Runescape: Return to Canifis

by T. S. Church

  “Come, if we make haste we will be there within a few hours.”

  Pia’s energy returned with every step she took. Now that she could see their destination, her will to be there powered her on. It was the same for Jack, as well, and the party as a whole moved more quickly.

  A boat waited for them at the edge of a still body of black water. In the darkness behind them, through the swamp, several lights came and went.

  “Marsh lights,” Karnac commented. “We all thought they were ill spirits before he came from the west and told us otherwise. Now we know they are a natural phenomenon.”

  “Who came?” Lord Despaard asked.

  “You will see soon enough. Now, the people from Misthalin will go in the first boat with me. In we get!”

  Pia didn’t like boats or water. In Ardougne, in the winter— when traders and merchants were scarce—she had been forced on occasion to work the river, hacking out ice blocks with her brothers and sisters to earn what little they could. It had been cold, painful work, and once she had seen something in the water, something big.

  Things live beneath the waves, she thought to herself. Horrible things.

  She looked at the black waters and sat Jack down beside her in the middle of the boat, as far from the sides as possible. It was cold on the water—colder than on land. Then as the oars beat their steady rhythm in the rowlocks and the boat moved forward, she closed her eyes.

  She only opened them when they ground to a halt on a beach of oily gravel. There, at the bottom of the sheer rock, a lift awaited them.

  “Don’t be scared, little Pia,” Doric said, his eyes scanning the heights above them. “It is safe. I am sure of it.” Yet when they were in the lift and it began to move upward, the dwarf closed his eyes and gripped his axe tight.

  I am not the only one who is afraid. And he even bested a werewolf.

  When they finally arrived at the top, they were greeted by a group of people, nearly twenty in all, dressed in rags, their eyes shining with hunger and their bodies unwashed.

  They look at us as if they’ve never seen another human before.

  “It is a time of miracles,” a gaunt woman muttered from the rear of the onlookers. “Small folk drop from the sky, and visitors cross the river from the west to make war on the undying. Blessed be these days, for change is coming.”

  Karnac led them to a small fire close by that gave little warmth. The inhabitants closed around them in a ring, as if fearful they would vanish if they lost sight of them. It made Pia nervous. She took Jack’s hand and sat down with Arisha on one side and Vanstrom on the other.

  “Are you all part of the Myreque, like Vanstrom?” Lord Despaard asked.

  “We are,” Karnac confirmed. “We fight the Undying Ones any way we can, and we seek a way out of this dreadful realm. We escaped from the ghettoes of Meiyerditch, nearly two years ago. I led over two hundred of us out then. Now we are less than thirty.”

  He waved the onlookers back, and for the first time Pia got a good look at their home.

  The summit of Hope Rock was a plateau, its edge a ring of rising stone that reminded Pia of a castle’s battlements. This natural wall rose to the height of three men, keeping the plateau hidden from view save from directly above. Against the circle’s inner wall, natural ridges and outcroppings, supplemented with crude wooden beams and scaffolding, provided a means of reaching its top. Below, at the circle’s base, Pia noticed a dozen caves from which people ducked in and out.

  But it was the contraption at the far end of the plateau that made her gape. A great swathe of canvas was delicately rested across much of the plateau’s area. Nearby stood a squat metal object in a small wicker frame. It reminded Pia somehow of a stove.

  “What is that?” Doric asked suspiciously.

  “That is the balloon,” Lord Despaard answered with a sudden grin. The nobleman dashed forward. “Master Peregrim? Master Peregrim are you here?”

  Pia spied a diminutive figure appear from beneath the balloon’s voluminous folds. He looked no bigger than Jack, yet when he stepped forward she saw how wizened his face was behind a grey wisp of beard.

  A gnome.

  “Lord Despaard? By the gods! It is you!” When he spoke, his voice was high-pitched and his speech fast. He grabbed Lord Despaard’s hand and shook it firmly in his own. “Have you come here to liberate us from this dreadful place? Can that be true?”

