“Wake up, Gar’rth. Wake up.”
He stirred. His heart beat faster as he turned from his back onto his side. For some reason he was afraid of opening his eyes.
Instead, he inhaled through his nose, now somehow free of the choking smoke that had burned his lungs and throat. It took him a moment to realise that his body was free from pain.
Am I healed? And are my friends safe?
Kara…
“Wake up. Wake up. Wake up…”
Finally, he relented. He opened his eyes and sat up.
There is no point in pretending any longer.
Gar’rth looked for the speaker but if he was there the youth could not see him. Every piece of furniture, the drawers, the walls, the bed and the very sheets he found wrapped around him were black, as if they had been made from the shadows themselves.
Opposite him, a wide deep bathtub of black stone stood against the far wall.
But it was the bed itself that caused his eyes to widen in surprise.
This is opulence on a scale that I have never seen before.
Gar’rth threw off his sheet and stood, naked and cold. A dim light shone through the one small window, reminding him of a forest in the twilight, a dark place made darker still by the dilution of the sun.
As he stepped toward it a motion on his periphery made him gasp. He leapt back suddenly, crouching and ready to defend himself, only to see his reflection act likewise in a long mirror that stood facing him.
The bruises are gone, the cuts vanished. I have been healed somehow.
How long have I been here?
And why am I alive?
He struggled to remember what had happened in Canifis. There had been flames and smoke and he had been beaten-he recalled that, and yet now he stood, free of pain and injury. He found it impossible to reconcile.
Was that a dream? What happened in Canifis?
He went to the window, determined to discover where he was, hoping it would answer some of the questions that made him so uneasy.
Below lay a vast city, stretching to the horizon, divided by immense black walls that were far higher than anything he had seen in Varrock-or even in Falador. A green smog hid the detail. He thought he saw tiny figures dressed in grey rags trudge through the shadows. Wherever he looked it was the same. Not a tree, not a park, no colour of life. It seemed to him as if the whole city with its black walls and black buildings had been designed to inspire despair and sap all hope.
It looked as though it was late morning or early afternoon. The sun was high, and yet it gave no warmth. Farther away, to what he thought must be the south, great columns of black smoke rose into the green-tinted sky.
Industry and misery. But where is the master of this horror? And what does he want me for?
“Some might say it’s beautiful,” said a voice, “if they were mad or wicked beyond any mortal reckoning. Here, in this castle, we have both such inhabitants.”
Gar’rth spun around to see an elderly man with a thin build holding a silver tray. The door was open behind him, and as he stepped forward Gar’rth sniffed the air.
“We share the same talents, you and I,” he said. “I am like you, Gar’rth.”
As the man walked forward Gar’rth found himself unable to speak. He had so many questions to ask. So many that he did not know where to start. The newcomer spoke first.
“My name is Georgi. I knew your parents, Gar’rth, served by their side, seeing to the whims of our masters-in particular the Black Prince himself. I was proud to have known them.” The old man put the tray down without making a sound, taking delicate care to ensure that it was so, as if fearful of making any noise. “Here, under the eye of such a master, we shared danger every day. I learned to trust those at my side in such a place. As will you.”
Georgi’s craggy face was framed by his white hair, which ran down in two thick sideburns all the way to his chin. When he spoke, Gar’rth saw that his teeth were pointed.
“Where am I?” he said after a moment of silence. “And my friends-”
“You are safe in Castle Drakan. Your… friends from beyond the holy river are also safe. You were brought here, together, on the Prince’s instructions, carried by the Vyrewatch. You will see them soon, but now you must eat and dress.”
Suddenly Gar’rth remembered his nakedness. In his curiosity, he had forgotten it entirely. He took a step to the bed, to wrap himself in one of the black sheets, when the old werewolf held up his hand.
“You are to dress in these,” he told him, pointing to a neatly folded pile of clothes that lay upon a closed chest at the end of the bed. “And you should wash and shave, also. I shall bring you a bowl of water and a razor. Should you require anything, just pull the bell rope above your bed. But you cannot leave this room. Not yet.
