Runescape

by T. S. Church

  How to do it? he pondered, and licked his lips. Many decades earlier, his mother had taught him not to play with his food, telling him that he would be burnt by a mage or cut with a holy blade if he did so. But she had died a long time ago, and this girl who stepped blithely into the room did not know what manner of creature he was.

  He decided to play.

  He leaned forward, a claw hovering an inch from her skin.

  The girl struck.

  She spun on her heel, driving her blade into his body with all her strength, forcing it through the tough skin that had protected him from all manner of human weapons over the years.

  He screamed with pain, his eyes widening as he felt his own blood pour from a deep wound and stream onto the wooden floor of the house. He reached down and grasped the blade with both hands, pulling it from his body, the sword’s edges slicing deeply into his palms.

  His strength was greater than hers, and she could not impale him further. So the girl stepped back and pulled the blade free, leaving two of his twitching fingers on the floor as she did so. Once again he screamed.

  But still the girl hadn’t finished her dreadful work. She brought the sword over her head and into his face.

  At the same time he made for the doorway, knowing now that it was his turn to run. As he did so, the sword tip sliced across his forehead, severing his left ear. His hot blood flowed freely into his eyes as he fled into the alley, his hands pressed against his stomach to staunch the wound.

  He ignored the few onlookers he passed, his face revealed now for all to see: the face of the werewolf. None dared to stand in his way, for no guard or peon was willing to confront him at the gates to the city.

  Within a short time he was away from Falador, back out in the countryside, nursing his wounds in a deep hollow a good distance from any road, away from the eyes of men.

  By the dim light that filtered in through the door, Kara released Theodore, while Doric retrieved his axe. The dwarf pulled a match from his cloak and held it up, giving them some more light.

  “How did you do that, Kara?” the squire asked in shock.

  “She can see in the darkness,” Doric said.

  Kara smiled wickedly.

  “You are right, master dwarf” she said in his own language. “I have spent more time underground in the darkness of the mountains than above. My eyes have grown accustomed to seeing in darker places than this.”

  Doric bowed deeply with genuine respect.

  “You saved our lives,” he said in the common tongue. “I owe you a great debt.”

  “As do I, Kara” Theodore said slowly. Yet the change in his voice told her that he was deeply unhappy. “But you left the castle when I specifically asked you not to. You put yourself in danger.”

  Kara was in no mood for Theodore’s lecture.

  “I saved your life, as well, Theodore. The monster was after you—not me.”

  “I did not mean the danger of the monster, Kara...” Theodore’s temper had got the better of him and he lowered his gaze in haste.

  “Then of what?” She tried to look him in the eye, but he wouldn’t allow it. “What else am I in danger from?”

  Theodore shook his head and declined to answer. Doric lit the candle and immediately the room was illuminated with an eerie glow.

  “Look at the blood!” Doric’s eyes widened as he gazed at Kara’s sword and the monster’s blood which still dripped onto the floor.

  “It is pure black,” Theodore whispered, looking at it in disgust. “What creature was it? Could it be a werewolf?” His eyes turned to the dwarf.

  “If legends are anything to go by, then surely so. A wolf in a man’s body—ideal for hiding in a city of men,” Doric said.

  “We should find Bryant. He was here the longest, and maybe he can tell us more” Theodore advised, heading out into the alley.

  The night air was cool on their flushed faces, the city of Falador was strangely quiet. A horse neighed and Theodore saw his mare wander into view.

  “I told Bryant to take the horse back to the castle to get help,” Kara said, her hand once again gripping her sword.

  “Bryant is usually very reliable” Theodore said. Kara saw his worried frown. “It might be his injury—perhaps he’s fainted?”

  Swiftly the three companions moved to the junction of Dagger Alley.

  It was the smell Kara noticed first, a sickly smell. Theodore turned his head away in sudden disgust and Kara stepped back to breathe the cleaner air.

  Only Doric remained unmoved.

