Betrayal at Falador (runescape)

by T. S. Church

  Yet even Marius’s leadership could not keep the men at their posts forever, and Ebenezer knew he had to act. He turned his horse away from the breach and galloped toward his waiting trebuchets.

  “Now it is time for the hay bales” he said. “Our archers will set light to them from the ramparts, with the help of the wizards if necessary.”

  Working briskly, the city guards prepared three of the bales. Within a few moments they were hurled over the wall and onto the goblins massing below.

  “Send them all over!” the alchemist cried, riding back into the fray and signalling to the archers on the ramparts, who had lit their arrow tips in preparation.

  The three hay bales, heavy though they were, had done nothing to stop the goblin surge, and the invaders laughed at the desperate measures of the defenders.

  Then the archers loosed their burning arrows and the wizards, under Master Segainus’s deft direction, poured fire at the bales that had been soaked in pig fat.

  The goblin jeers died on their wide lips as the fat ignited, burning ravenously and uncontrollably, billowing out choking black smoke. As they yelled and screeched, the trebuchets fired again and three more stacks fell amongst the goblins and were ignited by the arrows and sorcery of the defenders.

  Swiftly the flames spread, cutting the goblin army in two. Those goblins nearest the flames to the north were pushed mercilessly forward by those behind, screaming as they were jostled into the roaring fires. Meanwhile, the goblins to the south of the firewall found themselves trapped between the vengeance of the city and the uncompromising pyres. There could be no retreat for them, either.

  Hundreds began to climb, so many that the defenders on top of the wall began to despair.

  A wicked barbed arrow bit deep into the shoulder of Master Segainus’s pupil, who collapsed in a faint.

  “Take him to the city and tend to him,” Segainus ordered the remaining members of the order. “But give me all your fire runes-I will hold them here.” Swiftly the blue-robed mages carried the wounded youngster away, leaving their master as the last of the wizards on the wall.

  “I am too old for this,” he said to himself, breathing deeply, reflecting on the many years of happiness that he had spent in Falador. He tried his best to ignore the pain in his chest and the heavy pounding in his skull. Never before had he summoned so much power or fought so many enemies.

  He held his remaining runes in his hands, calming his thoughts before continuing to muster his energies. Yards away, a ladder rested against the battlement, shaking as the goblins below began to climb.

  He knew he didn’t have long.

  The runes in his hands responded to his concentration-he felt the power surge through him and threaten to break free from his restraint.

  “Not yet,” he said to himself through gritted teeth, his heart straining.

  The runes twisted and warped in his hands, melting and merging under his concentration to prepare the largest fireball he had ever conjured. He could feel the heat gathering as he fed the runes with his will, and he knew the magic demanded to be discharged.

  “Just a few more seconds” he wheezed.

  Then his breath left him as his chest twitched in agony, disrupting his concentration and making him stumble. The runes fell from his grasp and rolled out into empty space like a red flare falling in a dark chasm, fading from sight as they burned ever weaker.

  Master Segainus knew he was defenceless. He was alone on the rampart with goblins overrunning the battlements on either side of him.

  His knees gave way as he tried to breathe, and still the pain roared in his chest, but he knew it was too late. He had tried to summon too much power in defence of a city that he loved.

  By the time the first goblin stood above the old wizard with his sword drawn, Master Segainus was already dead.

  Even though Sir Vyvin wore an eyepatch he saw the danger clearly. One look at Marius and the pikemen of the city militia told him that they had successfully driven the goblins back to the breach, and that for the moment they required no help.

  It was the ramparts that had fallen. The invaders had been forced to open up a wider front after Ebenezer’s burning hay bales had disrupted their assault, and with sheer weight of numbers they had taken the battlements. It was up to the knights to take it back.

  With a flourish of his sword, he leapt to the nearest stairs and ran purposefully upward.

  To Ebenezer’s eye, the battle was going well. The enemy had been prevented from flooding into the city, and keeping them trapped in the breach had removed the one advantage the goblin horde possessed. They had been unable to bring their thousands into battle against Falador’s hundreds.

