Runescape: Return to Canifis

by T. S. Church

  He looked to the water again. The current was fast-moving. Already the group had become separated, some being carried south, clinging to the branches they had torn from the bank. Several were in serious danger of drowning. He heard Despaard shout from the river’s edge, frustration in his voice.

  “Make broad strokes with your arms, kick with your legs! No!”

  The nobleman leapt into the river and surfaced with a gasp. Rapidly he swam to the man he had been instructing. Theodore watched as he got behind him and pulled him across, helping others where he could.

  This is a mess. A fine mess.

  Arisha kicked off with Doric in her arms. He found something vaguely comical in the sight of the short dwarf, cursing and splashing, held by the priestess. Like Lord Despaard, she helped others where she could.

  “Into the water. Now!” Kara yelled.

  Theodore turned as Kara dived past him, straight from the top of the bank and into the river, landing feet first, her adamant sword held away from her.

  “Gods, Theo!” Castmir yelled, stumbling down the bank, dropping the runes in his hands in his haste to be away. For the swamp to the east was alive with werewolves. Everywhere Theodore looked he saw red eyes and hirsute strong bodies, long tongues panting heavily.

  Hundreds of them. The whole of Canifis must be here!

  The nearest bounded toward him, appearing as a full wolf and running on four legs. Theodore threw himself backward, ignoring the angry protest in his foot as he crashed down through the bank, thin branches whipping at his face.

  And then he was in the water, not daring to look back, ignoring the cold as he kicked off, his booted feet pushing him from the stony ground. Still he held his sword in his right hand, above the surface as he kicked with his legs.

  They won’t dare follow. The river will prevent them.

  Something heavy dropped into the water from his right, close to his head. He risked a look back and saw that the werewolves had gathered along the top of the bank, unwilling to pursue any farther. But still they sought to hurt their enemies. Several more stones landed close to him. One hit his leg, and though it was slowed by the water, it caused him to grimace in pain.

  When he looked ahead again, he saw that the opposite bank was littered with the exhausted survivors. Kara was already there, swimming back and forth to aid those who were in difficulty. Pia helped Jack up the steep slope, at the top of which stood Gideon, who with Master Peregrim’s help, was helping him lower Albertus as gently as they could to the ground.

  Farther down the river, to Theodore’s left, swept south by the current, he saw Arisha guiding a man to the safety of the bank. Doric was already there, leaning down to help them.

  We’ve done it!

  “We’ve done—” Theodore swallowed water as he tried to yell in triumph. Now arrows were arcing overhead, fired from Misthalin, peppering the werewolves on the opposite bank. Somewhere a loud trumpet was sounding, and through the trees to the west he could see the shape of horsemen riding up.

  The stones were fewer now, thrown in haste, and no more hit Theodore as he made his way to the bank. Karnac helped him up, tears in his eyes, and when Theodore looked back, he saw that many of the werewolves had dropped back, hiding in the darkness of the swamp.

  “The sun feels better here,” Karnac said deliriously. “It is warmer. And the land! It is so, so green—” He gave a sudden gasp and blinked stupidly. Theodore followed his gaze to where an officer of Misthalin’s army had appeared, riding his horse.

  “Is that a... is that a horse?” Karnac asked.

  The officer stared down his nose at the man and raised an eyebrow.

  Theodore nodded.

  “They are quite real, Karnac. Come, you can touch her. She won’t mind.” The knight guided his hand and rubbed it gently over the horse’s face. Karnac grinned like a child.

  “We heard tales of these, in the ghettoes,” he said. “Of knights riding to fight dragons and rescue maidens. Of so many things that were unknown to us in that... that horrible, horrible land!”

  Suddenly he fell to his knees and wept, taking great gasps of air.

  All he has dreamt of for so many years, and through so many hardships. This one moment he has looked forward to for so long.

  Finally the sobs subsided, and he looked up.

  “Where are they, Theodore? Where are those I brought out?”

