Betrayal at Falador (runescape)

by T. S. Church

  She shifted her sword uneasily and tried her best to ignore her.

  THIRTY-NINE

  “How much longer?” Doric asked Theodore.

  Theodore was not certain if the mare could go much farther. It had been a mistake to bring Doric at all, he thought, for the dwarf’s grumbling was wearing down his own spirits.

  His only hope was that Kara would have to stop for food and shelter, allowing him to catch up with her. He was sure his horsemanship was better than hers, and he hoped that would count for a great deal.

  “Do you see those fires ahead?” he shouted to Doric, nodding his head forward to indicate the flickering flames of the burning braziers that stood either side of the main road leading into the barbarian settlement.

  “Aye,” came the reply. “Is that it?”

  “It is. Only a few minutes now until we can rest for the night. We may even be lucky enough to find Kara here.”

  “Please” he said under his breath as they galloped into the village and passed the wooden paling.

  Please let Kara be here.

  It was the woman’s jealousy that led to the fight.

  She had watched Kara and Gar’rth for an hour, whispering enviously to her friends about the blonde-haired outsider who sat with the mysterious youth.

  And the woman’s attention had not gone unnoticed by a young barbarian warrior who had worked hard to secure her affections. The barbarian’s angry eyes focused on Gar’rth. His anger was fuelled by the mocking smiles of his fellow tribesmen.

  So he emptied his ale and strode over to the travellers, his every movement revealing his hostile intentions.

  He would see how well this lanky youth could fight.

  Theodore lowered Doric to the ground, then dismounted. The dwarf grumbled quietly to himself as the demeaning spectacle was watched by several of the barbarian people, but Theodore was too tired to care.

  “We can arrange lodging in the hall at the northern end of the village,” he announced, handing the reins to the boy whose duty it was to look after travellers’ steeds.

  As they approached the hall, they could hear the noise of a contest within-men shouting either approval or condemnation at whatever was occurring. Then, as Theodore reached forward to push one of the oak doors open, the shouting abruptly ceased.

  Something had changed.

  He pushed the door inward. His presence drew no attention from those inside, and immediately he could see why.

  In the centre of a chalk circle stood Gar’rth. The firelight reflected off his feverish-looking skin, which was coated in a glistening sweat. His eyes were large pools of black, and his nose was just beginning to bleed.

  And above his head he held his helpless opponent.

  With a roar of anger Gar’rth hurled the man into a table on which stood several men who had sought to better view the contest. The table shattered beneath the barbarian’s flailing body and men and crockery fell about in disarray. In the confusion, the nearest brazier was knocked over and burning coals rolled onto the dry floor. That portion of the hall was plunged into a dull twilight, obscuring Gar’rth in the shadows.

  A silence fell. Gar’rth’s breathing was heavy and he slowly backed away against the wall. Much to Theodore’s astonishment, Kara rushed over to him, her hand on her sword hilt, as if ready to fight anyone that dared to attack him. Beside her was Ebenezer, who placed his hand on Gar’rth’s shoulder and spoke in soothing words as a father might do to his young child.

  Gar’rth let out a long moan as if he were about to weep.

  “What is wrong with him?” Kara whispered in fear. But the old man didn’t answer her. Instead he turned to the young wizard.

  “Castimir, run and find his medicine! Go!”

  The wizard stood, and as he turned, he caught sight of Theodore standing at the entrance to the hall. Kara noticed his delay and followed his gaze to see the squire, illuminated by the torch that hung above the doorway outside.

  Theodore was about to speak when the brazier was righted and light returned to the hall. Then he saw Gar’rth’s face over Kara’s shoulder.

  “In the name of Saradomin!” he swore, drawing his sword.

  Standing by his side, Doric grasped his axe in readiness for a fight.

  Kara knew it was not her they wished to confront and she turned to look behind her, following their gaze to look directly into Gar’rth’s bloodied face.

