SEVENTY-TWO
The plume of smoke parted in a ragged tear, like an invisible knife cutting down the centre of a silk veil. Through the gap, Sir Amik watched as Bhuler pulled his horse back at the last possible second, then urged it on in a jump that took it over the first line of pikes and into the men behind.
He smashed them aside, causing a ripple-like shudder to travel along their entire length.
“You valiant fool,” he moaned, certain that his friend was doomed.
But Sir Amik was wrong. Even as he wept, he noted a dozen other horsemen follow Bhuler’s example, each crashing into the Kinshra line that was still reeling from his valet’s assault.
On the city’s ramparts were the foresters who had fled before the Kinshra advance, a people who wielded bows before they could talk. They launched their lethal arrows now, and thinned the pikemen, leaving gaps in their formation large enough for the knights to drive in with all their armoured weight.
Sir Amik watched as-impossibly-the Kinshra line broke in two, severed at its centre as the knights before the wall rushed upon them, their determination now a fanaticism inspired entirely by one brave man.
Bhuler continued his merciless charge through the Kinshra rows, his banner adding another enemy to the grim toll as he drove its tip into a Kinshra helm. He urged his horse on, pulling the banner free, finding himself alone on the far side of the Kinshra line.
Only one enemy dared to challenge him.
Jerrod lowered his hood slowly, anticipating the fear that his nightmare visage would inspire. He stared at the knight across thirty yards of open ground.
He saw Sir Amik’s horse neigh nervously as it tugged at the reins in an effort to make his master find another foe. But the knight was steadfast.
He raised the banner to his head, touching his white helm against the torn four-stared symbol.
The werewolf paused. There was an absence of the scent in the air that he found on nearly all his enemies.
His enemy was not afraid of him.
Jerrod hesitated.
The knight charged.
The traitor lunged. As Sir Tiffy parried, Finistere stepped past him, intent on extinguishing the lantern.
Marius shouted, slogging through the knee-deep waters toward them. Finistere had seconds left. He drew his sword back behind his shoulder and hurled it toward the man who had outwitted him, at the same time pulling a dagger from his belt to parry Sir Tiffy’s blade.
The sword span toward the alchemist’s face, forcing Ebenezer to jump aside.
Marius leapt into the chamber.
The traitor’s spare hand closed over Sir Tiffy’s blade, cutting his flesh deeply. But now, free of the need to parry his foe’s weapon, he thrust his dagger into the old spymaster’s shoulder.
The room went dark as Ebenezer and his lantern crashed into the stinking waters.
But it was too late, for Marius was upon him.
Bhuler galloped toward his unworldly enemy. He understood the power of fear and the evil it could drive men to do, but he knew that he was a Knight of Falador who was chosen by Saradomin.
Guiding his banner, Bhuler guessed that his unarmed foe would try to jump aside. As Jerrod leapt, just as Bhuler had anticipated, he struck the werewolf. It was only his foe’s incredible speed that saved him from being impaled through the heart. The tip of the banner pierced the werewolf’s right shoulder instead, lifting him off his feet and carrying him several yards until he managed to break free.
The werewolf cursed violently as his black blood stained the earth. Bhuler turned his horse once more toward his enemy. Vulnerable now, the creature had only one option. With his red robes flailing behind him, he fled.
Bhuler watched him run and knew that to let such a creature live was to deny others life, for the werewolf would kill again. He readied the banner of the knights that had been passed from one leader to the next for more than a century, blessed by monks of Saradomin and held in reverence by their order. Some even believed that the tip of the banner had been used as a lance by Saradomin himself in the God Wars.
He prepared for a final charge, but the sound of hooves thundering on the ground caught his attention. He looked up to see Sulla and his thirty-strong bodyguard galloping against the remainder of his men who were fighting before the wall.
If Sulla rode in, the knights would be destroyed, for they were too few and too spread out to resist.
Bhuler turned his horse. The werewolf would have to wait. If he could divert Sulla’s bodyguard for a single moment, then Theodore and Kara would enter the battle at his side.
Sulla’s attention was focused on the knights near the wall. Several arrows fell amongst his bodyguard, fired by the foresters from the ramparts, but it was too little to prevent them entering the fray and demolishing the last of the resistance.
One of his officers gestured urgently. Sulla looked to his left.
It was Sir Amik, leader of the Knights of Falador, alone and unguarded.
Sulla broke off his charge, amazed that so important a man would isolate himself on a battlefield. It was a moment he had dreamed of.
“Zamorak could not have given a better augur of our victory!” he cried, raising his sword and pointing toward the armoured man. As one, the Kinshra surged forward.
Incredibly though, and foolishly, Sir Amik readied his banner and thundered towards them, alone.
The last thing Sir Tiffy saw before the light vanished was Marius leap toward Finistere, his blade lunging toward the traitor’s abdomen.
He felt the traitor’s blade pierce his shoulder as the hand holding his sword went suddenly limp. With his remaining strength he freed his weapon from the traitor’s grasp and lunged, hearing a gasp in the darkness as his own blade entered an unseen body. He tried to withdraw the sword, but suddenly he was too weak to do so.
Unable to support his weight, he fell backward with a groan, his head slamming against the brickwork.
The only sound was a faint wheezing.
“Sir Tiffy? Marius?” Ebenezer called faintly. “Are you there?” His hand found the lamp in the water. It was broken and he knew it would never light now.
No one answered.
He needed light and he knew he would have to use magic to illuminate the chamber. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fire rune.
Someone groaned nearby. Still no one spoke.
With a deep breath, Ebenezer concentrated on the single rune in his hand.
The thought of retreat did not enter his mind. Bhuler had only one aim now, only one goal to achieve.
Through tear-filled eyes he watched as the Kinshra rode into him. He focused on the tip of his banner and he thrust it into the chest of the nearest enemy.
He did not feel the blows of the Kinshra blades as Sulla and his guard surrounded him, hacking at him from all angles and cutting the banner in two.
Finally he fell from his saddle to the soft earth, putting himself beyond the range of their hatred.
But the butchery was short-lived. Sulla looked around in growing panic as a thundering shook the earth. It could only mean one thing-Kara’s cavalry had come.
With a grim realisation, Sulla saw that his indulgence in hunting down Sir Amik had cost him the battle. Swiftly he led his bodyguard away, abandoning his men before the wall.
