The golden stretch of light to the west had gone now, and with the darkness came the smell of death, rising up from the ground. The terrible coldness made Kara’s limbs feel icy and stiff.
Suddenly Castimir cried out.
Upon the summit of the nearest barrow stood a ghostly figure, holding an immense axe. A purple haze surrounded it. The apparition remained still, while the scent of death gradually became overpowering.
“It’s them!” Vanstrom yelled. “It’s the Brothers. Don’t stray from the path or you will be lost.”
Kara sprinted. She fled past Castimir, ignoring him as he dropped his runes in fear, her only need was to be away from that place. Never had she felt like this-not even on the icy island as Sulla pursued her. It was all she could do not to curl up and bury her face in her hands. Behind her she heard Theodore stumble, but she dared not turn around. Even her adamant sword, suddenly in her hand, seemed heavy, as if it tried to slow her down.
“Kara! Where are the others?”
Doric’s gruff voice cut through her fear. She felt tears cold on her face, her breath came in gasps, and her heart pounded so hard she felt faint. Suddenly she saw that there were no more Barrows ahead of her, that she was free.
“Behind…” she stammered. “They are coming.”
The cold disappeared suddenly, and clinging warmth rushed in to replace it.
She turned to look back. Theodore was there, his face ashen, still with Albertus carried between him and Gideon, the jester with his eyes closed. Castimir ran at their side, his hands shaking, breathing quickly. Vanstrom came last.
“What was that place?” she murmured. “I have never felt the like.”
“Nor I,” Theodore agreed.
“It is the undead,” Vanstrom told them, wheezing. “The Barrow Brothers. Ancient warriors buried here so long ago that their origins are unknown to us. In Meiyerditch we tell legends of them. Some claim there is an immense treasure horde buried below, or magical halls in which the Brothers wait until the day they will be called. Until that time, they wander the Barrows, looking for living beings to take as their servants.”
Kara breathed deeply. The fear had gone now. She saw Doric look over her shoulder in confusion.
“Where is Gar’rth?” the dwarf asked anxiously.
She shook her head. Theodore looked troubled.
“He isn’t coming,” the knight explained. “It is the price for our freedom, Doric. But he was safe when we left him, and he didn’t seem frightened at all.”
The dwarf gritted his teeth and bowed his head, and quietly he whispered something in his own language. But Kara knew what it meant.
“May Guthix protect him for his sacrifice,” he said, “and may we live our lives worthy enough to do his memory proud.”
Behind the dwarf two men emerged. Both were haggard and yet tough looking, clearly they weren’t strangers to hardship.
“Karnac, Harold,” Vanstrom nodded in greeting. “We are all here. Come, let us go to the boat without delay.” He turned to Kara. “Your friends Despaard and Arisha are guarding it.”
Kara sat in the bow, staring silently ahead.
For nearly an hour no one had spoken, and the stillness was broken only by the creaking strain of the oars in the rowlocks and their faint flash and dip in the stagnant black water. Ahead of her in the gloom, the view seemed forever unchanged and she could vaguely see twisted trees that stood half-submerged in the swamp on both sides. If there was a current, as Vanstrom suggested, she couldn’t make it out. The foetid air was suffocating, given form by the green mist that rose before them.
She blinked away tears that she hid from her friends and turned to look back over her shoulder. Immediately behind her sat Castimir and Arisha. Even in shadow, she could tell that the wizard’s face was grim and resigned, and she knew his thoughts ran similar to hers. Behind them lay Albertus, his eyes half-closed. At his side sat Gideon, his face downcast. Then came the rowers-Despaard and the man called Harold, labouring away under the watchful guidance of Vanstrom, who half stood and half crouched above them. Behind him was Theodore and then Doric, the dwarf watching for any signs of pursuit from the stern.
“How are you feeling, Kara?” Arisha asked softly.
“I just wish I’d had the chance to say goodbye,” she said. “That is what I am most sorry for.” Arisha nodded, and Kara knew she understood.
“Gar’rth made the decision,” Castimir said. “He thought to spare you the pain of parting.”
Arisha must have seen something in her expression.
“I think we all know what he was always afraid to tell you, even when we spent all that time together in The Wilderness. Often, when you slept and he sat watch over us, I saw him and the way he watched over you. He loved you, Kara, because the feeling you inspired brought out the best in him. It saved his humanity and kept his werewolf heritage in check. He told me so himself, several times on our travels.”
“And now we have failed him,” Kara said miserably. “Had he told me then what he felt, about me, about his heritage, I would have done more to prevent him from coming back here.”
“It might be that coming back here isn’t such an ill fate for him,” Arisha murmured. “He is from this land after all, and it now seems certain he will not be executed.”
“But what if he is forced to yield to Zamorak, Arisha? He won’t be able to resist the likes of Malak, and he will lose all that made him good.”
“It is what he is,” the priestess replied gently. “At least he should live.”
“She is right, Kara-Meir,” Despaard grunted from his position at the oar. “If he had somehow returned with us now, or had he remained in Misthalin, eventually he would have succumbed to his passions. And had he done that- and had you lived to see it-then it would have been far harder for you to bear.”
She faced forward and gritted her teeth angrily.
The conversation ended and silence fell. The world passed by in a dreamlike state.
“There is one thing I would like to know, Gideon,” Arisha said behind her. “What happened to you two? We thought the werewolves had taken you.”
Kara shook herself from her thoughts and listened as the jester answered.
“It was Albertus,” Gleeman said. “He tricked me. When the fires started up he asked me to go upstairs to his room for some medicine, and when I was gone he ran out of the inn and attempted to exchange his life for Pia and Jack. He took with him two of his explosives, which he tried to use when the werewolves turned on him. I found him injured and beaten.
“After I was taken, I was told that his actions violated the terms of the embassy and that our lives were forfeited then.” The jester sighed. “We were taken by Roavar and kept by him until Malak and his Vyrewatch came for us. Then we slept, and awoke alongside the others.”
“You… you saved me, Gleeman,” Albertus moaned faintly. “You saved me… you killed that wolf…”
“Hush, old friend,” the jester said softly. “I did nothing.”
“No… no, you used magic Gleeman… it was magic…”
Kara turned to see the jester shaking his head affectionately, holding the old man’s hand. Gideon looked up and shared a tight smile with her.
“Sleep, Albertus,” Arisha advised him. “Save your strength.”
The old man nodded and lowered his head to the pillow. At once his eyes closed and he started to snore