by T. S. Church
The mare was reluctant to be tied and he had to force her to the wall in order to secure her. It was unlike her to be so jumpy, he thought as he walked toward the shadowy door of Bryant’s rescuer.
He knocked loudly.
“Who is it?” a man’s voice called out.
“Squire Theodore, sir. From the knights. I received a letter regarding Bryant, a peon of mine?”
The door handle turned and the lock was opened from the inside.
“It is good of you to come, Squire Theodore.”
The door opened, and before Theodore could react, a huge hand seized his shoulder and dragged him inside, forcing him to the floor as if he were a child’s doll. He glimpsed Bryant tied to the chair, his arm bleeding.
Rolling free, he rose to confront his attacker, his hand on his sword.
A tall figure stood before him and Theodore could sense the power of his assailant.
“Who are you?” he demanded, his will faltering in the face of this enemy.
His foe made no attempt to answer. With a speed that confounded him, he hit Theodore in the stomach. As the squire cried out he saw red eyes glow deep within the hood, eyes that delighted in inflicting pain on others.
A monster’s eyes.
Theodore drew his sword and lunged, the tip of the blade cutting deep into the red robe and glancing off something underneath.
Animal hide was Theodore’s first thought as he pulled his arm back to deliver a second strike. But this time his enemy was ready for him. He sidestepped the blade and retaliated with a punch that Theodore could not hope to avoid. His vision blurred and his grip loosened on the sword hilt. With a groan, he knew he couldn’t remain conscious.
Doric had tried hard to memorise the location of the house in Dagger Alley, knowing that he could not afford to waste any time in leading Theodore back there to confront the monster.
Now he ran through the dark streets, aware that each passing second reduced the chances of him finding the young man alive.
“If only my legs weren’t so short,” he muttered angrily to himself as he paused to read the street names carved into the stone walls. He ran as swiftly as he could, hopeful that he knew where he was going.
If he was right, he was less than a minute away.
The carriage driver was fond of Falador. He liked the white city’s wide streets and clean thoroughfares, and he always felt a certain peacefulness settle upon him whenever he saw the castle at the city’s centre.
He didn’t like the city at that moment, however. The mud-stained urchin girl, dripping wet, had appeared next to him out of the darkness as silently as a wraith. She had forced him to change his route and to carry her to a part of the city about which he knew little. He prayed that his prestigious passenger, the daughter of a Varrock noble, didn’t get curious and open the cabin’s curtains.
“How long?” the little thief asked him.
He flogged the horses harder.
“We should be at the end of Dagger Alley in a few more minutes.” He swallowed as he spoke, trying to sound calm.
“Be sure you are right this time! I cannot afford any more mistakes.”
The glint in the girl’s dark eyes scared him, and the sword that she held with a deadly assurance made him decide against any attempt to resist her commands.
“Yes, ma’am!” he said automatically, whipping his horses all the harder.
THIRTY-THREE
“Wake up, Theodore!”
The guttural voice penetrated his consciousness.
“Your peon needs you!” it persisted. “Wake up!”
He could just make out the shape of the tall figure standing over a whimpering Bryant. He tried to speak, but his mouth was gagged, and when he attempted to raise his hand to calm his pupil he found that he, too, was restrained in a chair.
The red eyes glowed sadistically in the darkness.
“So you are awake at last.” He stepped forward, standing close. “We can do this in one of two ways, servant of Saradomin. You can willingly tell me everything I need to know about the man I hunt, or you can resist me. If you choose the latter path, then both of you will die, and neither quickly.”
The single candle could not penetrate the black depths of the captor’s cowl, but Theodore sensed that he was dealing with something unnatural, a foe beyond his power. He flinched as the creature’s strong hands tore the gag from his mouth and the leather-like palm closed over his lips to prevent him from crying out.
“If you shout I will hurt you and kill the peon.” The hand remained. “So what is your decision?”
Theodore nodded, and his captor loosened his grip, allowing him to speak.
“Let the peon go,” Theodore insisted. “Then I will help you as best I can.” Somehow his words sounded strong, reflecting a confidence he didn’t feel.
Bryant heard the words and cursed into his foul gag, but the creature didn’t appear to notice. Just before Theodore had arrived the werewolf had told Bryant that it was he who had carried out all the killings, and that he was going to kill them whether they cooperated or not. It seemed to relish the effect its words had upon him.
And now Theodore was making the same mistake he had. He was trying to bargain with something that had no intention of keeping its word.
We are lost, the peon thought. We are both going to die here and this monster will continue to kill. Is there no justice? Bryant was close to cursing Saradomin. Had all his years of diligent work been wasted?
And then the door shook.
The werewolf looked up at the sound, his attention drawn away from Theodore.
“Help us!” the squire shouted before the creature’s huge hand clamped once more across his mouth, gripping him so tightly it was painful just for Bryant to see.
Then the door shook a second time. An instant later it flew open with a splintering crack.
“I’ve been looking for you!” Bryant recognised Doric’s voice instantly.