  “It is blood.” The dwarf spoke quietly, his eyes glaring intently at the narrow passage that lay before them, attempting to make out the silent shapes.

  Suddenly, one of the shapes moved in the darkness, and a thin sigh sounded.

  Theodore and Kara overtook Doric as they ran forward simultaneously, their weapons readied for any new foe that might assail them.

  Kara knew something was wrong, terribly wrong.

  The squire reached the moving shadow and gently turned it over. As he did so the small figure sighed once again.

  Hot tears leapt into Theodore’s eyes as he cursed in the darkness. Kara stifled a cry and dropped her sword, falling to her knees with her hands covering her eyes in despair. Doric averted his gaze and reverently removed his helm, shaking his head in anger.

  It was Bryant.

  His face was very pale, too pale, and Theodore suddenly realised that he’d knelt down in a dark pool of the peon’s blood that flowed from a savage wound in his neck.

  “I’ve failed you...” Theodore wept as he clasped his peon’s cold hand. “I’ve failed you.”

  Bryant tried to speak but he could not form any words, and yet another quiet sigh escaped his blood-stained lips. All he could do was to squeeze Theodore’s hand with the last of his strength.

  Kara raised his head and rested it on her lap, her tears falling onto Bryant’s forehead.

  “Lady Kara is here, Bryant,” she whispered. “Lady Kara will avenge you.”

  His eyes took in her face, his expression suddenly happy as her golden hair teased his cheek.

  “Who did this to you? Who was it?” Doric shouted at the boy. But the grip on Theodore’s hand relaxed and the light in the peon’s eyes dimmed.

  Bryant was dead.

  Theodore wept openly, and Kara held Bryant’s still head in her arms, her head bowed next to Theodore’s, the two young people united in their grief. Only Doric, who in his hundred years had seen death in many forms, looked farther into the alley.

  He was about to speak when he decided to leave them to their grief, for another shape drew him onward. He knew what it was before he stood over it. It was a second body—a man who wore the white tunic of the Knights of Falador.

  “Theodore!” the dwarf called, readying his axe, his eyes scanning the narrow streets nearby. Was there any chance the killer was still here?

  The squire’s sobbing subsided as he raised his head to look at the dwarf.

  “It’s another body! A knight!” Doric called.

  At once Theodore stood, pausing only to place Bryant’s hands neatly on his lap as if he were sleeping. Kara remained by the body of the boy, seemingly unwilling to leave him alone in the darkness, her hands still gently resting on his face.

  “Do you recognise him?” Doric asked.

  Theodore knelt at the dead man’s side.

  “It is Sir Balladish,” he said. At his side, coated in blood, was a curved dagger.

  Doric pulled the dead man’s cloak aside to reveal a dreadful wound in his chest where the dagger had entered above the heart.

  “What does this mean?” Doric asked in a hushed voice.

  “Sir Balladish is an old knight who lived at the almshouse near the park.” The squire examined the dagger closely. “And this is Bryant’s knife! He was killed with my peon’s weapon. Why would they fight one another?”

  Their debate was silenced as several shouts echoed from the main street and the s
ound of running feet drew their attention. The voices were drawing nearer and in a moment the glare of torches held in the hands of a dozen men illuminated the alley and drove back the shadows. It was a group of peons and squires, alerted to the battle while in search of Kara. At their head was Marius.

  “We have been scouring the city for you!” he said. “Are you all right?”

  Behind him stood Sir Pallas and Sir Finistere, both wheezing heavily.

  “Step with caution, Marius. We have two dead members of our order here.” Theodore said.

  “Who?” Marius asked, his face suddenly dark.

  “Bryant is dead. My peon is dead. And Sir Balladish also.” The tears came again to Theodore’s eyes.

  Marius clasped his hand on Theodore’s shoulder, all signs of rivalry forgotten in their mutual sorrow.

  “Sir Balladish is dead?” Sir Pallas asked in an awed voice.

  “Slain with Bryant’s own dagger” Doric said flatly.

