by T. S. Church
But Theodore ignored their complaints as he too removed and cleaned his armour. The hard work and the duties of his mission helped to distract him from the nagging worry over Kara and her continued absence.
These men hope to become squires, and then maybe knights. And if a knight can’t look after his blade or check the rings of his mail, then he won’t be a knight for long.
However, he could see that the recruits were making a special effort today, for the Midsummer Festival was an opportunity for them to show off in a punishing melee fought against Varrock’s finest knights. The reputation of the order of Falador was at stake, and it lent new vigour to their efforts.
“Hamel, make certain the men drink enough water before we drill,” Theodore instructed a young man who stood nearby. “We might be standing under the sun for some time, and I would hate for any of them to lose consciousness.”
Hamel, a boy of sixteen, nodded enthusiastically. When he had first come to Varrock, Theodore’s biggest problem had been the sheer number of young men who wanted to become knights. Very quickly he had learned that he could not do everything himself, and so he had appointed Hamel as his aide. The boy could never be a knight, for his foot was clubbed. It had been ridiculous for him even to attempt to become one, and yet his dedication and his intelligence had impressed the squire.
After he had told the boy that his dream was impossible, Hamel had sat down and wept. But then Theodore had told him the story of Bhuler, who had also been denied his dream of knighthood, yet he had served Saradomin better than any knight in living memory. More so even than Sir Amik Varze himself.
When offered the opportunity to serve in his own way, Hamel had thrown himself into the task, and had never again questioned his fate. Since then, he had proved invaluable to Theodore.
They know now, these boys, he thought, watching his charges. They know that what goes on behind the armour, the organisation and the discipline, are a thousandfold more important than the strength of the steel or the sharpness of a blade.
“Squire Theodore,” Hamel said in his thick country accent. He nodded to the gymnasium’s entrance, where Theodore caught sight of William.
“Thank you, Hamel. Dismiss the men-though make sure they know that we are to meet here at two o’clock.”
William advanced with a faint smile on his lips, as though trying to appear natural.
He’s up to something.
“I know that look, William,” Theodore said guardedly. “You’ve some mischief afoot.”
“Oh, come, Theodore,” his friend protested. “That’s too cruel. Although Lady Anne was most distressed at your treatment of her in the throne room this morning.”
Ah-hah!
“She’ll live,” Theodore countered. “Somehow I suspect that if I hurled her into a pit full of vipers, it would be they who would crawl out first.”
“Now that really is cruel! But just so long as you didn’t throw Lady Caroline in with her, then I wouldn’t raise a hand to stop you.”
So that’s it.
“What is your plan this time?” he asked with a hint of amusement.
“Not mine, this time, Theodore. It’s Lady Anne who has a plan.” He paused, and looked uncomfortable. “She is waiting for you, right now. She wants you to partner with her tonight at the King’s dance.”
Not again. How obvious must I really make it to her?
“Very well,” he said. “Where is she?” A look of relief swept across William’s face.
“She’s waiting near the main staircase. Come, if we go via the galleries we will avoid her.”
“Thank you, William,” he said. “That would save me an uncomfortable moment. Lead on.”
“Don’t worry Theodore,” William said, flashing a smile. “What ever are friends for?”
The galleries of King Roald’s palace housed dozens of tapestries and paintings from many eras of Varrock’s history. They occupied the floor above King Roald’s throne room, and were scattered in numerous alcoves in the warren of passages.
Within his first week, Theodore had discovered the true value that lay in these galleries-they were very useful if you wished to avoid meeting anybody waiting on the floor below. True, it took longer to go up one of the many discreet stairways to the floor above, and to cross the castle via the winding maze of corridors, but it usually guaranteed secrecy.
The galleries were also frequented by youngsters of the noble houses, who used them for meetings of a more illicit nature.
Theodore followed William up a stone spiral staircase to emerge near the portrait gallery commonly considered the most boring of all in the palace’s collections, and hence far less likely to have visitors. It was an ideal path.
“I need your advice Theodore,” William said quietly as they progressed toward the southern end of the palace.
“With what?” the squire asked in equally muted tones. Austere and wrinkled faces of Varrock’s royal line stared down at him as they walked.
“Lady Caroline,” the young noble began. “She is pleasant enough to me, but I am at a loss of how to take it further. I am not a strong man, Theodore, as you know, so I cannot hope to impress her with any martial skill. In fact, violence scares me. I don’t know what to do,” he struggled finally, stopping near the entrance to the Salve gallery.
Through the door, in a dimly lit chamber, Theodore caught a glimpse of horrifying scenes depicting the events leading up to the battle of the River Salve. The undead of Morytania, led by the vampire Lord Drakan, had sought to cross the river and overrun the forces of the living. It was a gory chronicle.
“Have you tried poetry?” Theodore suggested lamely. “That seems to work in the romance tales.”
“Poetry?” William nearly choked. “I don’t want to torture her.”
Somewhere a clock chimed, signalling midday. Suddenly William turned, looking into the dark recesses of the Salve gallery.
His alertness made Theodore wary.
“What are you looking for, William?” he asked.
