gums barely tickled his thick skin, for she had lost all her teeth years before.
He shook her violently and she swallowed the opal in a single gulp, the large gemstone lodging in her throat. With a savage push the monster sent her staggering into the centre of the room, where she fell.
The old woman’s hands reached for her throat as she began to choke. But nothing could dislodge the opal. Her last thought was to avenge herself on her murderer, to reveal his presence to the citizens of Falador, but she hadn’t enough strength even to reach the door.
The monster watched her die without any satisfaction. He had suspected she might attempt something like this.
Yet killing her meant that he had to act quickly now. She was, he knew, well-known in the marketplace. It would only be a matter of time before she was missed. He needed to lure Theodore out of his castle for a lengthy and very private interrogation.
And he needed to do it immediately.
TWENTY-NINE
It was morning, and Doric was angry.
After a sleepless night in one of Falador’s gaols, spent in the company of a flatulent drunkard, he was released at dawn with a warning from the guard who had arrested him.
“No more talk of the monster, citizen,” the man said pompously. “We can’t afford a panic in the city.” With that, the self-important law-giver shut the door.
As he stood alone in the morning light, Doric shivered, and anger gave way to wisdom. He recalled the scene of the purple-robed men who had been killed in their sleep. It was no mere animal with a taste for flesh they were after; it was a callous assassin, a cunning murderer who possessed monstrous strength. Whatever it was, its intellect made it doubly dangerous.
His first plan was to alert Theodore. He made his way to the castle, and his mood darkened further when he was told by a guard that the squire could not take the time to see him.
“You have not even told him that I am here,” he said angrily. “Tell the squire that the monster is in the city.” His voice rose, and he tried his best to put fear into the man. “Tell Sir Amik to recall his men from the countryside. Tell him to bring them home to patrol the streets of Falador!”
But to no avail. The guard ceased even responding to his entreaties, and he left with a foul curse on his lips. With no other course to follow, he returned to The Rising Sun and retrieved his weaponry and helm, for he would not be caught unguarded. It was shortly after midday when he found his way once more to the gem stall in the marketplace.
The trader gave him a long look as he saw him approaching.
“You won’t be disturbing my customers again, will you, master dwarf?” he asked.
“No disturbance today,” the dwarf said quietly, swallowing his pride and leaning heavily on his axe. He couldn’t let his temper get the better of him again. “But I am interested in the old woman. Do you happen to know where she lives?”
The trader pointed the dwarf toward a squalid quarter with narrow streets and dark alleys that people called the Dens.
“Most people in Falador know of her, my friend,” he said, his tone almost conspiratorial now. “If you head that way and continue asking, then you should be able to find her.”
Doric thanked the man and slung his axe over his shoulder. As he left the marketplace he ran his hand over the two sharp daggers he had secured in his belt, and the smaller throwing axes that hung from his hip.
He took comfort in his weapons, and he had a grim feeling that he would be glad to have them.
Theodore pulled back the cloth and smiled as Kara’s eyes widened in happiness.
“I thought you should have it back.” The words came surprisingly easy to Theodore as he watched her examine the adamant sword closely.
“Thank you, Theodore.” She put the sword down and embraced him. The young man stiffened at her touch. She released him with an embarrassed look.
“You said you had received a message-was it important?” she asked suddenly, changing the subject to that of the anxious guard who had knocked nervously at the door some hours earlier.
“Not really” Theodore lied. The guard had told him how angry Doric had been at being denied entry to the castle, and how he had raved about the monster. Perhaps, Theodore thought, he had been drinking again.
He went to the window and looked up at the ramparts. The day was cloudy. Sir Amik had invited the residents of the almshouse into the castle, and quite unexpectedly. He had requested their help in teaching the peons, for their training was suffering because many knights had been sent to hunt the monster in the countryside north of Falador. The old warriors had willingly agreed, thankful to be of use to their order once more.
Yet Theodore knew the truth. He knew it was a ploy by Sir Amik to bring the traitor back amongst them, to let him think he had a realistic chance of striking at Kara before he could be identified.
That was why the young squire refused to leave her. That was why he had ignored Doric’s warning in the morning. Kara’s safety was more important to him than anything else. He would not leave her side while the residents from the almshouse were in the castle.
The peon Bryant had been sequestered by the amiable Sir Balladish. The old knight needed the youth to run to the apothecary to purchase the ingredients for one of the many potions he consumed to ease the pains of an old body dented in battle.
“Make sure you get everything, young soldier,” Sir Balladish told Bryant as he eagerly took the list. “We old war dogs need all the medicine we can get to keep us going. Isn’t that right, Sir Finistere?”
“Indeed it is, Sir Balladish,” the bearded man agreed, turning to add his own encouragement to the young man. “Run along, and be sure to get everything he requires.”
Bryant ran all the way, his face beaming in pleasure that he had been chosen for the task. In his eagerness, he turned a corner swiftly and ran directly into someone who was coming the opposite way.
“I’m very sorry, sir!” he said as he regained his balance. The newcomer had hardly flinched. “It was entirely my fault!”
The tall figure in the red robes said nothing, and Bryant’s face wrinkled as he caught a sweet smell from the man. He could feel the man’s eyes, concealed deep within the cowl, watching him eagerly. After a moment he spoke.
“Are you one of the knights?” the man asked. “I am new to these parts, and I am eager to meet the warriors of Falador.” He spoke in a guttural tone, an animalistic accent which Bryant couldn’t place, emanating from deep inside his body.
“I wish to be, sir!” the young man said eagerly. “I am Bryant, a peon, under the tutelage of Squire Theodore.”
“Squire Theodore?” The man said the words with a tone Bryant assumed was reverence.
“Yes, indeed-you have heard of him, sir? He’s the squire who rescued the dwarf from the monster, and found the corpses of the human supremacists. He’s the best of our order, and promises to be a great knight!”
“Indeed, I have heard it said so.” The man spoke softly, his voice suddenly gentle. “I would like to meet him, young peon. Do you think you could arrange that?”
Bryant shook his head.
“I am afraid not, sir. The squires are far too busy to meet with the citizens of Falador, especially with so many of the knights away hunting the monster!”
“That is unfortunate” the man said slowly.
For a second Bryant stiffened, suddenly feeling as if, for some unknown reason, he was in great peril.
“But I do understand,” the man uttered finally, and his soft words diffused Bryant’s concerns. He said nothing more, however, and stepped past, briskly disappearing into the crowds.
