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the King’s wrath to do so.”

“I sense the hand of Lady Anne involved here, Papelford. Perhaps she sought to embarrass Kara-Meir, but it appears the King was more tolerant than she believed.” He glanced in Gar’rth’s direction. “But tell me, what did you really want to speak about out here?”

“It is my apprentice.”

“Reldo?” There was genuine surprise in the nobleman’s voice. “He is perfectly suited for this work, surely. His memory is incredible, he can recall anything he’s ever read. He is from a good and trusted family. He’s-”

“All of that and more Lord Despaard. Yes, I know. But he asks too many questions about what we do. He’s guessed half the truth, I am sure of it.”

“That is not an issue. In fact, it was an inevitability, if he was doing the job properly. You are an old man, Papelford. We need someone in the archives who can be trusted. Reldo is good at what he does.”

Papelford made a noise that reminded Gar’rth of a bird choking.

“He’s not good. I want him moved.”

Lord Despaard sighed.

“I will talk to Lord Ruthven about it,” he said. “The Society of the Owl needs a good and trusted archivist, more now than ever- with these killings and the approach of the prophecy.”

The two men fell silent for a moment.

“Tell me, old friend, do you really believe it will come true?” Lord Despaard sounded weary.

“I don’t know,” Papelford responded. “But who could claim to be a truer king than King Roald? His line goes back at least a thousand years.”

“I hope you are right.”

A new tune started from inside the hall, and a poet began to speak.

“Ah, the ‘Ballad of Tenebra and Ailane’,” Papelford muttered. “Come, this tragedy is a favourite of King Roald’s, for it reminds him-as well as the rest of us-of what his family have suffered at the hands of Morytania. Although he needs no reminding, not after this creature murdered his fiancee.”

Murdered his fiancee?

“The kingdom need not know that,” Lord Despaard warned as the two men walked back into the light of the torches. Gar’rth turned, feigning surprise.

They said nothing as they vanished into the hall, and Gar’rth was left alone.

He stood on the terrace for several minutes, half-listening to the ballad, before he caught a familiar scent behind him.

“Arisha,” he said without turning.

The barbarian priestess approached him, her booted feet crunching the gravel.

“I saw you leave,” she said. “You’ve been gone some time.”

“Yes.”

“Are you all right, Gar’rth?”

“I don’t like it here, Arisha. I am afraid.”

“You?” She didn’t attempt to mask her surprise. “Afraid of what? Jerrod won’t…”

Gar’rth gave a harsh laugh.

“Not Jerrod, Arisha. I am afraid of…” He paused and shook his head. “I have run from one place to another, then another. I can’t keep running.”

He looked at her, and felt a sudden anger when he saw her eyes widen in sympathy.

“Then speak to Kara, Gar’rth,” she said. “Tell her how you feel.”

“She knows, Arisha.”

“No she doesn’t,” the barbarian replied. “She suspects, but she does not know.”

Gar’rth shook his head again.

“She would say no,” he said grimly. “She knows what I am.”

“And she knows who you are, as well. She knows the good you’ve done at her side.” Arisha fell silent, and Gar’rth saw her shiver. “It is cold out here,” she said after a moment. “Will you come inside with me?”

“Yes,” he said. He looked her straight in the eye, and he thought he saw her blink nervously. “But not because I feel the cold. I rarely do.”

Inside the hall, the ballad was ending and had given way to more raucous behaviour. From his position near the door Gar’rth saw a small crowd gathered around a table, cheering. He noted Lady Anne looking on, watching from the stage.

The crowd around the table jostled slightly, revealing two men engaged in an arm wrestle.

“It’s Theodore,” Arisha murmured with a slight smile.

Gar’rth watched the contest with interest before the crowd hid the contestants from view. Someone gave a cry and then another man shouted in victory as half the crowd cheered and the rest groaned.

“Sir Theodore loses! It seems not even the finest warrior in Varrock can beat Sir Frey.” The crowd parted and Gar’rth saw Theodore stagger up and massage his right hand. The knight’s opponent was a much larger and older man, with arms thick and powerful like a blacksmith’s.

I could beat him, Gar’rth thought. I would be able to do so easily.

Arisha noted his hesitation.

“Come along, Gar’rth. Let us return to the stage.”

They got only halfway up the steps before Lady Anne stopped them.

“Oh, Gar’rth,” she said sweetly. “Would you care to escort me outside for some air on the terrace? You are the only one of Kara’s companions I have yet to speak with.” She pointedly ignored his silent frown.

“I am afraid Castimir requires his presence, Lady Anne,” Arisha cut in sharply.

“Castimir can wait,” Gar’rth said, anger edging into his words. “The hall, inside, too much noise,” he explained. “Outside is better.”

He felt Arisha’s concerned stare as Lady Anne put her arm through his.

They are not my keepers. I am not an animal, he thought as she led him back toward the terrace yet again.

“I can tell that you do not enjoy these occasions,” Lady Anne remarked. “I understand that. You are not from Misthalin, and our ways must seem strange to you.” They were outside now, in the cool air, alone. “And I have also seen the way you look at Kara-Meir.”

Gar’rth shook his head slowly.

Lady Anne laughed.

“Oh, don’t be so coy!” she said. “Your feelings for her are obvious.” Her blue eyes fixed Gar’rth’s back pupils. “And so are Theodore’s.” She turned her back on him and waited. But he did not reply. Instead, a man’s voice coughed gently, and Gar’rth turned to see a youth waiting nearby.

“Lady Anne,” the boy said. “Forgive my interruption, but I bring a message from Lord Hyett.”

“Oh,” her voice was flat. “Where is it?”

“I have been asked to relay it to you in private, Lady Anne.”

“Oh, how tiresome. Does the Black Boar have time enough to waste on me, rather than make his peace with whichever god he believes in? Very well.” She turned to him briefly. “Excuse me Gar’rth.”

He bowed awkwardly as Lady Anne strode to the opposite end of the terrace. As with Lord Despaard and the librarian Papelford, their hushed voices were clear to him over such a distance.

“Lord Hyett begs you to see him, Lady Anne.”

“I will go tomorrow to pay my respects.”

“He will be dead by then,” came the reply. “Sir Theodore gave him a heinous wound.”

“Well, good for Sir Theodore,” Lady Anne hissed coldly. “I have never liked your master. He is a brute. The Black Boar can go to his grave pining for me, for all I care. Go and tell him that, and tell him that I will think of his last hours with relish.”

“Lady Anne, please, have compassion to a man who has only ever deSired your love.”

She laughed.