It was afternoon, and a grey light shone through the high windows of the palace’s great hall. The sweat on Theodore’s clothes was cold against his skin after the exersion of overseeing the training of twenty recruits for the knights.
The squire shook his head bitterly as he approached the grand staircase. Although the knights had triumphed in the siege of Falador, the cost had been tremendously high. He hadn’t been present when his order had been betrayed and surrounded by Sulla’s forces, where nine out of every ten men had died. Even now, it was something he found impossible to even imagine.
Afterwards, as a hero of the siege and a squire of the knights, Theodore had been sent to Varrock to recruit promising young men and replenish the ranks. Many responded to the call, and he had found a handful of promising candidates. By putting them through the paces they would encounter as peons, he weeded out those who would not pass muster.
“Squire Theodore!” a familiar voice called. He turned to see a young man only a few months his senior descending the stairs with great care. He was dressed as a nobleman of Varrock, yet his slight frame gave him a scholarly air-that of someone unused to physical exertion. His short black beard and moustache were neatly trimmed, for those who maintained a presence in the Varrock court were expected to be well-presented. Accordingly, his black cloak, trimmed in otter fur, was pinned by a silver brooch in the shape of a fox, the symbol of his house.
“Lord William.” Theodore greeted the friend who had acted as his guide in Varrock. William was honest and unpretentious, despite his noble background. He was intelligent, too, devouring history and keeping abreast of the latest news.
“You have a matter of great import to deal with,” William said. “One that requires all of your diplomatic talent, Theodore.” He paused and peered at his friend. “Just what are you going to tell Lady Anne?” he probed. “She wishes to dance with you at the Midsummer Festival, and everyone is waiting for news of Kara-Meir. You have told me repeatedly that she promised to be here by Midsummer for your reunion, yet still she is not here. The city can’t wait much longer.”
Theodore stared at the floor and shook his head.
“She hasn’t written to me for months, William. I know Ebenezer, Doric and Castimir are all coming, and should be here either today or tomorrow, but about Gar’rth and Kara I am still unsure.” He avoided William’s questioning stare. He knew his friend wished him to elabourate, yet he did not wish to do so. Kara’s long silence had both hurt and angered him, and he didn’t wish to admit such weakness-not to anybody.
“In that case, Lady Anne is seizing her chance,” William said after a moment. “She wishes to dance with the dashing knight who has refused the many fair maidens of Varrock. Your reluctance has made people think this Kara-Meir must be very special indeed.”
Theodore smiled at William’s jest. Yet he knew it was true. He had lived in the palace at Varrock for six months, an honoured guest feted as a hero. He had participated in hunts on the King’s own chase, and jousted with the greatest warriors of the realm.
But more than ever he missed Kara.
None of the noblewomen he had met could equal her. His aloofness had given him a reputation as a truly noble knight, and his chaste demeanour had marked him as an impossible challenge which none of the ladies at court seemed able to resist.
“She is special,” Theodore admitted, “as you shall see if she comes.”
At once he knew he had made a mistake.
“If she comes?” William’s face darkened. “I thought she had promised?”
“She did promise. But the last I heard of her she had ventured into The Wilderness.”
William exhaled in despair.
“Gods! Why would she go there? I’ve heard people say she promised never to fight again after claiming Sulla’s hands?”
“She gave up her quest for vengeance, but she never promised to stop fighting.” Theodore took two strides up the staircase. “I will let you know if I hear anything new,” he said, glad to end the conversation.
Only minutes later, he was finishing his wash when someone forced the door to his chamber open. It was William again.
“She is here, Theodore! Kara-Meir is here!”
At last!
Theodore’s heart raced. He felt such relief that she had arrived. Quickly he wiped the water from his face, hiding his smile with his towel.
“She is at the Flying Donkey Inn,” William continued. “If we hurry we can be there within half an hour.”
“We shall ride,” Theodore said, his hand gripping William’s arm in eagerness. “Soon you will see why she is special, William.”
“I know she is touched by the gods, Theodore.”
The two friends ran to the stables. As they rode out through the courtyard Theodore noticed palace guards chatting with great animation. He was struck by how the mere mention of Kara’s name had lifted the spirits of the men.
