Betrayal at Falador (runescape)
Page 42
Every day brought new heartache and sorrow, for the dead were many. The families of the missing prayed hourly that news would come of their safe return and rescue, but it rarely did. Before the end of the second day, when hearing that someone was still missing and unaccounted for, men and women would shake their heads in sorrow, knowing that only a corpse would be found.
Sir Amik took command of the clean-up efforts. The knights were deployed with the city guard to keep a watch over the dead, to ensure their bodies were not dishonoured by the carrion birds and animals or by human thieves.
On the third day it was decided to burn the dead. Burial parties were recruited from the men of the city, and slowly the corpses of both sides were lowered into the trench that the goblins had dug to guard Sulla’s encampment. In their midst, dry straw packets were laid amongst the enemies who now slept side by side. When the trench was full, the pyre was lit. For three days and nights it burned, kept alight by the men of Falador who wished to purge their city of the dead and leave no trace for any beast to devour.
Only a few dozen bodies were retrieved from the field. Several of them were high-ranking knights who were interred in the chapel, stripped and washed before being laid to rest in the most hallowed chambers of the castle. Amongst these men were Sir Erical and Sir Pallas, retrieved by a dozen peons led by Sir Tiffy and Sir Vyvin.
A special place was reserved for the man who had sacrificed everything for the city he had cherished so much. Bhuler’s funeral was attended by thousands, and his grave was not in the castle of the knights. Rather, in memory of his sacrifice, he was laid to rest at the foot of the newest part of the wall that was being rebuilt and strengthened through the skill of the dwarfs. His body a symbol to inspire future generations. He was wrapped in Kara-Meir’s banner, and his horse was buried beneath him.
Kara was tempted to place her sword at his side, but her friends persuaded her to keep it, despite a change in her character since Sulla’s defeat.
“Those touched by the gods aren’t let off so easily, Kara,” Theodore warned her. “And the sword was given to you by Master Phyllis. You should keep it as an heirloom of the family that adopted you.”
Theodore was right, but she didn’t want to fight again, not ever again. She recalled Bhuler’s words to her as he had died. You cannot be angry all your life. And she wasn’t angry any more. She was just tired.
The day after Bhuler’s funeral, word reached Falador that Burthorpe had been liberated without a battle. Lord Radebaugh and the Imperial Guard had presented Lord Daquarius with Sulla’s severed hands and his ring of office, which Kara had sent so that the Kinshra would realize it would be futile to fight. Within a day they had left the citadel.
Lord Radebaugh wrote to them of his discovery of the crown prince’s secret shrine to Zamorak. He had destroyed it and the crown prince was confined for his own safety, raving like a madman. He finished his letter by informing Sir Amik that he would consult the druid Kaqemeex for help in curing the prince of his hallucinations.
It was a week of exhaustion for all, but by the end of it the traders could be seen at their stands again, the washerwomen at their laundry and the city guards-under their new chief, Colonel Ingrew-patrolling the streets.
Slowly, things returned to normal.
In the foothills of Ice Mountain a man drew a black dagger.
“I am tired of your whimpering! No one will miss you, Sulla. After the disaster you led us into, this dagger is going to be a swifter end than the one you deserve.” The Kinshra soldier of the lowliest rank strode forward. None of his friends moved to stop him. None even spoke in protest.
The soldier placed the dagger to Sulla’s throat.
Sulla pleaded weakly for his life.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice growled from the shadows of the fir trees. From under their low boughs a tall figure appeared, wearing a ragged red robe, his hand pressed against his wounded shoulder.
The Kinshra warrior stepped away.
“That is Sulla’s demon” one of the men remarked, recognising Jerrod.
“I need one man” Jerrod said slowly, “for only a short service.” His burning eyes fixed on the soldier who had planned to kill Sulla. “Will you aid me?”
