Betrayal at Falador

SIXTEEN

The darkness was kept at bay by a sole flickering torch that cast a furtive light on the meeting. The three men talked in hushed tones.

“It must be the case, Sir Amik,” Nicholas Sharpe said anxiously.

“Yet it changes nothing,” Sir Tiffy Cashien cautioned, his voice calm. “What we need to know is how she came to possess the ring. Until we ascertain that, we will not know whether she is a friend or foe.”

Sir Amik nodded.

“You are right, Sir Tiffy. We must be cautious. Though she possesses one of the remaining rings, it does not mean she is necessarily a friend.”

“But the matron hasn’t been able to get a word from her, and we shall never learn her origin if she refuses to speak.” The master-at-arms was suddenly loud, his frustration getting the better of him. “We are at an impasse.”

“That is no longer the case,” Sir Amik said. “I spoke to the matron this evening. The girl will talk-not to her, but to Squire Theodore.”

Sir Tiffy propped his chin in his hand, intrigued.

“It would appear that young Theodore has been seized by fate in this matter,” he said, his age-wrinkled hand stroking his white-bearded chin.

Sir Amik nodded.

“And who are we to deny the will of Saradomin?” he said.

An hour after their secret discussion, Sir Amik sat alone in his high chamber, considering all that had been said.

The Ring of Life that had spent its magic in teleporting the girl to the bridge matched all the descriptions contained in their secret texts. Even Sir Tiffy, who was old enough to remember the days when their agents had been issued with such powerful objects, was certain of its nature.

There were eight men who had been issued with such rings and as yet remained unaccounted for. All were dedicated knights who after years of service had decided to accept the dangerous task of living close to their enemies, gaining knowledge of their ways and agendas.

Two had been sent west, into the neighbouring realm of Kandarin: one to live amongst the hardy Fremennik peoples in the north, and the other amongst the vicious Khazard race of men, who were known for their war-like ways.

Three had been sent into The Wilderness, that great expanse of land that was untamed and unmapped, where the only certainty was a brutally short life lived in total lawlessness. A sixth man had headed into Morytania to live amongst the monsters that dwelt there. A seventh had gone south to the tribes of Al-Kharid, before venturing as far as he could into the Kharidian Desert to see what lay beyond.

But it was the last man who intrigued the knight most, for he had headed to Ice Mountain to live in exile, dangerously close to the Kinshra. Sir Amik was certain that this was the man who had passed the ring onto the girl, though whether willingly or not was something beyond his knowledge.

He was equally certain that the girl had nearly been killed on Ice Mountain, but whether she was one of the Kinshra herself or an enemy of theirs was a question he knew would keep him awake at night.

Theodore lay sleepless in his bed, his head supported on his hands as he stared at the high ceiling in the cold dormitory.

The twelve peons who slept in the same room as him were forbidden to talk after the tenth bell sounded from the sentry tower, its dolorous tone echoing across the courtyard.

He could not get the girl out of his thoughts. He was certain a special bond existed between them, and he felt a strange pride that he had been the only one to whom she had spoken. As he rolled onto his side his heart softened, yet he grew grim.

For it was forbidden for a knight to entertain such feelings. A life spent in devotion to Saradomin could not be shared by another love on earth.

A peon coughed somewhere in the room. All the others were silent, exhausted after a ten-mile run. It was one of Theodore’s duties to ensure that his peons were well disciplined and fit for their tasks, and under his firm guidance these twelve boys held him in high esteem. They made no secret of their fear-that if Theodore ever had to accompany a knight on his travels then another would take over their training. Marius never wasted the opportunity, regaling them of how he would treat them if ever they came under his management. He taunted them, and persuaded his own peons to undermine Theodore’s influence at every possible turn.

Firm, but fair. Theodore knew that was what they said of him. This reputation had garnered him unrivalled respect amongst the peons, he was certain, but it served to make his enemies hate him even more.

There was another reason Theodore couldn’t sleep. He was certain Sir Amik had lied to him and Doric about the girl’s origins. Yet all in his order were taught from the very start that lying only demeaned oneself, that a true knight’s conscience must be clear. Saradomin prized peace as one of the chief virtues, and by lying a knight could not be at peace with himself.

He rolled onto his back once more, in an effort to find sleep. Yet even as he did so, he knew it would not come any time soon.

SEVENTEEN

Doric, too, found sleep elusive. He had been unable to find any lodging in the city, due to the many extra people who had come to seek sanctuary for fear of the monster.

That afternoon, Theodore had walked with him from one inn to another, beginning with the famed tavern The Rising Sun, yet none of them had a room to spare.

Neither did any of the lesser-known establishments. Theodore had even dragged him to the almshouses of the knights, situated near the park at the northern wall of the city. But they had already offered what spare accommodation they possessed to the more vulnerable of the country folk seeking refuge.

Finally they returned to the castle and found Doric a bed in a vacant peon dormitory. The usual inhabitants were away on an exercise south of Falador, learning how to forage amongst the natural elements. Thus Doric was left to his own devices, and he welcomed the time on his own. He felt awkward in crowds, and Falador boasted many of those, with its bustling peoples and offensive smells.

The only thing he didn’t like about his temporary bed was the fact that he knew it to be in a room that was high above the ground. He would never admit it, but he hated heights such as these. His suspicion of human engineering and the thin stone walls that they insisted on constructing made him nervous. As a young dwarf he remembered when the ground had shaken beneath him, causing a cave-in, and he had never discovered what it was that had caused the earth to move in such a frenzy.

To be underground amongst the foundations of the earth was one thing, but to build towers of stone that touched the sky could only be folly. If the earth ever decided to shake again, then the white towers would come crashing down.

With such thoughts making sleep impossible, he decided to get some air in the courtyard. He pulled on his soft doublet and boots, but decided not to don his armour. He rarely went anywhere without wearing it, yet he forced himself to remember that he was in a castle in one of the biggest cities that men had ever built.

Patting himself down with a satisfied sigh, Doric opened the door and stepped warily down the spiral staircase beyond.

He crossed the moat soundlessly, concealed in the shadow of its high banks. Despite his many years he had never learned to swim, and while he had a very real fear of water, he possessed a far greater fear of his dark master.

He used a log to support himself as he forced his way across the still water, moving slowly enough to appear natural and to ensure that he did not make a splash.

No one challenged him as he swiftly ran to the base of the wall, soaked through, his hunter’s instinct alert to