Betrayal at Falador (runescape)

by T. S. Church

  There he would find his prey. Their trail betrayed them. Both of them, Gar’rth and the girl.

  “I am not finished just yet” he swore. “I have both of your scents now.”

  He recognised the scent of the dwarf, as well, and of the squire, and it was the thought of revenge on all of them that gave him the strength he needed to overcome his pain.

  “I am not more than a day behind them,” he growled to himself, moving ever toward the mountain. His mouth watered in anticipation.

  As their journey stretched into the next day, Ebenezer rode in silence. He ignored Castimir’s jesting, which normally would have drawn him into a bout of good-humoured arguing. He had no doubt that the others knew something was weighing heavily on his mind.

  But he didn’t tell any of them what it was he had seen in the night, as they had slept. When Ebenezer had taken his turn at the watch, his gaze had fallen on Gar’rth, and the youth had looked more peaceful than he could ever recall, his hand resting gently in Kara’s palm. The image disturbed the alchemist.

  Gar’rth was suffering, growing from a boy into a man, and as such Ebenezer was certain that whatever natural instincts the werewolf race possessed, they would likely be far stronger than usual. The temptation to resign himself to his bestial nature would be near overwhelming.

  And if he did, the alchemist thought sadly, would even Kara be able to destroy him? Stabbing a murderer in Falador was one thing, but he doubted that she could bring herself to destroy a friend and ally.

  These dark thoughts consumed the alchemist until they reached the foothills of Ice Mountain, where the paths were seldom trodden by any folk of good will. Rarely did the barbarian peoples ever wander so far. The trees were wild and overgrown, frequently tearing at the travellers as they made their way in a north-westerly direction. Many times they dismounted to guide their steeds carefully through the long shadows of the forest, and many times they started at the sounds of creatures they could not see.

  Once, a low moan echoed through the wooden boughs under which they walked and even Gar’rth paused, his eyes shining feverishly yet intelligently under the cowl that he kept permanently pulled over his head.

  No one moved, and no one spoke for long, tense moments. Finally it was Castimir who broke the silence.

  “What was that noise?” he asked in little more than a whisper. “Even the white wolves with their dreadful cries were not so chilling. I have never heard so unearthly a sound.”

  Arisha looked fearfully at the trees.

  “My kin tell stories of the people who live in the trees, spirits that guard the forests and take any traveller they enslave into their magical world to serve them forever in a sleepless nightmare.”

  Doric grunted.

  “Stories! Tales to frighten children.” Nonetheless, his hand gripped his axe-haft as tightly as ever.

  “Would you not have said the same about werewolves a few days ago, my old friend?” Ebenezer whispered.

  No one responded.

  They heard no sound like it for the rest of the day, but as the light faded, so did their mood. No one talked as they travelled, for under the trees it seemed as if the voices of men and women were unwelcome, barely tolerated by the dark gods of the woods whom men had long forgotten.

  Arisha finally stopped them as the darkness became too dense for them to continue safely. When they made their camp, Theodore volunteered to take the first guard. Kara joined him, for Arisha advised that a single guard was not enough.

  And to Ebenezer, who watched the two youngsters take up their positions on opposite sides of their encampment, it was obvious the relationship between them was heavily strained.

  Something was wrong with Theodore. Of that, Kara was certain.

  He deliberately kept himself away from her, pretending to maintain a sharp vigilance over their friends rather than let himself be drawn close enough to talk. She suspected it was only a ploy that gave him an excuse to avoid her, and after a few minutes she turned away from him, her face flushed with anger and hurt.

  I will not let him see me like this, she thought as she stood at the opposite perimeter of the camp. I have no reason to feel ashamed-his order deliberately endangered me. But she knew her angry thoughts were just excuses. A gulf had widened between Theodore and her since their last days in Falador, a gulf built up of distrust and suspicion fuelled by his superiors’ deliberate attempt to expose the traitor.

