Runescape: Return to Canifis

by T. S. Church

  William spat his stout out in sudden glee, laughing.

  Theodore’s hand smacked down on the tabletop, silencing those nearby.

  “Indeed I do know what she looks like, Karl,” he said more loudly than he had intended. Then in a more controlled voice, he continued. “I am trying to ensure that it’s the same person.”

  “Who else could she be, knight?” a drunken man shouted. “No one else can be that skilled with a weapon. And do you know...” He staggered forward, launching himself toward their table. “We do need a hero. Karl is right. Varrock needs a hero who can help us. Not men like you, with your coats and your buttons and your... your titles.”

  The man flicked his arm toward William, who was far enough away to be out of danger, and yet as he did so the young nobleman fell back from his chair, striking the wall behind. He looked terrified.

  “William! You are safe. Calm yourself,” Theodore said, standing quickly to put himself between the two men. The drunk backed away, a look of surprise on his face.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it, sirs,” he mumbled, aware that he committed a serious offence. “Please sir. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  The drunk began to weep as the yellow tabards of the city guard closed in.

  “No,” William said in an even tone, and then again, louder. “No—it’s all right. No harm was done.” He scanned the room, then turned to his friend. “Come Theodore, let us return to the palace. Didn’t like the stout, anyway.”

  He followed William out into the street, leaving behind a room shocked into silence, to where their horses had been secured under the watchful eye of a city guard.

  “What was all that about, William?” Theodore demanded. “You dragged me from the inn, leaving me with unfinished business, acting like a...” He wanted to say coward, but he held his tongue at the last second. But it was already too late.

  “A coward, Theodore? Isn’t that what you wanted to say?”

  Theodore turned his head to avoid William’s gaze.

  “Isn’t it?” William pressed.

  “Yes, William,” Theodore admitted. “I am sorry, but it is.” Even as he spoke, however, he knew that he was wrong. This is not the way a knight of Falador would behave.

  “I have heard it all my life,” William said. “Since I was old enough to understand the word and the insult it carries. My father said it often enough. My mother attempted to hide me from it, to tell me that I was ‘different to others.’ Either way, I came to realise that both were unhappy with me—the one told me so, the other simply tried to hide the fact.”

  William smirked, and Theodore shivered when he saw his friend’s face, for it was a mirthless visage, one filled with contempt and self-loathing.

  “Still, they were both disappointed in me,” he continued. “Their only child. The heir to a proud family of Misthalin who have counted generals and chancellors amongst their ancestry. Now, I am all that remains of their line.” Theodore saw the tears spring into his eyes as his voice broke.

  “I have no love for your god, Theodore. I think you know that. I attend the services of course, as does everyone in the court of Varrock, but I cannot bring myself to worship him.”

  Theodore frowned.

  “What’s Saradomin got to do with this, William?”

  The young noble pulled a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his tears away.

  “Do you believe people are cursed, Theodore?” he asked suddenly. “Through no fault of their own?” He gave a deep breath and took the reins of his horse in hand as he mounted.

  “You are being silly, William,” Theodore answered. “I know you. You are not cursed—you are a good person. And I was wrong to expect you to be someone you are not.”

  William laughed bitterly.

  “A good man? Theodore, I am not a good man.” He rode a short distance forward before reining his horse in as the squire mounted his own mare.

  “I wished to be a good man, Theodore,” William said, a little louder now to cross the short distance. “I still wish to be one. Every day. If I had my choice I would wish to be born as you were—strong, healthy, able-minded and bodied.” He twisted his mouth in a bizarre grin. “But the gods rarely grant our wishes, Theodore. Always they find ways of corrupting that which we want most of all.”

  William turned and with a sudden shout he flicked his reins, galloping north toward the palace at a dangerous pace.

  * * *

  It had been years since the old man had last seen Varrock. He had been born there nearly sixty years ago, leaving only after his wife had died in childbirth and his children had died of smallpox.