  But the battle was shifting. The ramparts were filled with knights and goblins in a desperate struggle, yet for every goblin that was hurled down, another two leapt up to take his place. Swiftly, Ebenezer rode over to Marius, who was at the edge of the wall, shouting encouragement to the men next to him.

  “We need to clear the ramparts,” the old man called to him.

  Marius nodded, thinking fast.

  “Captain Ingrew!” he called, gesturing for the soldier to come closer so they could speak above the sounds of battle. “You must take fifty men from the breach and aid the knights on the ramparts. Use your pikes to prevent any more of the scum from climbing up.”

  The captain nodded and ran to obey. Ebenezer peered at Marius curiously and was about to say something when an arrow, fired through the breach, struck his horse in the neck. With a neigh it reared up and Ebenezer fell to the battle-marred earth, his face contorted in pain. With a hair-raising scream the horse galloped off into the city, forcing people to jump aside to avoid being trampled.

  Marius was by the alchemist’s side in an instant, helping the old man to his feet.

  “Is anything broken?” the squire asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Ebenezer wheezed, his face pale from the shock.

  “You have done enough here for any man, sir,” Marius said. “You should retire now to recover your strength. You will be needed later on.” The squire’s face was honest and concerned, and Ebenezer knew he meant no malice in his advice. Still, it hurt him to hear the words, and it hurt him more so as he realised the boy was right.

  He nodded in agreement.

  “I shall do so, Marius. But promise me one thing-promise me you won’t let them break?” The alchemist nodded to the militia who were straining at the breach, successfully preventing the disordered goblins from gaining entry, and in spite of the pain, he smiled with paternal pride.

  Marius nodded and his face brightened in an uncharacteristic smile.

  “I won’t need to make that promise, sir-for they have made it for me!”

  On the wall Sir Vyvin was fighting savagely, with Captain Ingrew guarding his back. The pain in his mutilated eye made him angry and each goblin he hewed down seemed to bring him slight relief. But he was still thinking clearly, and he ordered his men to focus not on the goblins themselves but on the ladders- for once they were pushed away from the edge, their foes on the ramparts would be trapped in a city full of enemies.

  A ten-year-old peon was cut down by a goblin soldier, drawing Sir Vyvin’s wrath. With a raging cry he smashed at the nearest enemy with his shield, forcing the goblin back over the battlement and clearing the way for him to exact his vengeance. The goblin killer turned, his red eyes unblinking, and each leapt at the other with a single dreadful intent.

  A sword swung and clattered on Sir Vyvin’s shield. At the same time, the goblin stabbed forward with a curved knife in his other hand, the tip etching a line across the knight’s breastplate.

  With a stab of his own, Sir Vyvin forced the goblin to jump back, close to the rampart edge. A sudden swing of his shield made his foe lose his balance and sent him screaming into the city street below. Sir Vyvin saw Sir Finistere, followed by a host of youths armed with clubs and hammers, surge forward and batter the goblin down.

  As Sir Vyvin
drew breath, he saw that the militia had placed their long pikes at every point above the ladders, preventing any enemies from climbing up. Very swiftly, the goblins who remained on the ramparts fell to the vengeful swords of the defenders.

  The goblins had lost heart for the battle. The cries of those trapped in the breach and behind the flames soon ceased, for none were spared the vengeance of the militia or the indiscriminate choking fumes of the fires. At least a thousand had been trapped and destroyed. As many again had been slain attempting to storm the walls, falling victim to the stoic magic of the wizards, the precise eyes of the archers, and the strong arms of the knights.

  A signal was given shortly before midday. The goblins withdrew northward, exhausted and angry. The last hour of the battle had seen their assault reduced to simple archery, the very type of warfare the walls of Falador had been designed to withstand. For every defender who fell, at least five of the attackers perished.

  “Continue the bombardment, Thorbarkin,” Sulla said. “I want at least two more breaches in the northern wall before we try again.”

