with low clouds which threatened rain, and the blue flags of the kingdom shook energetically in the breeze.
“Tell me about the knights, Theodore,” Kara said as soon as he sat down by her side. A swift glance told the squire that the matron was nearby, her vigilance unrelenting.
“We are an old order, Kara,” he said. “We were formed at the end of the Fourth Age, before the founding of Asgarnia as a nation under King Raddallin more than a hundred and fifty years ago. We were charged with protecting Falador, and gained new prominence during the war with the dark wizards, followers of Zamorak, who were once welcome in the order of mages.
“It was their betrayal and subsequent burning of the Wizards’ Tower that gave our cause impetus and righteousness, for all men had until that time lived as one, their actions not governed by their religion. But then the world lost its most powerful mages, and since that time our cause has been at odds with the followers of Zamorak, especially the Kinshra.”
“And have you yourself ever fought any of these ‘followers’?” she asked eagerly, her eyes flashing.
“No.” Theodore dipped his head slightly. “Not yet. I am still a squire, training to be a full knight.”
“What about the men who attacked my village? Surely they are followers of the god of chaos?”
“I think it very likely that they, too, are the Kinshra. The people of Falador refer to them as the ‘black knights’. They are our most hated enemy, yet they still wield some political power in Asgarnia, albeit a shadow of their former influence.
“Their founders were once men of wealth and power, fighting alongside the knights under King Raddallin at the founding of Asgarnia, until our differing religious views-heightened by the sacking of the Wizards’ Tower-forced them to leave the city. Yet with King Raddallin’s help, and in repayment for their services in uniting the nation, they built a castle on the eastern slopes of Ice Mountain, promising to guard the kingdom from the dangers that populate The Wilderness.
“Many families of influence in Falador today have members amongst the Kinshra nobility, though there is never any contact between them. When they left, the Kinshra vowed to return, to make Falador their own one day. For generations they have been attempting to do that, by strength as well as by subtlety.”
Theodore smiled ruefully.
“There are even rumours that the crown prince and his Imperial Guard are content to leave the Kinshra be, as long as they do not threaten the people of our nation. Some have said that the Kinshra have a special envoy in Burthorpe, seeking to turn the crown prince and his guard against us, and to pervert our rivalry into open hostility.”
“And do you believe these rumours?”
“I do not know,” he admitted. “But I do not believe even the decadent prince would permit it.”
Kara lay back on her pillow, her eyes burning in quiet anger.
“I wish they were all dead,” she said simply. She caught Theodore’s look and turned her head away. “The Kinshra do not deserve to live. I am going to kill them.”
“What happened to you on the mountain, Kara-before you came here?” In his mind he already knew. The White Pearl he had found in her hand revealed her location, and her attitude toward the Kinshra confirmed it.
“I would rather not talk about it,” she said flatly.
“You went after them, didn’t you?” he pressed. “You fought some of the Kinshra?’
She turned her head away from him and pulled the blanket over her as if she planned to sleep.
“I am tired, Theodore,” she said. “Please leave me alone.”
For a moment he did not know what to say, but Sir Amik’s words came back to him, reminding him that uncovering the knowledge this girl possessed was his most important task.
“You did go after them, Kara,” he said. “And you lost.”
The girl turned to glare at him with a feverish light in her dark eyes, and it pained him to think that he had hurt her so.
“Yes, I went after them-and I didn’t lose. Even if I avenged myself on just a single member of their order, then it was a triumph worth dying for.
“And I will go back there, Theodore.” she continued. “When I am strong again I shall take my sword and find the man they call Sulla and his Kinshra and I will not stop hunting them. You cannot stop me!”
The force of her words, and the hatred they bespoke, shocked him. As a squire, losing control of his emotions was unacceptable. But now he had a name. Sulla. He had never heard it before, but he would carry it to Sir Amik.
He rose and spoke gently.
“I am going to go now, Kara. I will come back soon, when you have rested. I am sorry to have upset you.”
His tone calmed her and she looked at him, seeming embarrassed. He turned and began to walk to the door.
“Theodore,” she called. “Please, wait. Can you promise me something?”
“What is it?”
“I want you to teach me how to fight, Theodore. When I am strong again,” she said, her voice determined. “I want you to teach me how to be a knight.”
He looked at her in astonishment. She was a young woman, barely out of girlhood, and the only thing she wished to do with her life was to fight. To kill. No woman Theodore had ever encountered had been of such a mind.
He did not know what to say, and so he laughed.
Her face fell and he saw tears appear in her eyes. Suddenly he felt very ashamed.
“Kara, please forgive me,” he said. “There has never been any woman in the order. It is not permitted, of that I am certain. What you ask for is simply impossible.”
She turned away, and did not look at him again. Finding himself lost for words, he left her under the watchful gaze of the matron who had heard everything.
TWENTY-ONE
It had been two days since he had scaled the wall of the castle, and a plan had developed in his mind.
He had yet to put it into action. Instead, he was going over every detail of what he would have to do, and the resources he would need.
The main problem was his lack of privacy. He had no base in the city, and for the third night running he would have to sleep in one of the narrow alleys. That was no problem for him-he had been sleeping rough in the country for the majority of nights during his hunt-but he needed seclusion to subdue the squire and conduct his interrogation.
An irate voice attracted his attention and he found himself looking at a short, crooked-backed woman who was raising her voice in anger at a market trader.
“My husband’s been dead for three years!” she said loudly. “How am I to afford food for my grandchildren and fuel to keep my home warm?”
Her pleas were greeted by muted laughs, and several people shook their heads.
“It’s the crazy woman!” someone said quietly to a friend.
His hard eyes, hidden from view by the cowl he always wore in populated places, focused on the madwoman. He saw an opportunity.
“Is she really crazy?” he asked the market trader. He could sense the man’s fear rise.
“She’s been m-m-mad for years,” the trader stammered. “She wanders the streets, b-begging and cursing. The children think she’s a witch.”
A few people overheard the words, laughed, and someone called over in agreement. Thus buoyed, he pressed for more information.
“And does she truly have a home and grandchildren?” He managed to make his voice sound suitably curious, hiding the feral rasp that sometimes asserted itself.
“A home, yes, but no children.” The trader peered at him with nervous curiosity, then glanced away to avoid
