Runescape

by T. S. Church

  As they filed out of the chamber, a cold shiver took hold of Theodore. Falador was a very different city from that which he had left only days before, and he pursed his lips in apprehension at the change in atmosphere.

  Falador now reverberated with grim expectation and dreadful inevitability. It was a city preparing itself for war.

  On seeing the weary group enter The Rising Sun, the proprietor waved her hand in their direction, calling them over through the fug of smoke and beer.

  “You are Squire Theodore, aren’t you?” she asked. “I am Emily.” Her admiration of him was read by all on her enthusiastic and smiling face. “Ebenezer told me to look out for you. He has taken a private room upstairs where you can eat. Follow me.”

  She conducted them up the staircase and away from the crowd. As they went, Theodore could feel inhospitable eyes watch him intently.

  The people are scared, he thought, and their fear will lead to anger that may be directed at the knights, if they are blamed for not preventing the coming storm. Civil unrest inside the walls of Falador, while an enemy camped outside, could spell his order’s defeat, he knew.

  The smell of a pipe and the crackle of a roaring fire greeted them as Emily ushered them into a room at the top of the stairs. Ebenezer stood gazing thoughtfully out of the window and into the darkening evening. When he saw them his eyes shone with happiness.

  “So you are all here then?” he said cheerfully as Castimir was the first to cross the room and embrace his dear friend. “You are all safe?”

  No one replied, for their very presence answered his question. Suddenly, spontaneously, each of their faces erupted in a smile. They had faced danger and triumphed and now the danger, still in a place far away and many miles from the white walls of Falador, was forgotten. At least for the moment.

  They drank and ate more than they needed. The rumours of war and their shared hardships over the previous few days made them ravenous, and they were aware that such revelry would be unlikely to come again for a long time. As they ate, each of the companions questioned the others about their experiences. It soon became apparent that the question on everybody’s mind was how Ebenezer, an old man with little strength, had come to so dominate his aggressive prisoner.

  “I thought he would strangle you” Castimir confided, the drink making his face shine. “I did not expect you to be able to control him. Tell us, alchemist, how you did it?”

  Ebenezer smiled mischievously.

  “Watch!” he said. With a sudden mysterious gesture, as if he were casting a spell, he waved his hands in the air, murmuring. Suddenly, with a shout, his eyes opened and a bright burst of white flame erupted near the window, setting the curtain alight with its vigorous heat.

  With a cry of alarm, Castimir ran forward with his full tankard of ale, smothering the flames with the dark liquid. The wizard turned to face Ebenezer.

  “That wasn’t magic, alchemist. That was a trick! We wizards are trained to spot charlatans, and I saw right through your sleight-of-hand. You threw something on the floor when you raised your voice and opened your eyes.”

  Ebenezer laughed heartily.

  “So I did. It was a trick. My voice and my eyes were the distraction. In reality I used science again.”

  Castimir refilled his tankard and sat again while the old man continued.

  “As soon as I left with my prisoner, allowing you to head back to the monastery, I knew I had to employ a deterrent or else I would wake up with his hands around my throat one night. And so I set my mind to how best I could use my chemicals to achieve that end. Fortunately he knew nothing of science, and he didn’t pay me any attention as I prepared my mixture.

  “I did not need much—potassium and magnesium powder are a dangerous mix, needing little friction to set them off. At the right moment I threw my compound at his feet and the heat singed his eyebrows! After that I had no trouble from him at all.”

  “So he believed you were a wizard?” Doric asked with a grin. “Brilliant!”

  All save Theodore broke out in laughter. Even Gar’rth, though largely ignorant of the words, shared in their humour, for the atmosphere was contagious.

  With a low sigh Theodore turned to the window, his face etched with concern as he looked at the burning lights of the city he had come to accept as his home. His mood affected his companions and with sudden sobriety they returned to their chairs, each aware of what was on his mind.

