by T. S. Church
“How the mechanism occurs though, and what it actually does is something we are no closer to understanding. That is what we need to ascertain next.”
“How?” Lord William said drily.
“We must peruse the archives. We must examine every source to see if there is any mention of such a link, and find out what they mean. We must send word to the High Priest of Saradomin in Entrana, to see if he can enlighten us. We can overlook nothing. Nothing!”
“Then we will need Papelford’s cooperation,” Reldo said gloomily. “He has so many tomes in his collection that without them our task will be hamstrung from the very start.”
Ebenezer nodded.
“Very well, I shall seek an appointment with King Roald to inform him of all we know. It is now apparent that Felicity is far more important than we thought, and must be guarded by only the most able and trusted men—for that child alone has the one birthmark that remains in our possession.”
Thank the gods for you, Gar’rth! If you hadn’t led us to the Wyrd that night, then she would already be in their possession. Wherever you are, I thank you.
“So if she is taken by the Wyrd... or whatever is sent next...” Lord William whispered, polishing the silver fox with his anxious finger strokes.
“Then we must assume that the Salve goes with it, in some shape or form,” Ebenezer concluded, nodding. “She must be watched at all times. She must be kept alive and safe.”
The alchemist stood, feeling as tall as he was when he was a young man, pride swelling in his chest.
And this time, he didn’t fall or stumble, and no black dots came to plague his vision.
This time, he was right—they were right—and he knew it.
39
He watched the curve of Lady Caroline’s neck as she stood by the window, staring at the afternoon sun. His eye lingered on the shape of her body beneath the long green dress she wore.
“You are a rich woman, Lady Caroline?” Sulla asked as he reclined in his chair.
“My family are wealthy, Lord Sulla,” she said quietly.
She is afraid of me. She is wise, this one, wiser than that Lady Anne.
He held his wrists up for inspection. The crude prosthetics he now wore were bound to his stumps by leather straps that wrapped around his elbows. Now at least he could raise a glass without spilling half its contents over him. And he had bathed for long hours in a deep hot tub. After that he had been shaved and his hair had been cut.
Now—his face revealed in all its scarred horror—he felt more like the man he had once been.
“Are you to be married? Do you have a lover?”
I have seen the Silver Fox, and the way he looks at you—and you him. I am only blind in one eye.
“No... no, I haven’t,” she lied. “Please, you must not be so impertinent.”
Sulla laughed.
“Where is Lord William today, anyhow? I am missing his company. Our theological discussions on the church of Zamorak are nicely diverting while I await King Roald’s decision on my fate. Tell me, Lady Caroline, do you think I will hang?”
“I don’t... I don’t know.”
“But do you care?” He grinned wickedly as he raised the goblet to his lips. It wasn’t yet midday, and already he had drunk a whole bottle of red wine.
Nothing else to do in this gilded prison. No one to talk to but Lord William and that old man who makes a pain of himself. Idiot.
Lady Caroline made no answer as the door opened.
It was Captain Rovin, flanked by two guards.
You don’t need guards to deliver a message. This is looking far from good.
“Would you please leave us, Lady Caroline,” the hard-faced man ordered in the guise of a polite request. Sulla watched the demure woman nod, and he caught a look in her eyes that he didn’t like at all.
“At least they’ve cleaned you up a bit,” Captain Rovin said as she closed the door. “It’ll please the crowds more when you hang. Take him.”
What?
No!
“Wait, Captain. Wait! I know things—”
The two big guardsmen strode forward and took one arm each.
“I know things! Things that will help Varrock against Drakan! Wait!”
“Get him up,” Captain Rovin ordered. The two men heaved him to his feet. He made to speak again when one of them punched him hard in the stomach.
He doubled over, bile rising into his throat.
“Shut up, Sulla,” the other said. “Save your breath for your weeping on the scaffold.”
“You can’t hang me!” he choked, gasping for breath. “I’m of noble blood. A Lord of the Kinshra! I am no commoner.”