Theodore and William left their horses with a member of the city guards, for the crowd outside the inn was too dense for them to pass on horseback. A dozen of the guards, clad in yellow tabards worn over their chain mail, kept a wary eye to ensure that things did not get out of control.
Suddenly, a voice shouted from the second floor window of the inn, and a man waved for attention.
Quickly, the crowd hushed.
“Kara-Meir is here,” he called. “But she has travelled far, and is exhausted. She will spend tonight at the Flying Donkey, and already has retired for the night. Tomorrow afternoon she will appear at this very window, to speak to you before heading to the palace to attend the Midsummer festivities. There will be nothing more to see today, however.” With that he closed the shutters.
The crowd gave a collective groan and broke up.
How strange that Kara would arrive, yet send no word, Theodore thought, a sense of disquiet clawing at the back of his neck. And even more so that she would allow such a fellow to speak for her.
The disappointed populace quickly returned to their homes, allowing Theodore and William to make their way inside.
“Why didn’t she come to the palace?” William asked as Theodore ascended the stairway.
“I don’t know,” Theodore replied. “But I intend to find out.”
“Hold it!” a heavy-set man prevented Theodore from climbing any farther. “This whole floor has been given to Kara-Meir.”
“I am Squire Theodore, of the Knights of Falador,” he said. “I am Kara’s associate.”
The man looked back over his shoulder to the innkeeper, who stood on the landing above. Theodore recognised him as the man who had addressed the crowd.
“Your name is known to us Squire Theodore,” the innkeeper said, “but Kara-Meir has left very specific instructions…” He looked at once embarrassed and emboldened. “She doesn’t want to be disturbed… by anyone.”
Theodore opened his mouth to speak, but found he couldn’t form the words. His stomach felt as if it was being squeezed by an invisible hand.
“But this is Theodore!” William protested. “He is the man who saved Kara-Meir’s life, and fought with her at the siege of Falador!”
The innkeeper looked uncertain. After a moment he seemed to arrive at a decision.
“Wait here,” he said, disappearing from the landing.
Theodore listened for Kara’s voice, but the sounds rising from the main room of the tavern made it impossible to hear anything else. After a few moments the man returned, the expression on his face unreadable.
“I have told her you are here,” he said. “But she is very tired. She has asked you to return tomorrow.”
“What about her companions-Gar’rth? And Arisha?” Theodore said finally. “Are they also unavailable?”
The innkeeper shook his head.
“I know of no such persons. She is alone, aside from a street urchin she has employed as her servant.”
What could have caused them to separate?
“Has she been injured?” Theodore asked anxiously. It didn’t make any sense for Kara to behave in such a way, and the more he thought about it, the more the fact that Gar’rth and Arisha were missing concerned him. Had only Kara survived their trip into The Wilderness?
“She seems in perfect health,” the innkeeper answered. “You may write her a message from downstairs if you wish. Ask Karl for paper and ink. I shall see she gets it.”
The squire stood there, frozen, wrestling with the urge to push past the heavy-set man who barred the way. This was so unlike the Kara he knew, yet given the tension that had existed between them, to force the issue might only make matters worse. As he wrestled with his thoughts, a hand appeared on his shoulder.
“Come, Theodore,” William said, disappointment thick in his voice. “Let us get a drink, and you can write your letter. We can return tomorrow.”
Theodore nodded, allowing himself to be led to a table. Yet no matter how he considered what had happened, it simply didn’t make sense.
“I shall get you a strong drink, Theodore. A dwarven stout I think, imported from Falador. That will help you regain your composure.” The squire watched absently as his friend approached the waitress who stood near the kegs, being careful not to come into contact with any of the other men who clustered nearby. Not all of the townspeople had returned to their homes, and the news that Kara had taken a room here had brought in far more customers than usual.
A man approached, following William’s direction, and without saying a word deposited a pen, paper, and a bottle of ink on the table. Before the squire could acknowledge him, the man-Karl, no doubt-hastened away.
“Dwarven stout, Theodore, as promised.” William looked warily at the pint in his hand, and he must have spotted Theodore’s questioning look. “I’ve never had one before either. Not sure if I will again, but, as the saying goes, everything once!”
He took a tentative sip, and screwed his face up.
