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out the day.”

“What do you want from us?” Barbec asked. He was a short bald-headed man with a nose that looked as if it had been broken a number of times, and he spoke in a low grumble.

“We shall go to Varrock,” Sulla replied. “It is a big enough city to hide in, and with the contents of this box we will make ourselves rich.”

The men hesitated.

Finally, Barbec decided for them.

“We’ll come with you… Sulla.”

So you do know me! With that realisation came anger-that news of his defeat had spread so far that even in The Wilderness, simple bandits dared to mock him.

“How long have you known?” he demanded.

“Since we made the agreement.” Barbec looked to Leander once, and licked his lips uncertainly. “Leander wanted to sell you to the Kinshra, but I thought we should first see the treasure.” His eyes fell on the box. “What’s in there anyhow?”

Sulla laughed.

“These parchments contain important information, but they are written in an old Kinshra code, and only I can decipher them.” He turned to face the men, who still clustered away from the werewolf. “For now that is all you need to know. Now, get the horses ready!”

The men moved to obey, while Jerrod reached for Leander. As he did so, the thief drew a knife in trembling hands, and found his tongue.

“It hurts!” he gasped, dropping his knife as Jerrod dragged him a short distance away.

“As I knew it would,” Sulla said gleefully. “Alas, it is a temporary poison that only lasts a single day. An old woman prepared it for me when I was still part of the Kinshra knighthood.” Briefly, he wondered what had become of the sybil who had served him so well, but swiftly he shook off such sentiment. He crouched and moved in close to the thief, nodding in the direction of the knife that lay on the ground.

“That is the easiest way to end your pain, my duplicitous friend,” he sneered.

“What is in the box?” Leander stammered.

Sulla leaned down to speak privately his ear.

“When I was in the Kinshra I made copies of certain secret documents. These documents contain sensitive information concerning a number of wealthy people and their organisations, from here all the way to Kandarin. In diplomacy, the Kinshra often have to persuade influential people to aid their cause, and blackmail has proved a most effective tool.” He stood again. “Now I have that tool. And I will use it.”

“The Kinshra will kill you for it!”

“They would kill me anyway, if they could. Meanwhile, I can have a little fun wrecking their spy networks-for a small profit-can’t I?” He looked into the distance. “I think I will start in Varrock. There is wealth there, wealth owned by people whose names appear in those documents.”

With that, Sulla brought his boot into Leander’s chin with a sharp crack. The thief’s head jerked, and he slumped into unconsciousness.

“Why don’t we kill him?” Jerrod whispered.

“No,” Sulla said. “We need his men’s loyalty, at least for now, and killing him might be too much for them to stomach. Besides…” He looked warily around him. “Lone travellers don’t last long out here-especially unconscious ones.”

A moment later, with Jerrod’s aid, Sulla clambered into a saddle. The werewolf stepped away and pulled his cloak about him, hiding his face as he returned to his human form. Once he had done so, he climbed up behind Sulla. He never rode alone-no horse would tolerate it, and he was as uncomfortable with the beasts as they were with him.

“We ride south to Varrock-if we make haste, we can be there in time for Midsummer,” Sulla said. “Our destination is an estate to the east of the city. The owner has lands that range from the River Salve to the edges of the city itself. There I will send a message to an old acquaintance of mine, the leader of the Phoenix Gang.”

And then, as darkness fell across The Wilderness, and creatures far more terrible than Jerrod stirred, they rode south toward more civilised lands, leaving Leander the thief to his fate.

1

It was well past midnight when the two men strode through the deserted streets. Theodore stifled a yawn, and his companion noted the sign of fatigue.

“What in Saradomin’s name inspired you to wear your armour to Lady Anne’s party, Theodore?” he inquired. “It’s no surprise that you are tired, after such a long evening.”

“I knew that I could not be asked to dance in my armour, Father Lawrence,” the young squire replied, stifling another yawn. “It provided me with the one excuse I could think to contrive.

“And it worked,” he added with a satisfied nod.

“Lady Anne is a most generous hostess,” the older man replied, peering intently at his friend’s shadowed face. “And she is a beautiful woman.”

“I would not have expected to hear that, coming from you,” Theodore said wryly. “Surely, a priest of Saradomin should have interests that are perhaps more… celestial?”

The old priest shook his head and laughed, mirroring his companion’s good humour. Father Lawrence’s clean-shaven face displayed the burden of years and just a passing familarisation with the sin of gluttony. His red nose and cheeks were a symptom of the Varrock ale he had consumed earlier that night, at the behest of the selfsame Lady Anne.

“I say it only to tease, Theodore,” he admitted. “As a squire in the service of the Knights of Falador you and I are similarly barred from the pleasures of a hearth and a home.” He nodded his head, as if to acknowledge the presence of a greater authority. “It is the vow we must all take, those of us who enter Saradomin’s service.”

“Perhaps you could kindly explain that to Lady Anne, then,” Theodore responded, a hint of irritation edging into his voice. “For six months now, she has repeatedly made unwanted advances, ever since my arrival here.” He glanced at the stars and exhaled. “And I do not trust her. She schemes as easily as you and I might breathe the night air.”

“She is a young woman of high birth, Theodore,” the priest said. “Consider it from her point of view. What better match to make than a hero of the war in Asgarnia? And her schemes are not malicious.” He paused as they approached the centre of the large square that stood to the south of King Roald’s palace. Theodore sensed a change in his friend’s mood.

“You are still only a squire, Theodore,” Father Lawrence continued. “As peons, you vow to serve your order, but it is only when you become a full knight that you commit yourself irrevocably to Saradomin and your mission.” His eyes were bright, in contrast to the shadows cast by the torches that ringed the square.

“What are you suggesting, Father Lawrence?” Theodore asked, his tone harsher than he had meant it to be.

“I am not suggesting anything, Theodore,” the old man answered hastily. “Everyone has heard stories of the war, and of its heroes. Of the passions that gripped those who fought together to defeat the invading forces.”

Theodore laughed, then stopped suddenly as the sound echoed off the walls of the square.

“I see,” he said, lowering his voice. “You think I refuse Lady Anne because I am in love with another? I suppose there may be an element of truth in it, but even if that is the case, it doesn’t matter. I am committed to my order. I took my vow, and I expect to reinforce it with a new one when I become a knight.”

Father Lawrence said nothing as he regarded the fountain at the square’s centre. It was a tribute to the River Salve and the safety only the legendary waterway could ensure. The fountain was a large pool over which a cross- shaped bridge had been built, the paving laid out from north to south and east to west. Where the two paths met- not quite in the centre-there stood four austere statues rising from the waters, armed as knights and ready for war. At the base of each a thin stream of water cascaded out.

Theodore sensed unease in the priest, as if he was withholding something.