“This bridge is strengthened by more than stone, Kara-Meir. This is the narrowest stretch of the river. Have faith.”
With a deep breath, Kara stepped onto the bridge. Overhead the rattle of a bolt being drawn back told her that her friends watched from above.
“Don’t go far beyond the bridge, Kara,” Doric called down.
“I shall sound the gong five times, Kara,” Martin called.
The eerie sound seemed slow to Kara’s ears, as if the air through which it travelled tried desperately to hush it.
“Come Kara. Let us go,” Drezel said behind her.
She was halfway across when the darkness of the opposite bank began to clear. The shadows were unnaturally deep, as if there was something there, rather than the simple interruption of light. At the bridge’s end lay a small clearing from which extended a narrow road running eastward. Beyond that, the land was covered in dense foliage which hid the road as it rounded a bend to the north.
Then there was only silence, for the pounding of her heart made her deaf to any other sound. There was no rushing of water from below, no encouragement from behind her. There was nothing.
Kara took a breath and waited for a moment more to allow her eyes to adjust. Finally, she took the last step that carried her onto the bank, into Morytania.
The air was different. It tasted stale to Kara, and reminded her of mouldy bread. She felt as though she was a different country, as if she had travelled very far very quickly, for it was cold here, whereas it had been summer in Misthalin.
“Speak, Kara. Declare you intention,” Drezel called from behind her. She knew he was barely an arm’s length away, on the bridge, yet the sound seemed to come from a great distance.
“My name is Kara-Meir.” She tried to shout but her voice was faint. She took a deep breath and started again.
“I am Kara-Meir. I am here at the behest of King Roald the Third of Misthalin. I wear the blood mark, which the inhabitants of your realm have in times past honoured. My companions and I seek an audience with Lord Drakan.”
The trees nearby swayed in response, but there was nothing more.
For a long moment Kara waited.
“Is that it then?” she asked. “Are we to be ignored?”
Still, only the trees swayed.
“Very well, then,” she said. “I shall return tomorrow.”
Kara turned her back on Morytania.
She saw Drezel’s face break into fear as something crashed through the foliage behind her, something man- sized and hungry.
Her heart pounded and a cold icicle ran up her spine. Never had she felt such fear. Something whipped overhead, a noise like tearing fabric.
“Run, Kara, run! In the name of Saradomin, run!” Theodore’s voice carried over the river.
She ran, not daring to look back, toward the thin sliver of light that poured out from the open doors.
Whatever it was snarled behind her, and something brushed against the back of her neck, but then her foot landed on hard stone and even as her legs gave way beneath her, she knew she was safe. She clutched at the iron railing as Drezel’s hand grabbed her shoulder.
“You are safe, Kara-Meir,” he breathed. “You are safe. Look now, if you will, at what sought your blood.”
Kara looked back over her shoulder.
Undead eyes stared back from only two yards away, at the bridge’s end. It looked to be a pale-faced man, with shoulder-length hair, great clumps of which were missing. It was clothed only in a ragged knee-length shirt. An arrow pierced its shoulder. It was a shot that would have sent any mortal creature reeling. But its red eyes remained fixed on Kara, as if it had not even noticed the arrow.
“Is that…?”
“It is one of them, the vampires.” Drezel nodded as he helped Kara to her feet. “One of the ravenous. They exist only to drink blood-they have no other purpose. You must beware, for they are faster and stronger than any human. Such creatures will not respect the blood mark.”
“I have never felt such a fear as that,” she confided to Drezel. “Not even when I first saw Sulla. I have fought in battles, I have killed men and have been near death myself. But nothing was as frightening as that.”
“There is nothing like fear of the undead,” Drezel explained. “It is something you never grow used to. But still… I have never seen one so close to the river before. We might very well have to destroy it, or else it will pose a risk to the embassy.”
Drezel guided her back over the bridge toward the doorway. Inside she saw Theodore and Gar’rth waiting, the knight armed with his sword, Gar’rth holding Lowe’s bow notched with an adamant-tipped arrow.
“Was that your shot, Gar’rth?” Kara asked him. But the werewolf shook his head grimly and nodded to Despaard.
“It was mine,” the nobleman said. “I have had long and painful cause to be good with a bow. Even so it was a risky shot, and one I would not care to make again. Besides, with the ravenous, such weapons are next to useless.”
Kara gripped him by the shoulder.
“It probably slowed it down though. Another second and-”
She shook her head, afraid to dwell on what might have been.
“Are you certain we are safe here Drezel?” Theodore asked as the monk closed the doors.
“I am surprised a knight of Saradomin questions his god’s power,” the monk replied. “Yes, we are safe here. The blessing has lasted for more than a millennia. It will not falter now.”
“Are you so sure?” Lord William said. “I
Drezel shook his head. “You are mistaken, my lord. There is no way Saradomin would permit that.”
“I tell you I saw it!” Lord William snapped suddenly. “Maybe Saradomin isn’t as strong as you would like us to believe. Perhaps the prophecy is true, after all.”
“My lord,” Reldo responded immediately. “The prophecy is not true. I am certain it was composed by Papelford’s predecessors a century ago, for it does not appear in any texts save those of Varrock.”
“Never mind about the prophecy,” Despaard said. “Did the blood mark actually work? Can we tell if it did?”
Drezel shook his head.
“We cannot. We shall have to try again tomorrow.”
“Then I suggest we all get some sleep,” the nobleman said. “We have had a very long day, and it looks as if we might have another one tomorrow.”
“Very well,” Drezel agreed. “Rooms have been prepared upstairs. In previous centuries they were intended for the royal family, but none have visited Paterdomus for many years. The last time was when King Roald came as a young man.”
As the embassy and its escort dispersed to follow the monks to the sleeping cells, Lord William took
