Betrayal at Falador

the common tongue and his own language. Kara was fluent in both.

She thought back to her final months in the underground city. She had lived there for eight years, rarely seeing the surface world, and by her estimation she was seventeen years old. Master Phyllis had been unwilling to keep her amongst his people any longer. One night she had discovered him at work in his forge, and it was then that he had presented her with a long sword crafted from adamant.

“It is yours, Kara,” he revealed. “It will cut through the toughest armour of any surface dweller, and through the hides of most beasts.”

Thinking about her sword, she turned her gaze from the mountain and looked up into the squire’s honest face.

“Can I have my sword, Theodore?” she asked suddenly. “It’s very important that I have it-it was made by someone very dear to me.”

He cast a wary look in her direction.

“Does fighting mean so much to you, Kara?” he asked. “You are safe here, in the most fortified city in the world. You do not need to fight any more.”

Kara turned her gaze from the mountain and looked down into the courtyard below. There were several peons and squires practising with their wooden training swords, trying out different combinations and fighting amongst themselves. They were uncommonly loud in their competition, and occasionally one or more of them glanced up in her direction, as if showing off for her.

One of them, however-slightly older and wearing training armour-did not shout out, and he seemed to pointedly ignore Kara’s presence on the ramparts, taking a greater interest in the peons’ practice.

“Who is that?” Kara asked, watching him command.

“Marius,” Theodore replied, and his voice sounded tight. “He’s a squire, like me.”

“Is he your friend?”

“No.” Theodore looked away. Kara noted his pained look.

“Theodore, you are upset.” Her hand rested on his arm.

“Marius is my rival.” He looked at her intently. “Rivals in all things, it seems.”

A cold wind blew again from the north and Kara shivered. Theodore pulled her sheet around her and carefully escorted her down to the waiting chair.

In the courtyard, one of Theodore’s own peons, Bryant, was fighting against one of Marius’s, their wooden blades clacking as they sparred. Kara had decided against sitting back in the chair and she walked with uncertainty, leaning on Theodore’s arm.

“Come on, Bryant!” Marius shouted.

Theodore’s eyes narrowed in anger.

Bryant yelled as his opponent’s blade smashed his knuckles and caused his fingers to bleed. He dropped the practice sword in shock. Several peons laughed in triumph, while others gathered around him to protect him from any further attacks- something Marius was quick to seize upon.

“So, Theodore’s peons rush to aid their fallen comrade,” he taunted. “Why do we not make a mock battle of it then? You five shall defend the fallen Bryant against my six. What say you, Theodore?” he added, turning to face the newcomers. “Are your peons up to facing mine?”

“I would favour any of mine against yours, Marius,” Theodore replied. “I teach my charges to be honourable men in the highest traditions of our order.”

“Yet you don’t teach them how to win,” Marius snarled. “There will come a time when they will have to fight for their lives. Where then will their honour get them?”

“I have faith in Saradomin’s way, Marius,” Theodore countered. “I believe in his teachings.” Making certain Kara was leaning securely against the wall, he approached the small crowd.

“As do I, Theodore,” Marius replied. “But we cannot anticipate his will.” He huffed in frustration. “Look at him!” He pointed to Bryant, who clutched his injured hand. “If he can’t fight, he is useless to this order!”

Bryant bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears that were welling, from rolling down his face.

“Is he crying?” Marius sneered. “Unbelievable!”

“That is enough, Marius!” Theodore said, his voice nearly a shout. Marius’s own peons suddenly went silent, aware that the game had got out of hand.

“What will you do about it, Theodore?” Marius responded. “We cannot fight-our own trial forbids it. So why don’t you run off and take Bryant to the matron?”

Theodore’s face reddened with anger. But Marius was right. If he were to strike him now-a week before their scheduled trial-then Marius would be declared the victor, for Theodore would have acted dishonourably.

Suddenly a new person spoke up, and everyone turned.

“It seems Theodore cannot fight you, but I can.”

Kara’s voice was soft and provocative, and her eyes met Marius’s astonished gaze with mocking contempt. She pushed herself away from the wall and-to Theodore’s astonishment-walked confidently toward him, all signs of weakness gone.

“A girl dressed in the white linen of an invalid?” Marius snarled. “I will not demean myself.”

“If I am to fall so easily, then it will take little of your time, Marius,” she replied. “Surely you can spare a few minutes.”

Marius was struck speechless, and not knowing how to retort made him angrier still. He turned to walk away, but Kara would not let him go so easily.

“Come on, Marius,” she said to his back. “Are you afraid to face me? Perhaps Bryant would be a better match.”

The peon lowered his head again, fearful that he would be the victim of a new taunt. Kara noted his look, and her heart softened. By the time she had reached his age, she had hunted with the dwarfs in the blackness of the mines. But she was not malicious and she didn’t want to cause him any more embarrassment. Everyone has their hour, her adoptive father had told her, and she hoped that Bryant’s was yet to come.

Marius continued to walk away, his pace quickening.

“At least Bryant is honourable,” she persisted, speaking loudly. “And he is brave, Marius-braver than you, for he is not afraid to acknowledge his weaknesses.”

Marius stopped in his tracks and turned to face Kara, his face contorted in anger.

“Please, Lady Kara.” Bryant said as he struggled to his feet. “You mustn’t.”

“Shut up!” Marius shouted, seizing a training sword from the closest boy.

“Marius! Kara! This cannot be allowed to continue!” Theodore cried out. “I forbid it.” He stepped between them, his hands outstretched. But his rival shrugged him off.

“The girl’s brought it on herself, Theodore. I am not interested in what you have to say.”

“Theodore, please stand aside.” Kara’s voice was hard.

“Kara. Please-this is madness,” Theodore said.

“She must learn her place, Theodore-women do not fight,” Marius declared. He pointed his training sword straight at her. “They should be at home, scrubbing the hearth and nursing children.” When he saw her anger at his insult, a look of smug confidence crossed his face.

“Let us see, Theodore,” she said. “I wish to compare myself to the fabled Knights of Falador, and see how I fare.”

Theodore knew then that he had lost the argument.

“Very well then, but it ends when I say it does. The first to draw blood is the victor.” He retrieved Bryant’s sword and handed it to Kara. He then clapped his hands and the peons withdrew, giving the combatants plenty of room. All looked on with a growing sense of unease.

And they were not alone, for their shouting had attracted the attention of many in the castle. From high windows, faces gazed down in silent watchfulness.

“You cannot allow it to proceed, Sir Amik.” Bhuler pleaded.

“I need to see what this girl can do, Bhuler,” Sir Amik said.

“But Squire Marius will injure her.”

“I will not let it go that far, Bhuler,” the knight replied. “And neither will Squire Theodore.”

Marius was confident-she could see it clearly. He had spent years fighting in similar circumstances, training