“Probably for me, Theodore.” Lady Anne’s voice carried along the length of the gallery. Suddenly, even the portraits of Lord Drakan’s undead seemed far less frightening.
Betrayed! I have been lured into a trap.
“William!” he hissed as the nobleman stepped briskly away, his expression one of uncontrollable mirth.
“Most men would be jealous, Theodore,” William said laughing. “Make the most of it-I would,” he added.
“But your price is less ambitious, de Adlard, and may I say probably far wiser, as well,” Lady Anne said. “I spoke to Lady Caroline this morning. She is so looking forward to a dance with you this evening. Who knows, before winter we might even have a wedding to bring joy to the small folk. So, run along and prepare yourself. I advise a brief rest, followed by a lot of red meat. Good for your energy, and from what Lady Caroline said, you might well need it. To dance, of course.”
Theodore debated whether to run, but decided that it would be far beneath his dignity.
Too late, he felt Lady Anne’s arm slip around his own.
I wonder if this is how a ship feels when it’s being boarded?
How stupid he had been! William’s giggling faded as the nobleman disappeared toward the nearest stairwell, no doubt planning to raid the pantries on Lady Anne’s orders.
“You have the advantage, my lady,” he said, resigning himself to the moment. “What do you plan to do with it?”
“I belong to one of Misthalin’s wealthiest families, Theodore,” the young woman said, her lips uncomfortably close to his ear. “My ailing father lives in the country halfway to Lumbridge, my mother is dead due to circumstances that even today make some suspicious, and I have no brothers. Like William, I am the last of my line.”
“Then perhaps you should marry him?” Theodore suggested, trying to sound glib.
“William?” she replied scornfully, then adjusting her tone. “I think not. He is a good man, in his own limited way, but h
e is no knight. He does not have the respect of the court in any meaningful way. No, Lady Caroline is the very best he can hope for. Trust me Theodore, they are a good match, and I know that she harbours a genuine affection for him. Truly, there actually is a possibility of a wedding.
“Ah, Lady Caroline,” she continued with a dramatic wave of her hand, “my meek little lamb.” She glanced at Theodore. “Although I’ve known many lambs who were considerably less meek.”
“You mock too much, my lady,” he responded. “Is there anything you take seriously?”
“Of course. But if I were to confide that to you, then you would only laugh. You have a heart of stone, Theodore. Incorruptible, yes, and I fear incapable of love, as well.”
She stopped, removed her arm from his, and very slowly walked around to face him. For a long moment she said nothing. The daylight shining through the windows fell upon her face. Her eyes sparkled.
Was that a tear I saw?
“Am I so wicked Theodore?” she asked, and the words sounded earnest. “Am I so detestable that you cannot even be civil to me? Is it because of the rumours of my mother, of her sympathy for Zamorak’s worshippers, whom she protected from persecution?”
Her voice rose in barely restrained anger, causing him to respond.
“No, Lady Anne,” he sighed, “I don’t believe you are wicked at all. And you are certainly not detestable. And it’s got nothing to do with your mother’s history. It’s just…”
It’s Kara, he finished silently. If anything happened between us, I would have betrayed her.
“I am a Knight of Falador, Lady Anne. My love is duty. I can have no other.”
“But you have not denied me either, Theodore. Because of that, I have refused the Kandarin ambassador’s son tonight, so I think I deserve an answer.”
Suddenly she curtseyed, and remained in that position before Theodore’s startled gaze.
“Don’t make me beg, Theodore,” she whispered. Her voice cracked slightly. “Please don’t make me beg.”
The woman is impossible. His thoughts were in chaos. And she is beautiful.
He gazed down at Lady Anne for several seconds. Her blonde hair was plaited down her back in Varrock’s fashion. She wore a diamond ferronniere upon her forehead, which complemented her perfect blue eyes. Her smooth skin was deliciously pale. He remembered a romantic verse he had once heard where a maiden’s skin had been described as being like shards of captured moonlight.
Was that what the bard had been singing about? he wondered. It can’t have been too different.
“Very well, Lady Anne,” he conceded. “You shall have your dance.”
I have waited for you Kara, and you didn’t even write to me.
Her blue eyes fastened onto his. He had expected them to possess a triumphant shine, but there was nothing save honest relief.
“Thank you, Theodore,” she said humbly. “Thank you.”
She rose slowly and looked to the nearest of the pictures on display.
“I understand that this afternoon you and your men are to be involved in a melee?” she asked.
Theodore nodded.
“We are. Against the finest knights of Varrock.”
“You are aware that Lord Hyett will be fighting against you?”
Theodore caught his breath. Lord Hyett, known as the Black Boar due to the tusked beast on his family crest, had taken an irrational loathing to Theodore since the squire had first arrived in Varrock. He was a dangerous opponent, as big and ill-tempered as his nickname implied. Yet Theodore had unhorsed him in their only competition.
“I will look for him then. I have beaten him before, and I can do so again.”
“Just remember, Theodore, Lord Hyett is vulnerable on his left side. His ankle is weak and his vision is apparently blurred in his left eye. In fact, you would do me a favour by humbling him and claiming his armour, as is the victor’s right. He has designs above his station, if you understand what I mean. Intentions. Unwelcome ones.”