“Yes, just the one I think,” he said finally, before retreating to walk amongst the patrons, giving Theodore privacy to write his message.
At first he didn’t know what to write. There was little enough paper, and he had to be conservative with his words.
If I wrote what I really wanted to say, I would need a book!
The more he considered it, the more absurd the idea became. So he wrote a simple greeting, voicing his hope that Kara was well, and promising to return the next day. He was tempted to add, “with a representative of the King,” but decided against it. Instead he just signed it.
He read back over his words. Everything he wanted to say was there, save perhaps for the most important thing, something he had lain awake imagining over the many nights since he had last seen her.
The squire took a drink of his stout and, like his friend, grimaced accordingly. He wasn’t taken with drinking, despite the temptations that were a constant result of his diplomatic status, and he knew this foul liquid would not soon convince him to change.
After a few moments, however, he discovered that it did give him confidence. So he took another gulp, and before long he had drained his tankard. Then he reached again for the pen and paper.
I’ll do it!
She knows anyhow. I know she does.
Theodore wrote a final line. When he read through it again, he knew he didn’t need a book to say what he had so clearly stated.
He gestured to William before darting back up the staircase to hand his sealed letter to the same man who had barred his advance previously.
Finally, when he returned, William was seated at their table, drinking much more freely now. Standing opposite him was the same young man who had delivered the ink a moment before.
“This is Karl,” William explained. “He works here. He saw Kara today. Thought you might want to hear what happened. Go on Karl.”
Theodore returned to his seat and sipped another stout which William had brought for him. There was no seat for Karl.
“Begging your pardon sir,” he stammered to Theodore. “She told everyone who she was. She stood on that table near the kegs and said she was Kara-Meir, the saviour of Falador and that she had come to Varrock at the King’s request for the Midsummer Festival. Some people laughed at her and called her a liar, and then… well sir, she proved herself so to speak.”
Theodore shuddered involuntarily.
“What do you mean?”
“She held her scabbard up, sir. There was a blue ribbon tied to the hilt of the sword which prevented it from being drawn, or so she said. It was her promise to a man called Bewler or something…”
“Bhuler.” Theodore corrected. “His name was Bhuler.”
Karl nodded and Theodore saw that he didn’t dare contest the statement.
“Go on,” the squire prompted.
“Anyhow sir, she said to prove herself we could either fetch you from the palace sir, which we weren’t inclined to do being as it were a fair way away, or let her prove it to us. We cheered her on, and men asked her to prove who she was, and… erm… she did.”
“How did she do so, Karl?” William asked him with a mischievous smile. “You’re going to like this Theodore!”
“She drew a knife and threw it at a boy, sir.”
“She did what?”
“Threw it at a boy. A small boy who was standing right next to me. Before anyone realised it, she hurled the knife and we all jumped back. But she’s Kara-Meir you see. She didn’t miss!”
Karl laughed in the manner of someone sharing some private joke.
Saradomin give me patience!
“What didn’t she miss?” Theodore demanded before taking a long drink to prevent himself from saying anything that would demean his order.
“The boy was holding an apple, sir, and the knife went straight through it! Never seen anything like that in all my life sir! Straight into it. Ah, the juice was flowing on the lad’s fingers as he nearly fainted at the shock of it. Well, after that no one doubted her! We lifted her up on our shoulders and led her out into the street and then back into here-everybody was celebrating.” Suddenly Karl’s face darkened. “Varrock needs a hero, sir. I know you’re a visitor here, but there’s something going on…”
Theodore felt William stiffen at his side.
“Just get on with the story,” the nobleman instructed.
“Aye sir. Well after that, she said it was only right that those who had money to spend on drink could spare some for those that had nothing. She said that was how it was in Falador now, after the war, the rich giving money to help the poor. Like you hear in the ballads sometimes, sir. You know what I mean?”
Theodore nodded.
Incredible. Kara asking for money? Unbelievable.
He froze in his seat, a sudden realisation chilling him.
The message! Gods! Who have I passed that onto?
“Well, anyhow,” Karl continued, not appearing to notice Theodore’s sudden discomfort, “she passed a sack round and people put their money in, even me, what little I could afford. She said she would give it out to the needy tomorrow, before the Midsummer Festival. We was all proud at that.”
