by T. S. Church
“This is insanity,” a listener spat. It was one of the men who had rescued them. “We have risked too much for you to go and get yourselves caught. And you know too much about our plans.”
“They will be dead by now, or as good as,” said another. “Besides, Meiyerditch is a vast place. Finding them would be an impossible task. Bringing them out from under Drakan’s eye even more so. You will only add yourselves to his tithes.”
“But this is to rescue Kara-Meir!” countered the man who had listened so closely to Arisha’s story. “We cannot abandon her. Nor the wizard!”
“Those are just stories—”
“True stories,” Doric hissed angrily. “She is famed across the river.”
“We should help her,” the listener said again. “She has risked so much for others.”
Did Arisha know that her stories would have this effect? Pia wondered silently.
Karnac listened to the exchange without speaking, then he stepped to one of the caves, where a woman sat with a blindfold across her eyes.
“What say you, spirit woman?” Karnac asked. “It was on your advice that we attacked Canifis, to rescue Vanstrom, and you told us the embassy would be there. If it wasn’t for your powers to pull creatures from the spirit plane then our escape from Meiyerditch would have been impossible. What is your counsel now?”
The woman leaned on a thin stick, her back bent, her mouth toothless. With her other hand she caressed a simple necklace of odd-looking discs. Some were gold, others red and green and a few were blue. Pia had never seen their like before.
“Long ago I saw that outsiders would come to our aid,” the spirit woman said, her voice coarse. “Without them, we shall all perish. With them, some will live. But not all.”
A silence fell as everyone wrestled with their thoughts.
“So Drakan has Gar’rth now,” Arisha said softly. “But for what purpose?”
“Is it Lord Drakan?” Pia interrupted. “Or is it this Black Prince, perhaps?”
“Doesn’t matter to me,” Doric said. “I will go and discover their fate. I will need a guide however. Vanstrom?”
The bearded man nodded.
“As the spirit woman said, this is a time of miracles. This dwarf bested a werewolf hunter. No one here has ever seen that done before. So I will come with you.”
“I will come, as well,” Lord Despaard said. “I was leader of this ill-fated expedition. It isn’t right for me to remain behind.”
I will not be left here!
“Then I will come as well—”
“No, Pia,” Arisha said. “You will remain behind.” Vanstrom nodded.
“But I owe it to Kara.”
“Perhaps,” Vanstrom said, “but it would ease my fears if you stayed here, Pia. And you must prepare, for when we return, we must flee this land.” He leaned down, his face a hand’s width from hers. She could feel his breath. “Please, Pia,” he said softly. “It would mean so much to me, knowing you were safe. And Jack needs you, too.”
“Very well,” she said reluctantly. “I will remain here.”
How could I have offered such, planning to leave Jack here?
They were talking now, among themselves, laying out times and routes and what to take with them, but to Pia it was a jumble of words with little sense. She found her way to Jack’s side and sat next to him.
“Will you speak to me little brother? Please?”
Jack looked at her blankly.
“No?”
She cursed angrily and turned away.
Suddenly, something grasped at her torn shirt. She turned to see Jack tugging at her gently, a strange smile on his face. Without a word he lay his head down on her lap, as he had done so many times in their flight from Kandarin.
He still needs me at least.
And that was a comforting thought.
30
Ebenezer gripped his walking stick and lowered himself onto the chair. He blinked away the spots that darkened his vision, as they did more often since his injury, and drew a deep breath.
I shouldn’t feel so bad, he mused. The investigation is making progress, though to what end I cannot yet tell. Perhaps Papelford was right. Logic is not enough when it comes to magic.
He turned in his chair to examine the board that stood beside him. He’d had it brought to his room the day he had started his task. Two maps were pinned to it, one of Varrock itself, and the other of the neighbouring portion of Misthalin. On both were small dots of red paint to mark the Wyrd’s murders, complemented by green marks for those who had gone missing and remained unaccounted for.
