Betrayal at Falador (runescape)

by T. S. Church

  But then the wind changed. He caught their scent in the air, carried on the burning embers.

  It was the girl and Gar’rth.

  Kara knew she had made a mistake. Her eyes ran with stinging tears. Her lungs burned as she coughed feebly in an effort to breathe clean air.

  “Come on, Gar’rth,” she called weakly, the strength fading from her legs as the smoke threatened to overwhelm her. She had made it through to the archives with Gar’rth close behind her, but as they had entered, the roof in the passageway behind had come crashing down, cutting off their exit.

  Kara seized the four books that she had put aside for later inspection and quickly they made their way out onto a narrow stone staircase that had thus far avoided the flames.

  Yet when they reached the next floor, Kara’s gut twisted itself in fear, for the only way out was back into the burning part of the monastery.

  She knew her luck had run out.

  The flames were engulfing the passage ahead, and the wooden floor had already collapsed in several places. There was no way they could cross.

  But if they could not escape that way, she could at least divest herself of the cumbersome books. She smashed the stained-glass window with the hilt of her sword and prepared to push the weighty volumes through the small gap. But as she looked down she hesitated.

  Her friends were losing the battle. She instantly recognised the werewolf as he lifted Doric straight off his feet with one hand while simultaneously fending off a thrust from Theodore. Then her eyes fell on Castimir in his blue robes, and she uttered a silent prayer, for the young sorcerer lay on the ground, his hand held to his throat, his face deathly pale.

  “Get up, Castimir! They need you” she shouted, but her voice could not carry over the roaring of the flames.

  There was only one thing she could do. Without hesitation, she hurled the books out into the courtyard, unsheathing her adamant sword as they fell. As Theodore was beaten to the ground and disarmed by his vicious opponent, she hurled her sword toward him and attempted to shout his name.

  But she couldn’t muster the strength to do so.

  A wave of dizziness and despair overwhelmed her, and she knew they were trapped. Her arrogance and selfishness had killed them both-perhaps all of them.

  Kara gave a despairing moan as her knees gave way beneath her, the smoke too much for her.

  “Saradomin forgive me,” she muttered as her eyes closed. “May my friends forgive me.”

  She felt Gar’rth’s strong arms slip under her back as he heaved her across his shoulder. She felt weightless as he turned back toward the archive and the stairwell that they had just climbed, away from the burning passageway that was filled with black smoke.

  Then all consciousness fled.

  Jerrod’s acute hearing picked out her cry, and he turned to look at her briefly as she threw the sword.

  Instantly he knew-it was the sword that had harmed him in Falador.

  The squire managed to grab the hilt of it before the werewolf delivered a vicious kick to his side. Theodore staggered, attempting a desperate lunge which the werewolf dodged easily.

  He smashed a heavy fist into the squire’s skull and took the adamant sword from his grasp. As Theodore knelt, dazed, Jerrod hurled the green-tinted blade toward the Kinshra soldiers.

  At a distance, he saw Sulla nod in approval of his strategy.

  “You won’t need that” he laughed as he lifted Theodore from the ground only to dump him at the wizard’s side. The squire felt limp in his arms, and Jerrod knew the human possessed barely enough strength to stand. He would enjoy taking his revenge on his enemies, a slow revenge that would last long hours. There was only one enemy left now who dared to fight him.

  Jerrod turned his attention once more to Doric, who stood wearily.

  The dwarf is strong, to still stand after so much punishment.

  “Let’s be having you,” Doric growled, his voice quieter than usual, as if resigned to a fate he knew no mortal being could ever avoid.

  Jerrod laughed. It had been so easy once he had removed the wizard and the girl’s sword, for his two enemies had nothing else left with which to hurt him.

  “Castimir,” Theodore muttered, his jaw swollen from the crushing blows of his enemy’s huge fists. “We need you, Castimir!”

  The wizard gave a low groan and opened his eyes.

  “There is nothing I can do, Theo” he wheezed. “He has taken away my runes.”

  “Not all of them, Castimir. Look, on the ground next to you. He must have torn through your pouches when he ripped your belt.”