  And immediately she knew why her two friends were so eager to arm themselves, for the blood on Gar’rth’s face was not red. It was black-the same black blood that she had wiped from her sword just two nights before.

  Gar’rth was no human. He was a werewolf.

  FORTY

  Ebenezer was the first to react. Before anyone could make a move or utter a cry, he covered Gar’rth’s face in a wet cloth that he had held in readiness for such a task.

  “Castimir! You must get his medicine at once!” The wizard, who did not understand the reason for Theodore’s hostility, ran to the wagon, knowing that only the medicine could help Gar’rth now.

  The blue-robed priestess approached Theodore.

  “Why are you armed?” she demanded, looking angrily at Kara and Doric. “The warrior was wrong to challenge the young man but you have nothing to fear from my people.”

  “Did you not see his blood?” Theodore asked.

  A murmur rippled through the barbarian onlookers. Gar’rth’s injury had been visible only in the confused light as the brazier had been righted. That and their appetite for strong ale had caused many to imagine that the black blood was just a trick of the light.

  “He is unwell!” Ebenezer said loudly. The barbarians had turned to lift the unconscious challenger from the ruins of the table, pouring cold water onto his bruised face. It was an advantage the alchemist would not waste. He guided Gar’rth outside, ignoring the suspicious looks of the barbarian priestess.

  Theodore was waiting for him.

  “Gar’rth is not human, Ebenezer,” he declared. “He is an enemy of Saradomin.”

  “He is no such thing, young man. It is his choices in life that make him what he is, and by virtue of those choices he is not an evil man.” Ebenezer gave the squire a contemptuous stare.

  “He is a creature of Zamorak” the squire persisted. “He must be slain!”

  Kara looked at him.

  “Theodore!” she said tersely. “Do you not think he deserves mercy? He is no murderer-he is not like the other one.” She lowered her voice as she stepped between them. “It was not his choice to be born as one of them.”

  “That means nothing, Kara” he said. “He cannot change his nature. He is evil, a creature from Morytania-a follower of Zamorak.”

  “Do the knights not believe in free will?” Ebenezer’s voice was shaking in anger. “Are you nothing but simple zealots?”

  “We prevent persecution” he protested. “We fight for the people of Asgarnia.”

  “At what cost, Theodore?” Kara countered. “Your precious Sir Amik was willing to risk my life for his own ends, and two innocent people died because of it!” She spoke angrily, and the painful truth in her words made Theodore’s face pale.

  “Now that I see Gar’rth,” Kara continued, “despite what he is, I am willing to give him a chance. If anyone thinks otherwise, they shall have to deal with me.” She levelled her sword at Theodore’s throat.

  Silence held sway. Kara did not move. Doric’s eyes remained fixed on Gar’rth.

  Theodore knew his principle goal was to bring Kara back. He remembered Gar’rth from their meeting in Taverley, remembered how helpful and faithful he had been to both Castimir and Ebenezer.

  Slowly he lowered his sword.

  “Very well, Kara,” he said. “But to encounter two of these creatures in as many nights surely means they are connected. He must know something about the monster.”

  “You are right,” Ebenezer said quietly. “I found Gar’rth running from someone. He had been running for months, but he
could never evade his hunter-not for long. I divined his true nature with the help of the druids in Taverley. Kaqemeex developed a potion that can keep his bestial nature from asserting itself, but it is not a permanent solution.

  “Each time he uses it the beast returns stronger than before. Soon the potion will be entirely useless. We are heading for the monastery northwest of here. Gar’rth’s only hope is that the monks of your god can quiet the demon within him.”

  “But why is he being pursued?” Theodore asked, returning his sword to its scabbard.

  “I do not know. There are legends of Morytania that we’ve all heard, but we must wait until Gar’rth masters the common tongue and chooses to tell us himself.”

  Castimir emerged from the darkness, breathing heavily. He was not used to running and when he did so he found that his long blue robes got caught beneath his feet. More than once he had tripped himself up in this manner and now he ran with one hand holding them up above his knees.