“And then?”
“And that’s it, sir. After that, after we had filled the sack, she went upstairs where she remains now, with the boy she took as a servant.”
“What did she look like Karl?”
“Oh, she was Kara-Meir sir, no doubt. Blonde hair to her waist, slim, pale skin.” Karl hesitated, scratching his head. “Well, sir, you should know what she looks like…”
William spat his stout out in sudden glee, laughing.
Theodore’s hand smacked down on the tabletop, silencing those nearby.
“Indeed I do know what she looks like, Karl,” he said more loudly than he had intended. Then in a more controlled voice, he continued. “I am trying to ensure that it’s the same person.”
“Who else could she be, knight?” a drunken man shouted. “No one else can be that skilled with a weapon. And do you know…” He staggered forward, launching himself toward their table. “We do need a hero. Karl is right. Varrock needs a hero who can help us. Not men like you, with your coats and your buttons and your… your titles.”
The man flicked his arm toward William, who was far enough away to be out of danger, and yet as he did so the young nobleman fell back from his chair, striking the wall behind. He looked terrified.
“William! You are safe. Calm yourself,” Theodore said, standing quickly to put himself between the two men. The drunk backed away, a look of surprise on his face.
“I didn’t mean anything by it, sirs,” he mumbled, aware that he committed a serious offence. “Please sir. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
The drunk began to weep as the yellow tabards of the city guard closed in.
“No,” William said in an even tone, and then again, louder. “No-it’s all right. No harm was done.” He scanned the room, then turned to his friend. “Come Theodore, let us return to the palace. Didn’t like the stout, anyway.”
He followed William out into the street, leaving behind a room shocked into silence, to where their horses had been secured under the watchful eye of a city guard.
“What was all that about, William?” Theodore demanded. “You dragged me from the inn, leaving me with unfinished business, acting like a…” He wanted to say coward, but he held his tongue at the last second. But it was already too late.
“A coward, Theodore? Isn’t that what you wanted to say?”
Theodore turned his head to avoid William’s gaze.
“Isn’t it?” William pressed.
“Yes, William,” Theodore admitted. “I am sorry, but it is.” Even as he spoke, however, he knew that he was wrong. This is not the way a knight of Falador would behave.
“I have heard it all my life,” William said. “Since I was old enough to understand the word and the insult it carries. My father said it often enough. My mother attempted to hide me from it, to tell me that I was ‘different to others.’ Either way, I came to realise that both were unhappy with me-the one told me so, the other simply tried to hide the fact.”
William smirked, and Theodore shivered when he saw his friend’s face, for it was a mirthless visage, one filled with contempt and self-loathing.
“Still, they were both disappointed in me,” he continued. “Their only child. The heir to a proud family of Misthalin who have counted generals and chancellors amongst their ancestry. Now, I am all that remains of their line.” Theodore saw the tears spring into his eyes as his voice broke.
“I have no love for your god, Theodore. I think you know that. I attend the services of course, as does everyone in the court of Varrock, but I cannot bring myself to worship him.”
Theodore frowned.
“What’s Saradomin got to do with this, William?”
The young noble pulled a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his tears away.
“Do you believe people are cursed, Theodore?” he asked suddenly. “Through no fault of their own?” He gave a deep breath and took the reins of his horse in hand as he mounted.
“You are being silly, William,” Theodore answered. “I know you. You are not cursed-you are a good person. And I was wrong to expect you to be someone you are not.”
William laughed bitterly.
“A good man? Theodore, I am not a good man.” He rode a short distance forward before reining his horse in as the squire mounted his own mare.
“I wished to be a good man, Theodore,” William said, a little louder now to cross the short distance. “I still wish to be one. Every day. If I had my choice I would wish to be born as you were-strong, healthy, able-minded and bodied.” He twisted his mouth in a bizarre grin. “But the gods rarely grant our wishes, Theodore. Always they find ways of corrupting that which we want most of all.”
William turned and with a sudden shout he flicked his reins, galloping north toward the palace at a dangerous pace.
* * *
It had been years since the old man had last seen Varrock. He had been born there nearly sixty years ago, leaving only after his wife had died in childbirth and his children had died of smallpox.