Nearly a hundred lives are represented there. From all strands of society.
His eye followed the dots from the Eastern Chase, where a red mark represented the area where the King’s love, Lady Elizabeth, had fallen. As he journeyed west toward Varrock the dots grew in number. A milkmaid here, a shepherd there, a missing child from a farm. The points seemed like a hand, stretching from Morytania directly to Varrock on an east to west path. Few and far between were any in the north or the south.
He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece above the fire. Sally would be here any moment with her news, and at the same time he expected Reldo and Lord William. The three had become his eyes now that he had trouble even walking down a flight of stairs, and each had been given their tasks that morning.
But the Wyrd is not just a mindless killer. It wanted the servant’s daughter Felicity specifically. If Gar’rth hadn’t tracked the Wyrd then another innocent would have been taken. But why Felicity? What was so different about her that she was needed especially?
Sally arrived a minute early. She gathered her breath before speaking.
“The tailor’s wife verified Sir Theodore’s story,” she said triumphantly. “The Wyrd said that the babe was needed, but not for what. The mother could not think of any reason why.”
“So there was nothing unusual about her?”
Sally shook her head.
“She was normal in every way save for a birthmark upon her chest. She cried like all babies do, she was no different.”
“That is what the mother of the child Gar’rth saved said when I spoke to her yesterday,” he said. “Yet the Wyrd wanted her especially—the child’s name is Felicity.” He nodded to the board and Sally followed his gaze. “The green dots are missing people who are believed to have been taken by the Wyrd, yet no bodies were found. There are nine of them. Six of those are children, of approximately the same age as Felicity and the tailor’s daughter, all under eight months old. The other three are adults, two men and one woman. I am tempted to discount them. They may well be victims of the Wyrd who were simply never found.”
The door opened suddenly and a breathless Reldo entered, followed by Lord William.
“We have done as you asked,” William wheezed. “The farm with the two abductions. The Wyrd took the first-born son one night, and the second night she returned and took his brother. The first-born’s remains were found on the morning of his brother’s abduction.”
“So she could have made a mistake with the first one, and gone back to kidnap the second,” Ebenezer suggested. “Tell me, Lord William, did either child have anything that set them apart from others? Especially the second child, the one who is still missing.”
“There was nothing,” William replied.
“And there was nothing unusual in their behaviour,” Reldo added.
“But what about any marks upon them?” Sally asked. “The tailor’s daughter had a birthmark upon her chest.”
Birthmarks? Ebenezer thought, suddenly angry. A monster comes from across the river and steals children with birthmarks. Is that the best link we can come up with? How Papelford will jeer.
“We need more than blasted birthmarks,” he said irritably.
Sally stood abruptly. Ebenezer felt her cold stare.
“Very well,” she said quietly as she left the room. He saw the accusing stares of his two young accomplices.
“W
ell, we do... don’t we?” he asked in a conciliatory tone.
Take command. Quench their doubt. Impress them with your strength. Inspire them.
“Let us return to the beginning then,” he said firmly. Take command. “The Wyrd left hints of this prophecy—that I know you don’t believe in Reldo—but let us assume for the moment it is true.” Quench their doubt. “We know she comes from Morytania. Therefore, if she is working toward this prophecy, then the Salve must be involved somehow, as it bars that land from ours.” Impress them with your strength.
He stood suddenly.
“Therefore, can these murders and kidnappings be in any way linked to the holy river itself?” He felt a triumphant smile on his face. Inspire them.
Then his knees buckled. His grip on his walking stick slipped and his wrist twisted in pain. As the black dots shot holes in his vision he stumbled and fell awkwardly back into his chair. He wheezed painfully.
Inspire them.
But the laughter he expected never came. Lord William’s face was ashen.
