Betrayal at Falador

their ways better than any guard who might write off their warnings as drunken ramblings.

But first she had to get out of the castle. The gatehouse near the moat would be too well-guarded, so she chose the only other way she could think of in such a short space of time.

She stood atop the battlements and looked down into the darkness below. Light glinted off the dark water. She whispered a prayer to Saradomin.

Someone shouted something in the courtyard. A sentry had found one of the unconscious guards. Cries of alarm erupted from the men at their posts as they drew their weapons.

Kara leapt.

She fell with astonishing speed and hit the ice-cold water. The shock forced her to fight her way to the steep bank. Voices shouted from the bridge. Her landing had drawn the guards’ attention and she could see in the dim light a small body of armed men rushing out to investigate.

Kara was too far away for them to see, however. She climbed the bank, slipping twice on the muddy sides. She knew she had to get clear of the castle, aware that the knights had every advantage since the streets were unfamiliar to her.

A heavy carriage rolled by as she stepped onto the road. The driver gave the wet girl covered in mud a long stare of disapproval. As he passed, Kara jumped aboard the carriage, clinging close to its side as it carried her past the guards running in the other direction.

Within minutes the castle was in uproar. Sir Erical woke one of the unconscious guards by pouring a bucket of cold water over him. After a moment of sputtering he glanced around in alarm.

“It’s Kara! She’s the one who attacked me!”

“She must be found at once.” The master-at-arms bellowed his orders as he hastened to inform Sir Amik. “Wake every knight, squire, and peon available. Send men out to watch the city’s gates!”

Soldiers rushed across the bridge, seeking to reach the city’s gates and to prevent Kara from leaving Falador. At the same time, a dozen guards rushed out to search the immediate vicinity.

“Kara does not know the city” Sir Amik said, looking intently at Nicholas Sharpe and Sir Tiffy. “That is our advantage.”

“But we don’t know where Squire Theodore has gone” Sir Tiffy observed. “One of our guards is missing, and two have been assaulted. Peons and squires have all poured into the city in a disordered mass. If we find her it will be by the will of Saradomin only.” The old knight shook his head in dismay.

Hearing that Kara had fled, the traitor knew he had to take the opportunity. He gathered a weather-beaten cloak and headed across the bridge into the city, turning toward the Dens and Dagger Alley, to end the threat of Bryant once and for all.

As he turned a corner his unease grew, however. Something was wrong.

Was that someone following me?

He hesitated.

I cannot afford to be weak. I have lived so long and so dangerously. The boy and Kara have to die. Both of them.

As quick as he could manage, the traitor ran on, his mind set.

Theodore made no effort to conceal his presence, for he had no reason to be suspicious. He tied his white mare to the rusted strut in the wall, noting how everything in Dagger Alley seemed to reflect its reputation as a place of squalid destitution. Even the air seemed stale.

The mare was reluctant to be tied and he had to force her to the wall in order to secure her. It was unlike her to be so jumpy, he thought as he walked toward the shadowy door of Bryant’s rescuer.

He knocked loudly.

“Who is it?” a man’s voice called out.

“Squire Theodore, sir. From the knights. I received a letter regarding Bryant, a peon of mine?”

The door handle turned and the lock was opened from the inside.

“It is good of you to come, Squire Theodore.”

The door opened, and before Theodore could react, a huge hand seized his shoulder and dragged him inside, forcing him to the floor as if he were a child’s doll. He glimpsed Bryant tied to the chair, his arm bleeding.

Rolling free, he rose to confront his attacker, his hand on his sword.

A tall figure stood before him and Theodore could sense the power of his assailant.

“Who are you?” he demanded, his will faltering in the face of this enemy.

His foe made no attempt to answer. With a speed that confounded him, he hit Theodore in the stomach. As the squire cried out he saw red eyes glow deep within the hood, eyes that delighted in inflicting pain on others.

A monster’s eyes.

Theodore drew his sword and lunged, the tip of the blade cutting deep into the red robe and glancing off something underneath.

Animal hide was Theodore’s first thought as he pulled his arm back to deliver a second strike. But this time his enemy was ready for him. He sidestepped the blade and retaliated with a punch that Theodore could not hope to avoid. His vision blurred and his grip loosened on the sword hilt. With a groan, he knew he couldn’t remain conscious.

Doric had tried hard to memorise the location of the house in Dagger Alley, knowing that he could not afford to waste any time in leading Theodore back there to confront the monster.

Now he ran through the dark streets, aware that each passing second reduced the chances of him finding the young man alive.

“If only my legs weren’t so short,” he muttered angrily to himself as he paused to read the street names carved into the stone walls. He ran as swiftly as he could, hopeful that he knew where he was going.

If he was right, he was less than a minute away.

The carriage driver was fond of Falador. He liked the white city’s wide streets and clean thoroughfares, and he always felt a certain peacefulness settle upon him whenever he saw the castle at the city’s centre.

He didn’t like the city at that moment, however. The mud-stained urchin girl, dripping wet, had appeared next to him out of the darkness as silently as a wraith. She had forced him to change his route and to carry her to a part of the city about which he knew little. He prayed that his prestigious passenger, the daughter of a Varrock noble, didn’t get curious and open the cabin’s curtains.

“How long?” the little thief asked him.

He flogged the horses harder.

“We should be at the end of Dagger Alley in a few more minutes.” He swallowed as he spoke, trying to sound calm.

“Be sure you are right this time! I cannot afford any more mistakes.”

The glint in the girl’s dark eyes scared him, and the sword that she held with a deadly assurance made him decide against any attempt to resist her commands.

“Yes, ma’am!” he said automatically, whipping his horses all the harder.

THIRTY-THREE

“Wake up, Theodore!”

The guttural voice penetrated his consciousness.

“Your peon needs you!” it persisted. “Wake up!”

He could just make out the shape of the tall figure standing over a whimpering Bryant. He tried to speak, but his mouth was gagged, and when he attempted to raise his hand to calm his pupil he found that he, too, was restrained in a chair.

The red eyes glowed sadistically in the darkness.

“So you are awake at last.” He stepped forward, standing close. “We can do this in one of two ways, servant of Saradomin. You can willingly tell me everything I need to know about the man I hunt, or you can resist me. If you choose the latter path, then both of you will die, and neither quickly.”