Twenty years ago, Ebenezer thought. Time enough for heroes to be born, and for some even to become legend.
“We could stop, if you like?” the old man’s companion said. There was a tender note in the dwarf’s voice that was seldom heard, but which Ebenezer had come to know well.
“I made a vow that I would never return to Varrock,” Ebenezer said. “I made it after burying my family. I decided to travel the world in the name of science, to combat dogmatic religion.”
The dwarf sat in silence by the old man’s side as the wagon stopped. Ebenezer glanced over the horses’ heads to the city in the east. The sun was losing its warmth, and the final leg of their journey had taken longer than expected. He hadn’t realised how difficult it would be for him to return.
“But time mellows all men’s rage,” Ebenezer continued, brushing his hand across his white hair. “The vow doesn’t seem so important any more. Come, Doric, let us press on. I would like to be at the palace in time for supper.”
He goaded his horses on, and the wagon rolled forward.
“I wonder whether Castimir will be there already,” Doric said, laughing suddenly.
“I, too, am eager to see our young friends. I find as I get older that the company of youth is more rewarding. Although I am worried about Gar’rth,” he said. “And Kara.”
Doric nodded.
“Kara can take care of herself, Ebenezer. It was she who rescued Theodore and me from Jerrod in Falador.”
You are right, my good friend. Kara-Meir can take care of herself. I just hope she hasn’t had to take care of Gar’rth.
The bells from Father Lawrence’s church, situated not far to the east of the palace, chimed the eighth hour of the evening as Theodore and William led their steeds onto the great square.
William had grown increasingly pensive since reining his horse in a few minutes from the inn, and Theodore knew his anger had turned to embarrassment. Perhaps, he thought, it would be best not to press him. Whatever he feels, he will likely tell me in time.
To that end, he persuaded William to dismount and walk with him back to the palace. But by the time they entered the square, it was Theodore who had apologised.
“I am sorry, William,” he said earnestly. “Kara’s actions defy reason-any that I can identify at least, and it angers me.”
William accepted the apology with a nod, but as he made to reply the sound of a man riding swiftly from the west caught their attention. It was Lord Despaard entering the square. The Varrock noble gave the squire a cold stare as he rode through the palace entrance, and Theodore bowed in return, once again conscious of the tension between them.
“Who is Lord Despaard?” he asked. “He claims to know me, and I’ve heard it said that he has tremendous influence, yet none have ever elabourated to explain how that influence is exercised.” And if the things he does became known, Theodore mused silently, would they be considered the actions of a man, or a monster?
William looked suddenly secretive.
“Some say he leads men into Morytania. He is apparently one of the few who has seen Meiyerditch, the capital of that realm, and lived to speak of it.”
“Has he ever fought a werewolf?” Theodore asked, allowing himself a moment of pride. Then he thought the better of it. But William responded.
“If he genuinely does cross the holy river, then likely so. People say his father died in Morytania years ago, and that it is his hatred of that place that drives him on.”
“Do you think he has anything to do with this secret society people keep talking about? The Society of Owls?” How much does William really know? “I’ve heard rumours of innocent citizens, abducted from their homes, all in the name of the law. Could these rumours be true?” As I know them to be, based on the evidence of my own two eyes, he added silently.
“Oh come, Theodore,” William said. “I have been at court for several years now. There are often rumours of things crossing over the Salve. But abducting our own people? That’s too much even for the wildest of rumour-mongers. Although…” William lowered his gaze, and looked uncertain.
“Now that you mention it, I have heard some outlandish whispers of a strange creature that is preying on children in the east, where only farmers live. A vampire or gargoyle or some such.” He looked up again. “Could that be what Karl and the drunken man were referring to?”
I have seen her William! Theodore wanted to say so much, but only at the last minute did he remember Lord Despaard’s forceful words as he was told to keep the conspiracy of silence. The less the young nobleman knew, the safer he would be. And another thought clawed at the back of his mind.
I cannot trust anyone at court.
“Look about you, William,” he said sombrely. “It is the height of summer, and yet the square is nearly deserted. I tell you there is something wrong, and the people of Varrock know it. They are afraid.”
