made to understand that what he did was unacceptable.” His hand had instinctively travelled to the hilt of his sword, caressing it unconsciously.
Before Castimir could reply, the alchemist spoke, anger colouring his voice.
“Did I not explain? He does not speak our language!” he said, his eyes flashing. “How can he be made to understand?” Ebenezer’s eyes darted between him and Castimir, and with a clear effort he calmed himself. “But I am teaching him. We are learning, aren’t we, Gar’rth?” He smiled at the youth as a teacher might smile to encourage a pupil.
After a moment of struggling, a broken phrase passed between Gar’rth’s lips.
“Thank you…”
“That is one of the few phrases he has mastered,” whispered Castimir. “The lad is a strange one, Theo, savage and astoundingly strong. To any other save Ebenezer, he is decidedly hostile. Even toward me.” He grinned broadly as he finished speaking, and Theodore decided again that there was little in life his friend took seriously. As always he found it inexplicable, yet it caused him to appreciate the friendship all the more.
Ebenezer returned to his chemistry. Carefully he took a glass vial from the tabletop. It contained a clear, still liquid. With exaggerated care he mixed the calm fluid with a cup of water.
Immediately, the compound began to froth, spitting droplets onto the tabletop and beyond.
“Oil of Vitriol! Who would have thought that adding cool water could cause such a reaction?” He laughed manically.
Castimir’s curiosity was sparked by the experiment, and he moved closer, reaching out.
“Water did this? I would not have thought it possible.”
“Do not touch it!” the alchemist shouted. “The reaction heats the liquid, and it’s still quite hot,” the old man added. “It would have burned you.”
“Heat without flame?” Theodore muttered to his friend. “Surely that is magic.”
“I told you he was worth meeting, Theo,” the young wizard responded, as a knock at the door drew their attention.
A druid stood in the entrance, the sunlight illuminating his white robes, his green cloak shining as if it were made of living plants. He had an old face that spoke of many days and nights spent outdoors and in the company of nature. His grey eyes possessed wisdom that could not be learned save by an honest journey into old age.
He focused his gaze on Gar’rth, and the youth hung his head to avoid the attention of the new arrival. When the druid spoke, his voice was deep.
“How is Gar’rth today, Ebenezer?”
“He is well, Kaqemeex,” the alchemist replied. Upon hearing the name, Theodore straightened with curiosity. “The affliction seems to have quieted since your intervention. We are all thankful for that.”
The old druid noticed Theodore’s interest, and nodded to him.
“You are the young squire from Falador, who wishes to know about a particular white flower,” he said. “The birds have told me of your coming.”
Theodore bowed his head in respect to the old man. He opened his mouth to answer the druid’s query when a high-pitched chirping sounded from nearby. A blackbird perched upon the lintel, her black eyes flicking warily from one person to the next, taking in the entire group with a flurry of motion.
“I know already, my small feathered friend,” Kaqemeex said gently, and her chirping ceased. “Go and take your fill in the cool waters of the fountains.” The small bird fluttered away, leaving Theodore to stare at the druid with undisguised scepticism.
“The birds are the most useful spies of all,” the elder man said as if giving a lecture. He seemed not the least bit daunted by the squire’s overt disbelief. “There are very few of us who can still converse with wild creatures, and of those I am possibly the most adept at doing so.” He smiled sorrowfully, as if his memory dwelt on better times.
Yet Theodore remained unconvinced.
“What did she tell you?” Castimir asked in all earnestness.
“What I have known for some weeks now. There is an evil abroad in Asgarnia, that has entered the lands recently. A creature that seeks something, or someone.” He bowed his face and a cloud hid the sun, deepening the shadows.
“Sanfew told me to ask you about the monster,” he said quickly, eager to learn anything that might help him in the quest for justice. “He told me you might have some useful information?”
“I do not know what the beast is, if that is what you ask,” Kaqemeex answered. “I know only that it pursues something. It heads north, hiding by day and moving toward its goal each night. I suspect that what it is searching for is here, in Taverley. The birds seldom sight it, for it is a canny creature.”
His eyes moved swiftly to each of them in turn, much as the bird’s had done. Castimir looked uncertainly away, and Theodore held his grey stare without moving. He turned his attention to Ebenezer, who cast a knowing look in return. Finally they came to rest on Gar’rth.
“How are his lessons, Ebenezer?” Kaqemeex asked, turning back to the alchemist.
“Slow,” Ebenezer replied ruefully. “Gar’rth is not a linguist, I fear. Teaching him the common tongue will take time. Castimir has helped, however.”
The druid nodded in Castimir’s direction and then he turned his eyes back on Theodore.
“I understand you have a query about a white plant, as well,” he said.
At that, Theodore reached into his pack and drew the specimen out reverently.
Kaqemeex stared at the flower in Theodore’s upturned palm. He did not touch it at first, and after a minute he bent low to smell what fragrance remained with the flower. As far as the squire could tell, there was none.
“Do you recognise it, sir?” Theodore asked with ill-disguised anticipation.
“Yes, it is a White Pearl, so called because of the fruit it produces,” the druid replied, and at his words a shiver passed through the squire. “They are found up on White Wolf Mountain.” He nodded his head northward to where the range of icy peaks marched into the distance as far as the eye could see. “They do not grow exclusively on that mountain range. Ice Mountain also harbours its own population of White Pearl.”
Theodore’s excitement caused him to smile broadly. He extended his hand in gratitude to the old man.
“May the blessing of Saradomin be upon you! This is excellent news indeed.” He turned to his friend. “I will return to Falador at first light tomorrow.”
SEVEN
It was night. The faces of the men were eerily lit by the burning brands they held in the crowded dell.
Before them stood twelve men clad in purple robes, addressing the audience and engaging them with swift hand movements and carefully chosen words.
“What kind of men are we, citizens of Asgarnia, who would let monsters roam the countryside?” one said. “How many more of our womenfolk must we see seized by the roadside and devoured? How many of our children? The attack on the caravan is not the first of its kind, and even now a conspiracy amongst the Imperial Guard and the knights exists to deny it- to prevent us knowing the truth!”
The speaker paused for breath, clenching his fist as he raised his hand and then pointed to the onlookers theatrically.
“Do you know what that truth is, fellow citizens?” The faces looked expectant under the light of the burning torches. “Do you?” the speaker cried loudly, he bunched his hand in a tight fist and punched the air, challenging the crowd.
“No! Tell us!” someone shouted from the back, and immediately his call was backed by others in the crowd. The speaker in the purple robe let them continue for a moment before calmly raising his arms in a gesture that bespoke of reconciliation and peace.
