The Great Hall was a long rectangular room with a very high ceiling. At its southern end was a raised stage where King Roald and his most favoured subjects sat and ate, while below everyone else stood.
On the western side of the hall were great arched windows, stained with the yellow colouring of King Roald’s pennant, admitting the evening sunlight in a bright dazzle. In alcoves on all sides torches chased away shadows, while on tabletops and in chandeliers candles added to the celebration of light. On the eastern edge of the room, two large fire pits cooked pigs and boars on spits, and barrels of ale and wine were supported on a wooden scaffold. Above them, on a balcony, an orchestra played a lively tune that seemed contrary to the serious faces of the King’s closest advisors, who were already discussing the monarch’s promised parliament.
From his position on the stage, seated between Castimir and Ebenezer, Gar’rth watched the sea of well-dressed nobility below. No women were yet present, for their entrance was kept back for the ninth hour, only minutes away now.
“I am nervous for Kara,” Castimir said, looking warily in the direction of an older man who sat at their table some distance away, a green-tinted monocle clutched in his right eye. He was dressed in robes similar to his own, but of grey, not blue.
He is nervous, Gar’rth mused. That man is of the Tower as well, and very senior. And Castimir has not been honest with his masters.
He peered around the room irritably. There were too many people here, too many smells filling his senses, and far too much noise for him to think clearly.
He felt Ebenezer’s hand rest on his arm.
“Are you well Gar’rth?” the alchemist asked quietly. “I see you are drinking beer.”
“Yes.” He detected the old man’s concern easily, so Ebenezer probably meant it to be obvious. “So is Theodore… and Doric, and Castimir. And so are you,” he challenged, his tone harsher than he had meant it to be.
Ebenezer frowned and looked away, and Gar’rth felt a stab of guilt in his stomach. Castimir lowered his drink and gazed at him in concern. Doric, sitting across from them on a raised chair, did likewise. Theodore, sitting near the King himself, was too far away to notice.
Are they so afraid of me that I cannot even celebrate with them? My friends?
“I am sorry, Ebenezer,” he said. “I will only have one. I have been… better recently.”
“Good-it’s not a good idea to drink too much,” the old man cautioned. “Not here. Not when you are so unfamiliar with your surroundings.”
Gar’rth nodded and stood.
“I need air. The smells, the noise here.” He shook his head. “Too much.”
“I’ll come with you, I think,” Castimir said, glancing quickly at the old man in the grey robes who returned the stare with a raised eyebrow.
They descended the steps from the stage and found themselves in among the press of people. Gar’rth felt hands and elbows brush against him as he forced his way to the door which led out onto a terrace overlooking the western bailey.
I hate it here. These people are all so false.
A man barred his way and for a moment Gar’rth was surrounded, pressed in from all sides. Different odours assailed him-the grim decay of a man’s breath illustrated by rotting teeth, the sweat-coated body of another, and the artificial sickly sweetness of fragrance. He heard Castimir call to him from somewhere behind, but the wizard’s words were lost as the orchestra played faster and louder than before.
Then a woman shouted in sudden fear.
And above it all, he could smell blood. Fresh blood.
He couldn’t concentrate. A man pushed him in the back and as he gasped he was free of the crowd. A shape moved next to him, black and red, the scent of blood overpowering.
The woman screamed again.
Suddenly he was face to face with a wolf’s head on a man’s body. An obscene sight made worse by a man’s cackle from behind the wolf’s dead eye sockets.
“Gar’rth! Come on!” Castimir was at his side. The wizard took his hand as the jester with the wolf’s head leapt into the air and cackled again and for the first time Gar’rth saw the sick pantomime in full. A young maiden, dressed in white, ran through the crowds and onto the stage, shrieking with exaggerated gestures, while the wolf pursued her in a game of chase.
“What’s that about?” Castimir asked as the woman shrieked again, barely evading the jester’s groping hand to the laughter of the onlookers. They were near the western door now, and from the terrace beyond, their question was answered.
“It is a tradition,” said a pale-faced man with a hooked nose. “A wolf is killed on this day every year and its head is paraded around upon the jester’s shoulders as he pursues a maiden, pretending to be a werewolf. The maiden escapes, of course. A pity real life is different, for Morytania does not lose those victims it hounds.”
The speaker peered at them through narrow, cold eyes.
“Ah, Lord Ruthven isn’t it?” Castimir said as he bowed.
