Theodore was right, but she didn’t want to fight again, not ever again. She recalled Bhuler’s words to her as he had died.
The day after Bhuler’s funeral, word reached Falador that Burthorpe had been liberated without a battle. Lord Radebaugh and the Imperial Guard had presented Lord Daquarius with Sulla’s severed hands and his ring of office, which Kara had sent so that the Kinshra would realize it would be futile to fight. Within a day they had left the citadel.
Lord Radebaugh wrote to them of his discovery of the crown prince’s secret shrine to Zamorak. He had destroyed it and the crown prince was confined for his own safety, raving like a madman. He finished his letter by informing Sir Amik that he would consult the druid Kaqemeex for help in curing the prince of his hallucinations.
It was a week of exhaustion for all, but by the end of it the traders could be seen at their stands again, the washerwomen at their laundry and the city guards-under their new chief, Colonel Ingrew-patrolling the streets.
Slowly, things returned to normal.
In the foothills of Ice Mountain a man drew a black dagger.
“I am tired of your whimpering! No one will miss you, Sulla. After the disaster you led us into, this dagger is going to be a swifter end than the one you deserve.” The Kinshra soldier of the lowliest rank strode forward. None of his friends moved to stop him. None even spoke in protest.
The soldier placed the dagger to Sulla’s throat.
Sulla pleaded weakly for his life.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice growled from the shadows of the fir trees. From under their low boughs a tall figure appeared, wearing a ragged red robe, his hand pressed against his wounded shoulder.
The Kinshra warrior stepped away.
“That is Sulla’s demon” one of the men remarked, recognising Jerrod.
“I need one man” Jerrod said slowly, “for only a short service.” His burning eyes fixed on the soldier who had planned to kill Sulla. “Will you aid me?”
The man glanced at his friends and shrugged. They all knew the werewolf had fought at their side in the battle. With a confident step, he approached. It was the last thing he ever did. Jerrod seized him by the throat and squeezed with such strength that the man didn’t have time to scream.
“I told him it would be for a short service,” Jerrod growled as he removed the man’s fur cloak, wrapping it around Sulla.
The Kinshra soldiers fled into the woods, not daring to face him. He had expected nothing else of them.
“Why are you helping me?” Sulla muttered, his teeth chattering from the cold.
“I was going to kill you,” the werewolf admitted. “But as I slept after the battle, an emissary of Zamorak himself spoke to me. He wants us working together, Sulla. Whatever game the gods are playing, it is not yet concluded. The first chapter only, but there is always a second.”
Sulla lowered his head, cushioned by the warm cloak.
“I need food,” he said.
Jerrod nodded.
“And you shall have it, my friend. I shall make a fire, for you would not like your meat raw. Sleep now, whilst I work.”
The werewolf’s eyes focused on the dead man. With a skill perfected by years of practice he began his dreadful work. In only a few minutes, under the boughs of the low trees, a fire crackled and a grim cut of meat cooked on a stick above the flames.
Jerrod smiled to himself, wondering what Sulla would say if he knew.
In the bowels of the Kinshra fortress an officer opened a wooden door without knocking.
“Who dares to enter my chamber?” the sybil cried.
“I have orders from Lord Daquarius, the new lord of the Kinshra. Your meddling led us into disaster. He has decided it would be best if you are no longer associated with our cause.”
The officer nodded to the two men behind him. They strode forward and seized the old woman. The officer removed the lid of the huge cauldron that stood on an unlit fire at the centre of the room. A greenish liquid stirred inside and with a grimace the man nodded toward it. The two men heaved the sybil into the sickly potion. Before she could clamber out, the heavy lid was replaced, the men fastening it so that only a small gap remained.
A withered old hand, responsible for so much evil, forced its way through, trying in vain to lift the lid.
“Light the fire” the officer said flatly. “Call me when the water begins to boil.”
The two soldiers grinned, kneeling to begin their grisly work. They ignored the sybil’s threats of revenge as well as her pleas for mercy.
Soon the fire began to rage. The waters began to bubble. And the sybil began to scream.
SEVENTY-SEVEN
It was late. The fire burned in the hearth in the upstairs room of The Rising Sun. They sat around a large table, each deep in thought, no one willing to break the peaceful silence.
Finally the alchemist spoke, gazing into the wispy smoke of his pipe.
“So we are decided then. Each of us has made their choice. Each of us shall go their separate way over the next few months, and meet in Varrock in time for Midsummer’s Eve.”
Doric looked thoughtfully at his unfinished meal.
“I shall go and rebuild my house. The magistrate in Falador has looked favourably on my case. But first, I must act as a diplomat for the dwarf request to open the seams beneath the city. Sir Amik will give my people their mining guild in the northeast of Falador.”
“And I shall go to the Wizards’ Tower,” Castimir said unhappily. “My wanderings are at their end and I must demonstrate what I have learned.”
“But you have Master Segainus’s spell books. Surely that is no small prize?” Ebenezer asked.
Castimir looked sly.
“Yes. That is a fortunate privilege. His years of experience are recorded in his books. It is knowledge I am fearful to learn, for I know my superiors would not approve of someone of my age delving into such mysteries.”
“Whenever has that stopped you before, Castimir?” Kara asked playfully.
The young wizard smiled, but still his eyes revealed concern. His friends knew immediately that he had already explored the pages of Master Segainus’s books.
“Knowledge can be a dangerous thing” Ebenezer said. “The Kinshra used it to create their guns, and some men attempt to find the answer to eternal life. But it need not always be so-great and good things can be done by those strong enough to wield knowledge properly.”
“As you have demonstrated time and again to our benefit,” Castimir said with a nod to his old friend. “Maybe I am too young for such secrets. Maybe I should wait. I shall also write to Arisha.”
Theodore glanced at Castimir with a smile.
The wizard looked bashfully away.
“She still has my belongings and my yak,” he muttered.
It was Kara who spoke next.
“I shall go to the monastery and help rebuild it. I shall spend time with Abbot Langley and search among any of their records that may have survived. Hopefully, I shall find some information about my father and I would especially like to know my mother’s name. I may also seek out my village, and place a marker where my parents died.”
She knew what her friends were thinking.
“I am no longer looking for vengeance” she added. “The Kinshra will punish Sulla enough.”
Ebenezer lowered his pipe and spoke next.
“I shall remain here. Lord Tremene and the city authorities have asked for my help in draining the moat
