“The people are already speaking of defeat, Sir Amik,” Nicholas Sharpe said. “You must pass the order, for the security of Falador is at stake!”
The knight raised his eyes, glancing first to Sir Tiffy, who nodded very slightly, and then to Bhuler, who turned away.
He knew he had no choice.
“Then it shall be done” he said. “If it is not, panic will overrun the citizens, before the enemy.” He leaned forward, his quill scratching the parchment. “Any dissenters and seditionists will be arrested. There are to be no gatherings of more than fifteen citizens. Any mob is to be instantly dispersed.”
An uneasy silence settled over the four men. Sir Amik knew that for the people of Falador, their ancient and hard-won rights were of great importance.
“The people will not like it, Sir Amik,” Bhuler said plainly. “The policy could backfire, further convincing them that we are desperate.”
Sir Amik raised a hand to stop him.
“The security of Falador outweighs all,” he said. “We must be under no illusion. Crown Prince Anlaf has been manipulated by the Kinshra and will not side with us. We cannot wait idly by, not any more. We have already arranged our plans depending on the actions Sulla takes.
“If he comes south and starts a siege then we will break out in an attempt to disrupt his cannons, attacking from the swamplands where we will gather our strength. He will not expect that.” He yawned, exhausted and suddenly feeling very old.
The master-at-arms spoke.
“We have commandeered a great number of horses, so every man who can fight will have a mount. For the plan to work we will need to assault the Kinshra with Falador’s full strength-a combination of both the knights and the city guardsmen.” Sir Amik nodded in agreement.
“Then call in all able men, even those from the almshouses, for every one of them will be needed.” He smirked suddenly as he spoke. “I have seen Sir Erical wandering around the castle in recent days, as well as a few of the other retired knights. Let us hope they still know how to wield a blade and ride a horse.”
The daylight was reduced to a sickly twilight under the gnarled trees that grew north of the swamp. The companions had spent an uneasy night, sleeping fitfully as they listened to strange and haunting sounds. Only Gar’rth seemed comfortable in that dismal place, for he had grown up in Morytania, a land of swamps and mires, where the dead did not rest.
They had been travelling again for an hour when Theodore raised his hand to signal a stop, betraying a sense of urgency which made his companions freeze.
He pointed to the east, where a large body of mist rolled gently over a calm lake. The companions could see several bodies on the shore.
“Goblins!” Doric hissed.
“And druids, too,” Castimir said quietly, a pained look on his face. “Why would the goblins kill druids? What is the point of it?”
“Goblins kill for the sake of killing” Doric grunted, readying his axe. “If they are patrolling this far south, it might mean that Taverley has been attacked.”
“But why would Sulla waste men and resources assaulting Taverley?” Theodore pressed. “Why destroy a place that holds no consequence to his war?”
“That’s goblins for you, squire” Doric muttered. “Besides, occupying Taverley means that none of our messengers can get to Burthorpe. It means Falador is alone.”
“Then we must make a decision” Theodore said. “Taverley is a day’s journey away. If it is occupied, we will find it difficult to break east and make for Ice Mountain. Instead, we could start eastward now and skirt around the south of the lake.”
“That could lead us straight into the Kinshra army north of Falador,” Kara warned.
“Then we take our chances with Taverley” Theodore said. “And pray it hasn’t fallen.”
The crown prince woke to find both his valet and his Imperial Guards replaced by Kinshra warriors. He demanded first to see Lord Amthyst, and when he was told that his most senior advisor was under arrest for treason, he demanded to see the person on whose authority it had been done.
That was Lord Daquarius.
“Where is Lord Amthyst?” Anlaf’s voice rose as Lord Daquarius entered his bedchamber. The prince’s knuckles clenched, bleaching his fingers white.
“Lord Amthyst is in several places, my lord,” Lord Daquarius said coldly. “He was executed this morning-in the manner befitting a traitor. It transpired that he had been systematically poisoning you over some months. Documents seized from his chamber prove this. Therefore, we have taken steps to ensure that you are protected.”
The crown prince gasped. Lord Amthyst executed? But Amthyst was his oldest and most trusted advisor, the closest thing he had to a friend!
He fell to the plush vermillion carpet, biting his clenched fist and weeping uncontrollably.
