Runescape

by T. S. Church

  Sir Tiffy opened his satchel and withdrew a document written on vellum.

  Sir Amik read it in silence. Then he read it again, to be certain of what it implied. Finally, he sighed.

  Justrain.

  “We have not had any contact with him in over a decade,” he murmured, lifting his gaze from the document. “A man like him would not abandon our cause. I fear he is long dead, as we had assumed.”

  “I was a senior knight back then,” Sir Tiffy said, “when he volunteered to spy on the Kinshra. Kara’s arrival has raised unanswered questions that have long lain dormant.”

  Twenty years ago Justrain, one of their boldest knights, had disgraced himself by accusing someone in their order of treachery. Such a charge, if not supported by evidence, led to expulsion. Sir Amik remembered the day vividly: the adamant Justrain resolutely clinging to his accusation and standing by his belief in the face of furious opposition.

  While many believed and supported him, there had been no evidence, so he had handed over his sword and his armour, resigning from the order before he could be expelled. Sir Tiffy’s predecessor, then in command of the Temple Knights, had offered him one of the Rings of Life, as a final acknowledgement of the man’s ability and resolution. He was officially designated a Temple agent, charged to spy on the Kinshra, and sent to live amongst the foresters and the hunters near Ice Mountain.

  For several years irregular reports had been sent back. Some hinted at his unwavering intent to prove his accusation of treachery at the highest levels of the order.

  But then the reports had ceased altogether.

  “How old is Kara?” Sir Tiffy asked.

  “I think seventeen. Theodore has said that she herself is not certain. He told me her story: her village was the target of a Kinshra attack, and she was the only survivor. She has not yet revealed how she survived.”

  “That is suspicious.”

  “Theodore thinks she will tell him in the next few days. He did not want to force her to revisit the tragic attack.”

  Sir Tiffy shook his head.

  “Does he have the stomach for this work?” he asked frankly. “Kara-Meir is somehow important to us, and Theodore’s approach is long-winded. Time may be of the essence.”

  “He will achieve the goals we have set him.”

  The silence that fell between them was uneasy.

  Finally, Sir Tiffy spoke.

  “Do you think that Kara is Justrain’s daughter?”

  “It is a possibility,” Sir Amik replied cautiously. He knew the way in which Sir Tiffy’s mind worked, and he was afraid of what he might suggest.

  “If there is any truth to the accusations Justrain made all those years ago, then the traitor may still live.” He seized Sir Amik’s wrist, his grip strong in its fervour. “He may be in the almshouses in the city, even now.”

  Sir Amik peered at him doubtfully.

  “It was twenty years ago,” he said. “What could he hope to accomplish after all this time, even if he is still alive?”

  “If a man has escaped justice this long, then it is our duty to ensure that he evades it no more,” Sir Tiffy insisted. “Think, my friend. If it becomes known that Kara is Justrain’s daughter, and that her father may have passed on to her important information, our treacherous knight would be forced to act.”

  Despite his doubts, Sir Amik’s expression became more intense.

  “You mean, Sir Tiffy, to use Kara as bait?”

  The old man lowered his head, a dark expression clouding his face.

  “I do,” he admitted. “Yet I do not suggest it lightly, for Kara will be in danger. But in the years since Justrain’s exile, events have indicated that he might have been right. Our agents have disappeared, knights have been ambushed, yet for no reason we have been able to discern. Often these things would have required information that could only have come from someone within our ranks.”

  Sir Amik nodded. It was something he had been afraid to admit, hoping that this treasonous knight—if indeed he existed—was long dead.

  “Very well,” he said, rising from his seat. “No one else must know of this, my friend—only you and I.”

  “Agreed.”

  The two men sealed their pact by shaking hands, and Sir Amik knew they were both uncomfortable with what they were about to do. Yet both were certain that it was the only way.