The man glanced at his friends and shrugged. They all knew the werewolf had fought at their side in the battle. With a confident step, he approached. It was the last thing he ever did. Jerrod seized him by the throat and squeezed with such strength that the man didn’t have time to scream.
“I told him it would be for a short service,” Jerrod growled as he removed the man’s fur cloak, wrapping it around Sulla.
The Kinshra soldiers fled into the woods, not daring to face him. He had expected nothing else of them.
“Why are you helping me?” Sulla muttered, his teeth chattering from the cold.
“I was going to kill you,” the werewolf admitted. “But as I slept after the battle, an emissary of Zamorak himself spoke to me. He wants us working together, Sulla. Whatever game the gods are playing, it is not yet concluded. The first chapter only, but there is always a second.”
Sulla lowered his head, cushioned by the warm cloak.
“I need food,” he said.
Jerrod nodded.
“And you shall have it, my friend. I shall make a fire, for you would not like your meat raw. Sleep now, whilst I work.”
The werewolf’s eyes focused on the dead man. With a skill perfected by years of practice he began his dreadful work. In only a few minutes, under the boughs of the low trees, a fire crackled and a grim cut of meat cooked on a stick above the flames.
Jerrod smiled to himself, wondering what Sulla would say if he knew.
In the bowels of the Kinshra fortress an officer opened a wooden door without knocking.
“Who dares to enter my chamber?” the sybil cried.
“I have orders from Lord Daquarius, the new lord of the Kinshra. Your meddling led us into disaster. He has decided it would be best if you are no longer associated with our cause.”
The officer nodded to the two men behind him. They strode forward and seized the old woman. The officer removed the lid of the huge cauldron that stood on an unlit fire at the centre of the room. A greenish liquid stirred inside and with a grimace the man nodded toward it. The two men heaved the sybil into the sickly potion. Before she could clamber out, the heavy lid was replaced, the men fastening it so that only a small gap remained.
A withered old hand, responsible for so much evil, forced its way through, trying in vain to lift the lid.
“Light the fire” the officer said flatly. “Call me when the water begins to boil.”
The two soldiers grinned, kneeling to begin their grisly work. They ignored the sybil’s threats of revenge as well as her pleas for mercy.
Soon the fire began to rage. The waters began to bubble. And the sybil began to scream.
SEVENTY-SEVEN
It was late. The fire burned in the hearth in the upstairs room of The Rising Sun. They sat around a large table, each deep in thought, no one willing to break the peaceful silence.
Finally the alchemist spoke, gazing into the wispy smoke of his pipe.
“So we are decided then. Each of us has made their choice. Each of us shall go their separate way over the next few months, and meet in Varrock in time for Midsummer’s Eve.”
Doric looked thoughtfully at his unfinished meal.
“I shall go and rebuild my house. The magistrate in Falador has looked favourably on my case. But first, I must act as a diplomat for the dwarf request to open the seams beneath the city. Sir Amik will give my people their mining guild in the northeast of Falador.”
“And I shall go to the Wizards’ Tower,” Castimir said unhappily. “My wanderings are at their end and I must demonstrate what I have learned.”
“But you have Master Segainus’s spell books. Surely that is no small prize?” Ebenezer asked.
Castimir looked sly.
“Yes. That is a fortunate privilege. His years of experience are recorded in his books. It is knowledge I am fearful to learn, for I know my superiors would not approve of someone of my age delving into such mysteries.”
“Whenever has that stopped you before, Castimir?” Kara asked playfully.
The young wizard smiled, but still his eyes revealed concern. His friends knew immediately that he had already explored the pages of Master Segainus’s books.
“Knowledge can be a dangerous thing” Ebenezer said. “The Kinshra used it to create their guns, and some men attempt to find the answer to eternal life. But it need not always be so-great and good things can be done by those strong enough to wield knowledge properly.”
“As you have demonstrated time and again to our benefit,” Castimir said with a nod to his old friend. “Maybe I am too young for such secrets. Maybe I should wait. I shall also write to Arisha.”