  They stood nearby, warming themselves in front of a fire that Castimir had kindled using his magic. The wizard was grim faced, the book he had taken from Canifis spread out before him to dry in the sun. He held his left hand gently, wincing as he did so, and for the first time Theodore noticed it was burned.

  “So few,” Karnac murmured. “So very, very few. How will the gods forgive me, Theodore? How?” He folded suddenly, his head in his hands as he wept again.

  “Two hundred I led out of Meiyerditch!” he cried. “Two hundred! And now how many are they? How few?”

  “There are eleven of them, Karnac. Eleven.” He felt his voice break as he spoke.

  Only eleven from two hundred.

  “How will they forgive me, Theodore? How many did we leave behind? We would have been better to live as slaves, for the cost was too great... too great...”

  “No, Karnac,” the pregnant woman said angrily. “Don’t you dare think so. Ever! Sometimes just to survive is victory enough. And if we had stayed, then my child would have been taken from me on its first day alive, taken for the tithes.” She knelt at the weeping man’s side, and took his hands firmly from his face.

  “Look at me, Karnac. Look at me! I promise you that my child will never forget your name, nor what you have done for us. You are right, we are few, but we are the blessed few.”

  Karnac’s sobbing subsided, and soon he stood. Theodore stepped back as the survivors of Hope Rock surged around their leader, giving him their thanks.

  “Theodore,” Castimir called to him. “It’s Albertus.” The wizard’s face was grim and he chewed his lip before he spoke. “He’s dead, Theodore.”

  The knight felt no new emotion, no surprise, no rage at the news.

  I have expected this.

  He followed Castimir to where the old man lay. Pia wept at his side, and Jack stared, his exhaustion obvious. The wound across his jaw had stopped bleeding.

  “He landed badly, when we jumped,” Gideon explained. “And on the balloon, one of the Vyrewatch wounded him.”

  Arisha looked up from her place opposite Pia.

  “I tried to help him, Theodore, but it was too late. I think perhaps we should be thankful, for at least now he is free from his pain.”

  He nodded, suddenly too tired to speak. His right foot ached sharply now he was free of the fear that had driven him across the river, and though he dearly wanted to sleep, he knew he could not.

  For there was much to do. A message had to be sent to the King, the survivors needed shelter and warmth and food, a wagon had to be be arranged to send the dead on to Varrock for burial, and he needed to give Kara Gar’rth’s letter.

  He found Kara near the river, sitting alone upon a willow branch under the shade of its canopy. Without a word he reached for the envelope and handed it to her. The outside was slick and wet, yet when she broke the seal, he saw the letter inside was still dry.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “A letter from Gar’rth—he asked me to give it to you.” Seeing her expression, he quickly added, “He asked that I only give it to you once we had reached safety. He made me promise.”

  She frowned at that, and looked at the folded parchment. Finally her expression softened, and he began to move away, to give her privacy.

  “You can stay, if you like.” She pointed to the branch opposite hers.

  She sounds almost afraid.

  “Only if you want me to, Kara.”

  She nodded.

  “I do.” She made no attempt to open the letter. “There is... there was so much I wished to say to him, Theodore. Onl
y small words that meant great things. I could have done it any time, in The Wilderness, in Varrock. It would have only taken me a few moments. I don’t want to lose that opportunity again, with anyone else I care about.”

  Her tearful eyes met his, and he held her gaze.

  “Theodore... I don’t know...”

  “Don’t worry, Kara,” he said quietly. “Don’t speak. Read his letter. We have time enough today.” He gave her a slight smile as she nodded and wiped her hand across her face. Then she carefully unfolded the parchment.

  Theodore sat in the shade, and watched her.

  He will declare his love for her, I am certain of that. But I do not know what else.

  Kara gasped as she read. Theodore saw the tears wet her cheeks, her dark eyes large and suddenly vulnerable.

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the rough trunk, unsure of how to feel. Gar’rth was, or had been, his friend. Now he was gone. Albertus, too, and many from Hope Rock.

  I am so tired.

  For the first time in many days, he thought of Lady Anne. He missed her touch, and her teasing.

