Return to Canifis

lives? Money? Food? Perhaps regular trade with Misthalin to improve your peoples’ lives?”

“Malak has decreed it,” he replied flatly. “No words you know can change his mind.”

He walked quickly then. They followed him as he went south and then east down narrow dirty streets. After a few minutes’ travel they arrived at a squat building, the door locked securely.

“We do not value gold or jewels as do you humans, and any we find on our travels are kept here for our trade with various individuals. The prisoners’ possessions were put here, as well.”

“The House of Artefacts,” Gar’rth whispered at her side. “I have never seen inside.”

Roavar produced a key and inserted it in the lock. The mechanism gave a loud click, and the door swung open to reveal a cavernous dark interior.

“Come inside, but wait near the door while I find the lantern.”

He went inside and was momentarily lost to the darkness. Kara took several steps into the gloom, the rest behind her. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could just make out odd piles of vague shapes, and shelves stacked with books and other less recognisable objects.

The elder gave a cry as a dull light illuminated the room.

By the gods!

Castimir gasped, or it might have been Theodore or Doric or even Despaard-she could not tell, but it was a suitable expression for the sight that greeted them. The room was huge, stretching far beyond the weak light cast by the lantern. Piles of gold coins the height of a man were scattered unevenly about, as if they had been placed there as an afterthought. There were rubies, too, along with sapphires and diamonds and a hundred other glittering stones that Kara had no name for.

Swords ranging from the most ornate to the most simple iron blades lay propped carelessly against the nearest wall. Close by were bows and arrows, crossbow stocks, maces, axes and weapons made entirely of bone. Stacked on several rows of shelves were bound books, their parchment bleached with age.

“This is incredible,” Castimir whispered in awe.

“I doubt even King Roald can match such wealth,” Despaard uttered.

“How have you come by all this?” Doric asked, his eyes rolling in their sockets as he examined one gem after another.

Roavar grunted.

“We have little use for such things, and Morytania is an ancient realm and a vast one. Its reputation has kept human treasure seekers from plundering our lands, and over many centuries our people have found and gathered such trinkets.”

Castimir gasped again, pointing to an open chest at the foot of the bookshelves.

“You have runes. You have thousands and thousands of runes.” The chest was full, and the small objects were spilling over the edge and onto the floor. Then he realised that there was more than one.

The werewolf nodded as he knelt in a shadowed corner to retrieve an unseen object.

“I could spend the rest of my life here, cataloguing this property,” the wizard said. He ran forward, peering into the chests at the runes and then at the bookshelf nearest him. “This is amazing, truly so. If I could take these runes back to the Tower we would be a great order ag-”

Castimir froze, his mouth open in shock.

“What is it?” Kara called, reaching for Kingsguard and coming to join him.

“This book. What is this book?” He pointed to a particular tome among many on the bookshelf, level with his eyes. On its spine Kara could make out a curious symbol that possessed no meaning for her. Castimir reached and withdrew it amid a cloud of dust.

“They are ancient volumes written in a forgotten language,” Roavar said with a shrug, standing. Castimir lifted the cover and read for a single moment, his face draining of colour.

“Well?” Arisha asked him impatiently.

“It’s one of them,” Castimir whispered excitedly. “It has the same symbols used in Master Segainus’s works. I must have it. I must!”

Roavar turned suddenly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the wizard. Kara saw for the first time the items he had retrieved from their hiding place, beyond her sight.

Is that it? Is that really it?

It was her adamant sword, along with her travelling satchel that Pia had taken from her room in the palace. Quickly, she advanced and took them from the werewolf.

Meanwhile, Roavar growled at Castimir. The wizard closed the book quickly, but kept hold of it.

“How much for this book, written in a forgotten language?” he asked.

“This isn’t a marketplace, fool,” the werewolf snapped. “Put that back-”

A woman’s scream froze Kara to the spot. Seconds later more screams followed, voices full of fear and anguish. Without hesitation Roavar bounded past to the door, looking left and right, to find the source of the commotion. Swiftly the group followed him outside.

“Is it Pia?” Kara asked.

“No,” Gar’rth said. “No, it is too early for her. This is something else.”

Flames sprang up to the north. To the west, behind the inn, a second orange glow could be seen.

“Fire!” Theodore shouted. “Canifis is burning.”

“Is this your doing?” Roavar roared into the knight’s face. “Do you realise what will happen to you if you break the conditions of your embassy? Do you?”

“It is not us,” Despaard replied. “I swear it.”

“Then go back to the inn, and remain there,” Roavar barked as he shut and locked the door behind them. Kara held her sword in her hand, the sword that Master Phyllis had made for her.

Our fortune has shifted at last. There is an opportunity now.

And as they headed west, toward the inn, Kara saw in the dim light Castimir’s triumphant grin, and the book he held against his chest as he ran.

28

Gar’rth could hear the angry roars of his people building to a fearful climax as more fires were lit.

“What’s going on Gar’rth?” Theodore asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied. They reached the corner of the last building before the inn, and he raised his hand for them to stop. Tentatively he looked out.

Fires were burning on all sides of the village now. To the north he could see a yellow glow above the buildings, to the south- nearer-he could hear the crackling of flames as they consumed wood. To the east, the roof of the House of Artefacts itself had been set ablaze. From all directions came the smell of smoke, the sound of wails. In the glow of the flames he could see his kin doing their best to fight the growing inferno, using buckets of water in a battle they were obviously losing.

“It must be an attack of some sort,” he said finally. “There is no other explanation.”

But who would attack Canifis like this? he wondered. The vampires would use more subtle and horrific ways.

He gave the signal with his hand and ran across the small stretch of open ground to the inn. As they neared, Doric swore in his own language.

For the door had been smashed open. Albertus Black and Gideon Gleeman were nowhere to be seen.

Kara charged up the stairs to the first floor. Castimir looked for any disturbance to the saddlebags. Despaard searched the kitchen and the rest of the ground floor, while Arisha kept watch near the door.

“They are not upstairs,” Kara announced from the stairway.

“Can you track them, Gar’rth?” Theodore asked after a quick survey of the inn. The knight had buckled his sword belt about his waist, and Gar’rth noted the wolfbane dagger at his hip.

“Two of Albertus’s explosives are missing,” Castimir reported.

Gar’rth crouched closer to the ground near the door and examined the scents.

They both left this way. Instantly he was outside, edging forward, testing the