  The two old knights forced their way into the alley, holding a torch above them. Sir Finistere knelt to examine the body of his long-time comrade, then pulled something from the folds of the man’s cloak.

  “What is this?” he remarked in surprise, holding his hand out for the scrutiny of the onlookers.

  “It looks like a Guam leaf,” Sir Pallas answered. “And something is wrapped inside it. Are those Belladonna seeds?”

  “I think so, Sir Pallas” Sir Finistere said, speaking softly. “Belladonna seeds—mixed with Guam leaf and other herbs—can be used to make a deadly poison.”

  “But why would Sir Balladish have such things on him?” Theodore asked.

  Both men looked briefly to Kara with deep questions reflected in their eyes. She left Bryant’s body and walked over to Sir Balladish.

  “And why did he kill Bryant?” she asked, her voice edged with menace. Kara looked briefly at the man, and then her eyes looked deeper into the alley.

  “We do not know that he did,” Sir Finistere said. “You must return to the castle,” he continued. “Everyone is looking for you. And you are not needed here. Sir Amik will have stern words for you. Theodore, take her back, for she is not safe.”

  “Not safe? What do you mean?” she demanded.

  He brushed aside her questions by grabbing Theodore’s shoulder.

  “Take her back to the castle. And take a guard of men with you.”

  The squire took Kara by the arm and led her away, Doric following. Several peons and squires formed a cordon around them as a sombre guard. Still others remained behind to guard the bodies of Bryant and Sir Balladish.

  No one spoke, for no words they knew could express the bitter emptiness they all felt.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The two bodies were brought back to the castle under cover of darkness.

  Theodore sat in vigil over Bryant’s body in the castle’s chapel, the young peon wrapped in a white cloth and laid before the altar. Soon after, he heard a noise and turned to watch the other squires walk quietly in to sit on the benches behind him, their faces downcast in grief and their heads bowed in respect.

  As each passed Theodore they grasped his shoulder in a gesture of support. Never before had such a thing happened to any of them, and the event unified them in grief.

  On searching the house, the knights found the body of the old woman, a well-known resident of the city who was a professional beggar.

  Elise’s body was discovered in the ward when the guard woke. Kara understood that the murderer had meant her to die, and not the nurse. Her chocolate drink was spilled next to the body and Theodore—his grief overwhelming him—finally told Kara the truth.

  She knew now that Sir Amik had deliberately used her as bait, spreading rumours that she remembered more than she did in an attempt to draw out the traitor. She also knew that he had invited the almshouse residents to help educate the peons in place of the knights, in order to put the traitor in their midst and within range of harming her.

  Kara lay in her bed, but she could not sleep. She went through the fight in her mind, wondering if she could have taken another course of action that would have kept the young peon alive.

  Was I too hasty to prove myself? Was I too eager to fight, to show the knights that I am as good as they are?

  In the small hours before dawn, she pondered the death of Elise and the morality of Sir Amik’s actions in placing her in danger. An innocent woman had been killed by a calculating murderer. The poison’s components had been found on Sir Balladish. She knew that it was accepted by many, without question, that he had been the traitor all along, and that while he was murdering Bryant, the peon had managed to deliver a lethal blow with his own dagger before collapsing to the ground of the alley.

  Sir Balladish.

  Had her father ever mentioned that name to her, all those years ago? If he had, she could not recall it. Of course, for all she knew her father wasn’t Justrain at all.

  Would they have lied about that also? Could they really be so deceitful? I have been a pawn in their game, used only to suit their purposes.

  Suddenly she hated the knights and their hypocrisy. An innocent life had been taken—and she felt as if she was partly to blame. If she hadn’t arrived at the castle, then Elise would still be alive. Was it her own fault that Sir Amik had used her as bait? Was it her fault that she had so swiftly and unquestioningly embraced the possibility that Justrain might be her father, thus letting Theodore spy on her on Sir Amik’s behalf?

  Theodore!

