turn.
They nodded their assent, and the abbot’s voice rose still louder against the raging winds which threatened to extinguish the candles that Brother Althric had lit to aid them. As the abbot shouted, Gar’rth gave a hideous cry, straining at his bonds with all his strength.
But it was no longer a man who was restrained in the holy circle. It was a werewolf.
All about him lay pieces of human skin, as if they were discarded clothes in which the wolf had dressed himself in order to masquerade as a man. His entire body was coated in shaggy hair which hung wildly about his suddenly massive frame, for the beast was nearly twice as large as Gar’rth had been in his human form.
From his face, two huge red eyes glared out at the onlookers, focusing on Kara in particular.
Kara could feel the evil presence conquering her will, and she struggled to resist it. With a stumble she stepped forward, her hands reaching out again to Gar’rth, offering pity and comfort.
“Oh Gar’rth! I’m sorry…” she began, but before she could utter another syllable she was roughly seized and pulled back.
“It is not Gar’rth, Kara!” Brother Althric yelled. “That thing is one of Zamorak’s servants sent here to prevent us from saving him. It is a creature from the Abyss, intended to lure one of his friends across the holy circle and to their doom. And it would be Gar’rth’s doom also. For your blood would have driven him beyond our power.”
Hearing Brother Althric’s words the wolf creature laughed contemptuously, an animalistic sound that carried no humour.
“Fool!” it growled. “If I do not succeed, then another will come. Even now he is near, and by nightfall he shall turn your souls over to me.” The creature gave another savage laugh and then, as the wind suddenly slowed, they saw once more that Gar’rth was at the centre of the circle, still bound to his iron chair and still wracked by the endless agony.
Throughout the afternoon the conflict continued. No more servants of Zamorak appeared after the wolf creature, and yet the abbot became increasingly strained. It was early evening when they ended the exorcism. A small pool of black liquid lay at Gar’rth’s feet. It was an oily substance and the abbot told his fellow monks not to touch it.
“It has been expelled from Gar’rth,” he said with an exhausted sigh.
“Then it is done?” Ebenezer asked. “Gar’rth is cured?”
The abbot looked away, pity on his face.
“No” he said. “It is not done, my friend. Gar’rth is too firmly under the influence of Zamorak for me to drive out the beast entirely. But we have restored his will once more, giving him control over his nature.”
“Yet how long will this last?” Theodore asked. “What shall we do when it comes once more to possess him?”
The abbot looked at Gar’rth, who was being untied from the chair by the gentle hands of the monks. He was exhausted, his eyes closed in deep sleep.
“It might never come to possess him again,” came the response. “We might have driven enough of it from him that he can always remain in control of his actions. We will know nothing until he wakes.” The abbot looked at each of them in turn. “Brother Althric shall guide you to your rooms.” He bowed as they left.
The monk guided them through the dimly-lit corridors to a set of rooms in the eastern wing. Their belongings had already been laid out for them. Even Ebenezer’s chemicals were displayed, but for once the alchemist showed no interest in them.
Yet Kara refused sleep. As soon as Gar’rth was resting under the watchful eyes of her friends, she sought out Brother Althric and asked about the records. Theodore went with her, and although the two had yet to make their peace, she offered no objection.
Despite his own fatigue, the monk took them to a room filled with books and documents of every shape and size.
“We have set aside records dating from the year 148 to 156 of the Fifth Age” he explained. “That should capture the time when your father brought you here to receive the monastery’s blessing, when you were a child.”
Kara could not resist a hopeful smile and for the first time in many days she looked happily at Theodore, forgetting her anger toward him. Theodore smiled back.
FORTY-SEVEN
Fatigue was the victor, and Theodore stumbled away to his bed, hardly able to stand.
Yet still Kara refused to sleep. She remained, alone throughout the night as the wind howled down from Ice Mountain and swept through the corridors of the monastery.
She stared at the pages for hours, rifling through the calligraphic records in awe at the skill of their authors, for each writing was the work of an artisan. She read and reread many of the pages. Never before had she taken such a simple joy in reading.
Once she nearly cried out, for she read about a local man bringing in his child for the blessing of Saradomin. But her hope was short-lived when she saw that the child had been a boy. With a patient sigh she turned the page to continue, her mind blocking out the four other volumes she had yet to examine.
But eventually reading the fine writing by spluttering candle light took its toll, and she found herself squinting heavily at the text before her. She pinched her eyes to drive away the fatigue, but it was not enough. With another sigh she stood up, stretching her tight muscles, deciding that it was time to return to her room-for it was already dawn.
Kara took the candle and left the archives, shutting the door firmly behind her. For several hours she had heard no sound that indicated any other living person, and the silence unnerved her. In such a place it was easy to believe in ghosts.
She had gone only a few yards when she heard the padded feet of a monk. He was followed by a second man, and Kara heard them speaking in low voices, their concern easily apparent from their anxious tones.
“Who are they?” asked the first man. “What do they want?”
Kara extinguished the candle before the light could give her away. There was something in their voices that made her uneasy, and somehow she suspected it was best to hide her presence.
“I do not know-but they have surrounded the monastery.” replied his companion. “There are torches being brandished at every perimeter. We must wake the abbot!”
At once Kara’s mind screamed a single word.
It had to be them, she thought. Only they had the strength and daring to assault a monastery. The roving bands of thieves and outlaws who dwelt in The Wilderness were not organised enough. But the Kinshra, Kara realised, with Sulla at their head, were capable of anything.
She raced to wake her friends.
“We are ready, Lord Sulla” the chaos dwarf hissed with anticipation. He squinted up at his master in the semi-darkness of dawn, the light of the flames making him look even more deformed than usual.
“Then begin the bombardment!” the lord of the Kinshra ordered. “Let us see what these new machines can do.”
The chaos dwarf gave the order and at once the five troopers standing above the heavy iron weapons lowered their burning torches onto the fuses.
Scarcely a moment later an immense roar perforated the silence of the night. Each of the iron carriages discharged a great plume of acrid smoke as they leapt, bellowing flames from their barrels.
Sulla’s ears rang from the noise. He motioned the dwarfs to reload their guns and fire again.
Kara was entirely unprepared for the explosion. Before she could react, she was knocked to the floor as the roof collapsed, showering her with brick and timber.
“It must be a dragon!”
Castimir’s voice reached her where she lay, and she groaned and coughed as Theodore, his leather armour already strapped on, came to her aid. He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her roughly to her feet. Their eyes
