“Dig him out!” Sulla shouted across the courtyard. His temper mirrored the weather, for it had started to rain heavily and he was in ill spirits.
He looked toward the east wing of the monastery, which was smouldering now that the fires had been dampened. It seems the chaos dwarfs’ weapons have worked, he mused with a hint of satisfaction. He relished the idea of turning them against the crowded city of Falador. He imagined the streets running with the blood of innocents. Of women shielding their young, of the sheer helplessness of the knights in trying to protect their city from the falling shells.
His reverie was interrupted by the yell of a soldier who stood over the collapsed wall. Sulla stalked quickly over as they shifted enough of the debris to locate their demonic ally.
“Get him some water!” he spat. The nearest of his men ran to a fountain and filled one of the buckets abandoned by the monks. With a nod from his superior he emptied it over the werewolf’s dust-covered face.
Instantly an agonized howl caused all but Sulla to back away.
“It burns me!” the werewolf bellowed. “The water had been blessed by the priests of Saradomin.”
Sulla glared at Jerrod furiously. He contemplated leaving the creature there, or perhaps emptying several more buckets of water onto him and putting the bricks back, abandoning him to starve to death.
The werewolf struggled to free himself, pushing upward with a sudden strain. The bricks on top of him shuddered slightly in response.
“Free him!” Sulla ordered, before leaving to commandeer a room for himself in the western wing of the monastery, all of which was untouched by fire and undamaged from his bombardment.
“Wake up, Kara!”
The voice sounded far away. She opened her eyes slowly, unsure of what she saw. The last thing she remembered was the stinging smoke in her lungs and the searing heat on her face.
“Am I dreaming?” she asked, her voice weak. Somewhere nearby a man laughed, finding amusement in her confusion.
“You should actually be dead. Both you and Gar’rth.”
At the mention of his name Kara looked wildly about, but she was alone on the side of a red mountain under an eerily dark sky which obscured the stars.
“Where is Gar’rth? Where am I?” Panic filled her voice.
“Gar’rth is not required, not yet anyway,” the voice answered calmly. “It is you with whom I wish to speak. And do not be afraid-you will not be kept here very long.”
“Who are you?” She found herself staring at a diminutive figure swathed in red robes. His eyes gleamed cunningly and his bent frame caused him to look up at her, a smouldering orange glint in his pupils. The man’s face was misshapen, his forehead swollen, and red sores were prevalent over his pale skin. He drooled somewhat, as if he were a fool.
Yet Kara feared him.
“Just an old friend,” the hunchback replied. “You do not know me, but I have watched over you for a long time. Since the day you were born, in fact.”
“Are you saying that you knew my parents?” she asked, hope in her voice.
“Alas, I did not,” came the answer. “But I do not wish to speak to you about the past. It is the future I am interested in. Look, there, to the east.”
The man pointed, and she followed the direction of his hand. Then she gasped.
The entire horizon was swarming with an army encamped. Never had she imagined such a mass of men and weaponry with their thousands of campfires, more numerous to her than the stars in the night.
“Who are they?” she asked, awestruck.
“They are your followers, Kara-Meir. If you wish them to be.”
“Mine?” Suddenly she was afraid.
“Yes, my dear. Yours. Think, Kara, about the past.” The voice was seductive, compelling. “The world cannot go on as it is. You feel hatred against the Kinshra for what they did to your family, and rightly so. But where should the true blame lie?”
“With Sulla?” Her voice was faint, unsure.
The small figure in the red robes shook his head patiently.
“No, not with Sulla-for he is just a man. A victim like yourself. No, who has waged war on the followers of Zamorak for generations? Who strives for domination in the world at this time? Think, Kara-who has betrayed you?”
Realization dawned as she understood what was being said.
“The Knights of Falador used me” she said slowly. “It is they who…” For some reason she could not bring herself to finish the sentence.
“They have hounded the followers of Zamorak for decades, Kara-and yet still they permit the Kinshra to live. The deaths of your family occurred not because of Sulla, but because of the Knights of Falador. Do you not see? They need the Kinshra to remain a threat to the people of Asgarnia-they need an enemy to justify their own existence. They could have destroyed the Kinshra years ago, if they wanted.
“But they didn’t, and because of that your family are dead and you are alone. You know their lies and their hypocrisy-they endangered you to achieve their own ends. They are attempting to take over Asgarnia, making the people believe them indispensable by letting the Kinshra continue with their savagery. This is their plan.”
Kara lowered her head in thought.
“Let me show you something, Kara,” the man said, his mouth twisting into a macabre smile.
And suddenly she was amongst the huge army of black-clad men, standing next to a column of horsemen who rode under a black banner. As they drew parallel with Kara their leader raised a hand and the column halted.
“What are they going to do?” Kara whispered.
“Just watch, Kara-Meir. They cannot see or hear you.”
The leader spoke and Kara recognised the voice. For it was her own, although different somehow, harsh and impatient.
“Where is he?” her voice said, as the figure removed her helm, shaking the blonde hair that fell loosely about her shoulders, her dark eyes flashing in the light. Kara gasped in amazement, for it was her-at least ten years older-who commanded the many thousands of men.
“Here he is, my lady,” a guard shouted, dragging a man who wore a torn white tunic and whose long unkempt hair hid his identity. He was thrown before her horse.
“Have you considered my proposal?” her older self asked, and to Kara’s ears there was a definite malice in her words.
“I will not take up the sword again,” said the man whose voice was alarmingly familiar. “I vowed to Saradomin never to do so.”
“Do not speak his name!” She spat the words, her face contorted in sudden rage. Her expression softened after a moment however, and even appeared gentle. “Tell me you will reconsider,” she ordered.
“I will not, Kara,” came the reply. “You have kept me prisoner for years, ever since my order fell at your hands. My mind is fixed.”
The prisoner suddenly wept and Kara, looking on, realised with a cold shock who it was.
“It is a shame, for I had hoped you would join me in forging a better world. But I see it is not to be. I can no longer waste time on you.” She tugged on her horse’s reins. “Goodbye, Theodore, last of the Knights of Falador.”
With a dark look she rode past him, nodding briefly to the guard who stood behind the kneeling man. She did not bother to turn her head as the guard brought his axe down, and she did not bother to look as Theodore breathed his last, his eyes looking to her as his life left him.
“I would never do that! I will never become that!” Kara shouted in outrage. “This is a nightmare. No one can see the future.” She stared at Theodore’s corpse and began to sob.
But the robed figure seemed not to care.
“It is only one of many possibilities, Kara,” the hunchback said. “Think about the power you could wield-the power to change the world, to stop all this war and needless death. The world needs a saviour, Kara-Meir, and I am offering you the chance to accept.”
Kara bent over to hide her tears.
“Think about it, Kara-Meir. That is all I am asking. I shall come to you twice more before you need to give me an answer.
“Farewell, Kara-Meir, for now.”
And with a sudden gasp, she awoke.