  She knew Theodore had been powerless in their machinations and she wanted him to know that. But if he wasn’t willing to listen, then he would have to wait a while longer before she told him.

  The moment he had caught up with her in the barbarian hall, Theodore had known instantly that there was something between her and Gar’rth. As a result, he found himself resenting the cursed youth. Kara had stood between them, and even threatened to fight him for Gar’rth’s life.

  The squire couldn’t understand it.

  Yet while he was growing envious and wary of Gar’rth, he also harboured a deep sympathy for him. He knew it wasn’t his fault that he had been born of a race that had behaved so wickedly and with such avarice that legend said they had become wolves. He recalled with sadness how happy Gar’rth had been, after he had thanked him when they had first met in Taverley.

  So much had happened since then.

  No, it wasn’t Gar’rth’s fault, nor was it truly Kara’s. But in his current mood, Theodore had no wish to be the first to breach the gulf between them, which all the time grew wider.

  FORTY-FOUR

  It towards midday of the following day when the companions saw the monastery for the first time.

  The walled building was shaped around a large rectangular courtyard which was dominated by soothing fountains and well-kept gardens. If serenity dwelt upon the earth, Castimir mused philosophically, it did so here, even more so than in Taverley.

  The monastery had been constructed many years before. A long-dead king had built it as a civilized outpost as he sought to tame The Wilderness, but he had died before he could embark upon his expedition, leaving the monastery behind for the worship of Saradomin.

  The brown-robed monks welcomed the travellers. A young man who introduced himself as Brother Althric led the companions into the courtyard.

  “Is your friend unwell?” he asked, rubbing his hand over his tonsure to stave off the afternoon sun.

  Ebenezer answered as he helped Gar’rth from his saddle.

  “He is the reason we have come. He is ill, and I have here a letter from the druid Kaqemeex of Taverley, requesting your help. It is addressed to Abbot Langley himself.”

  Brother Althric took the note.

  “The druid is known to us. I shall pass this on immediately.”

  Out of all the travellers, the most profoundly moved was Kara. Of that she was certain. She led her horse away from the others and looked about at the high white walls and blue stained-glass windows with an overwhelming sense of recognition. This was the place to which her father had brought her, years earlier.

  “I have been here before, Theodore” she said excitedly, forgetting their feud, as the squire took her horse to lead it to the stables at the northern end of the courtyard. “With my father, when I was blessed as a child by Saradomin. I wonder if the monks remember him?”

  “It was a long time ago, Kara,” he replied. “Woodcutters and hunters in these parts regularly travel here to offer the monks fuel and food, and in return the monks care for the sick and dying.”

  Arisha had heard their conversation.

  “Do you forget the reason for my journey, Kara? I am here to learn their art of writing so that I may record the songs and spoken histories of my people, else we stand to lose them forever. The monks at this monastery keep records of their actions, a skill I am here to learn.”

  “And you think they will have a record of my father bringing me here?” Kara gripped Arisha’s wrist in sudden excitement.

  “I think it likely” the priestess admitt
ed. “The monks are assiduous in their duties, and a young child brought to be blessed would be a noteworthy occasion.” Tears came into Kara’s eyes, and Arisha placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “They might have recorded my name.” Kara wept openly in hope. “They might have recorded my true name and the names of my parents.”

  Was my father truly Justrain? Am I the daughter of a Knight of Falador?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Brother Althric, who had returned to inform Ebenezer that the abbot was willing to help as best he could. Only when Kara’s joyful sobs had subsided did she ask about the records.

  “We do have records,” Brother Althric said. “A girl brought to receive the blessing of Saradomin would indeed be recorded in our archives. It will not be a quick search, however, for our records are many and we do not know the exact year. It will require at least several hours.” Kara thanked him sincerely.

  What are mere hours, after wondering for so long.

  The travellers were made welcome after that. They were invited to attend lunch with the monks in a large hall of stone that kept the heat of the day outside.

