Return to Canifis

He cursed himself for being so weak, both in spirit and strength.

Would Kara ever have pleaded like that? he thought with shame. Would Theodore? Did Doric or Castimir do so when Jerrod beat them mercilessly?

Simon returned carrying a chunk of raw meat on an iron plate. He placed it on the ground at the edge of the cage and watched as Gar’rth scrambled forward to get it, the shackle on his wrist barely allowing him reach. It was the first thing he had eaten since being injured by the Wyrd.

“It’s only animal meat, I am afraid,” Simon said with a grin. “Lord Despaard wouldn’t let you eat any prisoners, even the one you and Kara-Meir brought in. He’s to hang this morning, by the way, in case you are interested. In fact, you might well be joining him.”

The guard vanished back into the darkness as Gar’rth’s appetite died.

They won’t let them hang me. None of them will. Not my friends.

But then his fear turned to anger. He hurled the iron plate against the bars of the gate. It clattered loudly in the darkness and the only reward for his hatred was a chuckle from his guard.

“That’s good, wolf boy. It’s good that you’re afraid.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong!” Gar’rth shouted back.

Simon only laughed again.

“You were born wrong, boy,” he replied. “It’s that simple.”

Gar’rth felt tears on his face, a rage against the injustice of his situation. Where was Kara? Where were Theodore and Castimir? Why weren’t they here for him?

Have they really done it? Have they abandoned me, finally?

He felt the urge to change, to become a wolf and revenge himself upon all humankind. But the urge ended with a convulsion in his throat. He staggered and fell and rolled upon the ground, upsetting the jug of water as his mouth foamed.

“I’ve seen it before,” his tormentor said. “You want to change, but you can’t. That’s one of the talents of these little daggers. They stop you from doing so.”

Finally Gar’rth gave a roar that only sounded feeble, before lapsing into a violent fit of coughing. His vision blurred as Simon laughed again, and Gar’rth tried to stand, but was too weak to do so.

He wept.

He had tried so hard to prove to his friends that he was different from the others of his race, and now he was condemned by prejudice alone.

Where are they-where are my friends?

Suddenly the door to the dungeons swung open as booted feet descended the three short steps. Gar’rth blinked away the moisture from his eyes to see Theodore and Kara in the company of a dozen guards.

Why do they need the guards? Have they come to take me to my death? Then he found his voice.

“Kara, you must help me,” he said. “Please, they mean to hang me…” But before she could reply, Captain Rovin spoke from behind the small group.

“Unchain him,” he ordered. “Have him shackled, just in case. Both his hands and his feet.”

“Kara? Theodore?”

“It is all right Gar’rth,” Kara said, reaching out to him through the bars, her hand on his arm. “No one will harm you. I have the word of the King himself. He wishes to talk to you-that is all. We will be with you all the time.”

“It’s true,” Theodore said. The knight looked at the conditions of the cell, his eyes taking in the upturned water jug and the remnants of Gar’rth’s meal which lay upon the ground. “Captain Rovin, I demand an explanation. My friend has been mistreated since I left here.”

Rovin gave a shrug.

“There are no friends of yours being held here, Sir Theodore. Only enemies of the realm.”

“You know what I mean, Captain,” Theodore said icily as the gate was opened and Gar’rth’s wrists were shackled together, followed by his legs. “Simon has abused my friend.”

“I’m sorry, Sir Theodore. Since last night I don’t hear so well. Did you say Simon?” Rovin gave an uncharacteristic and very false smile. “There is no Simon I know of, Sir Theodore.” Over their heads, Gar’rth could see that his tormentor had gone.

“Never mind that, Theodore,” Kara said. “Let’s just get Gar’rth out of here.”

Gar’rth staggered forward, his legs chained together at his ankles. Kara and Theodore stood either side of him, their arms around him, supporting him.

“We must hurry,” Rovin commanded. “We can’t keep the King waiting.”

Thank you my friends. Thank you.

As Gar’rth ascended the steps and saw daylight for the first time since his imprisonment, his strength returned. He followed Rovin through the palace, and noted how guards stood in front of doors and along corridors, barring any servant or courtier from seeing his shackles.

“The King wants your advice,” Kara told him as they went. “He wants to know about the blood marks that foreign emissaries have used to enter Morytania unharmed.” As they approached a doorway guarded by two men with familiar faces-men who had been present when the Wyrd had wounded him and who knew his heritage-Kara leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“Please, Gar’rth,” she said, her voice urgent. “You must prove your worth to King Roald, otherwise he will not have a reason to keep you alive.”

He gave a nod as they entered the long throne room with its white walls and yellow banners. At the southern end, below the stained-glass window, the King sat on his yellow-cushioned throne, the morning light shining behind him. Gar’rth saw Castimir and Doric standing to his right, while facing them across the aisle were Despaard and Ruthven, with the old man Papelford before them. The librarian’s hard eyes followed Gar’rth as he approached, studying him intently.

Perhaps he’s only ever read of werewolves in books.

Gar’rth turned his head as he approached the throne and he noticed a small door he had not seen before, discreetly set in the stonework. At its side, leaning against a pillar, stood his black-clad tormentor from the dungeon, one hand resting on his scabbard. Simon never took his eyes off Gar’rth.

The small door opened and Aubury the wizard entered, followed by Arisha. The mage stood at the front of the King’s dais, his hands clenched around his runes, as if ready to cast a spell.

Do they really fear me so much? he wondered. Even shackled, am I still so dangerous?

He turned his head to look behind and noted the familiar guards who had been present the night before. Everyone in the room knew his secret.

“How is Ebenezer?” Doric said to Arisha as the priestess joined his friends at the King’s side. Arisha nodded.

“He is recovering,” she said, and the words caused a wave of relief to sweep over Gar’rth. “But slowly. Until he wakes I cannot be sure. Guthix still refuses to aid him.”

King Roald also heard, and he turned his attention to the prisoner, leaning forward on the throne.

“Just as he will refuse to aid you, Gar’rth, should you lie to me here, today,” he said. “The wizard Aubury will tell me if you offer a falsehood. His magic is powerful.”

Gar’rth saw Castimir frown.

Could he really do that? Castimir has never said anything of such magic.

He bowed his head to the throne before he spoke.

“I will not lie, Sire,” he promised.

“Good,” King Roald said, sitting back. “Soon we will be joined by others who do not know your true nature- some of the leading members of my parliament. We here all know of your curse, so I would take this opportunity to ask you if you know about the blood mark that some say allow men to pass unharmed through Morytania. Help us, and it will help you in your cause.

“Does such a thing exist?”

“The blood mark is true, my King,” Gar’rth replied, “But I have never seen one. There are other ways though. A respected member from Canifis, an elder perhaps, can give his protection to outsiders. This is done for gypsies