  Twenty years ago, Ebenezer thought. Time enough for heroes to be born, and for some even to become legend.

  “We could stop, if you like?” the old man’s companion said. There was a tender note in the dwarf’s voice that was seldom heard, but which Ebenezer had come to know well.

  “I made a vow that I would never return to Varrock,” Ebenezer said. “I made it after burying my family. I decided to travel the world in the name of science, to combat dogmatic religion.”

  The dwarf sat in silence by the old man’s side as the wagon stopped. Ebenezer glanced over the horses’ heads to the city in the east. The sun was losing its warmth, and the final leg of their journey had taken longer than expected. He hadn’t realised how difficult it would be for him to return.

  “But time mellows all men’s rage,” Ebenezer continued, brushing his hand across his white hair. “The vow doesn’t seem so important any more. Come, Doric, let us press on. I would like to be at the palace in time for supper.”

  He goaded his horses on, and the wagon rolled forward.

  “I wonder whether Castimir will be there already,” Doric said, laughing suddenly.

  “I, too, am eager to see our young friends. I find as I get older that the company of youth is more rewarding. Although I am worried about Gar’rth,” he said. “And Kara.”

  Doric nodded.

  “Kara can take care of herself, Ebenezer. It was she who rescued Theodore and me from Jerrod in Falador.”

  You are right, my good friend. Kara-Meir can take care of herself. I just hope she hasn’t had to take care of Gar’rth.

  * * *

  The bells from Father Lawrence’s church, situated not far to the east of the palace, chimed the eighth hour of the evening as Theodore and William led their steeds onto the great square.

  William had grown increasingly pensive since reining his horse in a few minutes from the inn, and Theodore knew his anger had turned to embarrassment. Perhaps, he thought, it would be best not to press him. Whatever he feels, he will likely tell me in time.

  To that end, he persuaded William to dismount and walk with him back to the palace. But by the time they entered the square, it was Theodore who had apologised.

  “I am sorry, William,” he said earnestly. “Kara’s actions defy reason—any that I can identify at least, and it angers me.”

  William accepted the apology with a nod, but as he made to reply the sound of a man riding swiftly from the west caught their attention. It was Lord Despaard entering the square. The Varrock noble gave the squire a cold stare as he rode through the palace entrance, and Theodore bowed in return, once again conscious of the tension between them.

  “Who is Lord Despaard?” he asked. “He claims to know me, and I’ve heard it said that he has tremendous influence, yet none have ever elabourated to explain how that influence is exercised.” And if the things he does became known, Theodore mused silently, would they be considered the actions of a man, or a monster?

  William looked suddenly secretive.

  “Some say he leads men into Morytania. He is apparently one of the few who has seen Meiyerditch, the capital of that realm, and lived to speak of it.”

  “Has he ever fought a werewolf?” Theodore asked, allowing himself a moment of pride. Then he thought the better of it. But William responded.

  “If he genuine
ly does cross the holy river, then likely so. People say his father died in Morytania years ago, and that it is his hatred of that place that drives him on.”

  “Do you think he has anything to do with this secret society people keep talking about? The Society of Owls?” How much does William really know? “I’ve heard rumours of innocent citizens, abducted from their homes, all in the name of the law. Could these rumours be true?” As I know them to be, based on the evidence of my own two eyes, he added silently.

  “Oh come, Theodore,” William said. “I have been at court for several years now. There are often rumours of things crossing over the Salve. But abducting our own people? That’s too much even for the wildest of rumour-mongers. Although...” William lowered his gaze, and looked uncertain.

  “Now that you mention it, I have heard some outlandish whispers of a strange creature that is preying on children in the east, where only farmers live. A vampire or gargoyle or some such.” He looked up again. “Could that be what Karl and the drunken man were referring to?”

