Return to Canifis

I will protect her, even if I have to make the same sacrifice Thomas made for Despaard.

The horses neighed in terror and strained at their tethers. Horrified, Castimir watched as the sapling was uprooted and the horses bolted past him. Behind him he heard Albertus scream, and Gar’rth shouted a warning. He turned to see the nearest werewolf, only a single stride away.

No time! The horses distracted me!

Gods just make it quick for her.

But the werewolf leapt past him, ignoring him entirely as it pursued the fleeing animals.

Castimir turned back to where they had sat just a moment ago. Gar’rth restrained Albertus’s horse as it fought desperately to be free of him. A short distance away, Albertus Black himself lay unmoving. Arisha and Kara were crouched above him and his head rested in Gideon Gleeman’s lap.

The werewolves were chasing after their steeds, yet already the animals were through the perimeter, his yak and Albertus’s mule among them.

My books! he thought frantically. The knowledge of Master Segainus is in those saddle packs.

“Help me!” Gar’rth roared. “We are under attack.”

Castimir looked at the horse that fought to free itself from Gar’rth. Above it the very air seemed to shimmer, as if a wave of heat rose from the ground.

But there is something there. Something moving with a purpose.

The air condensed as a vague figure grabbed at their packs. Theodore ran toward it with a shout. He struck out and his sword seemed to pierce the form. The blade slowed slightly, as if it had penetrated something, but a second later it was repelled.

“Castimir, your magic!” Gar’rth yelled.

The runes were already in his hand. He saw Despaard seize Theodore and drag his friend aside as the pebbles melted into the familiar viscous fluid before their inevitable evaporation. His hand burst into flame as he directed the fire to strike their attacker.

The ball of fire burst above the horse as something shrieked horribly. The air shimmered and the man-like image floated away, to the north, following the stream.

For a moment, the horse fought on, but Gar’rth was resolute.

At least we still have one steed.

A glance at Albertus and he knew they would need it. He lay still, Arisha praying at his side, Gideon shaking his head grimly.

“A horse ran him down,” Kara explained as Castimir approached. “That is what the werewolves were doing. They were trying to stop the horses from escaping.” She looked down the road to the west. Only two of the animals had been caught. Imre, standing nearby, turned toward them.

“My yak is gone then,” Castimir said. “Blasted, thrice-cursed animal!” he snapped. “And with it my fire staff and my books.” His heart beat furiously in his chest. His stomach felt tight and icy cold.

“I’m sorry, lad,” Doric growled from his side. “But you still have your runes?”

“I… Yes, I have them on me. But the books! If the yak doesn’t come back, they will be lost.”

“It won’t come back,” Imre said flatly. “If you are lucky the animals might make it back to Paterdomus.”

Castimir noticed then that Doric had mud all over his front.

“What happened to you?”

“I only just got out of the way of the horses,” he explained. “Tried to get to Albertus…”

“How is he?” Theodore asked as he came up with Gar’rth, the horse led by the werewolf’s strong arm.

Arisha shook her head as she opened her eyes.

“I doubt your prayers will work here, priestess,” Imre snarled. “This is Morytania, where Saradomin will find it hard to hear your plea.”

“You are wrong, Imre,” she replied. “I serve a power greater than Saradomin and greater, too, than Zamorak, for I follow Guthix.”

Imre sneered but held his tongue, and Castimir noticed how Theodore also remained silent.

You have learned diplomacy indeed, friend knight. A year ago you would have argued.

“He has more faith than Ebenezer,” Arisha told Theodore. “But not a great deal more. Still, Guthix has granted him some small succour. Be careful Gideon, make sure you don’t move his neck.”

The jester nodded and remained still. Albertus gave a slight groan and opened his eyes.

“Gleeman?” he rasped. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping your head still while Arisha works out how badly injured you are,” the jester replied.

“You were run down by a horse,” Arisha said. “Now, can you move?”

The old man gave a nod and raised his arm. Slowly, stiffly, he sat up.

Thank the gods. He seems to be in one piece at least.

“I can stand, I think,” Albertus said, and Gideon gently helped him to his feet.

“Then you will ride on one of the remaining horses,” Theodore told him. “Come, we should get him ready.”

“Where is my mule? It carried most of my equipment.”

“It has bolted with the others,” Theodore explained.

“Oh. Oh, that is a shame. Still, I have one or two surprises in my horse’s packs.”

Despaard helped the knight as they led the old man to his beast, the horse that Gar’rth still held. Two others had been recovered by the werewolves-the ones that had been ridden by Gar’rth and Kara.

Castimir watched their efforts with a growing sense of worry.

Three horses left. Not much in the way of rations or weapons on them. Most of our packs are gone, and I am left with just my runes, and of course my new wand. How Morytania will quiver against that!

He sighed bitterly and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he saw Arisha beside him. She put her hand on his shoulder, and for an instant he wanted to shrug it off, to tell her that his loss could not so easily be lifted.

But it was only for an instant.

“What are you thinking Castimir?” she asked.

“I was just wondering about my yak,” he said grimly. “And whether it would be tasty. One day I hope to find out.” He smiled manically. “One day very soon.”

Arisha squeezed his shoulder and smiled, and suddenly everything did seem slightly better.

“You shouldn’t joke about food,” Gar’rth warned. “Our rations are near gone now.” The werewolf wrinkled his nose in disgust as he turned back to the horse’s flank. Doric, standing in front of him, looked up in sudden alarm.

“What’s that smell?” Gar’rth asked, looking at the dwarf with suspicion.

“It’s not me!” the mud-caked Doric fumed.

But it was among them now. Strong, pungent, rotting. Castimir swallowed and stepped back in disgust.

“It’s coming from the saddlebags,” Gar’rth said. He lifted the flap and at once the smell strengthened. Gar’rth turned away as Doric drew out a wrapped parcel which contained their rations. The wrapping was withered and black with mould, as if it were weeks old. As Doric tore it open to examine the contents, a cry of disgust went up from his friends.

Imre laughed.

“That is what the ghast wanted,” he said. “They are the spirits of those who have starved to death in the swamps. They rot whatever food they find. You are fortunate that not all your rations have gone to waste. I sensed it before it appeared, as did your beasts, no doubt. That is what made them run.”

“Throw it away!” Kara shouted, retching from the smell. “Or give it to Castimir to burn.”

Doric ran a short distance from the road and hurled it into the stream.

“We don’t have much food left,” Theodore said after a quick examination.

“And now you have lost your horses we cannot afford the time to rest!” Imre snarled. “Our arrival in Canifis