Return to Canifis

“…but I feel certain that we must somehow divine her role. She is not just a creature that has escaped the bounds of the holy river, and now feasts on our people. The words she has left about this prophecy tell us that she is more. The question is simply, in what way?”

Papelford, the King’s ancient archivist, forced himself to his feet. His breath was laboured, and he leaned on a thin ash stick that he held at his waist. When he spoke, Kara had to concentrate to hear, for his voice was feeble and wavering.

“She is Lord Drakan’s servant,” he said with conviction. “She is sent to prepare for his coming. The prophecy is nigh, and she must be located if we are to have any hope of preventing it.”

Reldo shook his head, and as Papelford sat down the young man leapt up.

“I must… respectfully disagree with my master,” he said, looking as if he expected retaliation. “All the references to this prophecy- without exception-are written by men who lived a hundred years ago here in Varrock, not Entrana. There is no evidence at all that the High Priest ever spoke those words.”

Papelford dropped his head and put his hand over his eyes.

“And yet the Wyrd still kills, and leaves hints of the coming,” Lord Despaard protested. “How do you explain that? You cannot separate the two.”

Reldo pursed his lips and twisted his head to one side. After several seconds of silent thought he shook it and sat back down, his face bitter.

“What about an invasion?” Gideon Gleeman piped up from behind Raispher. “Why don’t we make the first move?” His words were greeted with claps and cheers. King Roald shook his head as Raispher stood and replied.

“That is impossible,” he snapped angrily. “We cannot invade them-nor they us. So say the Edicts of Guthix, laid down under Saradomin’s guidance when the river was blessed a millennia ago.”

“That’s Raispher for you,” William commented drily. “Most people would say that Guthix is the most powerful god, but not him. Saradomin conquers all, apparently.”

Kara saw Theodore frown.

He’s right though, Theodore, she thought. This Raispher is a fanatic- even more so than you and the knights. But she didn’t say it aloud.

“Yet if we cannot invade, can’t we at least send someone into Morytania to determine the truth?” Ellamaria advanced toward the stage as she spoke, arms held wide, looking to the balconies above.

She is a performer, Kara observed, and a good one. She knows how to address the crowd. Ellamaria let the silence last a moment more before continuing.

“Can we not at least send an embassy of sorts across the river?”

Lord Despaard looked quickly to Lord Ruthven, and then to the King. Suddenly Papelford stood.

“It is possible to do so,” the archivist said. “I have read of it in the histories of our realm. There is such a thing as the blood mark, and it is said that whoever bears this mark shall pass unmolested through Lord Drakan’s realm. But we would need to verify this somehow. Never in living memory has there been an attempt to send an emissary from Varrock.”

Ellamaria glowered in frustration as she spoke again.

“But surely there is someone who has been to Morytania? Is there no one who can help us now?”

Kara stood.

She hadn’t intended to, but suddenly she found herself on her feet. All eyes turned to her, and she felt King Roald’s gaze upon her as she marshalled her thoughts.

They will only execute him otherwise.

“There is one man, my King, who can help us here,” she said. “Only one who has unique experience of Morytania and who would be willing to help us. He is loyal, Sire. I trust him implicitly. So, too, can Varrock.” Her eyes swept across the faces in front of her. “You know of whom I speak-he will help. He is the only one who can.”

She sat back down as the parliament digested her words.

“You may have condemned him, Kara,” Theodore hissed angrily. “He ran away from there. What if he has no wish to return, even if King Roald decides to send an embassy across the river?”

“At least in this way he is useful to Varrock, Theodore,” she argued. “The King won’t be so hasty to execute him now. It gives him a chance.”

Kara’s speech had lit a fuse of questioning. The onlookers cried from the balconies, demanding the identity of the mysterious individual and even William, sitting behind them, couldn’t contain his curiosity. But his questions were lost in the din.

“We can have faith in Kara-Meir,” Ellamaria shouted, but to no avail. It was only when the King stood that silence once again fell over the chamber.

“Kara-Meir’s words have persuaded me,” he said. “There is truth in what she has said, and a good sense that cannot be denied. I will meet with her friend in private, along with my most trusted councillors.

“This parliament is ended.”

14

Gar’rth could feel the poison still in his body, but he was stronger now, slightly recovered from the scratches the Wyrd had given him. Yet his wrist was still bound to the wall, and the pain he felt told him that there was a two-pointed blade nearby.

He had woken for the first time that day when Theodore had left him, the knight advising him to be cautious of a man named Simon, who had been charged with watching over him.

Gar’rth’s throat was parched and when he spied Theodore’s near-full water jug, he said a silent thank you to the knight. Still, even as he drank, he knew water wouldn’t assuage the hunger that cramped his stomach.

“So you are finally awake, werewolf,” a man’s voice said from the darkness beyond the gate to his cell.

“I am,” he said. “I am hungry.”

The man laughed, and the sound had a sadistic element to it.

“Your kind are always hungry, wolf. If I had my way I would chain you in a cage and leave you to starve in Varrock’s main square, to be jeered at by children and taunted by maidens. It is no less than you deserve.”

“What have I done?” Gar’rth asked. “I don’t know you. Are you Simon?”

“I am.”

A tall man stepped forward into the light of the torch. Gar’rth saw his black-leather armour, rugged face and perceived at once the two-pronged dagger he held. It made him feel nauseous, and he sat down again, for fear he might lose consciousness.

“A wolfbane dagger,” Simon said as he rattled it across the bars. “One of the very few weapons that gives me and my friends power over your ilk. Would you be angry to know that I have killed your race before? On three occasions.”

He rattled the dagger across the bars again, and the sound made Gar’rth wince.

“Please,” he said. “Please, I am… not like them.”

“Lord Despaard told me of your history. He told me how you would say something like that. The tragedy is that you might actually believe it, but your kind cannot deny your nature. Soon- or maybe not so soon, but one day nonetheless-you will change. The blood lust will become too strong.” He leaned closer and peered through the bars. “It would be better to kill you now. Better for you, and for us.”

Simon held his dagger in a tight grasp. As Gar’rth watched, he reached for a key on his belt.

“Don’t,” Gar’rth said. “Please… just wait.”

I can’t fight him. Not now, not with that dagger.

Suddenly Simon laughed and sheathed his weapon.

“I am not going to kill you. Not yet. My orders are just to watch.”

The man disappeared back into the darkness, leaving Gar’rth in silence. A cold sweat erupted from his pores.