  But I must look after Kara now. I promised Gar’rth I would.

  “Gods!” Kara swore. “Gods,” she said again.

  Theodore opened his eyes to see her stand. Her face was pale, her brow furrowed in concentration.

  “That’s impossible... It’s a lie... surely...” Her whole body was alert, and her hand fell to her sword.

  “What is it?” Theodore asked, his heart suddenly racing.

  Nearby, Doric and Arisha ran forward, Castimir behind.

  “It’s about Gar’rth,” Kara said. “It’s been about him all along. From the very beginning.”

  “What do you mean, Kara?” Arisha asked tensely.

  “Gar’rth is not a werewolf—”

  “What?” Doric grunted in disbelief.

  “He’s half-human, Doric. Gar’rth is half-werewolf and half-human, which is why he was able to resist Zamorak better than those in Canifis.”

  Half-human?

  “His father is the Black Prince. A vampire nobleman who was once a human himself. And his name was Tenebra.”

  Tenebra? I know that name, he’s—

  “Tenebra the Prince?” Castimir stammered. “Tenebra, the Prince of Varrock, who rode to war against Morytania centuries ago? It can’t be...”

  “It is,” Kara said. “And there is more. Tenebra was the eldest of the five princes. He was the heir apparent until his disappearance at the end of the battle, when he was believed dead.”

  “Then...” Doric exhaled. “Then that makes Gar’rth...”

  “The rightful heir to the throne of Misthalin,” Kara finished for him. “Vampirism cannot be handed down by breeding—that’s what Gar’rth’s father says—so Gar’rth had to inherit Tenebra’s human side.” Kara sighed and looked intently back to the letter. “And his father wants his son to sit on that throne and rule the kingdom. Tenebra is coming. He is coming soon, across the river. Gar’rth doesn’t know how, but he thinks the Wyrd is something to do with his plan.

  Then she looked up, comprehension in her eyes.

  “And we saw the bridges they’ve built, most likely to cross the Salve.”

  “But the holy barrier is still present,” Theodore observed. “If not, the werewolves would have crossed over after us.”

  “Tenebra must have found a way around it,” Arisha said. “He would not go to such effort without having first done so. Perhaps Varrock will be able to shed some light on this.”

  Kara nodded.

  “We must return to the city at once. Tell no one of this letter or its contents.” She lowered her voice. “We might not be safe if the King discovers we know this truth. He may even accuse us of being in league with a usurper...

  “And there is one more thing. Gar’rth writes that he believes it is his father’s intention to have him embrace Zamorak. He begs me... us... that if we ever face him again, we must treat him as an enemy. His friendship can no longer be relied upon.”

  Kara breathed out.

  “Now, I will talk to the officer, to requisition some horses for our return to Varrock. We should leave as soon as we can.”

  “He might have already succumbed to Zamorak, Kara,” Theodore whispered. “Or why else would he break his word to us?”

  No one spoke. Kara simply nodded.

  The group broke up quickly as they gathered their belongings. When they stood before the horses, Castimir gave Theodore an odd look.

  “Why would Gar’rth tell us all this, do you think? Why would Tenebra allow it?”

  I have been wondering the same myself.

  “Perhaps the Black Prince doesn’t know, or perhaps he is so sure of his victory that he thinks it doesn’t matter...”

  “He’s had centuries to prepare, Theodore, centuries.” The wizard mounted his horse and peered at his burned hand in anger. “Perhaps he’s right to be so confident?”

  The knight turned to look one last time behind him, across the river to the land beyond.

  He’s right. Centuries to prepare for this. Centuries!

  With a feeling of growing unease, Theodore rode after his friends.

  38

  Daylight fell onto the paper before Ebenezer, illuminating seven marks that meant nothing to him but seemed to be imbued with such importance. Under each was a short paragraph of elegant writing which Ebenezer knew to be Sally’s hand.

  She will be smiling now. I know it. Smiling behind my back.

  He turned abruptly.

