Betrayal at Falador (runescape)

by T. S. Church

  Immediately, the chamber filled with a sickly light.

  “Well, Finistere, we have reached the end game,” the alchemist said, smiling grimly as he pulled his cloak away from the lantern and opened a small hatch to allow the air to flow in and fuel the flame.

  The traitor stared in hatred at him as the flickering light grew stronger.

  “Clever trick, old man. Very clever!”

  Knowing that all hope of stealth had gone, he launched himself in a desperate attack on men who had once called him friend.

  SEVENTY-TWO

  The plume of smoke parted in a ragged tear, like an invisible knife cutting down the centre of a silk veil. Through the gap, Sir Amik watched as Bhuler pulled his horse back at the last possible second, then urged it on in a jump that took it over the first line of pikes and into the men behind.

  He smashed them aside, causing a ripple-like shudder to travel along their entire length.

  “You valiant fool,” he moaned, certain that his friend was doomed.

  But Sir Amik was wrong. Even as he wept, he noted a dozen other horsemen follow Bhuler’s example, each crashing into the Kinshra line that was still reeling from his valet’s assault.

  On the city’s ramparts were the foresters who had fled before the Kinshra advance, a people who wielded bows before they could talk. They launched their lethal arrows now, and thinned the pikemen, leaving gaps in their formation large enough for the knights to drive in with all their armoured weight.

  Sir Amik watched as-impossibly-the Kinshra line broke in two, severed at its centre as the knights before the wall rushed upon them, their determination now a fanaticism inspired entirely by one brave man.

  Bhuler continued his merciless charge through the Kinshra rows, his banner adding another enemy to the grim toll as he drove its tip into a Kinshra helm. He urged his horse on, pulling the banner free, finding himself alone on the far side of the Kinshra line.

  Only one enemy dared to challenge him.

  Jerrod lowered his hood slowly, anticipating the fear that his nightmare visage would inspire. He stared at the knight across thirty yards of open ground.

  He saw Sir Amik’s horse neigh nervously as it tugged at the reins in an effort to make his master find another foe. But the knight was steadfast.

  He raised the banner to his head, touching his white helm against the torn four-stared symbol.

  The werewolf paused. There was an absence of the scent in the air that he found on nearly all his enemies.

  It was the absence of fear.

  His enemy was not afraid of him.

  Jerrod hesitated.

  The knight charged.

  The traitor lunged. As Sir Tiffy parried, Finistere stepped past him, intent on extinguishing the lantern.

  I need to hide! I need the darkness again.

  Marius shouted, slogging through the knee-deep waters toward them. Finistere had seconds left. He drew his sword back behind his shoulder and hurled it toward the man who had outwitted him, at the same time pulling a dagger from his belt to parry Sir Tiffy’s blade.

  The sword span toward the alchemist’s face, forcing Ebenezer to jump aside.

  Marius leapt into the chamber.

  The traitor’s spare hand closed over Sir Tiffy’s blade, cutting his flesh deeply. But now, free of the need to parry his foe’s weapon, he thrust his dagger into the old spymaster’s shoulder.

  The room went dark as Ebenezer and his lantern crashed into the stinking waters.

  But it was too late, for Marius was upon him.

  Bhuler galloped toward his unworldly enemy. He understood the power of fear and the evil it could drive men to do, but he knew that he was a Knight of Falador who was chosen by Saradomin.

  Guiding his banner, Bhuler guessed that his unarmed foe would try to jump aside. As Jerrod leapt, just as Bhuler had anticipated, he struck the werewolf. It was only his foe’s incredible speed that saved him from being impaled through the heart. The tip of the banner pierced the werewolf’s right shoulder instead, lifting him off his feet and carrying him several yards until he managed to break free.

  The werewolf cursed violently as his black blood stained the earth. Bhuler turned his horse once more toward his enemy. Vulnerable now, the creature had only one option. With his red robes flailing behind him, he fled.

  Bhuler watched him run and knew that to let such a creature live was to deny others life, for the werewolf would kill again. He readied the banner of the knights that had been passed from one leader to the next for more than a century, blessed by monks of Saradomin and held in reverence by their order. Some even believed that the tip of the banner had been used as a lance by Saradomin himself in the God Wars.