  “It is not, Master Peregrim. I am as much a fugitive as you are now.”

  The gnome’s face fell as Lord Despaard explained their situation, and many of Hope Rock’s inhabitants listened with interest. When he finished, he looked carefully toward Master Peregrim.

  “But tell me, friend, of your own adventure. In Varrock we had given up all hope of seeing you again.”

  The gnome shook his head and sat down.

  “I came down in the swamp, only a few miles from here. My wicker basket that I used to carry people up was lost, smashed to pieces on impact. I have managed to salvage enough of it to secure the burner beneath the balloon, but there is not nearly enough to build a place for everybody else.”

  Doric’s eyes widened. “Then you mean to fly out?” His words nearly choked him.

  Master Peregrim nodded. “It is the only way. We cannot walk through the swamps. Karnac and his group have already tried that when they first fled the ghetto. There were two hundred of them then. Now there are less than thirty.”

  “What about a boat?” Arisha suggested. “Isn’t that a possibility?”

  Karnac shook his head. “Many have thought it a better idea than the gnome’s balloon. But the swamp to the west is unnavigable. It would be impossible to do it.”

  “Yet how can this work?” Doric asked. “How does it fly?”

  Pia heard the disbelief in his voice.

  “I have seen it work, Doric,” Lord Despaard said. “In Varrock it rose from its tether each day and carried at least twenty people aloft on each occasion. But that made use of what what was described to me as a gas called hydrogen—”

  “I prefer the term phlogisticated air if you please,” the gnome said with a wave of his hand. “But yes, we do need this gas, and happily there is enough left in the burner’s containers to inflate the envelopes as well as to heat the air. Of course, once I have inflated the balloon I will leave the empty containers behind. There is no point in carrying dead weight.”

  Doric shared an uncertain look with Arisha.

  “Hydrogen is lighter than air,” Lord Despaard explained further. “When the balloon was in Varrock, Master Peregrim would fill envelopes in the top of the balloon with this gas. Combined with heat from the burner, which also uses hydrogen as a fuel, the air inside the balloon would warm and provide lift.”

  Doric nodded blankly.

  “And how do you steer it?”

  Lord Despaard sighed.

  “You don’t. It floats on the winds. The trick is to find a wind going in the direction you want.”

  “I see you are a doubter, master dwarf,” the gnome squeaked in amusement. “But I came here in this balloon, and I intend to fly out in it, as well—carrying the people of Hope Rock with me. It can be done. We will make our ascent within the next few days, and we will do so at dawn when the air is cold. The warm air inside the balloon will lift us upward, and once we reach a certain height the wind will carry us west, to Misthalin.”

  “But like you said only a moment ago, you have lost the wicker basket to carry people. How will you get around that?” Doric dared a smile.

  He’s afraid of this idea, Pia realised. Heights scare him, and he intends to add as much doubt as he can to its success. She shivered. I don’t blame him either.

  The gnome grinned suddenly.

  “When Karnac’s people first settled here, they tried to fish. But the things that swim in the swamps are not edible, save for the wretched snails that are all we’ve eaten for the last few months.” He gave a sour grimace. “But the nets they made have proved their use
as a substitute for the wicker basket. We are stitching them to the bottom of the balloon itself right now. That will allow people to tie themselves on.”

  Tie themselves on? Pia shuddered again.

  “It’s the only way,” Karnac said firmly. “We are so few now and we can’t evade our enemies much longer. We could perhaps last another six months at most.

  “No,” he said again, as if to convince himself. “This is our only chance, and we need to leave as soon as we can. The ravenous have been growing in number recently, which would make any trek to the west impossible, and increases our danger here on a daily basis.” He exhaled suddenly. “But it is strange, for their master seems to be forcing them to the northwest, and they move with a purpose they’ve never shown before. No, flying out is our only option.”

  Silence fell, and when no one had spoken for several long moments, some of the citizens of the plateau edged forward. Among them a young woman with a swollen belly, and behind her a gaunt man who likely was the father of her unborn child.