  The wizard’s eyes lit up in sudden hope and he struggled to his knees.

  “Gather them up, old friend,” he said. “Let us see what we can muster for our final moment.”

  Quickly and as discreetly as he could, Theodore hid Castimir from the werewolf’s view, his hands working quickly in the damp earth. Within seconds he had thrown at least a dozen of the small stones back to the wizard.

  “Can you do anything with them, my friend? Do you have enough?”

  Castimir’s voice sounded strong as he breathed deeply.

  “I have enough, Theo. When I cast my spell we shall have one chance and only for a few seconds. Now listen very carefully.”

  Theodore listened silently to Castimir as Doric was once again beaten to the ground by a savage blow.

  “I understand,” the squire said meekly. Very slowly, as if he had no more to give, he rose, drawing the werewolf’s attention.

  Ebenezer returned his knife to his pocket. He had finished what he had set out to do. It had taken him a few minutes, sitting behind the fence near the stables, and all the time he had watched the battle unfold.

  Carefully he slid lumps of the powdery cake-like element into several oil-soaked leather pouches, in which it would be protected from the air.

  “What are you doing?” Brother Althric whispered urgently. For some minutes now the monks had been ready to ride out, to risk a charge past the waiting Kinshra and an escape out into the open country.

  “I am nearly ready, young man,” the alchemist insisted. “If you will prepare yourselves, then I will arrange our exit.”

  He gathered the small pouches in his arms as a hungry man would gather food. He knew that to get by the Kinshra they would need a distraction, and he was holding that in his hands.

  “Come on, Gar’rth,” he muttered to himself, his eyes pausing on the burning building above him. The fire had engulfed the window where Gar’rth and Kara had been seen, and the archives were now alight.

  But in a malign twist of fate the flames swept up, engulfing the roof of the eastern wing and spitting hot tongues of fire from the windows. As Ebenezer stood, the last of the thatched roofing collapsed, crashing down into the library and the dry books inside. The wall of the building tottered dangerously.

  “Kara!” Theodore yelled as he witnessed the destruction, certain that neither Kara nor Gar’rth would survive if they were inside.

  “Theodore!” Castimir shouted suddenly. “Move!” The wizard leapt to his friend’s side to confront the werewolf, who stood scant yards in front of him. He wore a look of determination that bordered on madness.

  The werewolf reached forward to seize him by the throat, but it was not to be. His massive hand slowed, his long claws stopping a bare inch from Castimir’s pale skin. As he snarled impotently, the wizard waved his empty hands in the air, ending his complex spell. For it had been cast and the werewolf could barely move.

  “Quickly! The werewolf will only remain snared for a few seconds. Where is the adamant sword?” Castimir shouted to his friends with renewed energy. He followed Theodore’s frustrated gaze toward the Kinshra, and immediately saw the green-tinted blade lying at Sulla’s feet.

  They would not be allowed to use that in their battle.

  “Throw him into the fires then” Castimir shouted, aware that with each second the spell waned. “Drag him toward the wall.” The squire bent lo
w and rushed at the werewolf’s knees. With a loud cry he lifted the massive figure onto his shoulder and stumbled forward. The wizard joined him, and Doric put his strength into helping them as well.

  “What… are… you… doing?” the werewolf growled, his mouth and tongue bound by the spell, making speech near impossible.

  It would only last a few more seconds.

  The companions dropped the ensnared creature at the foot of the wall of the archives-a wall that shook unsteadily.

  It tottered above the werewolf. The magic was fading, it would last only seconds longer, Castimir knew. But not long enough for the wall to fall first. He had one chance to make that a certainty.

  Castimir stepped closer, conjuring a ball of flame with the last of his runes. With all his concentration the young wizard hurled a single ball of fire into the final support.

  The whole wall crashed down on top of the monster, burying him in dust and brick.

  Sulla sighed inwardly. From the start the werewolf had performed exactly as he had hoped against such a diverse group of enemies, but the wizard had proved his undoing.