But William said nothing, looking to the west of the square to where a weather-beaten wagon drawn by two horses rolled to a halt. A white-haired old man with a whiter beard climbed down from the seat, a dwarf at his side.
Theodore laughed, his changed demeanour planting a look of surprise on William’s face.
“What is it?” the nobleman asked. “Do you know them?”
“They are two old friends, William.” Two old friends who I know I can trust.
With an excited grin the squire ran forward.
One hour later, Ebenezer sat near the fire, smoking his pipe. Nearby Doric bathed his feet in a tub of hot water, sighing as he soothed his aching limbs.
Theodore had found a room for his friends on the first floor of the palace, tucked away from the busy goings-on that continued during all hours-for although it was the home of King Roald, the palace was also the centre of government for the city of Varrock and the country of Misthalin. Having been introduced to the newcomers, William had been gracious enough to allow them some time to catch up, and had left the three friends together.
“So tell me, Ebenezer,” Theodore began, “what has happened in Falador since I departed? I have been eager for news.”
The old man took his pipe from his mouth and sighed.
“The damage that was done in the siege has been repaired,” he said. “The walls have been strengthened, and the dwarfs have opened their mining guild in the east of the city. Life continues for the citizens much as it did before the fighting, and the knights are held in higher regard than ever for the sacrifices they made in the war.”
Doric winked at Theodore, and gestured.
“Haven’t you noticed Ebenezer’s new surcoat?” the dwarf asked.
“It looks more expensive than your previous garment,” Theodore observed. “When last I saw you, you had been asked to find a way to drain the moat around the castle and retrieve the valuables the people had cast into the waters, in the effort to prevent the invaders from claiming them. Has this made you a rich man?”
“It has,” Ebenezer confessed. “And in the process, my reputation as an alchemist has reached new heights. After the fighting was over and the repairs begun, Sir Amik granted me the resources to construct just the thing that was needed to complete the task. Crowds gathered to see the monstrosity that my friends and I had built.”
Doric shook his head.
“You should have seen their faces, Theodore!” the dwarf said. “When Ebenezer lit the fires and fed the boiler with coal and wood, and the beam at the top began to rock on its fulcrum, powering the pump. The citizens were amazed. The steam engine drew nearly ten gallons of water from the moat each minute. It must have been the first time in its history that it was drained, for a great many objects were recovered that didn’t match any descriptions offered by the citizens.”
“And my work was well rewarded,” Ebenezer said. He gave a satisfied smile and returned his pipe to his mouth, exchanging a knowing glance with his travelling companion.
“And what of you Doric?” Theodore asked.
“I remained in Falador for nearly two months, helping the dwarfs under Commander Blenheim strengthen the walls and open the mining guild, and I also pursued my claim against those who burned my cabin. The magistrates ruled in my favour, and the guilty were ordered to help rebuild what they had destroyed.”
The old dwarf stirred his feet in the steaming tub.
“That was enough for me, for I was not looking for revenge. And those who had done the damage admitted their ignorance and offered me their assistance and their friendship, both of which I accepted.” He looked furtively to Ebenezer. “And I have done something else, something which has taken me some time and no small expense. Something which will be a gift to my friends.”
With that, Doric yawned.
“Well?” Theodore prompted.
The dwarf gave a low laugh.
“All in good time,” he said. “When we are all gathered.”
“Very well Doric, you may keep your secrets,” Theodore said. “William has had rooms prepared for you both, here in the palace. All your needs will be met during your stay, for as companions to Kara-Meir you are honoured guests.”
The alchemist and the dwarf exchanged wary looks.
“Have you had any news of Kara?” Doric asked.
Theodore lowered his gaze to the floor.
“Apparently she is here, in Varrock,” he answered, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “But Gar’rth and Arisha are not.”
Ebenezer took the pipe from his mouth. Doric frowned in worry.
“They went into The Wilderness together,” Theodore continued angrily. “It might be that only Kara returned. And she has refused to see me.”
For a time no one spoke. Both of Theodore’s friends knew how he felt about Kara, and how hurt he must have been by her refusal.
Doric lifted his feet from the tub, water splashing onto the flagstones. He was about to speak when a commotion sounded outside in the passageway, of men running and giving commands in anxious tones.
Suddenly William burst into the room.