  “Can you tell us about the place you come from?” the woman asked, desperation and wonder mixing in her words. “Master Peregrim has told us much already, but we never tire of hearing the tales of such a realm.” The man was smiling inanely, and Pia noticed he was close to crying. For the briefest moment she thought he might be a simpleton.

  Arisha spoke.

  “I will tell you of Misthalin, and of the lands beyond the holy river,” she said. “Come, sit around the fire, and I will tell you of a line of Kings that goes back for more than a thousand years, of knights and castles, of deeds good and fair, of heroes and wizards.”

  “She will tell a good story, I know it,” the pregnant woman said with a smile.

  “My people tell many stories,” Arisha said. “We do not often write them down, so where I come from, to tell a story is a skill, and an important one among my kind. Now, let me begin with a very recent one, and a true tale as well. It begins in a storm, with a white castle and a beautiful girl who is found bearing dreadful wounds...”

  Pia saw Doric smile, but the crowd listened intently to the priestess’s words, never once interrupting. After a short while, the dwarf stood and went with Lord Despaard and Master Peregrim to examine the balloon, and as Arisha continued, with the introduction of a young knight named Theodore, she felt her eyelids grow heavy and finally close.

  She woke, cold, with Jack sleeping at her side. In front of her the fire had gone out. Someone had draped a blanket across them.

  She sat up and grimaced as her muscles protested. Her ankles felt fragile, as if they might break, and her knees ached when she pulled her legs in closer to her body. Her back hurt, too.

  How many miles did we walk on our journey? And was it yesterday or today? Her belly ached with hunger, and she had trouble recalling the last time she had eaten.

  She must have slept through the night. The sky above was dark, though across the horizon, to what she supposed must have been the east, a purple light painted the clouds.

  This is the first time I have seen the sky through the gas of the swamps. At ground level, even the stars are hidden from the inhabitants of this realm.

  She left Jack and walked stiffly to the rim of stone, ascending upon one of the wooden scaffolds. At the top she found Vanstrom, alone and silent, staring to the east. He sat in a shallow trench that was cut into the rock, a natural seat. Without asking, she took her place at his side.

  “Do you think the balloon will work?” she said after a moment.

  Vanstrom shook his head.

  “I don’t know,” he said, sighing deeply. “I suggested that we build a boat instead. Easier by far. But Karnac and the others believe the swamp to be unnavigable. Perhaps he’s right. Regardless, the balloon nears completion, so soon we will know if it works. I pray that it does.”

  She shivered suddenly, for up here the breeze ran unchecked.

  “You are cold,” he said.

  “I am not,” she countered.

  “You must be. You wear rags for clothes and you fell asleep as the fire died. It was all I could do to find you and your brother a blanket.”

  He held his arm out to her.

  “Come. Sit closer. Together we can watch the sun rise. It will be warmer then, but not by much. Never in this land.”

  Pia moved closer to him and leaned her head upon his chest. She felt his heart beat within him. She sensed his arm move behind her and hold her tightly.

  It was a feeling she never wanted to forget.

  “I never thanked you for what you did for us in Canifis,” she said. “You kept us alive in that cage. I think I would have gone mad if you hadn’t been there. But you never told me why you were there in the first place.”

  Vanstrom smiled grimly.

  “We discussed it as you slept, Despaard, Karnac, Arisha and I. She is a good woman that one. Clever. But no, I was captured making my way back from Meiyerditch. We have friends there you see. Others like us who fight against our undead masters. I went back into the ghettoes at Karnac’s request to see if any had been left alive after we fled two years ago. Fortunately there were some. Not many, but enough.”

  “Enough for what?”

  Vanstrom sighed.

  “The vampires who rule this realm are not like the ravenous. They are clever, their plans long-winded beyond the comprehension of any man. Often their methods will seem directly contrary to their aims, which makes it far harder for us to predict and counter them. But we do what we can.”

  “So you fight against him?” she asked incredulously. “Even in my homeland we had tales of Lord Drakan.”