  He had debated going to his ally’s rescue, but the speed with which their opponents had acted had surprised even him. Besides, he told himself, if he had been defeated so easily, then the werewolf was of limited value to the Kinshra ranks.

  But the time for games had passed. He was about to order a charge when the sounds of an approaching rider drew his attention. He turned and found to his surprise that he faced an old man.

  “What do you want?” he called out. “Have you come to beg for a quick end?”

  “Two of your champions have died today,” said the elder. “If you do not let us pass, then many more of you shall follow them to the Abyss!” The man looked swiftly to the ground and Sulla followed his gaze, noting the half-filled buckets of water that stood next to the horses. They had been left over from the monks’ firefighting. Then the newcomer glanced furtively at the fountain from which some of the Kinshra horses were drinking.

  What can he be seeing?

  Sulla looked warily at the old man, and for the first time noted that he had blindfolded his horse. He held several small pouches in his hands. Was he a wizard also? That might pose a problem.

  “My name is Sulla, old fool,” he said angrily. “And it is a name you will die cursing!” The black-armoured warrior raised his sword.

  The man paled, but he held his ground.

  “Then you have brought this upon yourself” he uttered as he hurled the first of his dozen small pouches toward the water bucket close to Sulla’s horse. A greyish cake-like substance fell loosely from the leather packet and splashed into the liquid.

  A sudden explosion flashed from the bucket. Sulla’s horse gave a wild cry of fear, rearing onto its hind legs then turning quickly away from the violent reaction.

  But the old fool had not finished. With a triumphant yell he hurled several of the pouches into the fountain. At once the water fumed as if it were boiling, sending bright flashes and pale clouds of powder into the air as echoes of the explosions rebounded from one side of the courtyard to the other in a roaring cacophony.

  Pandemonium reigned now. Sulla lost his grip on his horse and fell to the ground with an impact that made him grit his teeth in pain. He saw his horse gallop away through the desecrated gateway.

  The panic was contagious-some of the horses followed, while others fled into the courtyard to escape the explosions. Within mere moments, the disciplined Kinshra troops devolved into a chaotic mass.

  Sulla cursed, knowing that without a horse he was vulnerable. He watched as his enemies, led by the old man, spurred their horses forward, toward the shattered gateway.

  Knowing he was absolutely powerless to prevent their get away, Sulla leapt to one side to avoid being trampled.

  “Come on!” Ebenezer yelled, leaning forward to pull the blindfold from his horse’s eyes. As he did so he noticed Kara’s sword lying forgotten on the ground. Moving quicker than he had for many a year, he dismounted to pick it up as the monks rode past him to their freedom, unchallenged by the panicked Kinshra horsemen.

  Theodore and Doric came last with Arisha, for the priestess had prepared two horses for them in the stables. Following her was Castimir’s faithful yak and the alchemist’s mule, still laden with its saddlebags.

  Saradomin bless her, he thought gratefully.

  “And Gar’rth? And Kara? What about them?” Doric called as he rode by.

  The alchemist shook his head.

  “There is nothing we can do for them. And our dying here will do no good, either.” He spurred his horse through the gateway. As he did, he saw the man called Sulla lurch to his feet.

  “Get after them” the Kinshra leader roared.

  Immediately a small group of riders who had managed to regain control of their steeds followed them through the gateway.

  Ebenezer turned to Castimir, who looked so weak that it amazed the old man that he could retain his grip on his horse.

  “I need you, Castimir!” he shouted, reining in his steed as they gained a small rise. “For the last time today.”

  “I cannot. I am so weak,” the wizard responded hoarsely, his mouth parched and his throat stained with his own blood that had now begun to clot. “And I have no more runes left for an offensive spell.”

  “Your fire staff then. Quickly, Castimir, or it will be too late.”

  The sorcerer sat up, straightening his back with a visible effort.

  “I do not have it, Ebenezer,” he said, suddenly alarmed.

  The thunder of the Kinshra horsemen, charging down a narrow path that led to the rise, grew. They were seconds away.

  “I have it, Castimir,” Arisha said with surprising calm. Her wide eyes looked sadly at him as she handed him the staff. Upon seeing his unharmed yak by her side, the wizard managed a sudden grin that looked entirely out of place on his blanched face.