“No, Sulla. You are worse than any commoner. You’re an animal.” Captain Rovin nodded to the two men and suddenly he was pushed back into his seat.
They’re laughing. Laughing at me!
“But you are not going to hang—not today. I just thought I’d remind you of how close to the edge you stand. One false word or deed from you, and the King’s mercy will be withdrawn. Already he faces stern opposition for holding you. The Knights of Falador have sent an emissary to King Roald asking for your extradition, and I understand your own order are also demanding you be handed over. It would do you well to tread cautiously.”
“Then has King Roald accepted my proposal?” Sulla asked, slowly regaining his composure. “Am I to be granted asylum?”
“Not just yet. Jerrod remains at large, and we want him either dead or locked up.”
“But you need him! You need him for what he knows about Morytania. You see, Gar’rth won’t be coming back. I am certain of it. Jerrod is the only source you have available to give you accurate information about Drakan’s realm—and I am the only one who can tell you how you can bring him in.” It was Sulla’s turn to smile now. “Need I remind you that he did hack the head off the Wyrd?”
Captain Rovin snarled down at him.
“Your fate and his is not my decision to make, Sulla. If he doesn’t surrender, Jerrod will be hunted down and killed.”
The door opened and Sulla recognised Lord Ruthven.
“No, Captain Rovin it is not your decision to make.” The nobleman glanced around Sulla’s quarters and finally at Sulla himself. “It is mine.
“Leave us Captain Rovin,” he added, motioning them out. “I have something I wish to discuss with this man in private.”
Sulla saw Ruthven hold his right hand up. A curious ring caught the light, and when the belligerent captain saw it, he nodded.
“Very well, my Lord. We’ll be outside. If he gives you any trouble, just call.”
The room emptied, leaving them alone. After a long minute, Ruthven approached Sulla and leaned down close to him, and when he spoke it was in an angry whisper.
“Where are the documents, Sulla?” he hissed. “Where are the records you used to blackmail me? I paid your man handsomely for your silence, when you first came to me, and now you need to fulfil your end of the bargain. Where are they?”
Hold your tongue. Let him sweat.
Sulla took the goblet in his prosthetics and moved it awkwardly to his mouth. He took a single slow sip, swallowed, and then took another.
Then he looked Lord Ruthven in the eye.
“They are safe with my associate, the werewolf Jerrod. But let me make a suggestion to you, Lord Ruthven. I plan to stay and live in Varrock. A man like me can be very useful to your King. You see, I have other documents, copied from the Kinshra records when I was in charge. Think what your government could do with these!” He laughed at that. “All the dirty little secrets of anyone who matters—from here all the way to Kandarin. The diplomacy of Misthalin would be unstoppable, as would your own rise—”
“Don’t try and tempt me with such insipid talk, Sulla. I have risen well enough without you, and ambition as you have described is the want of weak men. I fight for a greater purpose than myself.”
“Then why did you pay me off in the first place, if yo
u are such a strong and principled man?” Sulla said with a sneer.
“It was easier. Simply that. And I never said I was a principled man, Sulla.” Lord Ruthven moved toward the drawers that sat below the window. “That is something you should appreciate. You see, I have the King’s ear in many matters. If I wish it, I am quite sure I can condemn you to hang. Thus, I am the one making the demands. Not you.”
“Then what do you want?”
“What I paid for. The documents that incriminate me in my dealings with the Kinshra. It was, as you know, a long time ago, but selling weapons to your order was in direct opposition to the commands of the present King’s father.
“Still, I suppose they didn’t do you much good when you attacked Falador.”
“Very well,” Sulla said, biting his lip to keep his temper in check. “You will have your documents—if you do something for me.” He paused for effect. “Like I said, I want to remain in Varrock. There is nowhere else for me to go. Jerrod, too, is in a similar situation. After killing the Wyrd he cannot return home. And you have lost Gar’rth. A werewolf working with you would be useful. His knowledge of Morytania alone is worth a huge amount, and he is tenfold the best tracker in Varrock.”
Ruthven considered his words for a moment.