Theodore glanced at Castimir with a smile.
The wizard looked bashfully away.
“She still has my belongings and my yak,” he muttered.
It was Kara who spoke next.
“I shall go to the monastery and help rebuild it. I shall spend time with Abbot Langley and search among any of their records that may have survived. Hopefully, I shall find some information about my father and I would especially like to know my mother’s name. I may also seek out my village, and place a marker where my parents died.”
She knew what her friends were thinking.
“I am no longer looking for vengeance” she added. “The Kinshra will punish Sulla enough.”
Ebenezer lowered his pipe and spoke next.
“I shall remain here. Lord Tremene and the city authorities have asked for my help in draining the moat around the castle. Falador’s wealthier citizens want to retrieve the riches that they so hastily threw away in their madness. I shall need to send a message to some of my scientific friends in Varrock, for I need equipment that isn’t available here.”
The alchemist smiled cunningly.
“The work is going to make me a wealthy man. I have a handsome commission, so it is a job that is worth the labour.”
The companions laughed at his acumen.
“I shall be going to Varrock” Theodore said. “And I will take your message, if it can wait for a few days. Sir Amik needs new recruits for the knights and he wants me to take advantage of my fame and act as a recruiting sergeant. Our losses were so great that we shall admit entrants who are older than usual, and Sir Amik has told me that they will cut a year off the training time in order to bolster our ranks quicker.
“And he has told me something else…” Theodore looked to his friends as if they were all part of a dark conspiracy. “I am to be made a knight on my return. In only a few more months, before the summer comes. So, too, is Marius.”
Castimir stood and started clapping, and so did Kara, and then Ebenezer and Doric, followed by Gar’rth, who knew just enough words now to understand what was said.
“Congratulations, Theo!” Castimir said. “Everything you have worked so hard for is realised.” The wizard’s eyes filled with happy tears for his childhood friend.
But there was one amongst them who hadn’t spoken. Gar’rth walked to the window after the friends had finished congratulating Theodore.
“And what shall you do, Gar’rth?” Theodore asked, looking at the sudden bitter expression on the youth’s face as he stared out of the rain-battered pane and over the city.
“Jerrod lives,” he said.
They had searched for the werewolf’s body amongst the dead of the battlefield-the soldiers had been told to look out specifically for a man with black blood-but no corpse had been found. Gar’rth had later caught his scent and had followed it for a day, first south and then east and north across the open countryside. It seemed likely that Jerrod had joined the Kinshra retreat.
He had told them of his wish to hunt his uncle down.
“He will not stop,” he said. “So I must go to him.” He had carefully rehearsed the words with Kara, and she knew that he was right, for Jerrod would one day return.
“Gar’rth will accompany me to the monastery,” she added abruptly, her eyes resting on Theodore as he averted his gaze. Everyone was aware of the tension that still existed between them.
The alchemist raised his mug of ale briskly, diverting their attention as he stood.
“My youthful friends,” he said. “And you also, Doric, if you so wish…” His voice was suddenly serious. “I will soon be a wealthy man, with more money than I can ever spend in my declining years. My children died of smallpox in their infancy and my wife died in childbirth many years ago. I have no family left. No one to care for me when my wits abandon me.” He gave Castimir a sidelong glance, as if expecting the wizard to make a joke.
“Therefore, I wish to adopt each of you as my heirs, for we have braved so much together that it is only right.”
Doric grumbled and got to his feet. “I am older than you, Ebenezer, and I am wealthy in my own right. I thank you for the consideration but this gift is best suited for the young.”
The alchemist nodded and raised his ale again.
“So be it,” he said. “To friends! And to family!”
And amongst them the woodcutter’s daughter raised her drink, knowing suddenly that she had found what she had always truly sought, though she had masked it for years under the veil of anger and revenge.
Kara-Meir had found a family she could call her own.
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Document creation date: 06.02.2012
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