The man nodded. Gar’rth felt those eyes rest on him.
“You both know something of Morytania,” he said. “And of werewolves also, I believe?”
Gar’rth froze. He caught Castimir’s panicked eye.
“I know that Jerrod is in Varrock, with Sulla,” Lord Ruthven continued. “Kara-Meir told the King this afternoon. You have fought the werewolf before, have you not?”
“We have,” Castimir said. “He was at the monastery, east of Ice Mountain-and before that in Falador, where Kara wounded him.”
“Did your magic not work against him?”
Castimir nodded grimly.
“It did, but the werewolf took my runes. Without them I am powerless.”
“Ah, the runes!” Lord Ruthven lowered his voice. “There are too few of them now. Too few wizards, as well.”
Gar’rth saw a flicker of surprise pass over Castimir’s face, then the wizard and the nobleman exchanged a knowing look before Ruthven continued.
“Nonetheless, with or without magic, Jerrod must be hunted and slain. Werewolves and creatures from Morytania are given no quarter in Misthalin.”
Castimir glanced at Gar’rth, who remained silent, determined not to react.
I have known that for a long time. It is the same in Asgarnia as well.
An enticing breeze flowed in from outside, and Gar’rth breathed in deeply to clear the pollution of the hall from his senses. The bailey was populated with yew trees and grasses, an oasis of nature in the city of men. It was a relief.
He breathed in again, and this time he sensed the newcomer before he saw him. Clean robes and soap differentiated Lord William’s scent from most others.
“The ladies are about to enter,” the young man said. “Come. It would not do to miss them.”
Gar’rth followed Castimir back to the stage as the double doors to the north were opened. All eyes fell on Kara-Meir as she entered the Great Hall. She walked at the front of the column of women, her dress ballooning outward from below her waist, a yellow cloak hanging from a golden chain about her throat. Her waist-length hair had been ornately styled in curled plaits, with a yellow ribbon tied at its apex.
Behind her, Gar’rth saw Lady Anne, whose jaw was firmly set.
“I would have thought it would have been Lady Anne leading the girls,” Lord William mumbled to Castimir, who gave a smile. “It is so unlike her to follow in second place.”
A red rose leaf caught in Kara’s hair, thrown by one of the many young children of noble birth who were too young to participate in the dances. They lined the way to the stage, carrying small buckets and raining red and white leaves upon the women.
“Why do they do that, with the rose petals?” Castimir asked.
“It’s a symbol of summer, and with it, fertility, I imagine,” Lord William replied. “Ah! There is Lady Caroline, standing behind Lady Anne and next to your friend Arisha.”
“You should go and throw a rose petal over her,” Castimir advised.
Lord William laughed.
“I will do just that, Castimir,” he said. “Excuse me.” The nobleman gave a last grin as he hastened down the steps.
Their happiness is strange to me, Gar’rth thought as they arrived at their table.
“Arisha looks nice, Castimir.” He heard Doric say. Gar’rth looked to their barbarian friend. Among all the women, Arisha stood out, for she was dressed according to the customs of her people, and not the court of Varrock. Her arms, legs and midriff were exposed, for she wore a leather brassiere and short brown skirt. Her wrists and neck displayed elegant jewellery, and as ever she wore her silver tiara in her now-straightened black hair.
“But have you seen what Kara-Meir is wearing, Lord Despaard?” Gar’rth heard someone say not far away. The speaker was a shrivelled old man in a great black-bearskin fur. “The yellow cloak and ribbon? I am not sure if the King will be amused.”
“It has been over a year since she died, Papelford,” came the response. “It is important for the realm that he moves on. A Queen must be found, an heir needs to be born. If Kara-Meir has acted knowingly, then I applaud her boldness. If not, then it is a fortunate reminder.”
Gar’rth saw now that many people spoke to one another, their eyes all on Kara, some in puzzlement, one or two in open disbelief. And the King himself stared also, his face impassive.
Kara-Meir approached the stage as the orchestra ended their play. In the silence, the King stood.
“Kara-Meir, you will be seated at my side,” he said. “Your dress is an appropriate one for this time of year, and yet it bears a familiarity that is painful to me. You are aware of this, are you not?”
What game is this, Kara?
She climbed the steps, holding her dress carefully. Behind her, Lady Anne followed, her eyes burning wildly, a smile ill-disguised on her lips.