“My lord, Asgarnia needs you” Daquarius said firmly. “You must be strong!” The prince felt the Kinshra commander’s hand on his shoulder and he knew Daquarius was right. His nation needed him. Slowly, his tears and wails subsided.
He stood unsteadily.
“You are right, Daquarius,” he muttered. “What must I do to ease the burdens of my realm? Who is to blame for this ill fate?”
“Is it not obvious, my lord?”
The crown prince glanced wildly from one wall to the other. He shook his head doubtfully.
“Surely if anyone is to blame, it is the Knights of Falador,” Lord Daquarius said. “Has not Sir Amik Varze tried to entrench his order in Asgarnia? Has he not always been in competition with your Imperial Guard? Has he not always sought to confine my own order to the barren wastes of Ice Mountain, where we are permanently assailed from The Wilderness, while he sits like a fatted calf supping on the milk of Asgarnia’s greatest city?
“Is this not all true, my lord?”
“It is!” A fever gripped him now. “I have always thought so, by Saradomin!”
Suddenly, his mood changed. He felt sure he could trust Lord Daquarius. Had he not dreamed of riding to war with the Kinshra in the service of their dark god?
“Yet I have never really worshipped Saradomin, for I was taught that a ruler should wield balance. The ways of Guthix appealed most to me, but recently, in my dreams, another has spoken to me. You do understand, Daquarius?”
“I think so, my lord.”
He turned his back on Lord Daquarius and moved quickly, waving for his guest to follow. He climbed into a large cupboard and pressed the back panel forcefully, revealing a secret door. It led to a narrow passageway that disappeared into the darkness, and into that blackness he plunged.
The two men walked briskly in silence. When finally they halted, Lord Daquarius knew that the sybil’s magic had worked its poison, far better than he had imagined.
They stood before an altar of Zamorak, stained with the blood of several animals. Lord Daquarius had never seen such a crude shrine. He had to restrain an urge to laugh.
With a sudden reverence, Crown Prince Anlaf knelt before the altar and began to pray to Zamorak, the god of chaos.
And unwilling to disturb the man’s tormented mind, Lord Daquarius knelt at his side.
By late morning the Kinshra army sat encamped only three miles north of Falador, their scouts riding unconcerned and unopposed just beyond the range of a bow. Just beyond that range stood Sulla, looking south toward the city.
“Can we see the house from here?” He asked the officer, Gaius, who stood close at hand.
“I believe it is that one,” Gaius said, pointing. “It is one of the few houses that stand higher than the walls. Each night he will send a signal by torchlight. In his letter he explained the code that he will use.”
“And what house is that?” Sulla growled. “Who does it belong to?” He was still unsure whether this might be a ploy of the knights to deceive him. He had debated this point with his officers, but none of them believed the knights would willingly let the prisoner murder a man in order to escape. Their code of honour would not allow such a bloody move.
“Some of our spies who returned from Falador have told me that it is the almshouse of the knights.”
“Then the knights have a spy in their ranks” Sulla chortled. “Make sure that every hour of every night we have keen eyes trained on the house, for we must know what he is telling us.”
Gaius nodded enthusiastically, and left to make the arrangements.
“Should you not secure the camp, Sulla?” Jerrod asked. “That would seem to be the first priority.”
Sulla dismissed his concerns with a wave of his hand.
“The goblins are going to dig a trench around our position, my friend. As we journeyed south you will have undoubtedly noted how my men have hacked away the trees?”
“I did notice,” the werewolf replied. “I thought they were eager to fight, or simply enjoyed the random destruction.”
Sulla laughed.
“They are, my friend, and they do. But they have also been cutting stakes as we have marched south. Those will be hammered into the ground to form a perimeter about our camp.”
“And the goblins?” Jerrod asked with an amused grin.
“The goblins are to stay on my western flank. They will form their own defences. Five hundred of them have gone to secure Taverley, which no doubt means they will destroy it, for they have argued with the druids over land rights for generations. But the goblins are my tactical advantage over the knights-they are the expendable soldiers I can use to tie down my enemy.”
“The goblins won’t stand very long against the knights,” Jerrod observed.
