get them?”

  “I have faith in Saradomin’s way, Marius,” Theodore countered. “I believe in his teachings.” Making certain Kara was leaning securely against the wall, he approached the small crowd.

  “As do I, Theodore,” Marius replied. “But we cannot anticipate his will.” He huffed in frustration. “Look at him!” He pointed to Bryant, who clutched his injured hand. “If he can’t fight, he is useless to this order!”

  Bryant bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears that were welling, from rolling down his face.

  “Is he crying?” Marius sneered. “Unbelievable!”

  “That is enough, Marius!” Theodore said, his voice nearly a shout. Marius’s own peons suddenly went silent, aware that the game had got out of hand.

  “What will you do about it, Theodore?” Marius responded. “We cannot fight-our own trial forbids it. So why don’t you run off and take Bryant to the matron?”

  Theodore’s face reddened with anger. But Marius was right. If he were to strike him now-a week before their scheduled trial-then Marius would be declared the victor, for Theodore would have acted dishonourably.