  He prepared for a final charge, but the sound of hooves thundering on the ground caught his attention. He looked up to see Sulla and his thirty-strong bodyguard galloping against the remainder of his men who were fighting before the wall.

  If Sulla rode in, the knights would be destroyed, for they were too few and too spread out to resist.

  Bhuler turned his horse. The werewolf would have to wait. If he could divert Sulla’s bodyguard for a single moment, then Theodore and Kara would enter the battle at his side.

  Sulla’s attention was focused on the knights near the wall. Several arrows fell amongst his bodyguard, fired by the foresters from the ramparts, but it was too little to prevent them entering the fray and demolishing the last of the resistance.

  One of his officers gestured urgently. Sulla looked to his left.

  It was Sir Amik, leader of the Knights of Falador, alone and unguarded.

  Sulla broke off his charge, amazed that so important a man would isolate himself on a battlefield. It was a moment he had dreamed of.

  “Zamorak could not have given a better augur of our victory!” he cried, raising his sword and pointing toward the armoured man. As one, the Kinshra surged forward.

  Incredibly though, and foolishly, Sir Amik readied his banner and thundered towards them, alone.

  The last thing Sir Tiffy saw before the light vanished was Marius leap toward Finistere, his blade lunging toward the traitor’s abdomen.

  He felt the traitor’s blade pierce his shoulder as the hand holding his sword went suddenly limp. With his remaining strength he freed his weapon from the traitor’s grasp and lunged, hearing a gasp in the darkness as his own blade entered an unseen body. He tried to withdraw the sword, but suddenly he was too weak to do so.

  Unable to support his weight, he fell backward with a groan, his head slamming against the brickwork.

  The only sound was a faint wheezing.

  “Sir Tiffy? Marius?” Ebenezer called faintly. “Are you there?” His hand found the lamp in the water. It was broken and he knew it would never light now.

  No one answered.

  He needed light and he knew he would have to use magic to illuminate the chamber. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fire rune.

  Someone groaned nearby. Still no one spoke.

  With a deep breath, Ebenezer concentrated on the single rune in his hand.

  The thought of retreat did not enter his mind. Bhuler had only one aim now, only one goal to achieve.

  Through tear-filled eyes he watched as the Kinshra rode into him. He focused on the tip of his banner and he thrust it into the chest of the nearest enemy.

  He did not feel the blows of the Kinshra blades as Sulla and his guard surrounded him, hacking at him from all angles and cutting the banner in two.

  Finally he fell from his saddle to the soft earth, putting himself beyond the range of their hatred.

  But the butchery was short-lived. Sulla looked around in growing panic as a thundering shook the earth. It could only mean one thing-Kara’s cavalry had come.

  With a grim realisation, Sulla saw that his indulgence in hunting down Sir Amik had cost him the battle. Swiftly he led his bodyguard away, abandoning his men before the wall.

  SEVENTY-THREE

  To Sir V
yvin, the outcome of the battle was inevitable. The Kinshra were caught between the Imperial Guard and the remaining knights and militia that he commanded. All had witnessed Sir Amik’s fall, and the apparent death of their leader made his men fight with a suicidal frenzy. Even young peons bested men twice their age, ignoring wounds that would have felled stronger warriors.

  They hacked their way through the Kinshra ranks to where they believed Sir Amik to have fallen.

  It was Sir Vyvin who first reached the prone figure. The fallen knight’s head was cushioned on the flank of his horse, which lay dead beneath him. In his hands he held the two broken pieces of the banner.

  Sir Vyvin knelt beside him. As he began to open the visor a pained grunt came from the man within.

  Bhuler was alive.

  “Do not open it,” he said. “The boys are doing us proud. Let them fight until the end.”

  Sir Vyvin knew he did not have long to live.

  “So it is you, Bhuler,” he said. “I have suspected it since you spoke to me under the wall. Where is Sir Amik?”

  Bhuler shook his head.

