Betrayal at Falador

Several other squires stood behind Marius, and they shared amused glances. The large youth was more popular than the rest. His family was wealthy and he was more confident than Theodore, who drew more comfort from his duties than from the often raucous pastimes the other squires enjoyed.

“Get out of my way, Marius,” Theodore said softly, his face darkening. “I am on duty for Sir Amik himself-if that means anything to you.”

The insult was obvious. Marius was not as hard-working as Theodore-none of these squires were-and he and his followers would often break the less important laws of the knights, either in pursuit of their own pleasure or due to their own laziness.

Marius’s mocking expression turned hard.

“You cannot hide your cowardice behind the mask of duty!” he declared.

Theodore’s eyes flashed at the implication. As the blood rushed to his head, he forced himself to remain calm.

“I will not fight you here, Marius,” he replied loud enough for all in the group to hear. “Not today. But you have insulted me, and I demand justice-as is my right. The choice of weapon will be yours to decide.”

A gasp went out. Most such arguments were settled in an instant by a fist and a scuffle, with supporters cheering their champion on. The result usually was no more than a bloodied nose. But Theodore’s words were far more serious.

Trials of this sort were solved by skill in combat and it was believed that Saradomin himself judged the outcome, thereby ensuring that the victor was in the right. Men had been killed in the course of such challenges.

Theodore didn’t hesitate. The shocked silence gave him the advantage. He brushed by Marius with a strong look of resolve etched on his youthful face.

Sir Amik took the sword gently in his hands and laid it reverently on the table. With a quick look at Doric he pulled back the dark cloth.

The dwarf leaned closer, his eyes intent on the mysterious metal.

“It is adamant! I have no doubt of that,” he said after only a few seconds. His short finger traced its way across the surface of the blade, which was without a single mark.

“No human made this weapon,” he continued. He grasped the handle of the sword and turned it over, holding it up to study it closely. “It is of dwarf-make, as I think you have guessed.” His eyes fixed on the symbol of the four-pointed star. “Yet Saradomin is not the primary god of the dwarfs.” He raised his head, and his grey eyes looked into Sir Amik’s. “Our god is Guthix, so this sword was made by a dwarf for a human. It is too long for any of my folk to wield.”

“What you say confirms our suspicions. We think the girl came from Ice Mountain,” Sir Amik said. “She appeared in circumstances that are unknown to us.”

The dwarf nodded, his attention still on the sword.

But Theodore knew something was amiss. He saw the uncertain look that passed between Sir Amik and Sharpe. Then the two men thanked Doric for his help, and instructed Theodore to find lodgings for him in Falador, for the dwarf had decided to remain in the city and pursue his claim for compensation via the magistrates. Such thoughts accounted for the dwarf’s silence as he and Theodore walked under the high white walls and across the bridge into the city.

But the squire was quiet for a different reason. He was certain Sir Amik and Sharpe knew more than they had let on.

FIFTEEN

He entered the city at dusk, his true nature concealed from the guards who cast a wary eye over those passing through the gates.

Rumours of the monster had driven many people to the city. Farmers and hunters had sent their loved ones south for the protection of Falador’s high white walls and crowded streets.

He hated the crowds. There were too many people and the smell of human fear taunted him, for he knew he could not act upon it.

With the cloak pulled tightly about him he kept to the shadowy alleyways. A child’s cry from the window above forced him to master his hunger. The mother’s soothing voice angered him still further.

Just two more, he thought to himself, and then I will go after the knight who knows my quarry.

He felt his heart quicken at the thought of the hunt and he salivated at the thought of the kill. His long fingers curled into fists.

There will be no more killing! a sinister voice whispered in his mind.

At once he stopped, admitting to himself that he was afraid. Since beginning his chase he had never been afraid, not in these human lands.

The alley across the street darkened. It seemed to him as if it had become a gateway to a different place, a land in perpetual shadow. Several people passed it by, unaware of its existence, seeing nothing unusual in the passage that had been there for many years.

No human could see the gateway.

He sensed a great power reaching out to him. He had only been in the presence of such power once before, months ago when he had been chosen to travel across the holy barrier to the human realm.

There will be no more killing! the voice repeated in his head, louder now and in the darkness a shadow moved. He could sense the terrible strength of its stare and instinctively he placed his long hands over his head in a reverence born out of fear.

“Only two more, my lord,” he said pleadingly, keeping his voice low so that none would hear. “These lands are so well stocked!”

No more! came the reply. You have work to do in Asgarnia. You have to bring him home.

The shadow seemed to be drawing closer, but it stopped at the very edge of the darkness, its features hidden.

You have spent long months here already-too long. Remember who I am! Know what I can do. Killing endangers your mission.

“Then I shall hunt no more,” he replied. “All my energies will be devoted to my task.”

See that it is so. Even from so far away, I can still reach out to you. Even here, you are not immune to my will!

The shadow raised its hand and pointed directly at the robed figure. Immediately he felt very afraid. He knew it was pointless to run, however, for no speed could outrun the powers that this shadow possessed, perfected throughout the many centuries it had ruled its dark domain.

He cringed, awaiting the pain that did not come. So he straightened, and spoke.

“I swear to you it shall be done. I shall bring him home!”

The shadow lowered its hand and receded. The fear lessened, but did not abate altogether. Soft voices drifted down from the window, the mother soothing her young child in the cold winter night.

He couldn’t remember anyone ever speaking to him in such a way. His childhood was a thing not of memory but of fabrication, for so much time had passed that he had forgotten it.

Such is the life of a monster, he thought-more than a century of living, and now forbidden to hunt by his dark master. He knelt in the narrow alley, his eyes staring at the castle that housed the Knights of Falador and towered over the centre of the city.

That was where his quest would take him. For a young squire there knew where his quarry was to be found.