by T. S. Church
She walked to the door, noting the hot chocolate on the tray. She hadn’t had such a luxury since she was a child and the delicious taste came back to her in an instant.
She took a deep gulp of the hot drink, to fortify myself, she thought, and knowing that Kara was running from the castle she decided that she wouldn’t need the rest of it.
On the third draught she knew something was wrong. A stinging pain erupted in her stomach and she dropped to the floor in agony, unable to cry out for help. Her tongue began swelling up, choking her, and she knew that there was only one way she could become so ill so quickly.
“Poison!” she gasped. “Someone’s tried to poison Kara.”
She made it as far as the door before she gave in to the darkness.
THIRTY-TWO
Kara ran across the battlements in the gloom. Two more guards had tried to stop her and she had left them both unconscious. She knew Theodore was riding into danger—she had grown up amongst the dwarfs and she knew their ways better than any guard who might write off their warnings as drunken ramblings.
But first she had to get out of the castle. The gatehouse near the moat would be too well-guarded, so she chose the only other way she could think of in such a short space of time.
She stood atop the battlements and looked down into the darkness below. Light glinted off the dark water. She whispered a prayer to Saradomin.
Someone shouted something in the courtyard. A sentry had found one of the unconscious guards. Cries of alarm erupted from the men at their posts as they drew their weapons.
Kara leapt.
She fell with astonishing speed and hit the ice-cold water. The shock forced her to fight her way to the steep bank. Voices shouted from the bridge. Her landing had drawn the guards’ attention and she could see in the dim light a small body of armed men rushing out to investigate.
Kara was too far away for them to see, however. She climbed the bank, slipping twice on the muddy sides. She knew she had to get clear of the castle, aware that the knights had every advantage since the streets were unfamiliar to her.
A heavy carriage rolled by as she stepped onto the road. The driver gave the wet girl covered in mud a long stare of disapproval. As he passed, Kara jumped aboard the carriage, clinging close to its side as it carried her past the guards running in the other direction.
Within minutes the castle was in uproar. Sir Erical woke one of the unconscious guards by pouring a bucket of cold water over him. After a moment of sputtering he glanced around in alarm.
“It’s Kara! She’s the one who attacked me!”
“She must be found at once.” The master-at-arms bellowed his orders as he hastened to inform Sir Amik. “Wake every knight, squire, and peon available. Send men out to watch the city’s gates!”
Soldiers rushed across the bridge, seeking to reach the city’s gates and to prevent Kara from leaving Falador. At the same time, a dozen guards rushed out to search the immediate vicinity.
“Kara does not know the city” Sir Amik said, looking intently at Nicholas Sharpe and Sir Tiffy. “That is our advantage.”
“But we don’t know where Squire Theodore has gone” Sir Tiffy observed. “One of our guards is missing, and two have been assaulted. Peons and squires have all poured into the city in a disordered mass. If we find her it will be by the will of Saradomin only.” The old knight shook his head in dismay.
Hearing that Kara had fled, the traitor knew he had to take the opportunity. He gathered a weather-beaten cloak and headed across the bridge into the city, turning toward the Dens and Dagger Alley, to end the threat of Bryant once and for all.
As he turned a corner his unease grew, however. Something was wrong.
Was that someone following me?
He hesitated.
I cannot afford to be weak. I have lived so long and so dangerously. The boy and Kara have to die. Both of them.
As quick as he could manage, the traitor ran on, his mind set.
Theodore made no effort to conceal his presence, for he had no reason to be suspicious. He tied his white mare to the rusted strut in the wall, noting how everything in Dagger Alley seemed to reflect its reputation as a place of squalid destitution. Even the air seemed stale.
The mare was reluctant to be tied and he had to force her to the wall in order to secure her. It was unlike her to be so jumpy, he thought as he walked toward the shadowy door of Bryant’s rescuer.
He knocked loudly.
“Who is it?” a man’s voice called out.
“Squire Theodore, sir. From the knights. I received a letter regarding Bryant, a peon of mine?”
The door handle turned and the lock was opened from the inside.
“It is good of you to come, Squire Theodore.”
The door opened, and before Theodore could react, a huge hand seized his shoulder and dragged him inside, forcing him to the floor as if he were a child’s doll. He glimpsed Bryant tied to the chair, his arm bleeding.
Rolling free, he rose to confront his attacker, his hand on his sword.
A tall figure stood before him and Theodore could sense the power of his assailant.
“Who are you?” he demanded, his will faltering in the face of this enemy.
His foe made no attempt to answer. With a speed that confounded him, he hit Theodore in the stomach. As the squire cried out he saw red eyes glow deep within the hood, eyes that delighted in inflicting pain on others.
A monster’s eyes.
Theodore drew his sword and lunged, the tip of the blade cutting deep into the red robe and glancing off something underneath.
Animal hide was Theodore’s first thought as he pulled his arm back to deliver a second strike. But this time his enemy was ready for him. He sidestepped the blade and retaliated with a punch that Theodore could not hope to avoid. His vision blurred and his grip loosened on the sword hilt. With a groan, he knew he couldn’t remain conscious.