  “You have proved your worth time and again to us, alchemist,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Is there anything you can do for my city? Can any of your chemistry or your science give us an advantage over the Kinshra?”

  Ebenezer shook his head.

  “Since I returned to Falador I have been occupied with no other question but that one” he said. “But I must be truthful, Theodore. I have few chemicals at my disposal, and those I do have were prepared over many long months, with the help of my associates in Varrock. I’m afraid I do not have enough of them to turn the tide in our favour. I am sorry.”

  The alchemist’s expression was pained as he watched the young man’s head fall. After a moment’s silence, he spoke again.

  “But there are other ways I may be able to help. The people of Falador must be kept busy—they must not be allowed to dwell on the possibility of defeat. They know that the Kinshra are likely to come, and no doubt the agents of the Kinshra are spreading rumours of their strength before them. This is the war that must be won now—this is the immediate threat. The people must be rallied, and they must be convinced that the knights will protect them.”

  Theodore knew he was correct. The knights could not afford to ignore the people of Falador this time, not when the threat was so close.

  “They must be managed, Theodore” Ebenezer continued. “The people must be turned into a service for the city. We may not have cannons, but we can still use artillery. Catapults! Trebuchets!”

  “The enemy will sit beyond our range and smash the high white walls to dust with their guns,” Doric said despondently.

  “But Ebenezer is right” Kara countered. “The people need to be kept occupied, lest their idleness work against us all.”

  Theodore looked at his companions, and renewed conviction shone in his eyes.

  “You should check the city walls tomorrow, Doric. Your knowledge of the cannon and your engineering experience should give us a good idea of just how long they will stand up to the Kinshra bombardment.” He turned to Ebenezer. “And you, alchemist, in your infiinite wisdom, shall find other ways we can prepare, and in doing so boost morale. We will not let the enemy defeat us before he has even arrived.”

  Theodore hoped that such thoughts would bolster his friends as they considered the future.

  Outside, it began to rain.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  A week passed, and each day a herald of the knights passed through the gates carrying messages to the crown prince in Burthorpe—messages that so far resulted in no promises of action.

  “The crown prince wants a diplomatic solution” Sir Amik announced. The tone of his voice told the listeners how much faith he placed in the suggestion.

  “If the reports are correct, then Sulla has managed to amass an army many times larger than anything we can hope to deploy,” Sir Tiffy offered. “He has recruited the goblin tribes to his cause. Our scouts think their armies will meet within two days” His long fingers were clasped to his chin as he spoke.

  “But most of his army are bandits from The Wilderness, drawn to his banner by the promise of plunder,” master-at-arms Sharpe said. “The Kinshra themselves are no more numerous than us. If we can strike at the core of Sulla’s army before it attacks, then it might be enough to scatter his followers—the majority of his army is an undisciplined rabble who will not fight in the face of organised resistance.”

  A murmur went up at this glimmer of hope.

  “We cannot do that,” Sir Amik said immediately. “If we initiate hostilities then we will have lost
our moral imperative. In a pitched battle they are more numerous than us, but if it turns into a siege of Falador, then we will have the city guard to help us fight on the walls. His advantage in numbers will be reduced, and his new cannon will be incapable of working so well in such close fighting.”

  Sir Amik let his words sink in amongst the small circle of men. As doubt crept into their faces, a single voice dared to speak what they all knew. It was Bhuler’s voice.

  “Your strategy will sacrifice Falador, drawing us into a siege!” he said loudly. “Do you expect every citizen to fight?” His hand slapped down upon the oak tabletop, the sound reverberating around the room.

  “Remember who you are speaking to, Bhuler!” Sir Amik snapped, his anger boiling over. “We have no other choice. We shall fortify the city and gather as many provisions as we can. Shortly I will address a delegation of citizen leaders. King Vallance himself has refused to flee—even though he lacks the strength to stand, he hopes his example will inspire others. Notably his son.” Another murmur, but the comments were not kind, nor were they hopeful.