  “He was too weak to join us. But I was not… and we needed our leader…”

  A rider caught Sir Vyvin’s attention. It was Theodore.

  “Sir Amik!” he cried as he knelt by Sir Vyvin’s side. “Tell me, sir, is there anything I can do?”

  Bhuler stretched his hand out to Theodore, who took it reverently. “Bring Kara to me, Theodore,” he said. “For I am Bhuler, and I wish to see her.”

  Theodore gaped in amazement. Sir Vyvin hushed him before he could speak.

  “Go and bring Kara” he said quietly. “Tell no one of this, for only you and I know the truth.”

  The squire nodded and mounted his horse, while behind him the remaining knights formed a defensive circle around their fallen leader, fighting any Kinshra soldier that came within their reach.

  The rune fizzed brightly in Ebenezer’s open palm, lighting the chamber with a red glow. The small pebble gave off a plume of red-tinted smoke that gave the alchemist a sudden look of power. He had to concentrate on controlling the magic, however, rationing it so it would not burn too quickly-or even explode. The rune would last only a brief time, but he had a dozen more in his pocket.

  “Marius?” he called as he stepped forward slowly. “Sir Tiffy?” He carried the magic fire with him and with each step illuminated more of the chamber’s dark secrets.

  “I am here,” Marius said quietly, looking into the water at his feet.

  There lay the traitor, opening his mouth silently in a muted plea, his hands clutched at a deadly wound in his right side.

  “He is still alive,” Marius said, his face contorted in barely-restrained rage. “This is for Bryant” he screamed suddenly, “and the countless others who have fallen because of your treachery.”

  The squire raised his right foot and placed it squarely on the traitor’s chest, pushing him down under the surface of the shallow black water, ignoring the pleading look in his eyes.

  “Shouldn’t we take him back alive?” Ebenezer said. For a moment his concentration slipped and the rune flared dangerously.

  “There may not be a city left to return to” the squire said flatly, staring down at the traitor, who splashed feebly in an attempt to get some air. “And you should help Sir Tiffy.”

  Ebenezer moved to where the old knight lay, and crouched to place his arm around Sir Tiffy’s shoulders. The knight breathed steadily.

  “I’ll help you when I’ve finished here,” Marius said. Ebenezer noted the tears on the young man’s face. “We’ll take Sir Tiffy back to the city and see what the situation is. If Falador still resists, then we shall join the fight, and if we win we shall return here to retrieve the bodies of Sir Pallas and Sir Erical.”

  “What about him?” Ebenezer asked as the splashing ceased at the squire’s feet.

  “I think this will be a suitable place for him to spend eternity,” Marius said as he drove his sword into the traitor’s body to be sure his betrayal was ended.

  Together, the squire and the alchemist carried Sir Tiffy from the chamber, their way lit by Ebenezer’s burning rune.

  None could stand against Kara. The blades of her enemies broke against her own, while their armour was useless against the adamant weapon.

  A young Kinshra warrior covered his eyes with his hands as he grasped at his wounded forehead. Kara ran him through with a single thrust, then stepped behind him, withdrawing her sword to deliver a killing blow on the back of his neck.

  With every enemy that fell before her, her rage only increased. She had forgotten mercy and put aside forgiveness.

  Gar’rth fought at her side, without a weapon. He used his speed and hideous strength, clawing and sometimes biting. For he no longer resembled a human. His skin had taken on the grey hue, its thickness turning away the thrusts of his desperate enemies. His eyes were black pools of infinite darkness, and his jaw was grotesquely extended. And while each blow hurt him, none had cut him.

  On her other side was Doric. The dwarf drove the edge of his shield into the stomach of a Kinshra soldier. As the man doubled over he smashed his axe into the man’s face, felling him instantly. The Kinshra will to fight was lost, and he watched with growing sadness as Kara slew men who were trying to flee.

  Riding behind them, Castimir picked his targets sparingly. He, too, noted Kara’s rage. The wizard looked to Doric and the dwarf shook his head bitterly.

  “I’ll seek Theodore” Castimir said. “There is no need for this to continue.”