“I remember now,” the nobleman said in little more than a whisper. “I was on the terrace, overlooking the Salve when Kara went across to test the blood mark. When she came back everyone else went downstairs to greet her, but I waited and watched the ravenous that tried to kill her. It stepped onto the bridge, which was supposed to be impossible. Drezel made it quite clear that he thought me mistaken, but I wasn’t. I know what I saw,” he said firmly.
“You mean the Salve isn’t as strong as you thought it was?” Reldo asked.
“It doesn’t matter what I think of it, but Drezel was wrong about it. The ravenous walked upon the bridge—which Drezel said was impossible, so perhaps the Salve is being affected somehow.”
Could there be a link here? Is that what this is about? For the prophecy to be true the Salve would have to be circumvented somehow.
He was about to speak when a great cheer went up from outside.
“What is it?” he asked Reldo who stood nearest the window.
“I don’t know, but there is great deal of celebrating.”
Could it be that word has come of the embassy? Have they perhaps escaped?
The cries grew louder as Ebenezer staggered to his feet. Lord William took his arm and together they left the room as quickly as his aged limbs would allow.
Moments later, with Reldo ahead of them, they stopped at the top of the great staircase. Below, a throng of yellow-clad soldiers surrounded a man who was dressed in little more than rags, his grey shoulder-length hair dishevelled, hiding his face. Yet when he raised his arms Ebenezer saw that both his hands were missing.
No. No, that can’t be him. Not here.
“I am Sulla,” the beggar roared in triumph, his head thrown back. Ebenezer saw the scarred face he had seen only once before, in the heat of combat at Saradomin’s monastery. “I have brought King Roald the greatest of gifts. I have slain the Wyrd.” Someone taunted him from below but Sulla laughed. The yellow-clad guards forced their way through the press, dragging Sulla with them. “I am a hero now,” he shouted. “A hero!”
The madman’s words faded as he was taken forward in the direction of the dungeon.
“It’s true,” someone in the crowd yelled. “The body is outside in a cart. This man Sulla really has done it.” Ebenezer could not believe what was being said.
What is happening to the world, when a man like that enters Varrock a hero?
Outside, the bells of Father Lawrence’s church began ringing out in victory.
“Do you wish to go downstairs?” Lord William asked.
Ebenezer shook his head.
“No thank you. I wish to return to my bed. I fear I must be experiencing a nightmare of sorts, and I would prefer to be there when I wake.”
With a grumble, he turned himself about and made his way back to his room, a great deal slower than when he had left.
If it was a nightmare, then Ebenezer couldn’t wake from it. Hours later his mind was still too fraught to focus on the murders, and no small part of him wondered if it was even necessary any more.
If Sulla had slain her, then what would be the point?
He has beaten us today. My friends are imperilled in a foreign land, and Sulla has done what they couldn’t. He has won.
Lord William appeared at the door.
“Captain Rovin wants to know if you wish to talk to Sulla,” he stated politely.
“Why?” he said without thinking, and the young lord turned to leave.
But I do have questions for him, in fact. A lot of questions.
“Wait, William,” he said, motioning. “I do wish to see him. It was just unexpected.”
The young man helped him up, and together they began their journey.
“Where has Reldo got to?” the alchemist asked.
Inspire. Quench the doubt.
Sally has deserted, and Reldo is gone, and now one of our greatest enemies turns up a hero. Truly something to be added to the history books.
“Reldo is examining my suggestion about the link with the Salve. He is not convinced that even with the Wyrd dead, the danger is passed.”
“So she is dead then?” Ebenezer asked. “Sulla did it?”
“She is most definitely dead,” William acknowledged. “Her head sits atop a spike on the palace wall even now, and a host of people throng the square to cheer Sulla’s name.” Lord William gave him a sidelong glance. “I am afraid people have very short memories. Personally, I won’t cheer him in any way.”
“But he did do it? You are sure of that?”
“He led a band of mercenaries, apparently. They are well-known names in Varrock. But it was his instigation and plan.”