  I have seen her William! Theodore wanted to say so much, but only at the last minute did he remember Lord Despaard’s forceful words as he was told to keep the conspiracy of silence. The less the young nobleman knew, the safer he would be. And another thought clawed at the back of his mind.

  I cannot trust anyone at court.

  “Look about you, William,” he said sombrely. “It is the height of summer, and yet the square is nearly deserted. I tell you there is something wrong, and the people of Varrock know it. They are afraid.”

  But William said nothing, looking to the west of the square to where a weather-beaten wagon drawn by two horses rolled to a halt. A white-haired old man with a whiter beard climbed down from the seat, a dwarf at his side.

  Theodore laughed, his changed demeanour planting a look of surprise on William’s face.

  “What is it?” the nobleman asked. “Do you know them?”

  “They are two old friends, William.” Two old friends who I know I can trust.

  With an excited grin the squire ran forward.

  One hour later, Ebenezer sat near the fire, smoking his pipe. Nearby Doric bathed his feet in a tub of hot water, sighing as he soothed his aching limbs.

  Theodore had found a room for his friends on the first floor of the palace, tucked away from the busy goings-on that continued during all hours—for although it was the home of King Roald, the palace was also the centre of government for the city of Varrock and the country of Misthalin. Having been introduced to the newcomers, William had been gracious enough to allow them some time to catch up, and had left the three friends together.

  “So tell me, Ebenezer,” Theodore began, “what has happened in Falador since I departed? I have been eager for news.”

  The old man took his pipe from his mouth and sighed.

  “The damage that was done in the siege has been repaired,” he said. “The walls have been strengthened, and the dwarfs have opened their mining guild in the east of the city. Life continues for the citizens much as it did before the fighting, and the knights are held in higher regard than ever for the sacrifices they made in the war.”

  Doric winked at Theodore, and gestured.

  “Haven’t you noticed Ebenezer’s new surcoat?” the dwarf asked.

  “It looks more expensive than your previous garment,” Theodore observed. “When last I saw you, you had been asked to find a way to drain the moat around the castle and retrieve the valuables the people had cast into the waters, in the effort to prevent the invaders from claiming them. Has this made you a rich man?”

  “It has,” Ebenezer confessed. “And in the process, my reputation as an alchemist has reached new heights. After the fighting was over and the repairs begun, Sir Amik granted me the resources to construct just the thing that was needed to complete the task. Crowds gathered to see the monstrosity that my friends and I had built.”

  Doric shook his head.

  “You should have seen their faces, Theodore!” the dwarf said. “When Ebenezer lit the fires and fed the boiler with coal and wood, and the beam at the top began to rock on its fulcrum, powering the pump. The citizens were amazed. The steam engine drew nearly ten gallons of water from the moat each minute. It must have been the first time in its history that it was drained, for a great many objects were recovered that didn’t match any descriptions offered by the citizens.”

  “And my work was well rewarded,” Ebenezer said. He gave a satisfied smile and returned his pipe to his mouth, exchanging a knowing glance with his travelling companion.

  “And what of you Doric?” Theodore asked.

  “I remained in Falador for nearly two months, helping the dwarfs under Commander Blenheim strengthen the walls and open the mining guild, and I also pursued my claim against those who burned my cabin. The magistrates ruled in my favour, and the guilty were ordered to help rebuild what they had destroyed.”

  The old dwarf stirred his feet in the steaming tub.

  “That was enough for me, for I was not looking for revenge. And those who had done the damage admitted their ignorance and offered me their assistance and their friendship, both of which I accepted.” He looked furtively to Ebenezer. “And I have done something else, something which has taken me some time and no small expense. Something which will be a gift to my friends.”

  With that, Doric yawned.

  “Well?” Theodore prompted.

  The dwarf gave a low laugh.

  “All in good time,” he said. “When we are all gathered.”

  “Very well Doric, you may keep your secrets,” Theodore said. “William has had rooms prepared for you both, here in the palace. All your needs will be met during your stay, for as companions to Kara-Meir you are honoured guests.”