“Please, for the friendship I had with your parents-and especially your mother-do not try to do so.” With that he turned to leave.
“Wait! Wait! I must know, why am I here? Why does Lord Drakan need me? And tell me, tell me please of my father.”
Georgi shook his head.
“I do not know such things, Gar’rth. And you would do well not to wonder about them. They are not our concern. But as for His Majesty, I have never seen him, and I have lived here for many years. It is not he who wanted you. It is the Black Prince.”
The servant left and the door swung shut behind him, as soundlessly as it had opened, leaving Gar’rth alone and with more questions than he’d had before.
Over the next few hours, Georgi appeared several times, coming and going in quick succession, bringing with him copper jugs of hot water with which he filled the bath and washbowl. He did not speak, and the unanswered questions gnawed at Gar’rth’s mind.
Alone again, he ate and bathed and dressed without a thought to what he was doing, for his mind was occupied always by the uncertainty of his captivity and of what Georgi had told him before.
He has told me only enough to keep me guessing.
Even a closer inspection of his surroundings gave no help. He knew he was in a tower, for the wall with its single window was curved. His clothes were black finery, a jerkin as soft as any material he had ever felt, a brooch of white gold to hold his black cloak across his throat.
The image in the mirror was not one he liked.
The man standing there is soft, pampered…
He ran his hand over his smooth chin. It was not a sensation he was used to.
Finally, he pulled the red cord that hung over his bed, and somewhere from far away he thought he heard a bell ring.
Within moments, Georgi came.
“I am ready,” Gar’rth said. “When will I see my friends again?”
“The Black Prince wishes to see you, Gar’rth. I will take you to him now, but first I think you should know more of your situation. You walk upon the edge of a knife here. We all do. A stray step is all it takes for our lives to be forfeit. The Black Prince is bad enough, but worse still is Vanescula Drakan.
“Have you heard of her?”
“I think so,” he replied. “Is she Lord Drakan’s daughter?”
Georgi shook his head.
“She is his sister. And there are none worse than her. Not Malak, not her brother Ranis, perhaps not even Lord Drakan himself, and certainly not the Black Prince. They play their games against one another, entertaining themselves with the lives of humans in the ghettoes, as well as those like your parents and me. We are all pawns to them, pawns in a game where death is no finality.
“Can you imagine what that means? There can be no escape for us.”
The old werewolf shook his head and looked at Gar’rth curiously.
“And you will be in very real danger here. These corridors may seem empty, but the darkness itself is a slave to their will, as much as you or I. She especially uses it to smother the life from her victims. or to tear the flesh from their bones, and she-Vanescula-will hate you Gar’rth. You must be careful.”
Gar’rth frowned.
“Why? Why would she hate me so much?”
“Because you are a favourite of the Black Prince. There is no other reason than that.” He ignored Gar’rth’s questioning stare. “Like I said, it is a game to them, and a favoured pawn of one is a particular enemy of another. Here, might is right, Gar’rth. There are no other laws.
“Now, come on,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “We cannot keep the Black Prince waiting.”
Georgi led Gar’rth from his chamber and down a wide spiral stair. On the floor below they emerged into an immense library, every wall lined with shelves twice as high as any man, filled with books. Two windows permitted the dimmest light, which fell upon the ashes of a large fire that had clearly not been lit in a long time.
Gar’rth had never read a book himself, aside from those that Arisha and the monks of the monastery had used to help him learn the common tongue, and the sight of the collection made him gasp.
“I suppose it is impressive, in its way,” Georgi said. “There are books here written in unknown languages from a race long extinct. I think only the Black Prince himself has ever read them.”
“But there are thousands of books,” Gar’rth intoned. “Tens of thousands. How long would it take?”
“The Black Prince is a vampire, Gar’rth. Time is his ally. A year passes for him as a minute to you or I. He might have read each book ten times or more.”
“Who is the Black Prince?”
Georgi smiled.
“Your mother and father both worked for him, and they… told me stories about their service to him.” Suddenly he stopped, and Gar’rth saw the conflict on his face.