Seize the Black Boar’s armour? Theodore was appalled at the thought. The Knights of Falador do not claim the property of others, even in such a contest.
“I will do what I can, Lady Anne.”
Lady Anne smiled innocently, but to Theodore her eyes were anything but.
“But enough of Lord Hyett, Theodore.” Her gaze wandered back to the tapestries on the wall. “I used to come here when I was a young girl,” she said. “I used to imagine participating in the battles, or being the princess in the paintings. My mother used them to teach me the history of Misthalin, for they tell a chronicle from beginning to end. We start with the painting of Avarrocka, the village that would become Varrock. In this gallery, all of Misthalin’s history is illustrated up until the tapestry depicting the battle of the River Salve.”
“I would like to see that,” Theodore said earnestly. He had grown up with tales of the war against Morytania and its climax upon the banks of the sacred river. Lady Anne, enthused by his interest, directed him to a tapestry hung in a prominent position. It was illuminated by the sun’s rays, streaming through a small window near the ceiling, giving it a slightly supernatural aura.
“It’s smaller than I imagined it to be,” he said after a moment.
“It is small, but it is incredibly detailed. See here, the five princes of Varrock who rode to battle.” Lady Anne pointed to the bottom left corner. “Only the youngest returned. King Roald can trace his lineage back to that one, nearly a thousand years ago.”
“How old is the tapestry?” Theodore asked, thoroughly engaged now.
“It’s over nine hundred years old, and was made by those who witnessed the battle itself,” she said. “This is the original. Some say it should be kept elsewhere, to prevent decay.”
“You do not agree?” he asked, knowing by her voice that she didn’t.
“This is real history, Theodore, a link to our past. Every time I see it I feel as if I understand my place in the world a little better. As if I understand what those who came before me had to fight, and of the hardships they endured so that we could enjoy a better future.”
She is absolutely sincere, he thought curiously. I had no idea…
Theodore laughed, and she looked confused.
“Here I thought your only interests were matchmaking and courtly mischief.”
Then it was her turn to smile.
“Well, don’t tell anyone, Theodore,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “I wouldn’t want my reputation to be damaged.”
They examined the tapestry for several minutes, standing close together. When she moved closer still, Theodore made no effort to move away. And when her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled his head down to hers, he made no attempt to resist.
It was only when a servant discovered them that they broke their embrace, and as Theodore left the gallery, alone, his head faint from excitement, he no longer felt he had betrayed Kara.
6
Pia awoke slowly. Her eyelids were heavy, and slow to open. Her body ached as painfully as she could ever recall and she felt utterly exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to fall back into sleep.
But as she stirred she felt the cloth tied over her eyes, so tightly that her head throbbed with pain, and the rope in her mouth that prevented her from crying out. On her first breath she gagged, an overpowering stench of apples covering her skin and clothing. It was instantly recognisable.
Someone nearby laughed cruelly.
“She’s awake,” another said.
She sat up and tried to move her hands, but found they were bound together at the wrists. Her feet were likewise restrained.
Ropes! Not ropes.
She struggled as hard as she was able, until the cords were burning her skin.
Finally, and to the laughter of her onlookers who were too numerous for her to count accurately, she fell back to the ground, exhausted.
“Straven wanted you dead, you know. He gave you to us.” She heard a man’s voice that she didn�
��t recognise, yet his words brought back a memory.
For she had only seen Straven that morning, an hour before dawn.
Now I remember. It’s all coming back.
Straven. The thief master of Varrock, in charge of the Phoenix Gang. She had first met him only a week ago, when she and her brother had proposed their plan to him, and he had given his permission for them to carry it out. Then, after making more money than they had ever possessed, they had tried to run. She had been taken within the first hour, and then she had been beaten. But what of her brother?
Jack! Did they capture you, too? Oh, gods…
“It’s true, you do look quite like her,” the man continued. “You could be a younger sister, two or three years maybe. You’re a head shorter than her, though, and little more than a rag doll. Your eyes are different, too. Straven didn’t tell me how much you conned from that crowd at the Flying Donkey, but when he caught you trying to run with his share, he wanted to roll you down a steep hill in a barrel of apples. Apparently that’s one of his ways of dealing with disloyalty. The severity of the treachery determines the height and inclination of the drop. Some are dropped in the River Lum, whereas particularly vile offenders have been sealed in their barrels in his cellar, with apples enough to last them a month.”
She felt someone’s breath on her face. As the man laughed, she felt his spittle on her cheek. She grimaced, and he laughed again.
“I am told that the smell when they are brought out is truly horrendous. I believe only one man has ever survived a full month, and he was mad and so near death that they cut his throat as a mercy.
“I am telling you this so you understand your position. Straven gave you to me after my messenger persuaded him that I could use you. He put you in a half-filled barrel of apples, and you were brought to me in a cart from the city.”
I am not in Varrock, then? Where am I?
“So you have a choice, thief. You are uniquely placed to help me get my revenge.” There was a pause before he continued. “I don’t know how yet, but there will be a way to use you to my advantage.”