  “I don’t know what I would do without you, Arisha.” He slurred the words, his voice cracking.

  Suddenly he swayed in the saddle.

  “Do it, Castimir. Do it now!” Ebenezer spoke urgently.

  Castimir held up the staff, and the knotted end glowed fiercely with its inner flame. Ebenezer removed the unexploded shell he had retrieved when he had taken shelter behind the courtyard fountain.

  “Light the fuse” he said briskly.

  As soon as Castimir’s staff touched it, the fuse came to life with a loud sizzle.

  “Ride now, my friends” Ebenezer instructed them.

  Arisha took Castimir’s horse by the reins and galloped swiftly after the disappearing monks.

  “You must go too, Theodore” he said. “And you, Doric. We have no time left.” He held out the adamant blade for the squire.

  Theodore shook his head, taking Kara’s sword and wearing a vicious look on his face. Doric, too, said nothing, but goaded his horse away from where he knew Ebenezer would throw the spitting explosive, just where the pathway ended.

  The alchemist kept his keen eye on the fuse until the first of the Kinshra rode out onto the rise, yelling in triumph. Ebenezer did not need to think, for he had rehearsed the action in his mind. As soon as the spitting shell left his hand he dug his heels into his steed and lowered his head, yelling at the horse.

  “Ride! Faster-”

  The explosion silenced his words, shattered men and ripped through horses. He saw Theodore and Doric gallop at full speed into the suddenly disorientated enemy. But he could hear little, for the noise of the explosion had near-deafened him.

  As he turned back to see the dozen contorted bodies of armoured men and horses that lay scattered like broken toys, he could barely hear the screams of the injured. Even Theodore’s war cry sounded far off.

  Theodore’s timing was perfect. The first of the Kinshra who rode from the now smoke-filled path was unarmed, his hands pressed against his helmet in great agony. Theodore didn’t hesitate. The man was a follower of Zamorak. He h
ad helped to violate the monastery and desecrate a peaceful place of worship.

  He had to die.

  With a practised move the squire brought Kara’s slender blade across the man’s throat. With shocking ease the adamant bit through the armour and cleaved deeply into his neck. Giving only a sudden cry the man fell from his horse and crashed awkwardly onto the grass where he remained, utterly motionless.

  He was dimly aware of Doric, guiding his horse directly into a black-armoured warrior who staggered aimlessly on foot, stunned by the blast. The man screamed as the dwarf’s horse charged into him, knocking him violently off his feet and trampling him underfoot.

  For the Kinshra the battle was lost. Most of the pursuers had been killed outright by the blast or stunned and knocked from their horses. Those who hadn’t, who had waited near the back, were not the bravest of men. Theodore’s vicious war cry and the yells of their dying comrades made them swiftly turn their horses away, toward the monastery.

  For Theodore there could be no mercy. With each of the men he killed he thought of Kara-of how he had failed to protect her, of how he had betrayed her in Falador, and of not having the opportunity to make his peace with her before she was killed.

  “Theodore!” Doric called as the squire leaned forward in his saddle to run through one of the few remaining Kinshra. The man screamed as he died and Theodore withdrew the sword, already looking for another enemy to feed his passion for revenge.

  “Theodore, stop! We need a captive” Doric cried. “We need to know what the Kinshra are planning, and how many of those weapons they have.”

  The squire halted upon hearing Doric’s words. His eyes were bloodshot with anger and he breathed deeply as he fought to regain control of himself. Rage was not the way of the Knights of Falador, and with a grim look at the carnage all around him, he lowered his sword in shame.

  “You are right, my friend,” he muttered, reminding himself that it was Kara’s own anger that had ultimately resulted in her death. “No good can come of revenge.”

  A low moan attracted his attention. It was one of the Kinshra-an officer of minor standing, judging from the man’s insignia. He was lying upon the smouldering grass, pinned beneath his dead horse. He had removed his helm to tend to his injuries. His face was blackened and he held his hand across his eyes.