anything that might give him away.
He could smell the men on the wall above, his glowing red eyes enabling him to see them in the darkness. He was not there to kill, however-he was searching for the young squire who knew the location of his quarry.
He would need to wait until he was dry before continuing. When the moment arrived, long claws found purchase in the white stone which would have defeated any human.
But he was no human.
With a grunt he began to climb, his shape obscured by a tower that stood scant inches to his left. His wide nose took in the night air cautiously. The men on the wall and at the bridge were not alarmed, for the scent of their sweat was no more than was usual on a human being. Swiftly he ascended, always keeping at least two points of his body gripping the white stone.
It would not take him long now; the parapet was near.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
The sharp scrape of steel sounded as the guard drew his sword.
Doric sighed.
“It’s me! Doric-the dwarf who arrived with Squire Theodore today,” he growled. It was the third time he had been challenged, and now-here on the northern wall, as he gathered the courage to walk upon the parapet-the man’s words raised his ire.
“I beg your pardon, my friend,” the man said with a nod of his head. “Vigilance is imperative, you know.” The sword scraped as it was returned to the man’s scabbard. “You may proceed-but I should warn you of the guard at the other end.”
Doric thanked him and stepped warily onto the walkway. The stone gave him comfort, and with each step he gained confidence until he was striding as if he had forgotten his fear of heights.
He felt elation as he hung from the wall only yards away. He could smell the dwarf-the very one he had stalked in the forest-and his animal senses enabled him to discern every word.
And now his prey had a name.
He waited for the footsteps to cease. As soon as he heard the next sentry’s challenge and the dwarf’s gruff reply, he reached for the parapet.
But try as he might, he couldn’t grasp it. His hand could not touch the lip of the nearest merlon. Even though he put as much strength into it as he dared, he was prevented from touching it by only the slightest distance.
He had felt this power before. He was not a creature of this land and coming into it had been exceptionally difficult for one of his kind. The sacred river that separated his homeland from the realms of men could be crossed only by the vilest desecration and the most powerful will. Only the power of his master had enabled him to do so. But he could not turn to his master here, many miles from his home. He would have to find another way to reach Squire Theodore.
He looked to the moat below. He hadn’t planned on climbing so high only to be forced to climb down again. He wasn’t even sure he could. But if he leapt from the wall his presence would be betrayed, and he might drown.
No, he would have to climb back to the ground.
As he lowered his leg he knew his efforts had not been in vain. He knew the squire by name now. He would lure him out into the city and away from the castle’s holy protection on some pretext, and then take his time in the interrogation.
He would have to kill again, and soon.
EIGHTEEN
“You look concerned, Castimir. Tell me, what is on your mind?” Ebenezer gently disturbed the young wizard’s reverie, and he looked up.
“Soon I shall return to the Wizards’ Tower to complete my training,” Castimir replied. “For my year’s journey is nearly at an end.” His voice trailed off as his hand unconsciously squeezed one of the many pouches on his belt. Those pouches held the most precious things a wizard could possess, the alchemist knew. For they contained the rune stones he needed to control his magic. Without them, he could no more accomplish magic than the meanest charlatan.
Ebenezer didn’t speak, leaving it to the young man to reveal his concerns in his own time. Gar’rth entered the room and stood nearby, awaiting the first instructions of the new day. The old man drew a large book from the shelf and ignored the scowl Gar’rth adopted when he saw that it was a book on human language.
“It was the mages’ discovery of the rune stones that enabled human civilisation to thrive,” Castimir mused aloud. “Using them we were able to dominate the lands of Gielinor at the end of the Fourth Age.”
Ebenezer glanced sympathetically at the young man. He knew, of course, the history that was preached by the wise, but he didn’t necessarily believe it himself. He knew the mages saw themselves as the saviours of humanity, whose actions had enabled mankind to dominate the world so much that the Fifth Age was often called “The Age of Humans.”
And yet Ebenezer could recall times from his youth when the blue-robed wizards had been a more common sight. It seemed to him that they had lessened their wanderings, as if they were growing afraid to send members of their order abroad.
In fact, Castimir was the only wizard he had seen in months.
“Are you having doubts about the path you have chosen, Castimir?” Ebenezer sat down next to Gar’rth and took a long sip of his coffee, savouring in the taste.
The first of the season’s trading caravans had made its way across White Wolf Mountain, arriving the day before and bringing with it exotic fruit and coffee beans that had found their way from the southern islands to Catherby. Being the first to cross the mountain, they had expected an excellent profit, but they had been disappointed. Fear of the monster had deterred many Falador traders from making the usually safe journey to Taverley.
Recognising that fewer buyers meant better prices, Ebenezer had decided to purchase several sacks of coffee beans. He had tasted coffee before, but not for a long time.
The alchemist sipped from his cup while he waited for the blue-robed youth to reply. The wizard was obscured from view by the steam that rose from the hot liquid and fogged his glasses. With a sigh he finished his drink, set the empty cup down, and wiped his spectacles on a small cloth that he kept for that purpose.
As he did, Castimir finally spoke again.
“Not about the path, Ebenezer,” Castimir said. “I have no doubt that I am best suited to be a wizard. Could you imagine me as a farmer, or a miner, or a blacksmith?” He shook his head. “I grew up with books, learning about places far off, entertaining the other children with legends. My most eager student then was Theodore.” He smiled at the fond remembrance. “No, Ebenezer, my worry stems from something else, which could have severe implications for us all, over time.”
But he fell silent again, reluctant to explain further, for to do so-even to a trusted friend like Ebenezer-was strictly against the rules of his order.
And how could Castimir ever admit the truth, and tell Ebenezer that the rune stones were actually running out? Existing supplies could not be replenished, and the wizards were thus restricting the number of mages allowed to use them. Castimir had been granted permission because of his unusual aptitude for magic. His masters were certain he could be a great asset to the Wizards’ Tower, and an invaluable force for protecting the human realms from their enemies.
Only the royal households of each nation knew of the dwindling supply of runes, for it was a secret that could unleash panic amongst the citizens who believed that the wizards would always be there to protect them. Castimir feared that his would be the last generation of wizards. So limited were the runes that even to use them for practice was a rare privilege, reserved for only the most skilled mages.
Each time Castimir conjured a spell, he felt guilty watching the pebble-like objects dissolve in his hands as