“There’s been a killing, Theodore!” he shouted. “They are no longer just rumours-the creature has entered the city!”
Theodore rode hard to the south of the city, to where the poorer inhabitants dwelt. Doric clung to his waist with his eyes shut, yet the mare easily outpaced William’s gelding. Even Ebenezer-had he decided to accompany them from the palace-could have outpaced the young nobleman on his horse.
But William is fearful, Theodore realised. I have never noticed it so acutely before. Even walking down stairs he is always unnaturally careful. And his behaviour at the inn today. His fear!
Thoughts of his friend evaporated as he saw a crowd gathered before him in the darkened street. Some held lanterns, and in the light he saw Lord Despaard and his black-clad men, already present. The yellow-cloaked city guard helped them in keeping order. He also saw Father Lawrence, the old priest at the head of the crowd, his four-pointed silver star held before him as he invoked Saradomin’s mercy.
As Theodore reined his mare in and dismounted he saw the anxious looks of the citizens. One was vomiting into the gutter.
The crowd surrounded a merchant’s house that had seen more prosperous times. Following their gaze, Theodore looked up and saw that upon the slanted lead roof lay a dead body-that of a man whose collar was wrapped about an iron peg that held the tiles in place, his feet hanging over the edge into empty space.
And down the side of the house’s grey wall ran a red streak.
Theodore himself felt suddenly nauseous. He had been in battle before this, and had seen all the horrors of men mutilated and dying, but this was different somehow.
This is a spectacle.
“But how did it get up there?” a man cried out. “How was this done?”
“This is nothing human!” someone else added.
Instantly the crowd bristled with a collective anger. Quickly, Lord Despaard’s men took up discreet positions, preparing to subdue the mob should it turn violent.
Lights shone from the opposite rooftop, illuminating the corpse.
All eyes were fixed upon the hideous sight. The man’s throat had been torn out, and his abdomen-revealed to the onlookers through his torn shirt-had been viciously clawed.
“Gods! All that blood,” William moaned from Theodore’s side, having left his horse with the squire’s mare. The noble staggered on his feet, unable to take his eyes off the red streak that seemed so similar to an arrow on the dirty grey stone.
“I’ve got you, William,” Theodore said, reaching out as his friend swayed. Doric assisted him.
“Here, have some of this, lad,” he said, offering William his hip flask. “It’s stronger than water but it’ll do the trick.” The dwarf peered again at the rooftop. “And when you’re done, pass it back. Think I’ll need some too.” William nodded as he took a generous swig before coughing violently.
“Look to the left of him-look!” someone shouted. “There’s writing!”
The lanterns above shifted to follow the anonymous instruction.
And there it was. Written in the man’s blood.
“What does it say? What does it say?” cried an onlooker.
“Pay it no mind,” Lord Despaard shouted in reply. “It is designed to cause fear in all of us, and we cannot allow it to do so.” His words silenced the crowd, but then someone spoke up again, his voice heard by all.
“It says, ‘I am coming.’”
Pandemonium erupted as everyone spoke at once, every other person asking his neighbour what such a message could mean. Some wailed in fear, others cursed loudly. Theodore, seeing William regain his calm, moved away quickly and approached Lord Despaard.
“We can’t conceal this, Lord Despaard,” he said. “This Wyrd…”
“Just you remember your promise to me, boy,” the man in black replied angrily. “This is my business, and has been since before you were born. Now go back to the palace and enjoy a dance with a pretty girl, or a glass of wine-I care not. But keep the silence, or so help me I will have you returned to Falador in chains!” Hearing the exchange, Father Lawrence stepped up.
“You must do as he says, Theodore,” the priest said. “As must I. There is a survivor, a child, a witness in fact.” The old man lowered his voice. “I will take her to the others, and care for her as best I can with my meagre skills.” He hastened off toward a group of black-cloaked soldiers stood in a loose circle. Meanwhile, Lord Despaard’s eyes never left Theodore.
“You know far more than I would like,” he said. “But I trust you. I know your reputation for honesty and I know that your word is your bond. Everyone who would know confirms it. But do not interfere in my business.” Despaard followed in Father Lawrence’s footsteps as Doric appeared at his side.