  The listeners knew the meeting was over. Without a word each man stood and filed out, leaving Sir Amik to pray to Saradomin that he had made the right choice.

  But peaceful prayer eluded him, for he knew something was wrong. The crown prince was being evasive and Sir Amik knew he was doing it deliberately.

  He just couldn’t understand why.

  The shadows were long in northern Burthorpe, for the town lay encircled by dark mountains in all directions save the south. And it was cold, due in part to the hard granite stone that had been used to build the famed citadel at its centre. It was an imposing sight, unlike the white towers of Falador in every sense, and it was a common legend that beneath the citadel there were many miles of tunnels and vast secret chambers.

  But that morning a sight more imposing than the citadel had come to Burthorpe. The embassy of the Kinshra had ridden through the night, composed of nearly a hundred men, all well armed. With Lord Daquarius at their head they rode unchallenged through the dark streets.

  It was only at the entrance to the citadel itself that he signalled his men to stop.

  “Is the crown prince ready to receive our embassy?” he asked, aware of the disturbing dreams that had been conjured by the sybil to make sure the crown prince would bend toward his will.

  A pale-faced elderly man barred the way, and he bowed discreetly. His fine black clothes were decorated with all the hallmarks of privileged birth and high rank. As the most senior advisor to the crown prince, Lord Amthyst was entrusted to ensure that the Imperial Guard kept the nation safe from the trolls in the mountains.

  “The crown prince is unwell,” he said nervously. “Nonetheless, he will see you at the earliest opportunity.”

  Lord Daquarius bowed in acknowledgement. Sulla’s orders came back to him: You only have to delay him, Daquarius—even you should be capable of doing that!

  “They will not hold for more than a week.”

  Doric had spent every waking hour inspecting every yard of the walls. He had lost count of how many times he had walked around the entire city, as his aching feet constantly reminded him.

  “They will last longer than a single week, dwarf,” Captain Ingrew of the city guard said. Doric knew the man was tired of his pessimism, and each had become increasingly hostile toward the other. “You’ve condemned the work of my engineers along every yard of the wall. I will not take it any longer. We shall go to Sir Amik with your comments.”

  The dwarf turned away and looked down from the parapet in despair. He saw Ebenezer issuing directions and shouting orders. Some of his men pulled hard on a rope and a wooden contraption was raised into the sky—it was the first of the alchemist’s trebuchets.

  Doric shook his head. He had expected Ebenezer to be the first to understand the power of the cannons and how hopelessly outmatched the antique weaponry of Falador would be. And yet here he was, wasting his time.

  Bidding a surly farewell to the captain, he marched down the stairs from the ramparts wearing a dark scowl and, ignoring Ebenezer’s wave of greeting, he approached the enthusiastic alchemist.

  “Has Sir Amik thought any more on my suggestions?” he barked.

  “I do not know,” the old man replied. “He appreciates your work on the walls, true enough, but I would imagine he doubts that there will be time even for your plan to work.”

  “There may be less time than we imagined.” The dwarf took the alchemist by the arm and led him away from the citizens who were constructing the trebuchet. “The walls won’t stand for more than a single week. If the Kinshra concentrate their fire, they will be breached. We need more men!”

  “Or more dwarfs,” the alchemist observed.

  “Is it such a stupid idea?” Doric growled. “The enemies of my people have already joined the ranks of the Kinshra—why should we not enter it on your side? I could be back in the halls of my people within three days.”

  “I think it is a good idea, my friend, but you must talk to Sir Amik.” The two stared at each other. “I hope you are wrong about the walls, Doric—I most sincerely do.” Peering quickly back to the trebuchet with a sudden expression of defeat etched on his face, Ebenezer turned and left Doric alone.

  “As do I, old friend. As do I,” the dwarf whispered to himself.