  Bhuler led Sir Tiffy to a spare room, for the rain and the late hour prevented him from returning to the almshouse near the park. The knight had been withdrawn since his meeting, his expression strained, the valet thought, as he returned to Sir Amik’s quarters.

  Sir Amik was no better.

  “Bhuler, I would like you to tell me something.” His voice was tremulous. “I have always tried to do what is good for our order,” he began.

  The valet nodded, and waited for more.

  “But sometimes such dedication demands a sacrifice.” Bhuler noted a far-away look in his eyes. “What will they say of me when I am dead?”

  “Sir Amik?” Bhuler asked, certain he had heard incorrectly.

  “Have I been a good knight, Bhuler?” Sir Amik pressed. “Have I served our order with honour?”

  “Undoubtedly, Sir Amik,” the valet declared. “Your name will live in the hearts of those who come after us, and will be held high as an example to them all.”

  Sir Amik smiled wanly.

  “Thank you, Bhuler, and good night.”

  The valet turned and left the room, closing the door quietly, his mind disturbed. What could have prompted such unnerving questions? His thoughts turned to Kara. Her coming was the catalyst for many things, and he recalled the sad look he had seen on her face that afternoon after her victory over Marius.

  Something drew him to the ward, and soon he found himself outside the wooden door, his hand unwilling to open it at such a late hour. He stood silently for a moment, unsure of what to do, when a sound from within caught his attention.

  It was the sound of someone crying.

  He could not ignore someone in distress. Silently he opened the door. There was only one person in the room.

  It was Kara. She had the sheet pulled over her, as if hiding herself from the world.

  “Kara. It is me... Bhuler.” The valet crept forward and spoke in a low voice as he reached out to pull the sheet back.

  She didn’t try to stop him, and instead tried to hide her face in her arms, clearly unwilling to let anyone see her in such distress.

  “What is wrong, Kara?” The valet reached forward and pushed the girl’s hands gently away from her tear-streaked face.

  Her dark eyes met his.

  “I am a nobody, Bhuler,” she hissed. “Marius was right. I can never be a knight. I don’t even know who I am!” Her words were wracked by pained sobs.

  Bhuler unconsciously put his arm around her, drawing her into his comforting embrace.

  “You fought better than any squire I’ve ever seen, Kara,” he whispered to her, pulling the strands of blonde hair away from her face. “None have beaten Marius in such a contest before— and you did it so easily.”

  “It changes nothing,” she said into his shoulder.

  “It changes everything, Kara,” he responded. “I do not know why, but the eyes of fate have marked you for a purpose. You have been granted a skill which few can equal.”

  He pushed her away and looked at her gently, his eyes sparkling.

  “You may not know your own history just yet, Kara, but you must continue to do what is right for today, not what was right in whatever past you may have lived. We must learn from history, but we cannot be bound by it.”

  She looked at him and nodded. He kissed her gently on her forehead, and she lay back on her pillow, her sobs subsiding.

  “You should sleep now, Kara,” he said. “I will watch over you.”

  And with Bhuler sitting silently at her bedside, Kara-Meir slept as peacefully as he had seen since her arrival, calmed by the presence of her friend.

&
nbsp; TWENTY-FOUR

  “I have discussed Gar’rth’s affliction with my coven and I do not think we can be of any more help to him.” Kaqemeex’s expression was pained as he made this confession.

  “You have done more than we had any right to expect, my friend,” Ebenezer said gently. The druids had developed a potion that had relieved Gar’rth of his ailment, yet it seemed his body was rebelling against it. Soon, the alchemist knew, the potions would be useless.

  “There is another option, however,” Kaqemeex offered. “There is a monastery northeast of here, close to The Wilderness. The monks there, under Abbot Langley, are worshippers of Saradomin. They may have the power to heal the boy.”

  Gar’rth was standing close by, his head lowered in unease.

  “Then we shall go there, and soon,” Ebenezer said, glancing at Gar’rth with a fond look in his eyes. “I am sure Castimir will accompany us—it will be useful having a wizard at our side with the monster still on the loose.”