Doric had tried hard to memorise the location of the house in Dagger Alley, knowing that he could not afford to waste any time in leading Theodore back there to confront the monster.
Now he ran through the dark streets, aware that each passing second reduced the chances of him finding the young man alive.
“If only my legs weren’t so short,” he muttered angrily to himself as he paused to read the street names carved into the stone walls. He ran as swiftly as he could, hopeful that he knew where he was going.
If he was right, he was less than a minute away.
The carriage driver was fond of Falador. He liked the white city’s wide streets and clean thoroughfares, and he always felt a certain peacefulness settle upon him whenever he saw the castle at the city’s centre.
He didn’t like the city at that moment, however. The mud-stained urchin girl, dripping wet, had appeared next to him out of the darkness as silently as a wraith. She had forced him to change his route and to carry her to a part of the city about which he knew little. He prayed that his prestigious passenger, the daughter of a Varrock noble, didn’t get curious and open the cabin’s curtains.
“How long?” the little thief asked him.
He flogged the horses harder.
“We should be at the end of Dagger Alley in a few more minutes.” He swallowed as he spoke, trying to sound calm.
“Be sure you are right this time! I cannot afford any more mistakes.”
The glint in the girl’s dark eyes scared him, and the sword that she held with a deadly assurance made him decide against any attempt to resist her commands.
“Yes, ma’am!” he said automatically, whipping his horses all the harder.
THIRTY-THREE
“Wake up, Theodore!”
The guttural voice penetrated his consciousness.
“Your peon needs you!” it persisted. “Wake up!”
He could just make out the shape of the tall figure standing over a whimpering Bryant. He tried to speak, but his mouth was gagged, and when he attempted to raise his hand to
calm his pupil he found that he, too, was restrained in a chair.
The red eyes glowed sadistically in the darkness.
“So you are awake at last.” He stepped forward, standing close. “We can do this in one of two ways, servant of Saradomin. You can willingly tell me everything I need to know about the man I hunt, or you can resist me. If you choose the latter path, then both of you will die, and neither quickly.”
The single candle could not penetrate the black depths of the captor’s cowl, but Theodore sensed that he was dealing with something unnatural, a foe beyond his power. He flinched as the creature’s strong hands tore the gag from his mouth and the leather-like palm closed over his lips to prevent him from crying out.
“If you shout I will hurt you and kill the peon.” The hand remained. “So what is your decision?”
Theodore nodded, and his captor loosened his grip, allowing him to speak.
“Let the peon go,” Theodore insisted. “Then I will help you as best I can.” Somehow his words sounded strong, reflecting a confidence he didn’t feel.
Bryant heard the words and cursed into his foul gag, but the creature didn’t appear to notice. Just before Theodore had arrived the werewolf had told Bryant that it was he who had carried out all the killings, and that he was going to kill them whether they cooperated or not. It seemed to relish the effect its words had upon him.
And now Theodore was making the same mistake he had. He was trying to bargain with something that had no intention of keeping its word.
We are lost, the peon thought. We are both going to die here and this monster will continue to kill. Is there no justice? Bryant was close to cursing Saradomin. Had all his years of diligent work been wasted?
And then the door shook.
The werewolf looked up at the sound, his attention drawn away from Theodore.
“Help us!” the squire shouted before the creature’s huge hand clamped once more across his mouth, gripping him so tightly it was painful just for Bryant to see.
Then the door shook a second time. An instant later it flew open with a splintering crack.
“I’ve been looking for you!” Bryant recognised Doric’s voice instantly.
“And now that you have found me,” the monster sneered in reply, “what do you intend to do?” He thrust the gag into Theodore’s mouth once more. Then he strode forward.
But Doric had years of experience behind him. He had fought numerous enemies, both underground and beneath the open sky, from goblins to trolls and darker nameless creatures. Before his enemy could take another step he launched his first attack.
A hand-axe sliced through the air toward the monster’s face. Without waiting to see if it struck home, Doric yelled and charged into the room.
The traitor had only just managed to avoid the dwarf in the narrow streets that joined Dagger Alley, ducking out of sight as he observed Doric pat the white mare. He watched in surprise as the dwarf stood for a minute at the door and listened, noting how well he was armed.
He heard Theodore’s cry for help and watched Doric force the door’s lock with two heavy blows from his axe. Then the dwarf stepped into the semi-darkness, and the sounds of a vicious battle followed.
The traitor knew he was too old to fight either Doric or Theodore. He was turning away from the house, intending to keep watch from a safer distance, when he heard a carriage shudder to a halt on the main street. He watched in stunned silence as a blonde-haired girl jumped from the driver’s seat, wiping back her wet hair and running with a confidence he had rarely seen in the most seasoned warriors.
He pulled farther into the inky shadows. The girl passed him by, unaware of his presence, heading as fast as she could toward the anxious mare that was now straining at its rope.
It wasn’t going well for Doric. He was surprisingly fast, and his small stature allowed him to duck and avoid many of the creature’s swift strikes, but he didn’t have the chance to deliver a strong blow with his axe. He was reduced to jumping and parrying, using his weapon more like a staff to fend off the creature’s frenzied claws.
