The blue banners with the symbol of Saradomin embroidered upon their centre fluttered in the cleansing breeze over Falador. It was less bitter and violent than the wind that had buffeted the land in previous weeks.
The matron mopped the girl’s feverish brow. Despite Sir Amik’s assurance that she would live, the woman’s optimism had begun to wane. Unless she woke soon, the girl would be too weak to survive.
“What is your name, child?” she asked softly. The matron had tended the sick since she was young, and she was sure that even in such a comatose state the patient would respond to her soft tones. She had spent a good deal of her time that morning singing the old nursery rhymes she had crooned to infants in her days as a midwife, hoping that the words might be familiar to the strange girl and stimulate a recovery.
But the song died on her lips when the girl suddenly turned her head. It was the first time she had moved since the knight’s prayer. Was she ready to wake?
Her eyelids remained closed, her breathing unchanged, and the matron’s heart sank. She gathered the damp rag she had used to wipe her patient’s brow and moved to leave the ward. She had just reached the door when a hard voice called out, uttering words that she did not understand, words unknown in the common tongue of men.
The patient had spoken.
Yet still she lay motionless, asleep, her breathing barely heightened from the exertion. The matron peered at her, unsure about what to do.
The girl suddenly moved again, tossing her head to one side.
That launched the woman into motion. Gathering her long skirt in her hands, she abandoned the rag on the flagstones and ran as fast as she could, down the wide staircase and across the courtyard, the winter morning cold on her face.
Theodore stood near the window overlooking the small fountains and gardens for which Taverley was famous. It was a very different place from Falador-far more peaceful, in harmony with nature. The houses reflected two styles, either thatched, wooden structures or moss-covered stone buildings that seemed to grow out of the earth itself.
He enjoyed the serenity of the town, for it did not have cobbled streets like Falador but fine earth tracks on which a horse could walk almost silently. The peace was exactly what the squire needed after the shocking scenes at the caravan.
Casting his attention outward, he surveyed the country around Taverley, looking first to the northwest, to White Wolf Mountain. He had heard tales of the huge wolves from which the mountain derived its name. Few were brave enough or foolish enough to attempt a journey over the narrow passes and into the sun-filled land of Kandarin beyond, and in winter it was said that the mountain was impassable.
To the south, a great calm lake extended as far as he could see. He remembered the tales he was told as a child, of dragons that prowled its depths, away from the prying eyes of men. As a squire, Theodore had been taught of the special equipment needed to successfully combat a dragon, and of the abilities these creatures possessed. More often they were seen on land, but they were rarely sighted in civilised regions, rather making their lairs deep underground and far north in the most distant Wilderness.
A soft voice interrupted his reverie.
“I cannot help you, Theodore,” it said. He turned to see an old man in a plain white robe, his chin boasting an even whiter beard.
“Then you have no idea where it grows?” Theodore could not hide his disappointment. He had been so sure the druids would know.
“I have consulted our specimens, but there are none that match,” Sanfew replied, handing the flower back to Theodore. “I still have some of our coven going through them, however,” he continued, speaking slowly and quietly as if he were afraid his very words might be an intrusion against nature. “If you would be happy to wait, I suggest that you explore Taverley. The calm here would do you good.”
As soon as Theodore had arrived he had relayed the message of the Imperial Guards and informed the druids of the monster’s attack on the gypsy caravan. A dozen militiamen had headed south to aid in the hunt, while the druids had offered him soothing tea to calm his nerves.
Yet still he felt a lingering panic.
“I could do with a brief rest,” he admitted gratefully to Sanfew.
“Then please, avail yourself of the opportunity,” the druid said. “Meanwhile, I have sent for Kaqemeex. He’s the most knowledgeable of our coven, although he spends much of his time in the ancient stone circles to the north. He will be here by afternoon, however, and with luck he may be able to answer all your questions.”
The manner in which Sanfew spoke drew the squire’s curiosity.
“All of my questions?” he echoed. “I have only one.”
“I thought you might have more. About the beast that stalks the countryside?”
Theodore hadn’t considered the possibility that the druids might be able to ascertain the nature of the savage creature that had committed the brutal murders. Yet the druids knew more about the world and its magical ways than they let on. It was said that they could conjure animals, compelling them to do their bidding in guarded rituals.