  “They didn’t ask us to relinquish our weapons” Castimir observed curiously. “I would have thought the monks of Saradomin would be against permitting any such things on their land.” He mused as they stood at their table, waiting for the entrance of the abbot who would bless the food they were about to eat.

  “That is true on the holy isle of Entrana, but here, so close to The Wilderness, it is wise to arm yourself” Theodore whispered as the holy man entered.

  The abbot raised his arms toward the ceiling and began his prayer, a sonorous chant that lasted no more than a minute. As he concluded the monks took their seats amid a jostling of wooden benches that were moved from under the long tables.

  All save Gar’rth were ravenous from their journey, but despite her hunger Kara was growing impatient. Her heart beat quickly as she realised that after years of not knowing her true name, she was finally within reach of discovering who she was.

  Brother Althric sat with them, talking with Ebenezer about Gar’rth’s deteriorating condition, and in the brightness of the dining hall it was exceedingly obvious. Over the course of their journey he had visibly altered. His skin seemed darker and his eyes more bloodshot and feverish.

  “He is not an evil man, I can tell that,” Brother Althric said earnestly. “This monastery is guarded against creatures of Zamorak, although that-alas-does not include his human servants.”

  “Gar’rth is not of this land, brother. He hails from Morytania.” Ebenezer whispered the words. “And neither is he human.”

  Brother Althric looked suddenly fearful. He hadn’t read the letter that Kaqemeex had sent and, to him, Morytania was very far away, its inhuman inhabitants regarded as legends and nothing more.

  “Do not worry, my faithful friend” Ebenezer said slowly, resting his hand on the monk’s arm to prevent him from acting rashly. “He is our friend. And like you said, creatures of Zamorak cannot gain entry here.”

  “He is s-still an innocent then,” Brother Althric stuttered. “If he h-has refused to take an innocent life, then his pact with Zamorak is still unconsummated. His will is still his own, untainted by the influence of chaos.”

  Without warning Brother Althric seized Ebenezer’s arm with sudden ferocity, his eyes glinting. “He could still be saved! We can deny Zamorak mastery over his soul. We must waste no time-after lunch we shall set about exorcising the evil inherent in him.”

  While Kara knew that Gar’rth’s need was greater than her own, she could not help but feel disappointment as the travellers were led to a private room to speak to the abbot about the exorcism. Her mind was in turmoil over the records that she was certain held the key to her name, and that of her father.

  The abbot confirmed what Brother Althric had said.

  “We shall carry out the ceremony at once,” he announced. “Brother Althric has already begun to fetch the necessary items. It is indeed a blessed miracle that you were brought here.” The old abbot’s grey eyes looked affectionately at Gar’rth. “Never in all the annals of our order can I recall such a situation. Surely it is a herald of something greater happening in the heavens, something that we mortals cannot perceive. Such a triumph over Zamorak by our blessed lord!”

  He took Gar’rth’s hand in his own and rested his forehead on it, as if he were paying homage to a direct emissary from his god. Standing erect again, he turned to leave, proceeding down the hallway to a set of stairs.

  They followed the excited abbot to the chapel on the second floor where the ceremony was to be carried out. Brother Althric was working with a younger monk, similarly attired in modest brown robes. The abbot spoke to the newcomer, and as he did Kara’s heart leapt.

  “Brother Jered, would you please escort our emissary from the barbarian tribes, and young Kara-Meir, as well, to the archives? They can begin the search in our records, for it will be good experience for the priestess.”

  “I shall not leave Gar’rth in the hour of his need,” Kara said. Standing next to her, Arisha nodded in agreement.

  “But what of your true name, Kara-Meir?” the abbot persisted. “What of your father’s name? Do you not wish to seek them in our archives?”

  “I will not leave Gar’rth” Kara replied firmly. “The records have been here for many years. They can wait several hours more.” Her mind was unchangeable.

  The abbot smiled knowingly. “That is good. Having his friends near will help Gar’rth in the exorcism.”