“I am aware of it, my King,” Kara replied. “Lady Anne was kind enough to explain to me how the last young lady who wore yellow was a favourite of yours. But she also explained how such a dress would serve to remind you of happier times, and she insisted that I wear it.”
Kara turned back to Lady Anne and gave a polite curtsey as the other woman looked on in amazement.
“I would not dare to presume-” Lady Anne stammered.
“Lady Anne,” Kara interrupted, “I arrived in Varrock this morning with no sense of style or fashion. Everything I wear today is entirely to your credit.” Her eyes flashed angrily. “And to yours alone.”
Someone laughed suddenly from below, and the tension relaxed. King Roald extended his hand and Kara took her seat at his side. Above, the orchestra commenced with a new tune.
She is angry, Gar’rth observed. Lady Anne hides it well but she is burning now.
The wolf-headed jester appeared at the base of the stairs. He gave a howl and charged up, where he danced around the simmering woman, assaulting with comical gestures as if intent on devouring her.
But Lady Anne remained still.
“It will take more than a wolf to humiliate me, Gleeman,” she said caustically.
“Ah, no doubt!” he responded. “But at least my ugliness is only skin deep.” There were gasps, and the room rippled with laughter as Lady Anne took a half-hearted swipe at him as he ducked nimbly aside. Then, with a suddenly delicious smile, she found her seat near Theodore.
As the music changed, a dance began on the floor in front of the platform. A circle of women stepped to the open area, joined hands, and danced in a round, while Gideon Gleeman disposed of the wolf’s severed head, then tumbled and jumped and leapt in their midsts, encouraging them with his acrobatics. Lord William successfully ambushed Lady Caroline, drenching her in a rain of rose petals while lutes and harps and voices provided a merry accompaniment.
Doric drank and talked with Lowe, the King’s fletcher, Castimir spent his time talking to Arisha, and Ebenezer fell into animated conversation with the merchant Draul Leptoc, explaining his steam engine and the role it had played following the war.
After the circle dances came the private ones. Gar’rth noticed Lady Anne’s look of triumph as she lifted Theodore’s hand in hers and led him to the floor. Kara shared a brief dance with King Roald.
Only I remain alone.
Gar’rth left the table and found his way into the crowd below the stage. At one point a young woman fell against him with a delightful cry, peering up at him, only to turn aside quickly when she saw his face.
Fear, he thought. They fear me. Even my friends. They all fear me. Do these people secretly know that I am different?
Gar’rth moved to the terrace door again, and this time continued outside. The sky was dark now. He took a deep breath at the terrace’s edge. The scent of nature, imprisoned in the walls of the palace, comforted him. He heard a voice behind, and he knew his privacy would not last.
I don’t want to talk now.
Not to anyone. Not even Kara.
He stepped back into the shadows, against the wall. Only a yard away a young man ran out, leading a woman by the hand. Quickly they ran down the terrace steps and disappeared into the darkness of the bailey.
But the night held no secrets from Gar’rth. He watched them find a spot below a yew tree, far enough from the hall to be private in their eyes. He tried to look away, but could not.
Suddenly his anger grew. There could never be anyone like that for him, not here.
He turned to the door as the old man Papelford appeared before him. The man’s scent was of old books. Behind him came Lord Despaard.
“Excuse me,” the old librarian muttered as both men passed him and walked some distance away, talking in low voices. “Not much farther Lord Despaard. I am not so young any more.”
“I just want to be sure we cannot be heard, Papelford.”
Gar’rth turned back to the balustrade, deliberately moving away from the two men who now stood at the farthest end of the terrace, out of the reach of the torchlight.
“Don’t be so paranoid Lord Despaard,” the old man whispered, though his voice was still clear to Gar’rth. “He can’t hear us. Not from that distance. No one could.”
Gar’rth smiled.
“This heroine, Kara-Meir,” Papelford said cautiously. “Do you think she knew to wear that dress? She risked the King’s wrath to do so.”
“I sense the hand of Lady Anne involved here, Papelford. Perhaps she sought to embarrass Kara-Meir, but it appears the King was more tolerant than she believed.” He glanced in Gar’rth’s direction. “But tell me, what did you really want to speak about out here?”
“It is my apprentice.”
“Reldo?” There was genuine surprise in the nobleman’s voice. “He is perfectly suited for this work, surely. His memory is incredible, he can recall anything he’s ever read. He is from a good and trusted family. He’s-”
“All of that and more Lord Despaard. Yes, I know. But he asks too many questions about what we do. He’s guessed half the truth, I am sure of it.”
