“That would suffice for now,” Sulla agreed. “Something with sharp edges, so I can indulge my interest in pain.” He grinned, and noticed how the man squirmed uncomfortably. “I have a lot of pain to give. Six months worth of agony.
“But I don’t need you to arrange any of those things,” he continued. “And I wouldn’t want you to know where I plan to make my lair. The lure of Kinshra gold-or your duty as a citizen to your monarch-might outweigh your word to me. I want something else. I want asylum.”
Straven’s eyes went wide.
“What?” he said loudly. He glanced around, then leaned in and continued in a low voice. “You? The King would never grant it! You’ve too many orphans to your name-”
“Such as Kara-Meir?” Sulla countered. “I orphaned her, you know.” He waved his stumped wrists in the air. “She and her fellow victims have had their revenge on me, haven’t they?”
But Straven remained unmoved.
“No, Sulla. I have no way of contacting the King or his advisors, and you have nothing to offer them, even if I could.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Straven. Perhaps I have little to offer, but what of my companion? The one who evades your footpads with such ease?”
“Go on.”
“Jerrod is his name. Few know anything about him, though that may already have changed, thanks to Kara- Meir’s intervention in the barn. Regardless, he is a… man of unique value.”
Sulla leaned over to whisper.
“Jerrod is from Morytania. He is a werewolf.”
Straven gasped and pulled back.
“You keep ill company, Sulla,” he hissed.
“I am glad you realise that. Believe me when I tell you that he could find you wherever you hide in this city. Even if you were guarded by your best men, he would find you and eat your organs as you watched. I’ve seen him do it.
“But he knows things, too,” Sulla continued. “He knows about the Wyrd, Straven. His master can contact him from beyond the River Salve. It happened only last night, as we spent the night in an alleyway among the dregs, when Jerrod was asked to apprehend her.”
Straven’s face broke into confusion.
“Apprehend her? I don’t understand,” he said. “Why would
Sulla smiled again.
“My question exactly. Interesting isn’t it? Something is afoot in Morytania, something that the King would give half his treasury to understand.” He paused for effect. “So here is what I want you to do. Find me fighters, Straven. I want you to recruit the most capable mercenaries Varrock has to offer. Men who are unafraid of The Wilderness and who will work under my command. Only a handful, but promise them they will be rewarded, for I intend to catch the Wyrd and give her to the King.”
“I know of four individuals, perhaps more, who will suit your needs, Sulla. Will that suffice? I think I can have them ready in three nights’ time.” Straven spoke carefully, eager to please, and Sulla knew he had the man in his grip. “Where shall we meet you?”
“Outside the city, to the east under the gallows tree. In three nights, just two hours before dark. Tell them to be ready for a ride. And I will need a horse for myself.”
Straven nodded and made ready to stand, but Sulla stopped him.
“Two more things before you leave, Straven. First, I have something for you. It’s the object on the bench next to me. Take it.”
Straven looked doubtful. He reached down, and grimaced as his fingers felt the damp cloth. He looked at Sulla warily, but the man with the ruined face only smiled a horrible smile.
“Perhaps you had best finish the game first,” he said. “Will it be chaos and victory-or death?”
The gang-master shot him a puzzled look as he reached into the bag and pulled out the first pebble his fingers touched. He held it up.
“So it’s death, Straven,” Sulla said mirthlessly, looking at the white skull painted on the stone. “You have lost. Now take my gift.”
Straven looked hard at the damp cloth again.
“Don’t worry, you keep it, Sulla,” he said stiffly.
“Take it, Straven. I brought it for you.” His eye hardened and he stared grimly at the gang-master. “Consider it a warning.”
Straven took it up in his right hand. He pulled the cloth aside, and instantly turned away.
“Gods!” he said, and he gagged. “What is it?”
Sulla smiled.
“Don’t you recognise young Catspurse when you see her, Straven? It’s all that remains of the young footpad who trailed us. It’s her heart. Jerrod ate her other organs as she died, and she did so horribly. He especially relishes the liver for some reason. Didn’t I say I had watched him do it? Perhaps you thought I was being theatrical, but now you know better.”
“She was only twelve!”
“Oh, don’t pretend that you care, Straven. You
“They know the risks… but this is…” Straven shook his head.
“Quite so. It’s monstrous. Like Jerrod. Like me.” Sulla stood. “Three nights’ time then, under the gallows tree. We will be watching for any deceit on your part. And just remember, you have a heart, too. And a liver. It is Jerrod’s favourite.”
17
For a long time, the land through which they passed was densely overgrown, branches and vines clawed at them constantly, and their progress was slow.
Finally they entered a lush wildflower meadow with a treeline on the other side. Pia, dishevelled by hours of travelling, sighed deeply. It had been a hard journey for all of them. The horse staggered beneath her, equally exhausted.
“Can’t we rest now, Pia?” Jack asked from his perch in front of her. He peered up at the sun, which lay directly overhead “We have travelled all night and morning. Please Pia, let us stop for a moment.”
Pia craned her head back over her left shoulder, to the west. She listened intently.
Nothing.
Nothing save the breeze among the trees.
Yet she felt unsure.
Her ignorance made her angry. She had grown up in a city, in a place of crowds and shadows where it was easy to hide. Out here, in the country, she felt exposed and afraid.
“Very well, Jack,” she said. “I think we can take the time-”
A horn blew from the west.
Jack gasped, and glanced around frantically. He turned to her.
“Pia?”
She tightened her grip on the horse’s reins. The horse was fast when it needed to be-it had proved that when