“Only long enough for my Kinshra pikemen to come up on their flanks, and for my cavalry to hem the knights in from behind. Then…” Sulla’s smile widened as he spread his fingers apart and pressed both hands together, his fingers interlocking. “Then we simply squeeze!”
It was afternoon when the companions emerged from the swamp. The landscape had turned from bleak mire into verdant groves where the song of the trees swaying in the afternoon breeze seemed deceptively calm.
Doric, more used to a life underground, looked cautiously from side to side as if expecting trouble. He had been unnerved by what they had found at the lakeside.
Suddenly, Kara stopped in her tracks.
“The birds have stopped singing,” she warned, drawing her sword.
“Can you smell that?” Castimir asked, turning his head. “It is smoke.”
Theodore turned his mare quickly off to the right, climbing a small hillock where a parting in the trees gave him a good view to the north. As he mounted the summit he gave a startled cry that brought his friends to his side
For to the north a column of black smoke rose into the sky.
Taverley was burning.
From as far south as Falador, the citizens on the walls could see the smoke rising from the direction of Taverley. They knew that war was inevitable. Men shared dark looks with one another, comforting their wives, who in turn held their children.
Some of the citizens had already left with their families, but now Sir Amik had sealed the city, and those who were left were trapped. From his chamber the leader of the knights looked toward the dark column with a peculiar sense of relief. His course was now clear-war had been declared on the citizens of Asgarnia and he had a duty to act.
He turned from the window.
“Our decision is made for us” he said firmly. “Are the knights gathered?”
“The army slipped out before first light” Sir Tiffy replied. “Over a hundred of the city guardsmen went with them. Our total numbers are eight hundred strong. A small reserve of old men and young peons are now all that is left of our fighting strength here in Falador.”
“Then I shall join the army in the swamp this evening,” Sir Amik said. “At first light tomorrow, under the cover of the mists, we shall attack from the west, taking them by surprise. No one except us knows the paths through the swamp. Sulla must believe that it will guard his flank.” He thought for a moment. “Perhaps that is why he has left his weakest troops there-the goblins-for his cannons point to the south and the east.”
“You are certain the Kinshra do not know of the hidden pathways?” Bhuler asked, his expression troubled.
“I am certain. A swift attack will restore the confidence of the citizens and take advantage of the Kinshra position. If we delay even a day, then they will have fortified their encampment, making any subsequent attack harder. Even now the goblins are digging a trench to the south of their position.”
The three men looked to Taverley once more, their faces grim.
“At least the waiting is over,” Sir Amik remarked quietly.
Campfires burned on the plain. The sounds of the goblins working under the direction of the Kinshra officers could still be heard, for Sulla was aware that his camp was vulnerable and he was driving his men hard to ensure that their defences were erected as soon as possible. Already a long trench ran the entire southern length of his camp, several yards deep and as many yards wide. Its northern bank was coated in sharp stakes that had been hammered into the firm clay ground.
Behind them stood his cannon, ready to turn the field south of the trench into a killing ground, should anyone be foolish enough to launch an assault. Tomorrow his men would start work on another trench, to the east of the camp.
Accompanied by Jerrod, who had become his constant companion, Sulla rode three miles south in the darkness, toward the small group of men who kept a watch on Falador, looking for a single light in the high window. Dropping to the ground silently, he crept up behind their leader.
“Well, Gaius?” he said. “Has our mysterious benefactor had anything to say?”
The young officer glanced at his commander with a sly smile.
“He has said something very interesting, my lord,” he answered in a low voice. “Something you will be extremely glad to know.”
For a long moment Sulla said nothing. He listened to Gaius’s report, thinking hard. When the officer had finished, he smiled, pointing to the west and to the swampland.
“We shall redeploy the men tonight. They shall be armed and ready before first light, waiting in suitable positions.”
“Are you sure that you can trust this source, Sulla?” Jerrod asked doubtfully. “Could it not be a ruse to lure you into a trap?”
“If it is, it is not a very good one, my friend. If they come from the east we will see them in plenty of time to redeploy. From the south they would be forced to brave the trench and our guns, and they cannot come from the north, for our scouts are watching the roads. If they can indeed negotiate the swamps then the west makes perfect sense.”
He mounted again, flicked his reins, and turned his horse back toward his encampment. He had long hours of work to do before the dawn.