“And now that you have found me,” the monster sneered in reply, “what do you intend to do?” He thrust the gag into Theodore’s mouth once more. Then he strode forward.
But Doric had years of experience behind him. He had fought numerous enemies, both underground and beneath the open sky, from goblins to trolls and darker nameless creatures. Before his enemy could take another step he launched his first attack.
A hand-axe sliced through the air toward the monster’s face. Without waiting to see if it struck home, Doric yelled and charged into the room.
The traitor had only just managed to avoid the dwarf in the narrow streets that joined Dagger Alley, ducking out of sight as he observed Doric pat the white mare. He watched in surprise as the dwarf stood for a minute at the door and listened, noting how well he was armed.
He heard Theodore’s cry for help and watched Doric force the door’s lock with two heavy blows from his axe. Then the dwarf stepped into the semi-darkness, and the sounds of a vicious battle followed.
The traitor knew he was too old to fight either Doric or Theodore. He was turning away from the house, intending to keep watch from a safer distance, when he heard a carriage shudder to a halt on the main street. He watched in stunned silence as a blonde-haired girl jumped from the driver’s seat, wiping back her wet hair and running with a confidence he had rarely seen in the most seasoned warriors.
He pulled farther into the inky shadows. The girl passed him by, unaware of his presence, heading as fast as she could toward the anxious mare that was now straining at its rope.
It wasn’t going well for Doric. He was surprisingly fast, and his small stature allowed him to duck and avoid many of the creature’s swift strikes, but he didn’t have the chance to deliver a strong blow with his axe. He was reduced to jumping and parrying, using his weapon more like a staff to fend off the creature’s frenzied claws.
The monster lunged at him and swung with one large hand. Doric stepped back and batted it away with the handle of his axe.
And he knew h
e had made a fatal error.
With superhuman speed the monster seized the axe-haft with its other hand and wrenched it toward him, pulling Doric toward his jaws.
Doric knew he had only one chance to avoid the knife-like teeth that were tearing at his face. He lowered his head and drove his armoured helm as hard as he could into the wide mouth of the beast, hearing it roar in frustration as one of its teeth broke.
But the werewolf did not let go of the axe. He lifted Doric from the floor, shaking the handle in an attempt to dislodge him. Then, with a second howl of frustration, he released the axe and sent Doric spinning toward the wall.
The dwarf felt glass and crockery break as he smashed against a tall dresser and fell to the floor. The dresser tottered and shuddered above him and he rolled away as it crashed over, knocking Bryant on his side.
The dwarf knew he needed help. With a single deft swing of his axe, he cut Bryant’s restraints, breaking the back of the chair and giving the peon the slack he needed to get himself free.
“Run and get help, lad! Go!”
Bryant obeyed Doric’s command, pulling out the small dagger that he always kept on his person to cut through his remaining bonds. The werewolf had not even bothered to search him after his kidnapping, so confident was he of his control.
And then he was free!
He ran straight for the door, ignoring the sounds of the fight behind him, ignoring everything as Doric was thrown back against the table, upsetting the sole candle and plunging the room into darkness.
The peon had escaped, but the monster cared not. He had Theodore and he only needed a short time to wrest free the information he needed.
“Can you see as well as me in the dark, dwarf?” the werewolf sneered. His own eyes worked perfectly, watching Doric as he stood wearily against the far wall, gasping for breath. He focused on the dwarf’s eyes, wondering how long it would take for them to adjust to the complete darkness.
Doric could barely see anything, but while he waited for his eyes to become accustomed to the sudden blackness, he sensed the monster’s rush toward him. Instinctively he raised his axe and made to step back, but his enemy had all the advantages now.
With a quick grab it seized Doric’s axe with one hand and punched him hard in the face with the other. The axe was pulled from his grasp and thrown to the other side of the room. Doric tasted blood, and he couldn’t hope to avoid the monstrous hand which seized him by his mail shirt and hurled him head first into the wall.
His helmet provided some protection and, still conscious, Doric stood, his hand reaching for the last hand-axe that hung on his belt.
“I can smell your blood, dwarf,” the creature taunted. “Now I shall end your misery!”
Doric had little strength left to fight, and with a savage look in his eyes he lay back against the wall.
Let it end, he thought grimly, but I promise you that you’ll lose a few more teeth.
His hand-axe felt suddenly very small.
Bryant fled into the alley, and ran straight into Kara. He saw the anger in her eyes and inadvertently stepped back, pointing toward the house as he reached for the mare’s flank, preparing to pull himself into the saddle.
“It’s the monster! It’s inside with Theodore and the dwarf!” he cried.
“Take the horse and get help, Bryant,” she instructed.
Bryant nodded, too weak with fear and blood loss to argue. He climbed into the mare’s saddle and turned her away from the house, leaving Kara outside.
“Saradomin bless you!” he called as the mare began to trot away from the house. When he looked back, she had vanished, and the sounds of fighting had ceased.
He had gone only twenty yards when a voice hailed him in the darkness.
“Bryant? Is that you, worthy peon?”