  “Here is the medicine, Ebenezer. I hope I am not too late?” He looked in concern at Gar’rth, who stood silently, as if focusing all of his concentration on keeping the growing pain inside him under control.

  Ebenezer gave Gar’rth the potion, and quickly it calmed him. His features were less contorted, and his skin coloured from its previous dusky pallor to a more healthy pink.

  “Will you accompany us to the monastery?” the alchemist asked the squire as Gar’rth recovered. “Is it not for a worthy cause? A cause worthy of the knights?’

  “I will come with you,” Kara said, stepping back from Theodore but still holding her sword close. “Our journey lies together for some of the way and I would like to look once more upon the monastery where I was blessed as a child. It is a memory that is precious to me.”

  “Then I shall come also” Theodore said, resigned.

  “As will I,” Doric growled. “I owe you a debt, young lady. And I always repay my debts.” He leaned on his axe. “But I will not take my eyes off your new friend, mind. Not for an instant!”

  Ebenezer spoke, diffusing the tension.

  “Thank you, my friends” he said. “Then let us return to the hall and take lodging near the fire, for it will be the last warmth we shall get under a roof for two nights.”

  He led the way back toward the hall, eager to avoid any more questions. For he was certain of one thing: Gar’rth’s persecutor would not be far behind them.

  FORTY-ONE

  He stumbled through the night, oblivious to the rain and the cold, staying away from the road, stopping regularly to listen for any signs of pursuit.

  He had left the hounds far to the west many hours ago, as they had picked up a false scent, following a path toward the great lake south of Taverley.

  The wind had changed suddenly and he himself had picked up a fresh scent, the one he had been looking for. But it was going the wrong way.

  In his hundred years of life he had grown to trust his sense of smell as a normal human trusted their eyes, and he knew at once what had happened. Gar’rth had come south, away from Taverley, passing along the very road where he had assaulted the gypsy caravan several nights before.

  He cursed in his harsh language, aware that he was turning back into the country where guards and knights were still patrolling, knowing he was running back to face possible capture.

  The cold taunted the stubs of the two fingers that the girl had severed. He was thankful that his body had healed itself, however. Her thrust had missed his heart and vital organs, and the stomach wound had closed, leaving a vicious scar surrounded by bruised flesh.

  Again he promised to make her pay for that.

  A breeze stirred the undergrowth and he stiffened. A scent reached him, driven up from the ground by the rain.

  He recognised it immediately and it made him very afraid. At the same time it stirred his blood.

  It was the girl’s scent, and she had left Falador.

  He settled down into the darkness to think. He would follow Gar’rth, for the girl’s scent was too weak for him to track-no more than a taunting whiff on the air. Was he becoming obsessed with her? Was the fear of her making him jump at shadows?

  “I am the monster!” he called out into the darkness, shaking his fist angrily. “They fear me, and I fear no one!”

  His words faded as he lifted his gaze to the clouded sky, and then he hid himself amongst the protective bracken.

  He knew his words were a lie.

  It was dawn. A fine mist had entered the village from the River Lum that marked Asgarnia’s eastern border with the kingdom of Misthalin. The barbarians were forbidden by treaty to hunt on the eastern bank, for that belonged to the hunters of Varrock, the greatest human city in the world, which lay two days’ travel away.

  Theodore was tired. He had slept little in the warmth of the hall during the night, unable to relax while only a few yards away from Gar’rth. Doric had been the same, and they had exchanged uneasy glances many times, their hands never far from their weapons. Even the fatigue of their long ride was not enough to grant them the peace to rest.

  “The barbarian trader has a mule for you, Doric” Castimir called. “I am taking my yak with me while I ride a horse. He carries my saddlebags and my books-diaries I’ve made of my travels. We have a good understanding and he’s as sure-footed a beast as any other animal.” The wizard patted the animal’s flank with affection. The yak looked at him as if pondering just what trouble they were getting into this time.