“Come, Theodore,” the dwarf said. “We can do nothing here. Who ever this murderer is, it’s the duty of the guards to bring him to justice.”
Theodore smiled grimly and shook his head.
“Not he, Doric, she. And not human,” he muttered. “I shall explain when we return to the palace.” Together they headed back to their steeds. Theodore mounted his mare and helped Doric up behind him. As he did so he turned in his saddle, suddenly aware that he was being watched.
“You!” he cried suddenly.
It was the woman who had hurled the stone at him the night before. She held his gaze for a long second as a crowd of people bustled between them. Finally, she shook her head in disgust before vanishing into the masses.
Doric witnessed the exchange.
“Is there some reason we should go after her?” Doric asked.
“No, Doric,” the squire answered. “Her only crime is that she knows the truth.”
With an uneasy feeling, he turned his horse and rode away. William followed at his own speed.
Have I forfeited the obligations of my order in my promise to keep the silence? Theodore wondered silently. I must ask Saradomin for guidance in this matter.
Perhaps, indeed, she knows more of the truth than I.
Theodore’s doubts were interrupted by a nudge from Doric.
“So tell me what you know,” the dwarf instructed as they left the crowds behind them and rode out of earshot of anyone save William. “Tell me of this woman. This inhuman woman.”
Ebenezer was sleeping in his chair, his spectacles fallen to his chest, when Theodore and his two friends got back.
“It was a tiring journey to Varrock,” Doric explained softly, in an effort not to disturb the alchemist. “Even for me, and we are meeting King Roald tomorrow. Perhaps it is best if we got some rest so we can present ourselves in our best possible light, and be neither weary nor frayed?”
“I will ask a servant to escort you to your rooms, master dwarf, if you care to wake your friend,” William offered. He peered outside and gestured to a man who waited nearby.
Gently, Doric shook Ebenezer’s shoulder. The old man awoke with a sharp intake of breath.
“Oh-ho! You’re back,” he said groggily. “What time is it?”
“It’s half past ten,” Doric said, looking at the intricate clock that hung above the fireplace. “Although it feels a lot later. I for one need rest. Lots of fresh air and being bungled about on a wagon is enough for me. Now I know how a potato feels on its way to market. Come on, alchemist!”
Ebenezer stood delicately. As he did so a book slipped from his lap and onto the cushion.
“A history of the lives of the kings of Varrock?” William said as he picked it up. “Well, that’s enough to send anybody to sleep.”
“Oh, yes. I found it on the shelf over there. I remembered my childhood when I was forced to learn all their names from the Battle of the Salve down to the present day.” The alchemist smiled sorrowfully. “I must have had a better memory then than now, I fear. I had forgotten the names of the four princes who were lost at that battle.” He shook his head. “Never mind. It is ancient history. Now, what happened in Varrock tonight? Were your fears justified?”
Theodore nodded.
“They were. Another slaying. I don’t know how many there have been so far, but this time the killer left a message-and it was more public than any so far.”
“Tell me about it, while we find my bedroom.”
“We must not talk too freely, my friend,” William cautioned. “This knowledge is prohibited in Varrock by the highest authority.”
“I will tell you, when we get you to your room,” Doric said. “Theodore told me all on our return to the palace.” The dwarf took the alchemist’s arm and led him from the room, following the servant, while Theodore moved to extinguish the lights.
“Are you going to bed Theodore?” William asked, rubbing his own eyes and yawning.
“Not just yet,” the squire answered. “I think I will spend a moment in the chapel, in prayer. Will you join me, to ask for guidance in this matter?”
William shook his head.
“No. I am sorry Theodore. I find the chapel to Saradomin a very cold place indeed. I am aware of its importance to your order of course, but I prefer the guise of the roguish nobleman. Goodnight, good knight!”
The nobleman walked toward the door, then turned before leaving, his eyes holding Theodore’s for several seconds.
“I am sorry about my outburst at the inn today, Theodore,” he said earnestly. “Truly I am. Please believe me when I say that I will always be your friend.” He closed the door behind him quickly, preventing Theodore from replying.
After a moment of careful thought, the squire extinguished the final candle and left the room to make his way through the dim corridors of the great palace and to the cold chapel upon the second floor.
There, alone with his doubts, he knelt in prayer.