“That is not an issue. In fact, it was an inevitability, if he was doing the job properly. You are an old man, Papelford. We need someone in the archives who can be trusted. Reldo is good at what he does.”
Papelford made a noise that reminded Gar’rth of a bird choking.
“He’s not good. I want him moved.”
Lord Despaard sighed.
“I will talk to Lord Ruthven about it,” he said. “The Society of the Owl needs a good and trusted archivist, more now than ever- with these killings and the approach of the prophecy.”
The two men fell silent for a moment.
“Tell me, old friend, do you really believe it will come true?” Lord Despaard sounded weary.
“I don’t know,” Papelford responded. “But who could claim to be a truer king than King Roald? His line goes back at least a thousand years.”
“I hope you are right.”
A new tune started from inside the hall, and a poet began to speak.
“Ah, the ‘Ballad of Tenebra and Ailane’,” Papelford muttered. “Come, this tragedy is a favourite of King Roald’s, for it reminds him-as well as the rest of us-of what his family have suffered at the hands of Morytania. Although he needs no reminding, not after this creature murdered his fiancee.”
Murdered his fiancee?
“The kingdom need not know that,” Lord Despaard warned as the two men walked back into the light of the torches. Gar’rth turned, feigning surprise.
They said nothing as they vanished into the hall, and Gar’rth was left alone.
He stood on the terrace for several minutes, half-listening to the ballad, before he caught a familiar scent behind him.
“Arisha,” he said without turning.
The barbarian priestess approached him, her booted feet crunching the gravel.
“I saw you leave,” she said. “You’ve been gone some time.”
“Yes.”
“Are you all right, Gar’rth?”
“I don’t like it here, Arisha. I am afraid.”
“You?” She didn’t attempt to mask her surprise. “Afraid of what? Jerrod won’t…”
Gar’rth gave a harsh laugh.
“Not Jerrod, Arisha. I am afraid of…” He paused and shook his head. “I have run from one place to another, then another. I can’t keep running.”
He looked at her, and felt a sudden anger when he saw her eyes widen in sympathy.
“Then speak to Kara, Gar’rth,” she said. “Tell her how you feel.”
“She knows, Arisha.”
“No she doesn’t,” the barbarian replied. “She suspects, but she does not know.”
Gar’rth shook his head again.
“She would say no,” he said grimly. “She knows what I am.”
“And she knows who you are, as well. She knows the good you’ve done at her side.” Arisha fell silent, and Gar’rth saw her shiver. “It is cold out here,” she said after a moment. “Will you come inside with me?”
“Yes,” he said. He looked her straight in the eye, and he thought he saw her blink nervously. “But not because I feel the cold. I rarely do.”
Inside the hall, the ballad was ending and had given way to more raucous behaviour. From his position near the door Gar’rth saw a small crowd gathered around a table, cheering. He noted Lady Anne looking on, watching from the stage.
The crowd around the table jostled slightly, revealing two men engaged in an arm wrestle.
“It’s Theodore,” Arisha murmured with a slight smile.
Gar’rth watched the contest with interest before the crowd hid the contestants from view. Someone gave a cry and then another man shouted in victory as half the crowd cheered and the rest groaned.
“Sir Theodore loses! It seems not even the finest warrior in Varrock can beat Sir Frey.” The crowd parted and Gar’rth saw Theodore stagger up and massage his right hand. The knight’s opponent was a much larger and older man, with arms thick and powerful like a blacksmith’s.
I could beat him, Gar’rth thought. I would be able to do so easily.
Arisha noted his hesitation.
“Come along, Gar’rth. Let us return to the stage.”
They got only halfway up the steps before Lady Anne stopped them.
“Oh, Gar’rth,” she said sweetly. “Would you care to escort me outside for some air on the terrace? You are the only one of Kara’s companions I have yet to speak with.” She pointedly ignored his silent frown.
“I am afraid Castimir requires his presence, Lady Anne,” Arisha cut in sharply.
“Castimir can wait,” Gar’rth said, anger edging into his words. “The hall, inside, too much noise,” he explained. “Outside is better.”
He felt Arisha’s concerned stare as Lady Anne put her arm through his.
They are not my keepers. I am not an animal, he thought as she led him back toward the terrace yet again.
“I can tell that you do not enjoy these occasions,” Lady Anne remarked. “I understand that. You are not from Misthalin, and our ways must seem strange to you.” They were outside now, in the cool air, alone. “And I have also seen the way you look at Kara-Meir.”