  “I, too, need a horse,” Kara said as she took the muzzle of the one she had stolen in Falador. “I wish to return him to his master with suitable compensation. It is the right thing to do.” Theodore nodded, approving.

  But Doric spoke up.

  “You have no money, Kara. You cannot pay for another horse, or for a man to escort this one back to Falador.”

  “I was intending to walk as far as the monastery, anyhow, and maybe this will be enough to buy the favour of a traveller to return the animal.” She held her hand out and opened her palm to reveal the shattered remains of the Ring of Life.

  “How did you get that?” Theodore asked.

  Kara looked at him before replying, as if choosing her words carefully.

  “A friend gave it to me, to ease my loneliness after he found me one night in the ward.” She bowed her head.

  Theodore knew of only one man who would dare incur Sir Amik’s wrath by taking it upon himself to return the object.

  “Bhuler” he rasped, but then his expression softened. “It must have been him. Saradomin bless him, for he is the true heart of our order.” Tears leapt to Theodore’s eyes as he contemplated the kindly valet who all took for granted.

  “Kara, I shall not let you part with such an item,” Doric insisted. “For it is obviously precious to you. I shall pay for your horse to be returned, as well as for a new animal to bear you.” He tucked his hand into his belt, his pouch jingling with coins.

  A barbarian guard strode forward before Kara could reply.

  “We have chosen a guide for your journey.” He pointed to where a sole figure stood obscured by the mist.

  The person stepped forward, leading a horse by its muzzle. Castimir gasped, for he noted instantly the deep blue eyes and the silver tiara which kept her thick dark hair in place. It was the priestess. He felt her eyes focus on his before briefly flicking away to observe the rest of his companions. A second later and they were back on him, however.

  “The priestess is to be our guide?” he asked in awe.

  “She, too, has business at the monastery,” the guard said. “Although Saradomin is not our deity, we respect the ways of our neighbours, and she is being sent there to learn how to write in the manner of the monks. The priestesses of our tribes are amongst the few who are capable of recording our histories and setting down our laws. She will spend the next few months learning their skills.”

  “And what is the priestess’s name?” Castimir asked with reverence.

  �
��My name is Arisha.” She spoke softly, her blue eyes intent on the young wizard. “And I am a worshipper of Guthix.”

  Castimir bowed, aware that she was important to the people who had shown them hospitality, and his friends followed his example. Even Gar’rth, clearly still fighting the inner agony that seemed to grow worse by the moment, managed to show his respect.

  “Once we find Ebenezer we shall be ready to leave” Doric said, taking possession of his mule and watching Kara climb easily into the saddle of her new horse.

  “Where is he anyway?” Theodore asked, anxious to begin their journey.

  “Here I am,” the alchemist called, leading his own horse into the group. He was accompanied by a mule that he dragged behind, holding the reins firmly in his hands. The smaller animal was laden with saddlebags.

  Castimir looked on despairingly.

  “That’s where you’ve been?” The young wizard clapped his hand to his forehead in exasperation. “You’ve been sorting out which chemicals to bring with you. Do you think that’s necessary?”

  “I have been sorting through my wagon for the last three hours, Castimir, as you lay dreaming in the hall. It is better to travel prepared.” His eyes focused on Gar’rth, then he turned to the others. “Are we ready to leave?”

  Kara nodded and turned her horse to the west, watching with a slight smile as Doric scrambled unceremoniously onto his mule, which tolerated his efforts with a stare that could be nothing but sarcastic. As the rest of the companions prepared themselves, Arisha rode past them toward the western gate.

  “Dig your heels in” Theodore called to Doric, as the dwarf was in danger of being left behind. Even Gar’rth, whom animals normally feared, had taken command of his horse and goaded it westward. The youth was heavily cloaked, shivering in the cold morn.

  Doric’s mule had turned to face east. At a brisk trot it headed in the opposite direction to the others. The dwarf swore loudly in his native tongue.