  Within an hour, the cannons resumed their ominous music, and the walls of Falador shuddered again.

  “If they come again we shall not be able to hold them back,” Sir Vyvin said, finishing his bedside report to Sir Amik. “The men are exhausted and desperate, and if the walls are breached elsewhere then Sulla will be able to get into the city. We do not have enough men to plug another gap.”

  “Then we must take the fight to the enemy.” Sir Amik spoke softly. “We must prevent him from breaking the walls.”

  Sir Vyvin looked uncertain. Sir Tiffy sat nearby at a desk, writing furiously. The old spymaster made no reply, so intent was he on the message before him.

  “Sir Amik will ride out tomorrow at dawn and charge the guns of the enemy,” Bhuler explained. “If they can be seized and broken then it will buy the city time.”

  Sir Vyvin bristled at his words. “It will be a suicidal mission,” he remarked, shaking his head.

  “Possibly not,” Sir Tiffy said from the desk, speaking with a hopeful tone that seemed out of place. The old knight stood up to explain, holding a piece of paper in his hand and motioning to Sir Amik’s hawk. The bird stood on the ledge of the chamber window, shifting its weight from one talon to the other as it gorged itself on a pigeon it had seized from the skies above the battle. On the pigeon’s leg was a small cylinder which had been opened.

  “That’s one of ours” Sir Vyvin remarked suddenly. “The murderous bird has killed one of our messengers!”

  “It was a worthwhile sacrifice. The communication is from Squire Theodore. I have examined it against a copy of his handwriting, and it matches perfectly. The code he has used is a recent one and I have decoded it accordingly.” He looked mischievously at his friends.

  “Well?” Sir Vyvin said eagerly. “What does it say?”

  “Kara is coming south. She will arrive tomorrow at dawn. She has several hundred dwarf warriors with her, and Theodore has recruited six hundred of the Imperial Guard. Together they number just fewer than one and a half thousand!”

  So unexpected was the news that silence descended as each man looked at the others with renewed hope. If Kara could make it to the city then the Kinshra would not prevail against so many.

  “It is tomorrow, then, that the fate of our city shall be decided. And it is all in the hands of the woodcutter’s daughter,” Sir Tiffy said as he burned the message. “Speak to no one of this, for Sir Erical has not been found and he may be watching our movements. Tell the men an hour before dawn to prepare for battle. Only at the last minute will they be told that we intend to ride out.”

  Sir Vyvin nodded in understanding. When he left the chamber he was more hopeful than he dared to admit.

  SIXTY-FIVE

  The guns were relentless. By midnight, a second breach had been opened, wider than the first and several hundred yards to the east.

  Some citizens collapsed on seeing the fissure, weeping in dreadful certainty that they and their loved ones would not be spared the Kinshra savagery. Brave men who had stood in the breach only hours before hurled their weapons down and cursed their gods for abandoning them. For, with two breaches, the defenders could not hope to defend the city.

  Ebenezer had known this would occur and throughout the day he went along the northern wall, shouting encouragement and positioning barricades in the streets to impede the coming offensive. In the first breach, the defenders filled the gap with masonry and heavy timbers, stripped from those houses damaged in the mortar bombardment. They would prevent the enemy from making a surprise rush, but it would not keep them out.

  To Sulla, watching from the plains, the walls were weaker than he had anticipated. They had been built generations ago by men who had never conceived of black powder and cannons.

  Suddenly he detected a movement behind him. It was Jerrod, back from his hunt.

  “Did you find anything interesting?” Sulla asked. “Perhaps a farm girl and her tasty young child?”

  Jerrod wiped his hand across his mouth.

  “No such luck, Sulla. I had to make do with some outlaws from The Wilderness who marched with the army.”

  “Just so long as you don’t harm my Kinshra, for when the third breach is made we shall assault all three simultaneously, and I shall need them at their best.” He placed his gauntleted hand on the werewolf’s shoulder. “We’ll find you a girl of noble birth, my friend-something soft and pale and very, very tender!”