Gar’rth shook his head slowly.
Lady Anne laughed.
“Oh, don’t be so coy!” she said. “Your feelings for her are obvious.” Her blue eyes fixed Gar’rth’s back pupils. “And so are Theodore’s.” She turned her back on him and waited. But he did not reply. Instead, a man’s voice coughed gently, and Gar’rth turned to see a youth waiting nearby.
“Lady Anne,” the boy said. “Forgive my interruption, but I bring a message from Lord Hyett.”
“Oh,” her voice was flat. “Where is it?”
“I have been asked to relay it to you in private, Lady Anne.”
“Oh, how tiresome. Does the Black Boar have time enough to waste on me, rather than make his peace with whichever god he believes in? Very well.” She turned to him briefly. “Excuse me Gar’rth.”
He bowed awkwardly as Lady Anne strode to the opposite end of the terrace. As with Lord Despaard and the librarian Papelford, their hushed voices were clear to him over such a distance.
“Lord Hyett begs you to see him, Lady Anne.”
“I will go tomorrow to pay my respects.”
“He will be dead by then,” came the reply. “Sir Theodore gave him a heinous wound.”
“Well, good for Sir Theodore,” Lady Anne hissed coldly. “I have never liked your master. He is a brute. The Black Boar can go to his grave pining for me, for all I care. Go and tell him that, and tell him that I will think of his last hours with relish.”
“Lady Anne, please, have compassion to a man who has only ever deSired your love.”
She laughed.
“Don’t be a fool, boy,” she scolded. “The Black Boar was a monster in life. It is an open secret that he worshipped Zamorak, just as he was known to work with the Kinshra in their patrols in The Wilderness. He was an evil, evil man who sought to reclaim his lands by marriage and murder. His first two wives died horribly-and he then attempted to marry me. No doubt I would have died also. No. I am glad Sir Theodore has killed him. It has saved me the job.”
Lady Anne stepped toward Gar’rth. She stopped once and spoke again, this time without any attempt at privacy.
“Be sure to tell that to Lord Hyett, as I dance and enjoy myself tonight in the company of better men. And tell him I smiled when I said it. Smiled and laughed.”
As if to illustrate she gave a laugh that reminded Gar’rth of breaking glass. The youth bowed his head and ran quickly away into the darkness of the bailey. Lady Anne turned back.
“You must forgive me, Gar’rth,” she said. “It is news of Lord Hyett, the knight Theodore fought. He is not expected to live out the night.” She smiled happily. “As you can probably tell, I have no fondness for him. Theodore’s wound is a just one, and long overdue.”
She rested her hands on the balustrade.
“But what were we talking of? Oh, yes. Theodore and Kara. He wrote her a letter, you see. One that I read-quite by accident I assure you.”
Now it was Gar’rth’s turn to laugh. Lady Anne looked suddenly hurt, though he couldn’t tell if it was sincere.
“It was!” she protested. “I knocked her satchel over when she was bathing, and a strange dagger fell out of it. When I put it back I found a letter to Kara from Theodore. I know it was wrong, Gar’rth, but I couldn’t resist… what are you frowning for?”
“Which dagger?” he demanded. “Kara carries none in her satchel.” He knew that for certain, from their time in The Wilderness.
“It was a strange one, with two blades.” She waved her hand. But that’s not important-” She continued, but he didn’t hear her now.
The same dagger that Pia used to cut Jerrod, he knew with growing certainty. It must be! That was why I felt so ill on our journey to Varrock! Exactly as Velko said Jerrod suffered, I suffered too.
Fear and anger twisted themselves up in Gar’rth’s stomach as he doubled over, holding the balustrade, his face hidden in shadow. He breathed deeply, gasping, and felt fire burn his skin.
Not now!
He saw Lady Anne’s shadow move closer.
“Gar’rth, what is it?” she asked, confusion in her voice. “Shall I get help?”
Her scent was suddenly far more real than before.
Stronger, more tempting.
He felt her hand on his shoulder and he turned to see her, his face in the torchlight.
Lady Anne gasped when she saw him.
“Your eyes!” she said. “What’s wrong with you?” But she didn’t wait for an explanation. Instead, her face more pale than before, she fled back into the hall, leaving Gar’rth alone again.
He felt his tears on his face, and his skin went suddenly cold.