“Do you know anything that might help in its capture, Sanfew?” Theodore’s voice was urgent. What do they know about the monster?
“You must ask Kaqemeex,” the druid replied calmly. “He hears things, from the birds and the beasts.”
Theodore nodded, content to wait, for he didn’t wish to appear rude. The druids were well known for doing things at their own pace, regardless of the pressures of the wider world. Instead, he decided that he would use the time to attend to his horse, to explore Taverley, and then to get some rest.
He had found his mare a warm stable as soon as he had arrived, and was pleased to see that a young groom had provided food and water. He found her asleep, tucked amid the warm hay that was a rare luxury in winter, her saddlebags and reins hanging nearby.
Then Theodore had only himself to look after, so he spent half an hour strolling amongst the fountains and the flower beds. He wondered whether he had time to pass through the fence to the south, to gaze upon the still waters of the partly-frozen lake.
“Squire Theodore! What are you doing here?”
Theodore recognised the youthful voice at once, and turned to see a familiar face and a shock of red hair. They belonged to a young man in a long blue robe that marked him as an apprentice to the Wizards’ Tower. The robe was too big, however, and seemed prone to being caught underfoot while the sleeves hung too far over the man’s hands.
“Castimir!”
The young apprentice bowed to the squire, but there was a look in his eye that took Theodore back to a childhood friendship that predated his own decision to dedicate his life to the knights.
Straightening, the wizard showed an eager smile.
“The druids have not ceased talking of your arrival,” he said. Then his face darkened. “Nor of the caravan.”
“That is not my concern, at least not yet,” Theodore replied, his own mood sombre for a moment. “The Imperial Guard are handling it. I will help when I am able, and when…”
“… when your duties are done.” Castimir finished Theodore’s sentence for him. “You see, young squire, I know you too well.”
“Your wits may be sharp, but how would your magic fare against the true steel of a knight?” Theodore drew his blade, the sharp sound of steel on steel reflected in the eager gleam of his eyes. He stood as if to attack the defenceless blue figure before him.
And then he laughed, lowering his weapon. It seemed as if it had been a long time since he had laughed so genuinely.
“I have moved beyond such childhood games, Theodore,” Castimir replied earnestly. “We no longer compete on the same level.” He opened his hand to reveal a dozen pebble-like stones resting in his open palm, with mysterious markings engraved upon them. The wizard smiled daringly at Theodore. “Do you think you could deliver a blow before I could stop you? Or do you lack the courage to try?”
Theodore’s eyes narrowed as he regarded his childhood friend coolly, but after a few seconds his icy demeanour evaporated and a large grin spread across his face.
“And what spell would you have used, Castimir? A fire strike?” The squire laughed again as he sheathed his sword. Yet the wizard remained serious.
“My abilities have grown considerably in the months since we last met in Falador. With these runes in my hand, I could snare you to the spot and bind your limbs.” He gestured dramatically. “You’d be defenceless! As for fire strike, that would be child’s play. It is one of the very first spells we wizards learn.”
“Truly, I remember when you first cast that one, Castimir. It was a day after the talent scout had identified your magical potential and gave you a few runes to practise with. You tried to kill that rat, and ended up setting fire to Rommik’s crafting store! No wonder he disliked you, even before you destroyed his entire inventory!”
It was Castimir’s turn to laugh.
“My uncle had tried to apprentice me as a crafter under Rommik’s guidance. What a mistake that was. I attempted to mould a ring and ended up breaking everything. He scowled at me for years afterwards!”
“Well, I hope you make a better wizard than crafter, Castimir. Your luck can only take you so far!”
Despite his words, it had always seemed to Theodore that Castimir had been the brighter of the two of them, and to have risen so quickly in the ranks of the wizards in the legendary tower only served to prove his point. It was a great accomplishment.
His face must have reflected his thoughts, for his friend spoke up.
“Let’s get something to eat, Theo,” he said, calling the squire by his childhood nickname, “and I’ll answer all your questions as we dine.”
The table was laden generously with food.
Theodore had heard tales of how the druids would only eat meat if it was specially prepared. The animal had to have been killed in a fashion that was respectful of its nature. Now several meat dishes sat between the two friends. Brightly coloured fruits, some of which he had never seen before, were piled in wooden bowls, their red and orange skins stirring the squire’s appetite.