  Sally smiled. Next to her stood Reldo and Lord William. The nobleman glanced anxiously at the clock on his wall.

  I don’t doubt he spends every waking moment outside Sulla’s door now, listening for Lady Caroline.

  “Right,” the alchemist said. “Well then. I think we might be onto something here.”

  Sally’s smile faded. Her brow creased into a frown.

  “I would say so,” she asserted. “It is the only link between those who are missing. All babies, none over a year old, all with birthmarks over their hearts. It has to be more than a coincidence. It has to be.”

  Just a shame Sulla didn’t bring the Wyrd in alive, so we could ask her. I wonder if he meant it that way.

  “Let us refresh ourselves,” Ebenezer said with a deliberately pompous tone. “We are theorising that the prophecy is real. That the Wyrd worked toward that end, and that to realise that end, the power of the Salve had to be broken.”

  “Can I see, please?” Reldo asked quietly. “The paper with the seven birthmarks.”

  Ebenezer nodded and handed it to him.

  “I have to say, I think the King will laugh when we report this to him,” he said with a look to Sally. “Birthmarks on children... It’s just... It’s just not scientific.”

  “Papelford told you that science was no way of analysing magic, Ebenezer,” Sally scolded, her arms crossed.

  “Please uncross you arms and remove your scowl. It reminds me too much of your sister when she used to do the same. And that was never an occasion for joy. Especially when she was within reach of her rolling-pin.”

  But she is right, he admitted silently. Papelford did warn us about that.

  “This is interesting,” Reldo remarked from the desk, his young face bowed to the seven marks.

  “Do you recognise them?” Lord William asked, showing interest now.

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “Then what is so interesting?” Ebenezer huffed, turning on his heel too quickly, his balance wavering. Only at the last moment did he seize the edge of his desk and feign a deep look at the paper, as if he had been bending down to read it rather than saving himself from an embarrassing fall.

  I think I got away with it. Can’t have them peeling me up off the floor!

  “Well, I don’t think I recognise them, but they are familiar. I will have to think.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be blessed with a memory t
hat allowed you to recall anything you ever read?” Lord William asked with a puzzled frown, his hand caressing the silver fox that he wore to clasp his cloak.

  “Words, yes, but not so much images,” Reldo murmured as he gazed far away. “Let me search my memory.”

  At his age, it shouldn’t take too long. He’s got less than twenty years worth of them. I barely remember what I had for breakfast this morning.

  “I know that look, alchemist,” Sally mused. “Have you had a thought?”

  “Huh? No... no, nothing of any consequence.”

  Reldo held the the paper down by one corner, spinning it round and round slowly with his free hand, peering at the symbols intently.

  “What are you doing?” Lord William muttered. “I can’t concentrate if you kee—”

  “I’ve got it!” Reldo shouted with sudden verve. “My god... I have got it!” He put his hands to his head and looked at Ebenezer in amazement.

  “Good. Can you give it to us, please?” the alchemist asked.

  “Paterdomus! That’s where I’ve seen them before. They were etched onto the altar of Saradomin, and that altar is the oldest part of the temple, I believe. I saw them when I prepared the blood-mark for the embassy.”

  “Well, this is a definite link now,” Ebenezer said humbly. “Sally, I owe you an apology. You were right to pursue the birthmarks.” He bowed slightly and extended his hand. She took it with a grin and then rushed forward, wrapping her arms around him and crushing him in a hug.

  “I love it when you are wrong,” she laughed, and the sound reminded him so much of Eloise, who had herself often said the very same thing.

  “But I don’t understand what this actually means,” Lord William said. “So we have children disappearing who each have birthmarks over their hearts that resemble ancient symbols found at Paterdomus. But how does this help us?”

  Ebenezer managed to free himself after an affectionate struggle.

  “If the prophecy was true—and I think Reldo, that enough has happened to assume it must be—then whoever this ‘true King’ is, he will have to cross the Salve. These children were specifically sought by the Wyrd, and that they share a mark with the oldest and most sacred area of the temple must mean they are linked.