He continued as they moved down the corridor.
“Sulla is no longer in the dungeons,” he explained. “He has been moved to his own apartments. Lady Anne has been charged with seeing to it that he has everything he needs for now.”
Everything he needs? He should be hanging from the gallows tree.
“Here we are,” Lord William said as they neared a half-open door. Outside two guards waited, and Ebenezer saw more at either end of the corridor.
He is still a prisoner, then. That at least is something.
“...I will need a wife soon. You look rich. And of high birth. Think I’ll take you.” The words were spoken with a disgusting arrogance and were followed by a sick laugh.
“I wonder how Lady Anne will react to that?” Lord William said with a slight smile.
“Hopefully she’ll cut off his—”
“Or I might take your friend, perhaps,” Sulla continued. “The one with the gap between her pretty teeth.”
“Right!” Lord William strode in so quickly that Ebenezer nearly lost his balance. The beggar Sulla had become looked at them with interest reflected in his one good eye. His lank hair was unclean, his beard a mess, and he stank.
He has fallen far indeed. Gone is much of his strength.
Lady Anne sat near the window, and she spoke quickly, as soon as they entered.
“Ignore him, Lord William,” she implored him. “He has been hurling abuse at anyone within range, ever since coming here.” The blonde woman fixed Sulla with her blue-eyed stare. “It is either impressively bold for a man who will very likely hang, or unbelievably stupid. I haven’t decided which yet, though by the minute I am more inclined to the latter.”
“The people won’t permit it,” Sulla sneered. “I declared myself to Varrock upon entering the city. I told them I had the King’s word when I gave them the body. And besides, I know things.” His eye focused on Lord William, and Ebenezer saw the young man stiffen. “Lots of things. Lots of dirty little secrets.”
“Such as Jerrod, and his location?” the alchemist said. “Where is your werewolf? I have some unfinished business with him.”
The look of surprise on Sulla’s face was quietly gratifying.
“Come closer, old man. You are familiar to me. Have we met?”
Sulla exhaled, and said nothing for a long minute.
To him I really am a wizard, I suppose. The Kinshra hate magic, and Sulla is no exception. I can use that to my advantage.
“You are the alchemist,” Sulla said finally. “You made the water boil and flame, and scared my horses.”
“I could do it to your blood as well, Sulla. It is not a nice way to die.”
Let us see if he will believe that.
Sulla made a half sneer.
“What do you want then? Jerrod is my insurance policy. He remains at large until I am convinced of King Roald’s intentions—until the King grants my asylum. My werewolf has given his word not to harm anyone until then.”
Ebenezer laughed.
“That will certainly put the King’s mind at rest,” he said sarcastically, then his eyes narrrowed. “But tell me of how you caught the Wyrd. How you found her and what she did. We need to know.”
Sulla gave his horrific smile.
“She died. Jerrod hacked her head off. She didn’t speak or plead or bargain.”
He is going to be of no help. I cannot expect him to be—not until he has the King’s word that he won’t be harmed, and that his asylum has been granted.
Ebenezer sank into a chair opposite his enemy. Lord William remained standing, his eyes focused on Sulla.
“How did you get those scars?” the nobleman asked.
“They were a gift from my father, when I was a boy. He said it was to make me special in the eyes of Zamorak. Now, pour me more wine.”
Lord William did so. Ebenezer could sense the interest in the young man.
“Isn’t that a belief belonging to the Charred Folk?” Lord William said.
Sulla nodded, his look of surprise obvious.
“You are well read,” he replied. “It is. I was chosen by my father to be their next leader. On the day of my birth my mother was slain and I was baptised in her blood. When I was older, years later, I swore with my screams—as the hot mask was lowered onto my face—that I would take pleasure in the pain of others, that I would carry the banner of Zamorak to all corners of the world.” Lord William held the wine up to Sulla for him to drink. He did so eagerly, spilling drops onto his chest.