“That one is chicken.” Castimir pointed with his fork to the dish that sizzled in front of them, his manners abandoned in the company of his friend. He seemed entirely intent on enjoying himself.
Theodore helped himself to the delicacy, careful to avoid filling his plate excessively. He noted Castimir’s wilful abandon, however, and a moment’s fleeting jealousy flashed through his mind when he considered his old friend’s new station in life.
Castimir was destined for great things, and even the shock of bright red hair that once had been such a cause of merriment now seemed to distinguish him from other men. It had darkened as he had aged but still stood out. And its owner moved with a confident assurance that he had lacked only a year before-especially in the company of Theodore, against whom he had always been physically weaker.
“I am nearing the end of my year’s travels.” Castimir said, recounting his wanderings. “I crossed over the mountain a few weeks after leaving you in Falador. The snows were not so bad, and I went with a party of travellers. If I had crossed alone, however, I doubt very much I would have survived. The wolves up there are huge, and always ravenous.”
He paused to poke his knife in the direction of White Wolf Mountain, using the moment to swallow a tender morsel.
“And Kandarin! When you get over the summit, round the highest pass, you see a land drenched in golden sunlight, and the ocean as vast as you can imagine.” He paused, and his eyes peered at something far away. “It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, Theo, amid the freezing snows and the howls of the white wolves!”
Theodore said nothing, though his envy grew unbidden. He had heard stories of Kandarin that lay beyond the mountain. Many knights had travelled there, and he had listened to their accounts with eagerness, dreaming of one day walking there himself.
“It has strange beasts as well. My mule died shortly after we descended the mountain. A wolf injured him near the end of our journey, and the poor creature did not survive. Thus, I was forced to purchase a replacement from a fur trader who had journeyed south all the way from Rellekka, the city of the Fremennik peoples who live on the northern edge of the world.”
Castimir looked at Theodore with an amused glint in his eyes, hastily swallowing another piece of chicken.
“It is a yak, Theodore!” he said, his enthusiasm youthful again. “A yak! He’s a stubborn creature, but he is a perfect substitute for my poor mule, and he is better suited to carrying my belongings with a purpose-built leather harness. I shall introduce you to him. I think he is far more useful when travelling in cold climates than a mule-he’s sure-footed and his shaggy hair is warm, if ever you need to shelter from the cold.” Then he looked wistfully at the rapidly diminishing food, as if debating what to eat next.
Theodore found himself turning sullen, yearning for the adventures his friend had already experienced. Before he could speak, the young wizard continued.
“I honestly think I might be the first person to bring a yak into Asgarnia. I thought I could sell him as a curiosity to one of these natural philosophers, but then they would probably cut him up to see how he works, and I couldn’t accept that!”
Then Castimir paused, studying his companion’s expression. He bit greedily into a rose-tinted apple and changed the subject.
“So how are things in Falador?” he inquired. “You look well-but then you never looked amiss!” His grin failed to turn Theodore’s humour.
“I have been with the knights since I was nine, Castimir,” the squire replied. “I have seen my parents only once in that time, when I graduated to the position of a squire after the long years as a peon. I still have another two years before I become a knight.”
Castimir gave him an encouraging look.
“It will pass quickly, Theo,” he said, certainty in his voice. “Of course, you must have doubts. What knight would you be if you did not?”
“A true one, Castimir! One who would not question my life’s direction.”
But the young wizard was undeterred.
“You don’t doubt your choices, Theo, you doubt your own ability,” he said. “Your parents weren’t rich, and many squires come from exclusive backgrounds. To them, having a spare mount or lance is something they take for granted. That is why you feel left out-you cannot afford the same entertainments as the other squires when they head into Falador for a night off.”
“I do not take nights off, Castimir.”
“And the others do?” A pained look appeared on his face, and Theodore stared down at the table.
“Sometimes,” he replied. “Not often.”
“Your hard work will be rewarded, Theo-I can promise that. Stick at it long enough and keep in the game, and you will be there at the end, ready to reap the rewards.”
At that, they allowed the subject to drop, and both friends refilled their plates, Castimir unafraid of excess, and Theodore refusing to let the food go to waste.