Why didn’t you tell me, Kara? You are a friend to me, more than a friend.
The fever subsided.
He breathed in deeply.
“Gar’rth?” It was Arisha’s voice now. Somehow he hadn’t picked up her scent.
“I am all right, Arisha,” he said angrily. “I don’t need you, or Kara or Ebenezer to keep watching me.”
“I saw Lady Anne come back into the hall,” Arisha replied. “She was afraid, I think.”
Gar’rth laughed.
“Perhaps you should be more careful,” she advised.
Does she know about the dagger also? Has she kept the secret from me?
“More careful?” He laughed again. “Perhaps I’ve been too careful.”
He turned and strode purposefully into the hall, Arisha following.
“Gar’rth! What are you doing?” There was a panic in Arisha’s voice-fear that he had never heard before. Not even in battle.
It made him feel powerful.
He strode over to the seated Lord Frey. The old noble gave him a grin.
“You wish to wager boy? I sent your Sir Theodore packing. Nearly snapped his wrist.”
“I am no Sir Theodore,” Gar’rth growled, and the man raised an eyebrow.
“Gar’rth you mustn’t,” Arisha told him sternly. Someone laughed.
“Listen to the barbarian, if you wish to keep your money,” an anonymous man joked.
Gar’rth dropped his belt pouch on the table. Lord Frey overturned it and then gave a gasp. For it was a gem, worth a small fortune.
“I won’t take your money, boy,” he said, looking up. “Not this. It is too much. I will not risk bad feeling between us over such a contest.”
“Very well,” Gar’rth countered. “Then we play without betting.”
Gar’rth put the gem back in his pouch and returned it to his belt before driving his elbow onto the tabletop. Lord Frey stared bemused as the cries of the onlookers grew louder. Finally, he nodded.
“Fine, boy. Fine. I don’t know what you wish to prove, but you have your game.”
Lord Frey grabbed hold of the table edge with his free hand and brought his other arm onto the surface, mirroring Gar’rth’s actions.
“You ever done this before, boy?” Lord Frey asked.
Gar’rth simply nodded.
“Then you know the technique.” He nodded again. “Good luck.”
“Stop humouring him, Lord Frey! The boy’s arrogance has earned him a lesson.”
Gar’rth looked to the stage and saw Lady Anne watching him fearfully. His behaviour had not gone unnoticed by his friends, either. Theodore and Kara were also staring anxiously, and Ebenezer, Doric, and Castimir were already walking down the steps toward him…
Lord Frey suddenly gave a push.
Gar’rth’s arm lurched backwards before he corrected it, slanting at an angle.
The crowd yelled.
“You are a strong one, boy.” Lord Frey grinned. “I’ll give you that.”
And so are you, Gar’rth realised. Maybe more than I. He gritted his teeth as he summoned his strength. He felt his bones creaking under the strain.
But slowly-near imperceptibly-Lord Frey’s arm was pushed back.
Yet the older man laughed.
“By the gods, boy, it’s been long since I’ve had a match with such as you. Maybe if I were younger…” He breathed in deeply, most likely in preparation for a final attempt to force Gar’rth’s arm back.
But Gar’rth would show no mercy. Not today.
He was waiting for the push when it came. His arm was like steel.
“That’s impossible,” Lord Frey moaned as the crowd shouted and clapped. Gar’rth added to the pressure, and the old man’s wrist snapped back onto the tabletop. There was a tremendous yell from the onlookers. Lord Frey rubbed his arm and looked at Gar’rth with a mixture of respect and concern.
As Gar’rth stood, he was aware of that look-of every eye upon him. He saw Theodore’s face, noted Kara’s sudden fear, and then he saw Ebenezer, marching toward him with black thunder all over his features.
“Outside,” the alchemist ordered in a cold fury. “Outside. Now.” Gar’rth nodded, but Ebenezer’s anger couldn’t wipe away the sense of accomplishment.
It was worth it. They know who is the stronger now.
Kara knows it.
Theodore knows it.
Gar’rth nodded and turned on his heel, back toward the terrace that seemed his constant destination for the evening.
“What in Saradomin’s name do you think you were doing?” The old man’s face was an angry bright red, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
Gar’rth didn’t reply.
“Answer me, Gar’rth!”
Booted feet crunching the gravel underfoot were the signal that Theodore and Kara had joined them. He was alone with his friends. Their faces wore concerned masks. Castimir’s hand was in his pocket, Doric stood with his arms crossed, Arisha looked on sympathetically, and Kara and Theodore waited patiently for an explanation.