“When I was young I was told that my father was killed here,” Gar’rth said, “in the service of a vampire nobleman. Was it him, Georgi? Was it the Black Prince who did it?”
“I didn’t witness your father’s death, Gar’rth,” the old man said. “but I saw what it did to your mother, poor creature.”
“Then why do you serve them so, if they are such terrible masters?”
“It is not a choice we are free to make, Gar’rth,” Georgi answered. “You cannot refuse them. Yet there are rewards, as well. They can make you dream such dreams that you would never wish to wake. Still, now is not the time to talk of such things, for we will spend many long hours together in the future, and I will explain all I am able to.”
Dreams so wonderful that you wouldn’t wish to wake?
Can they do the same with nightmares?
The valet resumed his pace and they left the library though the opposite end.
Castimir would love that room. He would never want to leave. And from what Georgi says, it may be that I will have time to spend time there, as well.
They passed through a large circular room with four double doors on opposite sides. Two of them were open. Everywhere the stone was black.
“Here. He waits for you by the pool.”
“The pool?”
“He watches it every day. Through it he can see the doings of many people, and spy on their most guarded secrets. That is how he knows about Varrock. That is how he perceived your coming. Go. I will wait here for you.”
Georgi pointed, and Gar’rth stepped through the open double doors. The room was large but it was darker than any of the others, and full of shadows. At its centre-at the very darkest point- stood a man, behind and above a circular pool of still water.
So this is the one behind it all. This is the vampire who sent Jerrod after me, the one who has wanted me for so long.
Why?
Try as he might, Gar’rth could not see much in this blackness. Yet he sensed the figure’s attention as it shifted from the water to him.
“Come forward,” a voice commanded.
It is the same voice as woke me from my sleep. I couldn’t resist it then.
Nor could he resist it now. He stepped forward to the pool’s edge, a stone lip that rose a short distance from the flagstones.
“Closer, Gar’rth. Come closer.”
He dared not speak, nor refuse. He wanted only to obey. Quickly, he walked around the pool’s edge. And as he neared the black figure in the midst of the shadows, he did not feel afraid. Instead he felt… happiness? Elation?
I am elated. This man knows so much about me.
“I have all the answers you seek, and more-infinitely more,” the voice said. “I can teach so very, very much. Far more than anything Kara-Meir or those human friends of yours.
“I can tell you, for example, that your embassy has wasted its time. The children you seek are not in Morytania. They never have been. And even now the Wyrd is dead. Her head sits on a spike upon the walls of Varrock’s palace.
“You see, even the embassy itself was only a feint to achieve my purpose. The purpose of bringing you to me.”
“What?” Gar’rth said, finding his voice. “I don’t understand. You sent the Wyrd to lure me back?”
The figure in the black robes turned. Gar’rth was close enough now to see his face. He looked to be a man in his late thirties, his black hair swept back, lined with grey and white at the edges. Behind the dark eyes Gar’rth saw a deeper shade, a bright red that could not be concealed, that told him the true nature of the thing before him.
Yet still he wasn’t afraid.
“No, the Wyrd had tasks of her own to complete. She came close, but your own intervention on the night of the dance and the betrayal of your uncle-at Vanescula’s command-led to her death before her work was done. Therefore I must send another.”
Jerrod betrayed him?
The figure turned back to the pool.
“Tell me, Gar’rth, what do you see here?”
He looked into the still waters.
“Nothing. Nothing but the barest ripple.”
“Then perhaps you have no empathy for magic.” The man sneered slightly, and exhaled. “Still, that can be rectified in time, and time is what we have in plenty. Let us try again. Grasp my hand, and think. Think of King Roald, perhaps.”
Gar’rth held his hand out slowly. Quickly the man took it. Coldness crept up his wrist and into his arm, and yet the grip was so strong that he couldn’t have broken it if he had tried.
“Look, Gar’rth. Think of King Roald, and look.”
The dark colour of the water faded and the ripples took form. Quickly, a half recognisable image of the King appeared. Gar’rth gasped, and the image vanished.
He felt the grip tighten on his hand.