  “He is the mightiest of their race,” Vanstrom agreed. “And the most mysterious by far. No one I know has ever seen him. But it is the Black Prince who most concerns us now. He is not Drakan, nor is he Drakan’s son, as we originally thought. But he is terrible, nonetheless. He can compel the very shadows to do his will, and it is against him that we currently wage our silent war. It is he, I believe, who commands the ravenous, but to what purpose we don’t yet know. So that is what we search for, information and knowledge and anything else that can help our cause.”

  “And what if you fly out? Will you fight from beyond the river?”

  Vanstrom looked at her tenderly.

  “I am not sure if I wish to go with them, Pia. Karnac wants to fly out soon, within only a few days. It has taken us a long time to repair the balloon and stitch the nets.”

  Pia thought about what he had said.

  And if he remains, what will I do? After a moment, she spoke.

  “Would you... would you think it mad of me if I said that I would like to remain here, too, if you don’t go?”

  Vanstrom laughed. The sound was like claws thrust into Pia’s stomach.

  “Now that is real madness,” he said. “Why would you wish for such a thing, girl?”

  “There is nothing for me except death if I go back. I am accused of a murder I didn’t commit. At least here I have a chance—”

  He shook her loose and stood quickly.

  “There is no chance here, Pia. And think of your brother. There is no possibility of a long life, even an unhappy one!” Vanstrom was angry now. “Do you have any idea what the ghettoes are like in Meiyerditch? Do you? Parents have their children taken from them. People are rotated from one quarter to the next, like a field left to fallow, and the blood tithes must be met to feed our masters. No, Pia, there is so much you don’t know, and your wish to remain here is one made in ignorance.

  “If they fly, you go. It is that simple.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes, and she began to sob. Vanstrom ran his hand through his hair and growled.

  “Please, Pia, don’t cry,” he said after a moment.

  “If I go back, I die,” she said. “I know I will.”

  He sat down by her side and once more put his arm around her.

  “Look,” he said softly. “The sun is rising. Let us sit here together, upon this rock, and wa
tch the dawn.”

  Pia clutched Vanstrom tightly. The tears in her eyes blurred the pink horizon. Slowly, unstoppably, even by the evil of that land, the blood-red sun rose.

  And somehow Pia felt safe.

  It was full daylight when they descended to the plateau. Men were working furiously at the windlass, raising the lift as fast as they were able. Two others stood on an outcropping, their bows drawn, covering whoever was being brought up.

  Vanstrom darted forward and craned his head over the edge.

  “Who is it?” Pia heard him ask.

  “It is Harold,” Karnac said. “He was supposed to wait near Canifis to watch our retreat. Whatever news has brought him here must be important indeed.”

  The lift appeared beyond the edge. A single man was inside, looking utterly exhausted.

  “It is the Vyrewatch,” Harold called as he stepped onto the plateau. “I have seen them. In Canifis. They took the prisoners and flew east with them.”

  “How many prisoners?” Arisha asked, pushing herself forward.

  “I couldn’t be sure, but at least six,” he said.

  “Was there an old man among them, and a lanky one?” Despaard asked.

  Harold shook his head.

  “I don’t know. There was a woman with blonde hair, a man in white, and a man in a blue robe, but of the others I couldn’t tell.”

  Kara definitely, perhaps Theodore, and the wizard who stood behind Arisha when she prayed with us.

  “They were alive then?” Arisha said eagerly. “You know this?”

  The man nodded.

  “But only just, for the werewolves had covered the village with smoke. Had it gone on much longer, then they would have died. I think they were alive, for they were carried with care by their captors, two creatures carrying each prisoner.”

  “But carried where?” Doric growled.

  “Meiyerditch. It has to be,” Vanstrom answered. “But the question is surely a simple one. What will we do?”

  “Do?” Harold muttered. “What can we do?”

  “I will go after them,” Doric stated. “Alone if necessary.”

  “It won’t be necessary,” Arisha said. “You know that, Doric.”