Return to Canifis

He drove his heels into the horse’s flanks and they bolted forward.

The giant made no attempt to avoid the charge. The horse struck him with all its speed and weight, smashing the creature aside. Sulla cheered as the rein slipped from his mouth.

Yet still, impossibly, it clawed at the earth, dragging its broken body toward him.

“Persistent to the point of folly,” Sulla snarled, dismounting.

He looked to the building, which was now silent.

Do I dare go back in? Did Jerrod win? Or has the Wyrd made more of these things?

Suddenly the horse at his side staggered. For the first time Sulla saw the claw marks on its chest and shoulders that Behemoth must have made when he had been run down.

He has passed the poison on. Will the horse become like him?

The thought made his mind up for him. He gave a last look at Behemoth, crawling desperately toward him still, and then he turned and approached the building.

A sound came from within. It was the sound of a cleaver severing sinew and bone. It was followed by a grim laugh.

Jerrod.

Sulla entered cautiously, vulnerable in the darkness.

But I saw her scratch Jerrod. What if he’s like Behemoth now, too? There would be no chance to avoid such a creature.

The grim laugh sounded again.

But such creatures don’t laugh. Do they?

He found Jerrod in the darkness. The faintest scattering of afternoon light was just enough for him to see the outline of the werewolf before him. There was no sign of the Wyrd, but he could tell there was no small tangle of limbs upon the floor, too obscure to make out in detail.

Jerrod turned at his approach.

“We did it, Sulla,” he said. “Or I did. And just look at what we’ve done.” Jerrod laughed again.

“What do you mean?”

Jerrod rarely laughs so much. And it is not a sound I like.

“I mean I’ve been played for a fool. From the very start. My master has appeared to me, and I am cursed now. If I ever return to Morytania I will be tortured for years beyond reckoning for interfering with his plans.”

“But you were asked to do this,” Sulla said.

“Yes, but by another,” he growled. “I am sure now of two things, Sulla. The first is that it was not Lord Drakan who sent me, as I mistakenly believed. The second is that there is division in Morytania. Regardless, I can never return to my homeland.” Sulla saw Jerrod move to the side of the building. Suddenly he swung an object in the darkness, and Sulla saw that it was the dwarf’s axe. It smashed its way through two planks and let in a ray of daylight.

“I can never go home now,” Jerrod said again, his red eyes narrowing as he looked behind him. “Look Sulla.”

Sulla followed his gaze and he saw why.

The Wyrd’s severed head stood propped upon a crate, her eyes open but now without their orange flame. Sulla turned to face his one true ally.

“Then let us make a new home for you this side of the river, my friend,” he said. “Thanks to the Wyrd, we will have asylum, and with it wealth and influence. And perhaps-if Kara-Meir should ever return-our revenge.”

The Mad Axe groaned from the shadows. Mergil, too, moved slightly. Sulla looked back to where he had left Turine. She was on her knees, her hand pressed against her head where a clot of blood stained her face. Red blood. She looked at him in a daze.

She is not one of them.

“Let’s get the survivors to the cart and make our return to Varrock,” he said. And then, whispering, he spoke again. “We’ll have to burn Behemoth. He’s still crawling around outside.”

Jerrod nodded and left with the dwarf’s axe, to carry out his dreadful task.

Sulla saw Turine’s eyes follow the werewolf through the building. He sensed the fear in her, and smiled as he saw her discomfort.

“So what do I do with you, Turine?” he said airily. “I could feed you to Jerrod. That way all the glory would be mine.” He smiled. “No, I think not. Not today.”

“You… you won’t kill us?” Turine asked.

So there is still power to my reputation, he observed. But there is a time and a place for mindless violence.

Sulla shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Behemoth was poisoned by the Wyrd. He went mad, but he is our only casualty.” There is no need for her to know the whole truth about the Wyrd’s contagion. It might be very valuable later on, when I am a prisoner of King Roald’s. Anything extra for me to bargain with will be necessary. “We, however, are going to be greeted as heroes in Varrock, where I will present myself to the King. In the days and weeks to come, I will need people who I know can be trusted. I have spared your lives, Turine. You know my reputation. And you know what Jerrod is.

“You know how very, very easily that decision could have been different,” he added. “All I expect is loyalty. If ever I have need of you in the future, I expect my mercy to be repaid. Do I have your word?”

The smell of burning reached him from outside.

“You have it,” she replied, “…Lord Sulla.”

Lord Sulla? How long has it been since anyone called me that name with such respect?

“Good,” he said. “Now get up. I need your help in getting our comrades onto the cart.”

26

The smell of cooking evoked mixed feelings in Kara’s mind. She had finished her first plate of bacon and eggs with toast provided by Roavar, yet now-as the werewolf host prepared food for Theodore and Doric-she shook her head and looked to the window again.

It isn’t right. They are not enemies of mine. And even if they were, would I let their children suffer so?

For through the window, barely visible through the murk upon the glass, Kara could still see the crowd. They had been there when she first came down for breakfast, just as they had been the night before, and possibly all through the night itself.

Women and children only now. No men among them.

The women held their silent children in their arms, naked babies thin and obviously very ill. And yet not one of them said a word.

And that makes it more painful still. I would rather that they howl and charge the door and try to take the food from us rather than stand there in silence and wait.

“I had no idea things were so bad for your people, Gar’rth,” she said as he followed her gaze. “I feel very sorry for them.”

Roavar grunted as he set places for those who hadn’t yet eaten.

“They don’t want your pity, woman,” he said. “They want meat. They want food for their babes who haven’t strength enough to cry. If you really want to help them, then all you have to do is to walk through that door and offer yourself up.”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” Kara said angrily.

Castimir, sitting nearby, screwed his face up as he sipped nettle tea.

“I’m not surprised you ran away, Gar’rth,” he murmured grimly as he lowered his mug. “With tea like this, and such amiable hosts, it’s a wonder this inn isn’t favoured by more travellers.”