  Every day before dawn Kara woke and made her way to the castle where she joined Theodore in constant training. On her first day there, as she had wondered nervously how difficult it would be, Marius had walked over to her and offered his hand. She noted the silence that fell over the courtyard, the expectant hush that seemed to still even the air, and without any bitterness she accepted it.

  “Thank you, Kara” he said loudly so that all could hear. “You truly are a better warrior than I.”

  True to her concerns, the training was hard. At times Gar’rth joined in. He was an awkward pupil, however, for his superior strength made him a powerful combatant and the fact that he spoke few words of the common tongue meant that his mistakes could not easily be corrected by his tutor. Still, he had taken to his detention better than Kara had hoped.

  Knowing how hard it must be for the youth, Theodore had taken to sleeping in the room next to him. It was a gesture Kara appreciated.

  The week passed the slowest for Castimir—of that he was certain.

  The knights summoned as many wizards as they could find in Falador, even those junior apprentices who at that stage of their training always accompanied a seasoned wizard in relatively safe lands. Castimir remembered his own such experience.

  It had lasted only a few months one summer and his master had insisted on sleeping under a roadside elm for long hours, listening to the babble of a brook or watching the farmers in the fields. That had been five years ago, when he was just twelve. Looking at the youngsters who were following their masters now, he knew they were too young to be of any use in a war.

  “We should send them home, Master Segainus,” he told the most senior wizard present, a frail old man who could barely stand unaided.

  “We will not, Castimir! They took a vow to learn and practise our ways, and I can think of no better way to teach the apprentices the true ways of magic than in battle. Look at what it has done for you.”

  Castimir hung his head, aware that in an instant he had gone from being a feted hero to a youthful mage—and a mage still in training at that. With a sinking heart he listened as Master Segainus spoke with the master-at-arms, suggesting where best to focus their efforts in the coming battle.

  No one asked him for any of his ideas.

  “There is no time to strengthen the walls now, and I don’t think you are giving our engineers a very fair assessment,” Sir Amik said as he looked Doric in the eye and pretended not to notice when Captain Ingrew smiled victoriously at the dwarf.

  “As for the other matter, we shall discuss that. Alone.” The smirk vanished from the captain’s face when he realized that Sir Amik wi
shed for a private meeting with the dwarf.

  Both waited until his footsteps had faded in the stairwell outside. Then Sir Amik spoke again.

  “I will accept your offer to seek out the aid of the dwarfs” he said. “We need the help of your people in this war. I shall give you several carrier pigeons to take with you so you can keep us informed of your progress.”

  “Then I shall leave tonight” Doric announced. “In another two days the goblin army and the Kinshra will meet, and the way northward will be blocked.”

  “But you won’t be going alone, Doric. You must go with someone we can trust, someone who also knows the ways of the dwarfs, and their language.” Sir Amik looked intently at the dwarf, knowing that one person would immediately come to mind.

  “I will take Kara,” Doric replied. “She knows our ways and is apparently famous amongst my people. Theodore, too, and Castimir and Gar’rth should come. We have endured much together and it seems right that we should try and see it through to the finish.” He shifted the helm that he held precariously under his right arm, a sudden agitation gripping him.

  “And the alchemist?” Sir Amik asked. “He’s been with you since the beginning.”

  “That is true, but his skills will be of more use here. We will likely have to fight our way to Ice Mountain. It will be a swift journey through enemy lines and the alchemist isn’t suited to it.” Doric lowered his eyes. “I shall speak with him first, but I think... I hope he will understand.”

  The dwarf found Ebenezer drinking water greedily from a wooden goblet, hot and exhausted from the day’s hard work.

  “It has taken people’s minds off the imminent threat. Citizens from all different backgrounds are lending a hand—they are actually hopeful, Doric!” The alchemist’s eyes smiled from above the rim of the goblet.

  “There is even more good news. Sir Amik has approved my suggestion, Ebenezer. I am leaving tonight.” The dwarf stood with his feet wide apart, hands on the axe before him, willing himself to be as immovable as stone.