  The alchemist and the dwarf exchanged wary looks.

  “Have you had any news of Kara?” Doric asked.

  Theodore lowered his gaze to the floor.

  “Apparently she is here, in Varrock,” he answered, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “But Gar’rth and Arisha are not.”

  Ebenezer took the pipe from his mouth. Doric frowned in worry.

  “They went into The Wilderness together,” Theodore continued angrily. “It might be that only Kara returned. And she has refused to see me.”

  For a time no one spoke. Both of Theodore’s friends knew how he felt about Kara, and how hurt he must have been by her refusal.

  Doric lifted his feet from the tub, water splashing onto the flagstones. He was about to speak when a commotion sounded outside in the passageway, of men running and giving commands in anxious tones.

  Suddenly William burst into the room.

  “There’s been a killing, Theodore!” he shouted. “They are no longer just rumours—the creature has entered the city!”

  * * *

  Theodore rode hard to the south of the city, to where the poorer inhabitants dwelt. Doric clung to his waist with his eyes shut, yet the mare easily outpaced William’s gelding. Even Ebenezer—had he decided to accompany them from the palace—could have outpaced the young nobleman on his horse.

  But William is fearful, Theodore realised. I have never noticed it so acutely before. Even walking down stairs he is always unnaturally careful. And his behaviour at the inn today. His fear!

  Thoughts of his friend evaporated as he saw a crowd gathered before him in the darkened street. Some held lanterns, and in the light he saw Lord Despaard and his black-clad men, already present. The yellow-cloaked city guard helped them in keeping order. He also saw Father Lawrence, the old priest at the head of the crowd, his four-pointed silver star held before him as he invoked Saradomin’s mercy.

  As Theodore reined his mare in and dismounted he saw the anxious looks of the citizens. One was vomiting into the gutter.

  The crowd surrounded a merchant’s house that had seen more prosperous times. Following their gaze, Theodore looked up and saw that upon the slanted lead roof lay a dead body—that of a ma
n whose collar was wrapped about an iron peg that held the tiles in place, his feet hanging over the edge into empty space.

  And down the side of the house’s grey wall ran a red streak.

  Theodore himself felt suddenly nauseous. He had been in battle before this, and had seen all the horrors of men mutilated and dying, but this was different somehow.

  This is a spectacle.

  “But how did it get up there?” a man cried out. “How was this done?”

  “This is nothing human!” someone else added.

  Instantly the crowd bristled with a collective anger. Quickly, Lord Despaard’s men took up discreet positions, preparing to subdue the mob should it turn violent.

  Lights shone from the opposite rooftop, illuminating the corpse.

  All eyes were fixed upon the hideous sight. The man’s throat had been torn out, and his abdomen—revealed to the onlookers through his torn shirt—had been viciously clawed.

  “Gods! All that blood,” William moaned from Theodore’s side, having left his horse with the squire’s mare. The noble staggered on his feet, unable to take his eyes off the red streak that seemed so similar to an arrow on the dirty grey stone.

  “I’ve got you, William,” Theodore said, reaching out as his friend swayed. Doric assisted him.

  “Here, have some of this, lad,” he said, offering William his hip flask. “It’s stronger than water but it’ll do the trick.” The dwarf peered again at the rooftop. “And when you’re done, pass it back. Think I’ll need some too.” William nodded as he took a generous swig before coughing violently.

  “Look to the left of him—look!” someone shouted. “There’s writing!”

  The lanterns above shifted to follow the anonymous instruction.

  And there it was. Written in the man’s blood.

  “What does it say? What does it say?” cried an onlooker.

  “Pay it no mind,” Lord Despaard shouted in reply. “It is designed to cause fear in all of us, and we cannot allow it to do so.” His words silenced the crowd, but then someone spoke up again, his voice heard by all.

  “It says, ‘I am coming.’”