“I just… I don’t like this. Here.”
None of his friends moved, or said a word.
But are they really my friends? He wondered silently. Kara has hidden things from me, Theodore sees me as a rival, and whose side would the others take? Finally Ebenezer spoke again.
“That’s no excuse. You cannot endanger yourself by such foolishness. You’re-”
“I’m different,” Gar’rth gritted. “I know. I know I am.”
“Gar’rth, what’s wrong?” Kara asked. “It’s clearly something more than just not liking this place.”
Gar’rth laughed as his eyes watered.
“You ask me that?” he said. “You? You have kept secrets, Kara, from me.”
Kara shook her head.
And now she tries to deny it.
“A dagger,” he continued. “The one Pia hurt Jerrod with. You took it. You didn’t tell me.”
Kara’s face fell, and in a suddenly triumphant moment Gar’rth knew he was right.
“I know why,” he said. “You don’t trust me.” He turned to look at them all, one after the other. “None of you do.”
He could feel the tears on his cheeks now.
“Easy lad,” Doric said. “That’s not true. We’ve fought side by side. I trust you the same as I trust Kara and Castimir.”
Gar’rth ignored his words.
I will hurt them now if I can.
“And Theodore, Lady Anne read your letter to Kara. She told me. The letter Kara has in her satchel.”
Theodore exhaled, and avoided Kara’s stare.
“You didn’t tell me you had that, Kara,” the knight said after a moment. She didn’t reply, and her eyes showed anger and confusion.
Gar’rth lowered his head and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. As he did so a strange song sounded from the palace, an odd tune which defied his attempt to imagine what person would sing it.
“I trust you Gar’rth,” Kara said finally. “I really do. There is no way I would have ventured into The Wilderness with you if I did not.”
“That’s true,” Arisha added. “You know it is Gar’rth. Our lives were in your hands on a dozen occasions, at least. You’ve never let us down.”
“And you saved my life on the glacier, Gar’rth,” Doric said. “When I was out cold-I’ve never forgotten that.”
“All things I have done for you,” Gar’rth snapped. “But what have you done for me?”
“Have I done nothing for you, Gar’rth?” Ebenezer said in a whisper, and at the sound of his voice, Gar’rth’s anger died in sudden humiliation. “Is that what you truly believe?”
Guilt and shame twisted their ice-cold hands in Gar’rth’s stomach.
He’s right. I’ve acted like a fool.
But then the anger returned.
“No! That’s not…” His words were a growl now. “You are right. But…”
He couldn’t think straight. The sounds coming from the hall wouldn’t let him.
“What is that singing?” he demanded.
Theodore shared a look with Castimir, who shrugged.
“There is no singing,” the wizard said. “The music in the hall has stopped.”
But to Gar’rth, it only seemed closer now-as if from somewhere high up above.
“But I hear it,” he protested. “Singing. A strange song-do none of you hear it? Have you gone deaf?”
Suddenly Theodore’s eyes widened.
“Of course,” the knight said urgently. “Castimir, run and get Lord Despaard. Tell him I think the Wyrd is here. We must arm ourselves at once.”
“I’ll get my sword,” Kara said as she followed Castimir back into the hall, holding her skirt up to avoid tripping over it.
“Gar’rth, can you follow the song?” Theodore asked.
He listened carefully, turning his head from side to side.
“It is strange, Theodore,” he said tentatively. “Not just a song. I can feel it. Yes. Yes, I can follow it.”
“Then find her,” Theodore said. “And don’t let her touch you. Her claws are poison. And don’t touch anyone else who gets scratched also, for the poison can spread.” He spun, speaking over his shoulder. “I must get my sword.”
The knight vanished. Only Arisha, Doric, and Ebenezer remained.
“I am sorry Ebenezer. Truly,” Gar’rth said quietly. “I am scared of what will happen.”
“We can talk later, Gar’rth.” Ebenezer said, with a gentle smile.
He is the father I never had. That smile which showed me such kindness when he found me. How could I have doubted him?
“Tomorrow,” Ebenezer continued. “When we have all day to ourselves. Then we can talk. But now we need to track this creature. Lives are at stake.”
Gar’rth nodded.
“Thank you.”
The song grew closer, but it was still from above.
“Up,” Gar’rth pointed as Lord Despaard and Castimir ran from the hall. “She is there. Above.”