plan to work we will need to assault the Kinshra with Falador’s full strength-a combination of both the knights and the city guardsmen.” Sir Amik nodded in agreement.
“Then call in all able men, even those from the almshouses, for every one of them will be needed.” He smirked suddenly as he spoke. “I have seen Sir Erical wandering around the castle in recent days, as well as a few of the other retired knights. Let us hope they still know how to wield a blade and ride a horse.”
The daylight was reduced to a sickly twilight under the gnarled trees that grew north of the swamp. The companions had spent an uneasy night, sleeping fitfully as they listened to strange and haunting sounds. Only Gar’rth seemed comfortable in that dismal place, for he had grown up in Morytania, a land of swamps and mires, where the dead did not rest.
They had been travelling again for an hour when Theodore raised his hand to signal a stop, betraying a sense of urgency which made his companions freeze.
He pointed to the east, where a large body of mist rolled gently over a calm lake. The companions could see several bodies on the shore.
“Goblins!” Doric hissed.
“And druids, too,” Castimir said quietly, a pained look on his face. “Why would the goblins kill druids? What is the point of it?”
“Goblins kill for the sake of killing” Doric grunted, readying his axe. “If they are patrolling this far south, it might mean that Taverley has been attacked.”
“But why would Sulla waste men and resources assaulting Taverley?” Theodore pressed. “Why destroy a place that holds no consequence to his war?”
“That’s goblins for you, squire” Doric muttered. “Besides, occupying Taverley means that none of our messengers can get to Burthorpe. It means Falador is alone.”
“Then we must make a decision” Theodore said. “Taverley is a day’s journey away. If it is occupied, we will find it difficult to break east and make for Ice Mountain. Instead, we could start eastward now and skirt around the south of the lake.”
“That could lead us straight into the Kinshra army north of Falador,” Kara warned.
“Then we take our chances with Taverley” Theodore said. “And pray it hasn’t fallen.”
The crown prince woke to find both his valet and his Imperial Guards replaced by Kinshra warriors. He demanded first to see Lord Amthyst, and when he was told that his most senior advisor was under arrest for treason, he demanded to see the person on whose authority it had been done.
That was Lord Daquarius.
“Where is Lord Amthyst?” Anlaf’s voice rose as Lord Daquarius entered his bedchamber. The prince’s knuckles clenched, bleaching his fingers white.
“Lord Amthyst is in several places, my lord,” Lord Daquarius said coldly. “He was executed this morning-in the manner befitting a traitor. It transpired that he had been systematically poisoning you over some months. Documents seized from his chamber prove this. Therefore, we have taken steps to ensure that you are protected.”
The crown prince gasped. Lord Amthyst executed? But Amthyst was his oldest and most trusted advisor, the closest thing he had to a friend!
He fell to the plush vermillion carpet, biting his clenched fist and weeping uncontrollably.
“My lord, Asgarnia needs you” Daquarius said firmly. “You must be strong!” The prince felt the Kinshra commander’s hand on his shoulder and he knew Daquarius was right. His nation needed him. Slowly, his tears and wails subsided.
He stood unsteadily.
“You are right, Daquarius,” he muttered. “What must I do to ease the burdens of my realm? Who is to blame for this ill fate?”
“Is it not obvious, my lord?”
The crown prince glanced wildly from one wall to the other. He shook his head doubtfully.
“Surely if anyone is to blame, it is the Knights of Falador,” Lord Daquarius said. “Has not Sir Amik Varze tried to entrench his order in Asgarnia? Has he not always been in competition with your Imperial Guard? Has he not always sought to confine my own order to the barren wastes of Ice Mountain, where we are permanently assailed from The Wilderness, while he sits like a fatted calf supping on the milk of Asgarnia’s greatest city?
“Is this not all true, my lord?”
“It is!” A fever gripped him now. “I have always thought so, by Saradomin!”
Suddenly, his mood changed. He felt sure he could trust Lord Daquarius. Had he not dreamed of riding to war with the Kinshra in the service of their dark god?
“Yet I have never really worshipped Saradomin, for I was taught that a ruler should wield balance. The ways of Guthix appealed most to me, but recently, in my dreams, another has spoken to me. You do understand, Daquarius?”
“I think so, my lord.”
He turned his back on Lord Daquarius and moved quickly, waving for his guest to follow. He climbed into a large cupboard and pressed the back panel forcefully, revealing a secret door. It led to a narrow passageway that disappeared into the darkness, and into that blackness he plunged.
The two men walked briskly in silence. When finally they halted, Lord Daquarius knew that the sybil’s magic had worked its poison, far better than he had imagined.
They stood before an altar of Zamorak, stained with the blood of several animals. Lord Daquarius had never seen such a crude shrine. He had to restrain an urge to laugh.
With a sudden reverence, Crown Prince Anlaf knelt before the altar and began to pray to Zamorak, the god of chaos.
And unwilling to disturb the man’s tormented mind, Lord Daquarius knelt at his side.
By late morning the Kinshra army sat encamped only three miles north of Falador, their scouts riding unconcerned and unopposed just beyond the range of a bow. Just beyond that range stood Sulla, looking south toward the city.
“Can we see the house from here?” He asked the officer, Gaius, who stood close at hand.
“I believe it is that one,” Gaius said, pointing. “It is one of the few houses that stand higher than the walls. Each night he will send a signal by torchlight. In his letter he explained the code that he will use.”
“And what house is that?” Sulla growled. “Who does it belong to?” He was still unsure whether this might be a ploy of the knights to deceive him. He had debated this point with his officers, but none of them believed the knights would willingly let the prisoner murder a man in order to escape. Their code of honour would not allow such a bloody move.
“Some of our spies who returned from Falador have told me that it is the almshouse of the knights.”
“Then the knights have a spy in their ranks” Sulla chortled. “Make sure that every hour of every night we have keen eyes trained on the house, for we must know what he is telling us.”
Gaius nodded enthusiastically, and left to make the arrangements.
“Should you not secure the camp, Sulla?” Jerrod asked. “That would seem to be the first priority.”
Sulla dismissed his concerns with a wave of his hand.
“The goblins are going to dig a trench around our position, my friend. As we journeyed south you will have undoubtedly noted how my men have hacked away the trees?”
“I did notice,” the werewolf replied. “I thought they were eager to fight, or simply enjoyed the random destruction.”
Sulla laughed.
“They are, my friend, and they do. But they have also been cutting stakes as we have marched south. Those will be hammered into the ground to form a perimeter about our camp.”
“And the goblins?” Jerrod asked with an amused grin.
“The goblins are to stay on my western flank. They will form their own defences. Five hundred of them have gone to secure Taverley, which no doubt means they will destroy it, for they have argued with the druids over land rights for generations. But the goblins are my tactical advantage over the knights-they are the expendable soldiers I can use to tie down my enemy.”
“The goblins won’t stand very long against the knights,” Jerrod observed.