The monster lunged at him and swung with one large hand. Doric stepped back and batted it away with the handle of his axe.
And he knew he had made a fatal error.
With superhuman speed the monster seized the axe-haft with its other hand and wrenched it toward him, pulling Doric toward his jaws.
Doric knew he had only one chance to avoid the knife-like teeth that were tearing at his face. He lowered his head and drove his armoured helm as hard as he could into the wide mouth of the beast, hearing it roar in frustration as one of its teeth broke.
But the werewolf did not let go of the axe. He lifted Doric from the floor, shaking the handle in an attempt to dislodge him. Then, with a second howl of frustration, he released the axe and sent Doric spinning toward the wall.
The dwarf felt glass and crockery break as he smashed against a tall dresser and fell to the floor. The dresser tottered and shuddered above him and he rolled away as it crashed over, knocking Bryant on his side.
The dwarf knew he needed help. With a single deft swing of his axe, he cut Bryant’s restraints, breaking the back of the chair and giving the peon the slack he needed to get himself free.
“Run and get help, lad! Go!”
Bryant obeyed Doric’s command, pulling out the small dagger that he always kept on his person to cut through his remaining bonds. The werewolf had not even bothered to search him after his kidnapping, so confident was he of his control.
And then he was free!
He ran straight for the door, ignoring the sounds of the fight behind him, ignoring everything as Doric was thrown back against the table, upsetting the sole candle and plunging the room into darkness.
The peon had escaped, but the monster cared not. He had Theodore and he only needed a short time to wrest free the information he needed.
“Can you see as well as me in the dark, dwarf?” the werewolf sneered. His own eyes worked perfectly, watching Doric as he stood wearily against the far wall, gasping for breath. He focused on the dwarf’s eyes, wondering how long it would take for them to adjust to the complete darkness.
Doric could barely see anything, but while he waited for his eyes to become accustomed to the sudden blackness, he sensed the monster’s rush toward him. Instinctively he raised his axe and made to step back, but his enemy had all the advantages now.
With a quick grab it seized Doric’s axe with one hand and punched him hard in the face with the other. The axe was pulled from his grasp and thrown to the other side of the room. Doric tasted blood, and he couldn’t hope to avoid the monstrous hand which seized him by his mail shirt and hurled him head first into the wall.
His helmet provided some protection and, still conscious, Doric stood, his hand reaching for the last hand-axe that hung on his belt.
“I can smell your blood, dwarf,” the creature taunted. “Now I shall end your misery!”
Doric had little strength left to fight, and with a savage look in his eyes he lay back against the wall.
Let it end, he thought grimly, but I promise you that you’ll lose a few more teeth.
His hand-axe felt suddenly very small.
Bryant fled into the alley, and ran straight into Kara. He saw the anger in her eyes and inadvertently stepped back, pointing toward the house as he reached for the mare’s flank, preparing to pull himself into the saddle.
“It’s the monster! It’s inside with Theodore and the dwarf!” he cried.
“Take the horse and get help, Bryant,” she instructed.
Bryant nodded, too weak with fear and blood loss to argue. He climbed into the mare’s saddle and turned her away from the house, leaving Kara outside.
“Saradomin bless you!” he called as the mare began to trot away from the house. When he looked back, she had vanished, and the sounds of fighting had ceased.
He had gone only twenty yards when a voice hailed him in the darkness.
“Bryant? Is that you, worthy peon?”
He recognised the man’s tunic, the four-pointed star visible on his white robe. The knight’s face was hidden by a battered cloak that swirled around him as it was buffeted by the wind.
“It is I, sir!” Bryant said, dismounting and moving forward to make out the man’s face.
“Come, Bryant!” The man reached out and grabbed the youngster by the shoulder, herding him into the darkness of an alleyway.
“But Squire Theodore...” he protested, suddenly on edge.
“I know!” came the reply. “Help is at hand. Now come on!”
THIRTY-FOUR
Kara was silent as she entered the room. She could hear Doric’s groans, and the padded feet of an adversary stalking her in the darkness.
“A girl? They send a girl to fight me?” he sneered, and the voice was like that of an animal. She had never heard anything quite like it.
She said nothing, her dark eyes peering into the blackness around her.
The monster laughed, a deep, throaty sound. She guessed that he could see in the darkness as well as any human could in daylight.
“I have bested a squire and a seasoned dwarf tonight, my dear,” he taunted from the safety of the shadows. “But I shall enjoy hurting you more than any of the others.”
Kara stepped back toward the door as if she suddenly meant to run. As she did, she heard the monster move closer.
“Theodore? Are you all right?” She kept her voice steady.
The squire groaned, and she could tell that he was gagged.
“Run, girl,” Doric urged.
“I came for Theodore” she replied calmly. “I will not leave without him.”
Standing a few paces away, the monster was puzzled. He recognised the scent of fear on humans, knew what it did to people. But here, in this house, he sensed that this slight girl was totally unafraid.
Suddenly the girl stepped boldly forward, her sword held before her. The monster ducked backward, circling to stand a single pace behind her.