“I will put that to the King in the coming days. He won’t like having a werewolf here, though. Jerrod will have to live a life under lock and key.”
At least this buys me time. An extension of the King’s mercy.
Sulla nodded slightly.
“That is understandable.”
Ruthven gave him an unpleasant glare and then moved away from the drawers and to the door.
“And those documents,” he said. “If you are to come in and... be one of us, then I will take possession of them. We may as well make use of them where we can.”
Sulla smiled.
“But I am the only one who can read them, Lord Ruthven. They are in an old Kinshra code. You see, I am not entirely stupid.”
“No, Sulla. Not entirely.”
The old man left and Sulla was alone. But he felt good, and he knew it wasn’t just because of the wine he had consumed. He stood up and went to the window to look out onto the palace bailey. He noticed the number of guards and soldiers, far more than there had been the day before.
It appears King Roald could be building an army. But for what purpose?
As Sulla walked back to his chair, something caught his eye. On a cushion on his bed, where he had spent so many hours, was an envelope.
Someone must have slipped it there when I distracted, but who?
His mind spinning, he fumbled it open and saw just a single black mark drawn upon the paper. To most people it would have been meaningless, but Sulla gritted his teeth when he saw it, and his scars began to itch violently.
It was a warning. A warning from the Kinshra that was used to intimidate those who had betrayed the knighthood’s cause, and to tell them they could be killed at any time.
I could be killed at any time...
It could only mean one thing. Someone inside the palace— someone who had been in this very room, talking with him, pouring him wine, eyeing him with unease—was a Kinshra spy.
I am not safe here. If they can leave me a message such as this, then they can easily put poison in my wine or a knife to my throat.
Suddenly, despite the warm summer’s day, he shivered. All his plotting and bargaining now seemed so very fragile. And one thing was for certain.
The palace of Varrock was not the safe place he had thought it to be.
The End
Acknowledgements
Re-writing a novel in two months is very hard work. Especially when it becomes an entirely new piece of work from the one you started out with. Fourteen-hour days, friends who somehow managed to turn a blind eye (and even laugh) when the pressure of the deadline got to me, my temper made worse by gout, a Spanish holiday where I rose with the sun to ensure the project was on target and essentially abandoned my fiancée! Phew! The summer of 2010 was tough indeed!
But it was tougher on those who supported me—and for that I thank my family and friends who tolerated the madness of the time. I am proud of what we achieved together.
Thanks must also be given to Giuseppe Grassi for his excellent work on the maps and covers, and to the leader of Jagex’s content team, Mark O, who I once watched, slightly horrified, as he consumed a very rare steak for two by himself. That alone deserves an acknowledgement. Of course, no acknowledgement would be complete without the Titan editorial team: particularly Steve Saffel, who, as usual, spent many hours polishing a rough diamond, correcting my innumerable mistakes, and preparing it for publication.
Now, it’s over to the marketing gods.
About the author
T.S. Church was born and educated in Worcestershire, England. He holds degrees in Information Systems and Business, as well as an MA in Marketing, all from the University of the West of England, Bristol. In his free time, he enjoys playing RuneScape. When not spending time in Gielinor, he likes to read and study history. He also participates (reluctantly) in adventure sports, from canoeing the length of the Thames to running half marathons. He wrote the first RuneScape tie-in novel Betrayal at Falador. To find out more, visit his website, www.tschurch.com.
Also available from Titan Books:
RuneScape: Betrayal at Falador By T.S. Church
In the kingdom of Asgarnia, the Knights of Falador are beacons of order and chivalry, but their dominance is threatened by the forces of chaos which plot to shatter the time of peace.
When a mysterious young woman suddenly appears in the city of Falador in the teeth of a storm, her arrival launches a chain of events that will alter the fate of the kingdom forever.
Unless the knights can solve the riddle of Kara-Meir, everything they hold dear may be lost.
The first official tie-in novel set in the world of RuneScape—the world’s most popular free online role-playing game.
www.titanbooks.com
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