  His good humour went unnoticed by Jerrod who watched the bombardment with interest. He peered out over the battlefield.

  “Why do you not turn your guns on the wooden gates, rather than the stone walls? Would it not be quicker?”

  Sulla shook his head.

  “Behind each gate the road will be built to favour the knights. They will be able to pour boiling oil on us, or trap us between portcullises. It is better this way. It makes them fearful, makes them gaze in horror at their fate!”

  Inside Sir Amik’s chamber the noise of the cannon and the wails of despairing citizens was inescapable. Bhuler was still awake and keeping watch, and he helped the knight to sit up.

  “How long until the dawn, my old friend?” Sir Amik asked, his voice stronger than before. “How long until the darkness ends?”

  “Another six hours,” Bhuler said. He had spent the time in prayer, pleading for the knight’s life and offering his own in its place. He knew that Falador needed staunch leadership now, more than at any other time in its history.

  “Wake me at first light and help me with my armour.” Sir Amik’s eyes rested on his torn and bloodied standard, still leaning in the corner. “Everything shall be decided then,” he sighed, lying down to sleep once more.

  The third breach was made an hour before dawn, and it heralded panic amongst the people of Falador. From the window of his merchant house Lord Tremene watched in dismay as the wealthier citizens hurled their valuables into the moat about the castle.

  The people have turned into animals, he thought. He saw a man push his wife to the ground and stand ominously over his daughter.

  “It is a better end-to die here and now!” the man cried, tears running down his face as he raised his axe above his daughter’s head.

  “No, father!” she cried in horror, realising his intention.

  But the axe never struck. Lord Tremene watched as Squire Marius pushed the girl aside and parried the blow with his sword before kicking the feet out from under the hysterical man.

  “Do you call yourselves men?” he roared. “You are citizens of Falador-of the greatest city in the world! And look at you now. Sacrificing your women and hiding your gold, driven mad by your fear! Where is your pride?”

  He gestured wildly with his sword at the crowd and immediately a strange calm settled over them. Men stopped shouting and the women ceased their laments. Swiftly the city militia broke the group up.

  “Squire Marius!” Sir Vyvin called fro
m the castle wall. “Bring the women inside the castle. They will be safe here.”

  If the Kinshra don’t come soon, Lord Tremene thought, the city will destroy itself.

  Ebenezer looked with disappointment bordering on despair at the men gathered near the westernmost breach, where they had successfully held the goblins before. Of his total strength of six hundred remaining men in the city militia, less than half had responded to his orders summoning them to the wall. The others had fled, to spend what they believed would be the last few hours of their lives with their loved ones or to hide themselves in the lowliest corners of the city.

  Marius stood next to him, sharing his disappointment. The alchemist could sense anger in the squire, who felt betrayed by the citizens his order had defended for so many years.

  Lord Tremene rode up behind them, and dismounted.

  “Where are the reserves?” he asked as he stepped closer.

  “There are none, save the city guard, and those number less than two hundred” Ebenezer said. “They are stationed at the gate under the command of Captain Ingrew.” He spoke softly, his fingers caressing the runes in his pocket. He had retrieved them from the body of Master Segainus. He knew he could not wield a weapon with any degree of skill, so he had decided that resorting to magic was his best option.

  At least, he thought wryly, Castimir would approve.

  The alchemist looked grimly at the desperate men before him. He knew they could only hope to defend one of the three breaches that now perforated the wall. He cast tired eyes to the east, where he knew dawn would be lighting the streets of Varrock in neighbouring Misthalin. For a moment he wished he had fled before the siege had begun.

  Anywhere but here, he thought.

  Tremene laughed bitterly, catching the others off guard.

  “Suddenly wealth doesn’t seem so important anymore.” He smiled ruefully at Ebenezer.

  The alchemist smiled knowingly back.

  “No” he said. “No, it doesn’t.”