It was rune metal, stronger and heavier even than adamant, and far rarer.
Few were the smiths who could fashion it.
Her eyes focused on the forge and the red coals, and the image of Master Phyllis came back to her. She recalled the first time he had taught her the art of the smith, years ago. She had mined her own tin from cassiterite, smelting the metal on a fire of her own making, moulding the tin into the shapes of weapons. She had never made decorative necklaces or attractive trinkets. Always they had been the tools of violence, a symptom of her anger.
Now she pressed the bellows, blowing air into the forge. The coals responded greedily, glowing ever hotter. The colour of the forge began to turn from red to a bright yellow, hot enough to melt steel.
Her first time at the forge had also been under Master Phyllis’s watchful eye. She had smelt bronze from copper and tin that she had mined herself, using the alloy to smith her first true sword. It had taken her days to complete and she had spent long nights hammering and heating and polishing the weapon. She had loved the work and Master Phyllis had been proud of her dedication.
Kara stirred the coal toward the centre of the forge where the heat was greatest. It would not be long now.
It was dark when Theodore dismounted in front of the Imperial Guard.
A dark-haired man strode forward, his hand outstretched in greeting.
“I am Lord Radebaugh, leader of these men,” he said.
“I am Squire Theodore.” He grasped the hand firmly. “My dwarf allies told me of your presence here, and I come to ask for your help. Falador is under siege and the walls cannot last against the Kinshra guns. Together, however, we can have a chance of victory.”
Many of the men who surrounded them nodded in eagerness, looking to Lord Radebaugh, but he avoided their stares.
“We are loyal to the crown prince in Burthorpe,” he said. “Lord Amthyst was our captain and when the Kinshra embassy seized control of the citadel they executed him in the manner of a traitor.”
That yielded an angry rumbling amongst the men as Lord Radebaugh continued.
“The Kinshra have the crown prince now, and he is their puppet. Our orders are explicit-we are to return to our homes and disarm.”
“We must join the fight!” a desperate voice called from the back. “The Kinshra will burn Falador as they did Taverley.”
“But we are too few,” Lord Radebaugh sighed, looking to his men wearily, and it was clear they had discussed this before.
“By yourselves, that is true” Theodore agreed. “But we have help. Even now a hundred eyes rest upon you, for I have come from the dwarf mines where an army is mustering to go to Falador’s aid. If you and your men side with us, then we may yet achieve victory.”
A hush descended on the Imperial Guard. The men looked expectantly to their leader.
“For many years our orders have opposed each other, Theodore, yet today I fight not as an Imperial Guard but as a citizen of Asgarnia,” Lord Radebaugh said, and his voice reverberated with growing conviction. “I will fight with you.”
A stunned silence descended over the soldiers. Somewhere nearby a horse neighed. Suddenly there rose a cheer from every man present.
“I shall fight with you!” a man pledged, stepping forward.
“As shall I!” another declared, drawing his sword and holding it high.
And then, six hundred swords were raised in unison, and again the men cheered.
Theodore held out his hand and Lord Radebaugh took it in a tight grasp.
Kara used the rune metal sparingly. She had only ever worked with it once before, and she had not been successful then. And this time it was not a simple blade she was making. The amulet of King Alvis’s queen was a delicate thing of beauty, of subtle skill with hair-thick strands forming cascading rings emanating from the polished diamond that was embedded in its centre.
Three of the amulet’s rings had been broken and it was Kara’s task to rejoin them.
Kara was scared. She had never attempted to smith something of such subtlety before, and never when so much depended on the outcome.
She closed her mind to the sounds in the chamber, her concentration set on the task before her.
The tools felt strange in her hands. She held her breath as she leaned forward, her eyes focused entirely on the break.
“I can’t do this,” she sighed, panic gripping her. “It’s impossible! How can it be right for the fate of a city to depend on a broken amulet? Perhaps I am not worthy of this task?”
Her face fell as she turned from the amulet and moved to a bench. She sat in silence, her mind in a tumult as she regarded her failure.
It was the dripping of water that calmed her nerves. She searched for the source, high up in the shadows, away from the light of the forge.
As she did so she gasped in surprise. For the vial about her neck had begun to glow, strong enough to drive back the darkness of the cavern.
She held it before her, recalling Master Phyllis’s tale of how it had come into his possession.
“The tears of Guthix!” she whispered. “Can it be true?” As she spoke the water in the crystal vial responded. The blue light grew in intensity, lighting the chamber all the way to the ceiling, high above her.
She recalled what she had heard of the legends, of the calming influence of the tears, of how they appeared to lead lost dwarf miners out of the darkness and back to their homes. Of how they gave hope to those who believed.
With a new sense of destiny, Kara raised the vial to her lips. And without a thought, she drank.
Throughout the long night, the citizens of Falador stayed awake, listening to the unending roar of the Kinshra guns and the crash of masonry as the walls of the city shivered and cracked. Children cried in their beds and pulled the blankets farther over their heads, while young couples, knowing that their future looked increasingly uncertain, spent the time clutched in tight embraces.
A light burned in Sir Amik’s chamber. Bhuler pressed his fingers to his eyes to ease the weariness. He had worked tirelessly throughout the day, ensuring that his ailing master was made as comfortable as could be.
“There is nothing more I can do for him, Bhuler, and I have many others to attend to,” the matron told him. “It is for his mind that I fear most.”
Sir Amik was lost in a delirium brought on by his defeat, but the loyal Bhuler refused to leave his master’s side, working unceasingly to give whatever comfort he could.
He was disturbed by a knock at the door. Without waiting for an answer, Sir Vyvin entered, and peered at the figure on the bed. His own face was grim, for his wounded eye-although covered by an eyepatch-was causing him considerable pain.
“How is he, Bhuler?” Sir Vyvin asked. “Many of our order believe that he will not live to see the dawn.”
As the highest ranking knight who could still fight, Sir Vyvin had taken command of the castle. He needed some good news to bolster his men’s fading morale.
“He will live to see the dawn,” Bhuler said quietly. “But he will not be able to lead the men. I fear his wounds are so grievous that he will never again wear his armour.” The valet pointed to the crimson-splashed white armour which lay around the chamber. His attention focused on Sir Amik’s banner, which rested in the corner as if forgotten.
“He
Bhuler raised his head in sudden alarm.
“Do you think it will be so soon?” he asked, silently shocked that the walls of the city could be breached in so little time.
“Sulla’s goblins are mustering north of the city. Tomorrow, if the walls break, they will come.”
The council members were uneasy. The amulet of King Alvis’s queen was one of the finest ever examples of
