Return to Canifis

will be later than expected, and Malak does not like to be kept waiting. We must go on.”

“How far?” Doric asked.

“Several hours now, on foot,” Imre replied. “So we had best make haste.”

“Then we will ride in shifts on the remaining horses,” Despaard said. “Kara and Arisha first. We will swap after two hours.”

I’m already aching and tired from the journey so far. And now we must walk. What an ignominious entry to Canifis for our proud embassy.

Looking down, Castimir placed his right foot in front of his left, and then his left foot in front of his right. It was, he knew, a sight he would become used to.

23

“Blast the horses, blast the ravenous, and blast but my legs hurt,” Doric grumbled.

It’s strange, Gar’rth thought. He takes a hard blow to the head without complaint, but force him to walk and he ends up in a foul mood.

The werewolf looked at his companions. They had been walking for eight hours since the ghast had attacked, and all of them were tired. Castimir’s face was red with effort, his robes drenched in sweat. Theodore, wearing his armour, was worse off still. Yet the knight refused to abandon it, as Imre had suggested. He gazed out at the world through glazed eyes, his breath a continuous pant.

Lord Despaard and Gideon Gleeman kept the pace without a grumble, and Kara and Arisha still looked fresh.

They are used to it. In The Wilderness such walking was a regular occurrence.

The worst by far was Albertus. He seemed to have deteriorated since Arisha’s prayer, and was always on the verge of unconsciousness. Several times he tottered in his saddle, threatening to fall, so Theodore walked alongside his horse, ready to steady him.

It was a mistake bringing him. He won’t be leaving Morytania.

Gar’rth’s gloomy thoughts were interrupted by a cry from Imre. To the east, a plume of smoke rose into the green-tinted sky, the smell of fire growing as they neared. It was the first sign they were nearing Canifis.

It looks and smells exactly as it did when I left it. Unchanged, the way the vampires keep their realm.

“Are those cooking fires?” Castimir asked.

Imre shook his head.

“We rarely cook any food. Sometimes we may heat a soup or a drink, but meat is our staple diet.”

“What meat is it?” Arisha asked hesitantly. “What animals live here?”

“Our meat comes from Meiyerditch. It is one of the ways the vampires control Canifis. Often we add to our rations by our own hunts.” Imre pulled aside his cowl to reveal his human face, his needle-like teeth glinting in the gloom of Morytania’s evening.

Gar’rth felt his nervousness grow as they crossed a small footbridge that spanned a green mire. Imre’s escort surrounded him, like bodyguards.

Will I have need of them? Did my old friends pay for my flight? Did the brothers Fyodor and Dmitri suffer for it?

He shook his head. They hadn’t been his friends-not in any real capacity. Not like Kara and Theodore and Castimir.

Still, if anything happened to them, then I am to blame.

Lanterns supported on poles thrust into the marshy ground illuminated the wooden town in an eerie light. Many of the buildings were erected on stilts, suggesting the settlement suffered from regular flooding, and unnaturally large green mushrooms grew by the side of many buildings. As the embassy entered Canifis, Imre directed them to the town’s centre, where a field of trampled yellow grass acted as the central meeting point for the inhabitants.

“Why would you live here?” Gideon Gleeman murmured.

“It is as safe a place as you will find in Morytania, from our point of view,” Imre replied angrily. “There are only two entrances, for Canifis is an island in the swamp. One way is the road on which we came, and there is another road to the northeast, that leads farther into Morytania.”

There are other ways, Imre. Jerrod taught me those secret paths on our hunts.

Still, Gar’rth stayed silent, unsure of whether Imre-as one of Canifis’s hunters-knew of places in the mire where a crossing could be made.

“Why do you need lanterns?” Doric asked curiously. “Werewolves can see perfectly well in the dark.”

“We spend most of our time in our human form,” Imre answered. “It is more practical, for it allows us to master our passions, which would otherwise make civilized society impossible. In such form we cannot see as well in the dark. Likewise, the children of my kin have abilities no different from a normal human child, so the lamps are mostly for their benefit.”

You are not telling them everything, Imre. There are things we fear in Morytania, the darkness not least.

Gar’rth lowered his voice and told them what Imre hadn’t.

“The most powerful vampires can manipulate the darkness itself. The lamps are present to keep the shadows at bay, for fear that the rulers of Morytania might decide to amuse themselves at our expense. It has been done before.”

Imre only snarled in response.

As they approached, a crowd gathered in the town centre.

They are still as I remember. Ragged and hungry, a people enslaved. If only King Roald could see them like this. Then he might actually pity us.

The onlookers peered at the embassy with hatred. Some advanced toward Gar’rth, their intention violent, only to be sent fearfully away by Imre’s words.

“They are under Master Malak’s protection,” he warned. But for one woman that was not enough.

“You,” she cried, pointing directly at Gar’rth. “Traitor! Your cowardice cost me my sons, Dmitri and Fyodor. They had been your friends. Malak took them, both of my boys! He took them because of you.”

I didn’t know! That was not my wish!

She made to run at Gar’rth, her human face changing in a single second into that of a wolf, her eyes blood- red and vengeance-filled.

“Back!” Imre yelled, and his guards restrained her. “It will mean your death if you continue. Or worse. At least your sons died quickly, and now find rest in the Great Forest.” He fixed his eyes on Gar’rth. “The inn is near. Roavar has orders to feed and keep you. Go now. Lead your friends. I will follow shortly.”

Gar’rth nodded, unable to take his eyes from the wailing woman who had sunk to her knees, still in wolfish form. He remembered her sons-two strong youths who had been his friends, until their blooding had forced them into Zamorak’s arms.

Silently, and suddenly remorseful, he led his companions to the inn, the crowd following at a distance. As he went, he heard the coil of a thick leather strap, followed by Imre’s words.

“You have insulted the embassy of Misthalin.” The woman begged, her pleas an agony to Gar’rth. “Silence!” Imre shouted. “You know it is better this way, that we punish you. If Malak wished to do so…”

“We would all suffer for it,” one of his guards finished.

Imre’s words provoked a fresh weeping, and as the embassy hastened on, none of them looking back, they heard the leather strap smack across the woman’s flesh. Gar’rth shuddered, and he saw at once that he wasn’t alone.