  With a grim look as Kara ignored a plea for mercy, the wizard turned his horse and galloped west.

  Sulla looked back at his army. Dozens were running now, stripping their armour and discarding their weapons as they fled. It was turning into a rout.

  “It is lost to us, Sulla,” one of his bodyguards said, using his name as if he were a common soldier. “Kara-Meir has defeated us!”

  He held his anger. He knew no one could reverse the outcome of the battle now. It was better to live than to die.

  “Give the order to retreat” he said. After a moment’s hesitation, a messenger left to convey the instruction.

  Sulla closed his eyes in anger. He knew the Kinshra ways-as the commander who had planned and executed what had resulted in their greatest defeat for decades, he would be vulnerable to those who sought to remove him. And he knew such an end would not be quick.

  He needed a victory.

  Theodore rode east toward Kara’s banner. He knew she had deliberately led her soldiers into battle against the largest part of the Kinshra army, to personally slay as many of the enemy as she could.

  The squire had ridden for only a minute when he heard the challenge. He pulled his mare up short and looked back to where a Kinshra horseman levelled a bloodied sword at him. Theodore raised his own sword and bowed his head in acknowledgement.

  Both horses charged.

  Both men yelled.

  Theodore had practised for years in the lists of the knights, and he was regarded as one of the finest warriors of his group. But his enemy was a Kinshra officer with years of experience behind him.

  As they closed, the squire leaned forward to extend his reach, intending to run his sword through his enemy’s throat. Yet somehow the Kinshra officer parried his blade and delivered a stroke of his own, striking Theodore’s breastplate and knocking him from the saddle. He landed painfully.

  Swiftly the squire stood, his breathing tortuous. The blade hadn’t penetrated his armour, but the fall had winded him.

  The Kinshra warrior turned his horse slowly, taunting him. The man sheathed his blade and pulled from his belt a morning star. He swung the weapon in slow circles, which became faster as the iron ball pulled at the chain. With another cry, he charged.

  Theodore ducked, raising his sword above him at the last moment. He felt the chain grapple his blade and rip it from his hand as the horse rode by, leaving him unarmed.

  Th
e Kinshra warrior turned again, swinging his weapon in anticipation. He hurled Theodore’s sword into the earth in contempt.

  “Your life is mine to take” the black-armoured warrior said, goading his horse onward.

  Theodore jumped to one side as the iron ball swung toward him, missing him by inches. But the Kinshra officer was uncannily calm. He did not bother to turn his horse for another charge.

  Down the morning star came again, slamming into Theodore’s back, and knocking him to the ground with a cry. He tasted blood in his mouth.

  He knew he did not have the strength to continue. Too weak to move, he could only await the end as he heard his enemy swing the morning star again, leaning down to ensure he had enough reach to deliver a killing blow.

  Theodore closed his eyes in prayer, grimly accepting his death.

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  Castimir saw Theodore collapse under the impact of the morning star. He saw the Kinshra officer lean down and prepare for the killing blow.

  He advanced hurling one ball of fire after another to buy his friend a few more seconds.

  The Kinshra officer cantered aside quickly, avoiding his magic. Then, faster than Castimir had expected, he galloped forward, swinging his morning star.

  Castimir had one chance. If he missed again…

  The Kinshra officer was fifteen yards away when he cast his fire strike. The flame exploded in front of the horse, causing it to tumble and sending its rider flying with a yell.

  Castimir rode closer as the man struggled to stand.

  “This is for my friend!” he called as the tip of his fire staff connected with the runes in his hand. The fireball struck the officer’s breastplate and fire enveloped him. He screamed as his skin blistered underneath his armour. With one hand he tore at his helmet to prevent it from scalding him, whilst with the other he drew his sword.

  Gods, the wizard thought, he continues to fight on even though he is suffering terribly.

  Castimir cantered away, distancing himself from the screaming man. He had to finish it now, for his enemy would not stop. Coldly, the wizard once more ignited the runes in his hand with the tip of his staff. He gazed toward the flailing man calmly, making sure he could deliver a clean end. Then he hurled his second fire strike, straight into his enemy’s exposed face.