“In time I will teach you to do this properly. I have spent many, many lifetimes watching the lives of others, from their births to their deaths. It has showed me just how weak humans are, just how malleable they can be. King Roald, for instance, lusts as much as the basest born peasant. I have seen it-how he deSires the woman Ellamaria. Such weakness.”
“Why are you revealing this to me?”
“Because it will make your choice easier, Gar’rth. It is a mere demonstration of the power I will grant you. Think of Kara now, for that emotion should be powerful in you.”
Instantly the waters changed. A room appeared. Alone on a settee lay Kara, asleep, breathing gently. Behind her, Gar’rth saw Theodore and Castimir in a similar state, and nearby he was relieved to see the slumbering forms of Albertus Black and Gideon Gleeman.
“If you want her, then I will give her to you,” the man said, his voice compelling, seductive. “Now. Here, in this place, you can possess her more fully than any man ever possessed a woman across the river.”
“Her love is worthless if it is forced from her,” Gar’rth responded, suddenly angry.
The man laughed and let go of Gar’rth’s hand. The image faded immediately.
“You must truly have feelings for her, to act so nobly. But her fate, and that of your friends, rests entirely in your hands.”
“What do you mean?”
“Their belongings are all here. They are yours, for your friends won’t be able to take them. Their horses from Canifis, their possessions, and they themselves will be yours if you want them to be.” He peered intently. “Tell me truthfully, Gar’rth, have you never thought of taking Theodore’s life, in front of Kara’s eyes? To show her how strong you really are? Here, you could do that.”
You know I have!
“He is my friend,” Gar’rth replied, but somehow the words seemed feeble.
“Your friend?” the dark man said. “He hates what you are, Gar’rth. You know it. He fears you, as well, as they all do. Even Kara. If it were otherwise, would she have taken the wolfbane dagger without telling you?”
He knows everything.
“You don’t answer me because you have thought so before. Still, they are your friends, and I will respect that. The choice you have is a brutally simple one. If you submit to me, I will tell you of your history, and of your future, too. Your friends may go freely across the river and return home.”
“And if I don’t?”
“They will live in torment, forever, as has no other since the time of the God Wars. Believe me when I tell you that death will be but a dream to them. And in the end, you will submit to me, for there will be no alternative.”
What choice is that?
“King Roald offered you a similar choice, did he not, before you swore to serve him?” He looked deeply into Gar’rth’s eyes. “You should never have left Morytania, Gar’rth. This is your place. This is your home.”
“And my friends will be allowed to leave Morytania, unmolested?”
The man nodded.
“I will not try to stop them. I cannot make promises on behalf of others, of course, but they should be able to accomplish it. Already Vanstrom and the rebel Karnac near the Barrows. They will be here within a day. Time enough for you to make your choice. I shall even wake them before you go, so you can part from them cordially. And if you wish to help them further, then you may give each one a pouch filled with the most precious gems. None of them will want ever again.
“Tell me, Gar’rth, has a more reasonable offer ever been made?”
“You are offering no choice at all.”
“That is true,” the man admitted without hesitation. “But the lives of your friends are in your hands. Their welfare is entirely dependent upon you.”
“Then you know I will accept it. You know I have to.”
The man smiled.
“Very good, Gar’rth. Very good. You made the wise choice. Your friends will live, and likely prosper, and though you might never be with them again, you will be able to watch them whenever you want. Believe me, there are worse decisions people must make in this world.”
Gar’rth gritted his teeth, and clenched his hands.
“I said I accept, and I will,” he hissed. “But I want to write a letter, for Kara to open when she crosses the river. I could not stand to hear her voice, now that my mind is made up. And to Ebenezer, as well, for I owe him much.”
“Ah, the alchemist,” the dark man said. “You will be glad to know he is now back on his feet. I have seen him in the company of others in my pool. But now that you have accepted, I will tell you the truth of your life, and of why you are so important.
“Then you may write your letters, and if you want you may dictate them to Georgi, for I know how limited your skill is in their language. You can tell your friends whatever you wish them to know.”