He recognised the man’s tunic, the four-pointed star visible on his white robe. The knight’s face was hidden by a battered cloak that swirled around him as it was buffeted by the wind.
“It is I, sir!” Bryant said, dismounting and moving forward to make out the man’s face.
“Come, Bryant!” The man reached out and grabbed the youngster by the shoulder, herding him into the darkness of an alleyway.
“But Squire Theodore…” he protested, suddenly on edge.
“I know!” came the reply. “Help is at hand. Now come on!”
THIRTY-FOUR
Kara was silent as she entered the room. She could hear Doric’s groans, and the padded feet of an adversary stalking her in the darkness.
“A girl? They send a girl to fight me?” he sneered, and the voice was like that of an animal. She had never heard anything quite like it.
She said nothing, her dark eyes peering into the blackness around her.
The monster laughed, a deep, throaty sound. She guessed that he could see in the darkness as well as any human could in daylight.
“I have bested a squire and a seasoned dwarf tonight, my dear,” he taunted from the safety of the shadows. “But I shall enjoy hurting you more than any of the others.”
Kara stepped back toward the door as if she suddenly meant to run. As she did, she heard the monster move closer.
“Theodore? Are you all right?” She kept her voice steady.
The squire groaned, and she could tell that he was gagged.
“Run, girl,” Doric urged.
“I came for Theodore” she replied calmly. “I will not leave without him.”
Standing a few paces away, the monster was puzzled. He recognised the scent of fear on humans, knew what it did to people. But here, in this house, he sensed that this slight girl was totally unafraid.
Suddenly the girl stepped boldly forward, her sword held before her. The monster ducked backward, circling to stand a single pace behind her.
How to do it? he pondered, and licked his lips. Many decades earlier, his mother had taught him not to play with his food, telling him that he would be burnt by a mage or cut with a holy blade if he did so. But she had died a long time ago, and this girl who stepped blithely into the room did not know what manner of creature he was.
He decided to play.
He leaned forward, a claw hovering an inch from her skin.
The girl struck.
She spun on her heel, driving her blade into his body with all her strength, forcing it through the tough skin that had protected him from all manner of human weapons over the years.
He screamed with pain, his eyes widening as he felt his own blood pour from a deep wound and stream onto the wooden floor of the house. He reached down and grasped the blade with both hands, pulling it from his body, the sword’s edges slicing deeply into his palms.
His strength was greater than hers, and she could not impale him further. So the girl stepped back and pulled the blade free, leaving two of his twitching fingers on the floor as she did so. Once again he screamed.
But still the girl hadn’t finished her dreadful work. She brought the sword over her head and into his face.
At the same time he made for the doorway, knowing now that it was his turn to run. As he did so, the sword tip sliced across his forehead, severing his left ear. His hot blood flowed freely into his eyes as he fled into the alley, his hands pressed against his stomach to staunch the wound.
He ignored the few onlookers he passed, his face revealed now for all to see: the face of the werewolf. None dared to stand in his way, for no guard or peon was willing to confront him at the gates to the city.
Within a short time he was away from Falador, back out in the countryside, nursing his wounds in a deep hollow a good distance from any road, away from the eyes of men.
By the dim light that filtered in through the door, Kara released Theodore, while Doric retrieved his axe. The dwarf pulled a match from his cloak and held it up, giving them some more light.
“How did you do that, Kara?” the squire asked in shock.
“She can see in the darkness,” Doric said.
Kara smiled wickedly
.
“You are right, master dwarf” she said in his own language. “I have spent more time underground in the darkness of the mountains than above. My eyes have grown accustomed to seeing in darker places than this.”
Doric bowed deeply with genuine respect.
“You saved our lives,” he said in the common tongue. “I owe you a great debt.”
“As do I, Kara” Theodore said slowly. Yet the change in his voice told her that he was deeply unhappy. “But you left the castle when I specifically asked you not to. You put yourself in danger.”
Kara was in no mood for Theodore’s lecture.
“I saved your life, as well, Theodore. The monster was after you-not me.”
“I did not mean the danger of the monster, Kara…” Theodore’s temper had got the better of him and he lowered his gaze in haste.
“Then of what?” She tried to look him in the eye, but he wouldn’t allow it. “What else am I in danger from?”
Theodore shook his head and declined to answer. Doric lit the candle and immediately the room was illuminated with an eerie glow.
“Look at the blood!” Doric’s eyes widened as he gazed at Kara’s sword and the monster’s blood which still dripped onto the floor.
“It is pure black,” Theodore whispered, looking at it in disgust. “What creature was it? Could it be a werewolf?” His eyes turned to the dwarf.
“If legends are anything to go by, then surely so. A wolf in a man’s body-ideal for hiding in a city of men,” Doric said.
“We should find Bryant. He was here the longest, and maybe he can tell us more” Theodore advised, heading out into the alley.
The night air was cool on their flushed faces, the city of Falador was strangely quiet. A horse neighed and Theodore saw his mare wander into view.
“I told Bryant to take the horse back to the castle to get help,” Kara said, her hand once again gripping her sword.