“Then I will cross the river first to see if it works,” Gar’rth said.
“No, Gar’rth,” Albertus stated as he was helped from his steed by the monks. “It must be a valid test. The recipient must be… human.” The werewolf peered at him for a moment, then nodded.
The remaining escort took care of the animals as the embassy advanced slowly and with aching legs up the steep flight of black stone steps, then through the enormous doors. Across the cavernous interior stood an altar to Saradomin, larger than any Kara had ever seen. Even Theodore seemed impressed.
To one side, under the great stone arches that bordered the nave, a long table with a white cloth had been set up, illuminated with silver candles and laden with the food Martin had promised.
“Many of our order are in Varrock,” Drezel told them as the group was invited to sit and eat. “They will arrive in a day or two with enough supplies to see us through the winter. When the snows come, Silvarea is impassable.”
“This must be a lonely vigil,” Doric muttered as he took his first drink from his goblet of wine.
“It has been known to drive men mad,” Drezel noted with a sigh. “There was a time, according to our records, when serving at Paterdomus was regarded as an honour among the youth of Misthalin. Boys would come here, too young to shave, and they would leave as men, having learned to face their fears and to serve their god with honour.”
Lord William raised a critical eyebrow before hiding his expression behind his wine goblet. Drezel shook his head sorrowfully.
“I fear Paterdomus has been long neglected by rulers and the people alike. For many, the danger from The Wilderness has surpassed the threat from Morytania. Yet that is a serious lapse of judgement. Few are we who guard the east now.”
Kara finished her first goblet of wine in silence, she was too tired to talk now. As she buttered her bread, she watched Reldo finish wolfing down his food, then stand and step to the altar. The young man read to himself from a leather-bound book, and then examined a silver knife intently, before turning his attention to a silver chalice the monks had provided that stood upon the altar.
She had only taken her first spoonful of soup when Reldo looked up excitedly.
“I think I’m ready,” he announced. “Who wishes to test it?”
“So quickly?” Ruthven asked sceptically. “You must be certain it is correct.”
“It is a simple enough ward, in truth,” Reldo explained. “A slight cut on your palm to draw blood, which is then washed in Salve water and blessed by a monk of Saradomin. It serves to demonstrate that the bearer is human, an outsider and that they are to be protected by Saradomin’s blessing.” He handed Drezel a piece of parchment.
“Are you certain it will work, Reldo?” Kara asked. “At the Parliament you had your doubts.”
Reldo smiled sheepishly.
“Usually it is the other way around Kara-Meir. I am often the one who is accused of believing in legends rather than fact, but Papelford gave me this book before we left Varrock. He keeps his own library, you see, one that I am not yet allowed to view.” The archivist shook his head irritably. “It is what he regards as my apprenticeship. I am only permitted to catalogue the works in the palace library, help ascertain their true origin, and build an index of subjects for quicker reference. It is tiresome work.”
“Which books does he keep in his own library?” Castimir asked with interest.
“Proper books,” Reldo replied. “Books that are known to be valuable in the war against Morytania. Not the waffle I am forced to wade through-”
“Enough!” Despaard commanded from the head of the table. “Papelford has toiled for more years than you have drawn breath Reldo. He can be abrasive at times, and highly defensive of his library, but you know how old he is. I doubt he will be with us for too much longer, and then a new archivist will be needed.” He fixed the young man with his dour stare. “Someone who understands the basics, Reldo, someone who knows the books and remembers what he reads.
“You would do well to prove yourself.”
Reldo turned away, embarrassed.
“So who will test the blood mark?” Ruthven asked.
There was a brief pause.
“I would not object,” Albertus said. “I am old, yet I am human. If it goes awry, then I have the least to lose.”
“That is noble indeed,” Ruthven said. “But I would rather send someone who has a decent chance of escape, someone younger. What I propose is this-”
“Just outside the temple there is a bridge to the other side of the river. The bridge is hallowed ground. Once upon it, the tester will be safe. Whoever chooses to test it will step onto the opposite bank… and wait.
“Then we shall see how Morytania responds. The bridge will only be a few steps away.”
“Wait for Morytania to respond? What if no one answers? You could be doing the same thing every night for months,” William observed.
“There is a gong upon the eastern terrace that overlooks the bridge from above,” Drezel replied. “We can sound that to draw their attention.” The monk shook his head. “I have to say that no one has sounded that gong for many a year. Here, we like the silence, for it cannot be wise to draw the attention of the dead to the living. Nonetheless, who will go to test the blood mark?”
An awkward silence fell as the party thought on Drezel’s words. Kara saw Theodore look to her briefly, his eyes calm, as if he was reaching the conclusion of a long thought. She saw him turn to Despaard, drain his goblet, and prepare to speak.
“I will go,” Kara announced, pre-empting Theodore’s words. “I am fast enough-probably more so than anyone else here.”
“And I shall be behind you, Kara,” Drezel said. “I have crossed before and know what to expect, and I am a fast runner, as well. But we must be cautious, for if the ravenous appear, then I doubt the blood mark will offer any protection.”
“The ravenous?” Arisha asked.
“They are vampires who have been driven mad by their hunger,” Drezel explained. “Often they are so old they have forgotten all language and identity, and have been abandoned by their masters to starve in the swamps. They are rarely seen this far north, yet we should still be cautious.”
“Then the rest of us will watch from the terrace above the bridge,” Despaard said. “The escort has bows and arrows and will cover you as best they can. You just be ready to run, Kara, not to fight. Remember that, no matter what you feel out there.”
Quickly, ignoring the desperate looks of Theodore and Gar’rth, she stepped to the altar and held her right hand out to Reldo. The archivist held it in his clammy grip, the silver knife hovering above her palm.
“This might hurt a little…” he said as he made a small cut. Kara watched unmoved as a tiny red line grew in strength. Reldo then washed her hand in water poured from the silver chalice.
“Now, Drezel, you must bless the mark. Call upon Saradomin to guard her.”
The monk took her hand and did as Reldo said. He spoke in a language unknown to Kara, and as she turned to her friends she saw that Theodore was speaking in a similar tongue, his eyes closed in concentration.
“It is the language of the priests of Entrana, Kara-Meir,” Reldo whispered. “Some believe it was the language that Saradomin himself spoke when he lived among us, and that he prefers to hear prayers made in his tongue. I know a little of it myself, as does Sir Theodore, as you would expect of a knight of Falador.”
After a bare minute, Drezel finished.
“Let us hope Saradomin heard my prayer,” he said as he led Kara eastward to where a double door was revealed, hidden behind a heavy tapestry.
She could tell by the dust kicked up from the tapestry that the doors had not been opened for a long time. When they were opened inward, a cold blast of air raced through from the outside. Kara shivered as Drezel led her out onto a narrow bridge-so narrow that two people would struggle to pass each other. At waist height an iron railing ran along the bridge’s edge. The land beyond was hidden in gloom, even to her eyes, yet it was no more than twenty yards away. Below, in a deep ravine, the sound of rushing water could be heard.
“It’s a long drop,” Kara observed.