  “The birds have told me of the beast, my friend,” Kaqemeex said earnestly. “It is no longer at large in the wild. It went south and has passed beyond the limits of my spies. I think the east road to Varrock will be clear of any danger, for the Knights of Falador have sent many of their agents abroad to guard travellers, and even the Imperial Guard are helping.

  “I would suggest that you make for the River Lum, and take advantage of the hospitality of the barbarian folk. From there the monastery is just a few days north, east of Ice Mountain.”

  Ebenezer nodded.

  “Then we shall leave today to take advantage of all the time that may be given us. Have you prepared the potions for Gar’rth?”

  “I have, but once they are gone, I feel certain that no potion we can make will be strong enough to help him. His only hope is the monastery.” The druid bowed low, turned, and departed.

  From an upper window which he had opened to let in the morning light, Castimir watched the druid go. He had heard their conversation, and he quietly feared for Gar’rth. They had developed a tentative friendship stemming from his willingness to educate the unfortunate youth in the common tongue.

  The young wizard made ready to pack his belongings, securing his precious rune stones in their many pouches upon his belt. He preferred to travel light, with only two packs and a straight staff which glowed a fiery red at its knotted top.

  “Ah well,” he sighed as he found his yak in the stables. “Off I go again. Farewell, peaceful Taverley—until next time.”

  In fact, every inch of Castimir was itching to depart. He had nearly finished his year’s wanderings, and he was eager to see as much as he could before he had to return to the Wizards’ Tower. The tales of the barbarians and their hospitality had been an inspiration to him when he was young, so he was eager to experience it first hand.

  “I wonder if what they say about the barbarian women is true?” he asked his beast as he slung the first pack over the creature’s back.

  The phlegmatic yak looked at him as if it thought him mad, and didn’t bother to answer.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “Crown Prince Anlaf, has he been having your dreams?”

  Sulla spoke with authority to the sybil, who stood in the red-carpeted meeting hall of the Kinshra.

  “He has,” the hag replied. “He will soon be paralysed with fear, unable to make a decision, open to the suggestions given by our supporters in Burthorpe. Through his indecisiveness the Imperial Guard will be redundant.”

  Sulla turned to the men gathered around the table. They were the most influential followers of the Kinshra, and they had sworn loyalty to him after he had assumed command. He knew how little their oaths were worth, however.

  “Are you sure of this, Sulla?” Lord Daquarius asked. Sulla despised him, but was too wise to make an enemy of him, for Lord Daquarius was a cunning man who was popular due to his well-known concern for his men. Sulla possessed no such weaknesses.

  “I am,” he replied. “All we require is the will. For long years we have held ourselves back from interfering in Asgarnian politics, and the Knights of Falador have grown strong, taking advantage of King Vallance’s illness. The followers of Zamorak are persecuted throughout the kingdom. How long will it be before the blessed name of Zamorak is forgotten in Asgarnia, unless we—his sworn followers—do something to remind the people? Our ancestors helped found Asgarnia with King Raddallin. Will we dishonour their memory by letting our enemies consolidate their grip? I say no!”

  Several of the men growled approval, and even Lord Daquarius nodded.

  Sulla raised his hand to silence them.

  “We have the weapons needed to break the walls of Falador, and we have spies everywhere. We have agents monitoring those who come and go from the Wizards’ Tower in the far south. We have agents patrolling the greatest city of humankind, Varrock, in neighbouring Misthalin.” He paused. “We even have the promises of the goblin chiefs, who are angered by the unfair treaties they have been forced to sign by the knights, requiring them to cede their lands to human farmers, driving them farther and farther north.

  “For many years now I have worked toward this moment. I have been called extreme, and some have decried my methods as too violent.” Sulla smiled as he noted the amused looks on the faces of the men seated before him. “But over the course of years we have exhausted diplomacy, and only war remains!”