  Theodore leaned toward Ebenezer, his face dark.

  “What if this doesn’t work?” he whispered. “What do we do then?” His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. “He will only be a danger to himself and to others. There is no alternative.”

  Ebenezer lowered his head.

  “You must have faith, young man. Faith in whatever god you believe in. Even a man of science knows that.”

  The abbot began his chant.

  Gar’rth was restrained by thick ropes, bound to an iron chair that sat inside a holy circle drawn on the floor. He faced the stained-glass window with the light of the sun shining directly into his face. As a cloud moved across the chapel window, it seemed to the onlookers as if his face had suddenly become inhuman, twisted and savage, the visage of a true beast.

  But a second later the cloud moved on and the sunlight revealed a weary and pale Gar’rth, but the Gar’rth they knew, wracked by pain and hungry for something he knew it was wrong to take.

  The abbot’s chanting continued as Brother Althric lit the incense and set it burning slowly from four golden stands. At one point the monk stepped forward and wiped a cloth soaked with holy water across Gar’rth’s forehead, provoking a sudden change in him. He became a screaming maniac, his face contorted in a rage that was devoid of any reason or humanity.

  This was the beast.

  Gar’rth’s rage lasted for just a minute before the holy water steamed off his forehead. As it did so, he returned once more to his former self, sweating profusely and gasping for breath.

  “This will take some time” the abbot said sombrely, closing his eyes in concentration. “He is farther gone than we expected, and it may even be too late. When we continue none of you must step inside the holy circle-for Zamorak will try hard to maintain his hold.”

  “It will get far uglier from now on,” Brother Althric said as the abbot began to chant once more.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Sulla watched the powerful figure dressed in torn robes that were so ill-kept they no longer had any distinguishable colour. The man stood alone, no more than a hundred yards away, on a small rise to the east, barring their way to the monastery.

  Sulla was disturbed by the man’s ability to appear seemingly at will out of the undergrowth, evading his scouts and bypassing his patrols. So far he had done no harm, but Sulla did not like to be made a fool of.

  “We have been unable to catch him,” the Kinshra sco
ut said.

  “Can’t you shoot him with an arrow?” Sulla growled.

  “We have tried that, my lord. But each time he vanishes again into the undergrowth. His ability to hide is unnatural-even the horses daren’t go near him.”

  “Then I shall go to him alone” Sulla mounted his horse in a single deft movement and trotted slowly toward the lone figure who stood by a dense copse at the top of the rise. He didn’t ride straight to him, but as if he meant to pass him by. As he began his ascent he closed the visor on his helmet. No man he had ever met had been able to suppress their surprise at suddenly witnessing Sulla’s mutilated face.

  The closer he got, the more he had to wrestle to maintain control over his animal. The horse pulled to get away, but ultimately gave in to its master, its eyes wide with fear and foam flecking its lips.

  The figure did not move as Sulla approached him, and the leader of the Kinshra did not call out. He rode within twenty yards of the man and still neither spoke. Sulla could sense the power emanating from the mysterious stranger.

  “You are a follower of Zamorak?” The guttural voice sounded from inside the cowl, and the tattered man looked up to reveal two shining red eyes in the darkness of his hood.

  For a brief second Sulla was uneasy, and his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

  “I am Sulla, lord of the Kinshra, followers of Zamorak, feared throughout Asgarnia and renowned throughout The Wilderness.”

  “I have never heard of you. And I don’t fear you.” The words were said without malice or sarcasm.

  The brutal honesty took him by surprise.

  “Then I would say you are a fool. I have an army only seconds away.”

  “That is more than enough time for me to kill you, if I wish.”

  Again, the matter-of-fact tone disarmed the Kinshra lord. With a quick movement of his gloved hand he unclasped the visor on his helmet and raised it, staring at the robed man coolly as his marred features were exposed. He noted with satisfaction that the red eyes widened slightly in surprise.