  She thought of the young man and her affection for him, and the remembrance of how he had used that affection turned her heart bitter. He was Sir Amik’s instrument. He had lied to her as much as anyone else.

  Kara lifted her head from her pillow. She knew what she needed to do.

  Sir Amik and Sir Tiffy analysed the situation. Neither man had visited the scene at Dagger Alley, so Sir Finistere’s and Sir Pallas’s reports were used to provide the facts from which they were to draw their conclusions. The two men had debated throughout the night, Sir Tiffy with his books spread before him, documenting the history of the traitor’s existence since the revelations of Justrain had prompted a quiet investigation all those years ago.

  “Does it add up?” Sir Amik asked. “Could Balladish have been the traitor?”

  “Any of them could have been,” Sir Tiffy replied sombrely. “Sir Balladish was in the right places at the right times; he had access to all of the necessary knowledge. It would not have been easy for him, however, and luck must have played a significant part in his ability to remain undetected for so long. That he should be brought to justice at the hand of his own young victim...” The old knight shook his head in wonder.

  Sir Amik nodded.

  “So you believe that Sir Balladish was the traitor.”

  Sir Tiffy thought for a moment before answering. The evidence was overwhelming. The man had been found with the components for a lethal poison on his person, a blood-stained dagger next to him, close to the body of a murdered peon. It had been Bryant’s knowledge that had posed such a threat to him, for if Kara had been killed by the poison in her drink, then the peon would have come forward to raise uncomfortable questions. Only Bryant, who had delivered the herbs, knew of the deadly ingredients that came from the apothecary.

  “Yes, I believe it to be so” he replied finally. “As a matter of caution, however, I suggest you send the residents back to the almshouse and away from Kara. She has suffered enough at our hands.”

  Sir Amik nodded, painfully aware that he had acted ruthlessly. He remembered Bhuler’s long looks of reproach as his valet had guessed at the turmoil in his mind. With a pull of the red rope that hung over his desk, he summoned his valet, who waited patiently outside.

  “Have them take the traitor’s body away at dawn,” Sir Amik ordered. “See to it yourself. Take it far away, out of the city, to a desolate spot south of here, and bury it deep in the earth in an unmarked grave.”

  Bhuler nodded and lef
t to carry out the grisly instructions.

  Guilt assailed Marius over how he had behaved to Bryant when the boy was alive.

  Yet Bryant needed to be strong, he told himself, and he needed to be goaded harder than the others.

  Was I wrong to do that? he wondered. Is it wrong to drive the peons, to ensure they appreciate the harshness of life outside the castle walls? Even if it is right to do so, why did I enjoy humiliating him so much?

  He could not escape from the uncomfortable truth. He had singled Bryant out time and again to illustrate the weakness of the peon and to highlight what he perceived as Theodore’s indulgent leadership. The knights were warriors. They were expected to give their lives in the service of Saradomin. They needed to be strong.

  But then his actions toward Kara had reminded him that in his own way he was weak.

  If I were truly strong, I would have taken her hand after our battle.

  He recalled the tears on Theodore’s face throughout the night as he had stood amongst his fellow squires. Theodore had been unashamed to show his grief. And Marius admired him all the more for it, for it showed his belief in himself, uncaring of what others thought.

  Do I have such strength? Marius wondered inwardly.

  He stood outside the ward as first light illuminated the eastern sky, unsure of how to apologise to Kara. Apologies did not come easily to him, but he knew he had to give one. He knew he had been wrong.

  He knocked first and waited for a moment. When there was no answer he knocked again and the door opened under the force of his fist.

  The ward was empty.

  Kara was gone.

  THIRTY-SIX

  “Come lad, drink this” Doric held a steaming mug out to the youngster.

  Theodore took it and drank without bothering to check what it was. His mind was far away and his eyes were still misty from tears.

  The sound of running feet caught his attention, however. No one should be running in the chapel while Bryant lay there. Theodore rose in anger, his face flushing as his temper soared.

  But it was no frivoling peon. It was Marius, and his face was full of alarm.