  His captains hammered their fists upon the tabletop, indicating their agreement, and Sulla looked with satisfaction into their feverish eyes. He knew they would back him, for it had been many years since the Kinshra had ridden forth to open battle against their hated enemies. Many years during which their anger had only grown.

  Some hours later, when only Sulla and the sybil remained, his wandering mind focused upon the girl. He had continued to dream of her, and he knew not why.

  “She is alive. I know she is,” he hissed to the sybil, his fists raised in sudden hatred.

  “Do you fear her, Sulla?” the old woman said in a crackling voice.

  He didn’t answer, ignoring her and her evil laughter, for she alone had the power to mock him now. Instead he spun and walked away.

  But as he left the hall he knew with certainty that he did fear the girl. For he sensed in her a nemesis, someone as violent and angry as he was—someone who was set solely and absolutely upon his destruction.

  TWENTY-SIX

  “Does the name Justrain mean anything to you, Kara?”

  Sir Amik stood in the ward, his back turned to the girl, his hands folded behind him.

  “No. I have never heard that name before.” Kara’s face was open and honest, and Theodore was certain she was telling the truth.

  Sir Amik turned to face her then.

  “I would like you to tell me about your father” he said. “About what happened to you after your village was attacked, and how you came to possess the broken ring.”

  “The ring was my father’s,” she replied. “He was a woodcutter in the village. He would spend long periods away, sometimes travelling as far as The Wilderness. Once he left us for some weeks...” Kara’s face fell. “When he returned he was badly injured. Shortly after that, in the winter, the man called Sulla came and killed everybody.”

  She raised her head to the knight, who looked at her with sympathetic eyes.

  “My mother forced my father’s pack into my hands before she was dragged screaming from our house by her hair,” she continued, her voice strained with the effort. “I escaped from the village, evading their hounds and hiding in the woods. I found the ring later, when I searched the pack for food.”

  Kara’s eyes were far away as she recalled the horrific events.

  “I was found by a party of dwarfs. They took me back to their caves and I was adopted by Master Phyllis. I learned to craft metals better than any human smith in Falador. I learned to mine and how to fight. I was always fighting. Master Phyllis saw the anger in me and took it upon himself to educate me. I even learned to speak th
eir language.

  “Then a few weeks ago Master Phyllis became ill, and he made me promise to leave the mountain. He thought it very wrong that I should be kept away from other humans, and decided that I was old enough to find my way in the world. I took my sword and my father’s ring, and sought out the men who had killed my parents.”

  Sir Amik listened carefully, and showed no sign that he thought she was telling anything but the truth. Yet to Theodore he seemed uncomfortable as he began to speak again.

  “There was a time when we knights had in our service a powerful mage who shared our aims,” he began. “He created the Rings of Life and we issued them to those men who undertook our more dangerous missions—men like Justrain, who went to live amongst the people of your village, in order to spy on the Kinshra.”

  Kara’s expression suddenly changed, to show that she understood.

  Could it be true? she thought furiously. Could he have discovered the true identity of my father?

  “But, Kara, there is something you should know about Justrain,” Sir Amik said. “He forfeited his knighthood when he accused some in our order of being treacherous, of passing information to the Kinshra. When he left Falador for the final time, he did so without his squire, without his armour, and without his sword. He went as a normal man with a sacred mission. That would allow him to marry if he wished—and it seems as if he did, becoming a woodcutter and having you as his daughter.”

  The tears rolled down Kara’s face. Suddenly she felt as if she had found something that she had been searching for her entire life.

  “But you must listen to me, Kara,” Sir Amik continued urgently. “There is evidence that the traitor might still be alive, and if he is, he must be brought to justice. I need you to think of anything your father might have said to you about this person. Promise me you’ll think about it?”

  Kara nodded her head in agreement, although she was too excited to speak. Sir Amik smiled sadly as he squeezed her hand and left her in the ward with Theodore.

  For Sir Amik, the conversation had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.