Runescape: Return to Canifis Page 11

  “You committed a robbery, Pia, although it seems as if you lost all you gained when Straven caught you.” Pia frowned and Kara saw her look. “Jack told us everything he knew when we found him, bleeding and exhausted on the road. But as for you I have not yet decided what to do. Now, come on.”

  “Wait, Kara. We are alone here, and I trust you, for you had no reason to come to my rescue after I abused your reputation,” she said, and she paused a moment to remember. “Sulla has a plan—it was what Velko is keeping to tell you in exchange for a pardon. He’s extorting money from a noble with documents that only he can understand. He said the noble was the first of many.”

  “So Sulla becomes a common thief,” Kara said scornfully. “He was a warlord when I first encountered him, and since then I have reduced him to scraping a living. When I next meet him, Pia, I will do what I should have done six months ago. I shall make him a corpse.”

  When they emerged into the daylight they found Jack trying on some new boots. Gar’rth had taken them from one of the corpses, the one with the smallest feet, and Jack smiled, despite the fact that even these were plainly too big.

  “I have the names of Velko’s friends, Kara,” Arisha said. “Gar’rth found a scrap of parchment on one of the bodies, and that was enough for me to write them down.”

  “Very good,” Kara said. “Then let us start our walk back to Varrock. We should still be in time to enjoy the Midsummer Festival, and at least now we can present King Roald with the gift of justice.”

  Never a rope!

  The thought echoed through Pia’s mind the nearer they came to Varrock. From the east, the land was pastoral, where dry stone walls divided it into the fiefdoms of influential noblemen.

  “It’s a fertile country,” Arisha mused. “But it is quiet. I know my people of the tribes would find life pleasant here.”

  Velko laughed derisively from the front of their small group. Of the captives, only he was bound. Pia saw that his subservience had vanished, to be replaced by anger now that his pleas for mercy had been ignored.

  “So you are a barbarian?” he asked. “This is the east, woman. Nothing here now except open country all the way to the Salve. That’s why few live here. Even your uncivilized race surely has stories of what goes on across that river.”

  “My uncivilized people don’t hang others,” Arisha replied. “The most common punishment for all crimes save murder is for the offender to be ostracised. Perhaps, in the few hours that remain to you, you should dwell on which of our societies is truly the more uncivilised.”

  Velko mumbled under his breath. Pia could see that the barbarian’s words had chilled him. And she shared the feeling.

  They paused to rest in the shadow of a tall yew tree. Velko began to weep again, shaking his head, as if refusing to believe that he’d been captured.

  Perhaps his mind is going.

  She took Jack’s hand and moved farther away from the thief. She had seen men hanged before, and knew the sudden burst of strength they could possess when faced with the gallows.

  As she sat down, closer to Gar’rth and Kara, she saw that the heroine’s eyes rarely left her prisoner.

  “I am unwell, Kara,” she heard Gar’rth say bitterly. “I feel light headed and I cannot smell anything, anything at all! It’s as if I’ve lost my sight.” He lowered his hood to reveal his face, pale and drawn. He breathed deeply, and every time nature made a sound his head would dart toward its source as if in paranoid surprise.

  Kara shifted her satchel as she stepped away from him. Her dark eyes found Pia, and held her gaze.

  She’s giving me a warning.

  “Perhaps you should take Velko on ahead,” Kara suggested to her companion. “We have been tracking Sulla for nearly a month now, and we may be close to locating him. And besides...” Kara lowered her voice, looking at Velko briefly. “I want to separate the prisoners. I want to see if there is anything Pia can add to Velko’s account, to be sure we know everything. Don’t go too far ahead though, not beyond sight.”

  Gar’rth nodded and stood. He lifted the bound man to his feet with a slight grunt of effort and led him in the direction of Varrock.

  “I have never seen Gar’rth ill before,” Arisha said. “Not since the monastery.”

  “He is his own man now, since the exorcism,” Kara replied. Still, her words were spoken with some doubt.

  “Please Kara,” Pia said now that Velko was out of earshot. “What will you do with us? I know I committed a fraud. I admit it. But it was that or die. And I have told you everything I know.”

  Kara lowered her head doubtfully.

  Pia pressed on.

  “We are not wicked people, Kara. I have never killed anybody. I have taken care of Jack since we were young, when our parents died. Last year we left Ardougne in Kandarin and since then we found our way here. If we didn’t steal, we would have starved to death!”

  Hot tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Kara?” Arisha asked as Pia’s vision blurred. She felt Jack’s hand on her shoulder. “What do you propose to do with them?”

  A silence fell as Pia cleared the moistness from her eyes. When she could see again she saw Kara looking at her and Jack with a frustrated glare. Quickly, Kara looked to Gar’rth, and then back at them.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted finally. “Velko will certainly be handed over to the Varrock guard. By his own admission, he has offended enough to warrant hanging. But you two...” She peered at them for a long moment. “I don’t know. I don’t want to be responsible for hanging children.”

  Pia felt her face brighten.

  Thank you Kara. Thank you!

  “But then, I cannot let you go either. I have given mercy to those who should have been killed, and other lives have suffered because of it. Mercy to the likes of Sulla and Jerrod is a death to others, and each is a burden to my conscience.” She turned to her friend. “You know what they did to that man who found his way to the monastery, Arisha. And what they did to the rest of his party who were less fortunate.”

  Arisha frowned and lowered her head.

  “The point is, Pia, I don’t know you,” Kara said. “I don’t know what else you have done. Therefore I cannot let you go free. Even if I did that, you would only thieve again. I just don’t know.”

  “They are still just children Kara,” Arisha said. “Children in need of a guide. You should think about the futures you can offer them—either death at the end of a rope, or a life under your tutelage.”

  Kara looked startled and turned away, her brow creased in puzzlement.

  “I saw the look on your face after you killed the men in the barn, Kara,” Arisha continued. “And Gar’rth and I have talked frequently since our journey began. You are changing. You are not so violent as before, since you defeated Sulla. If you had someone to look after, it would benefit you as much as them.”

  Pia saw Kara’s face darken.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded, anger in her voice. “I just slew fourteen men!”

  “Fourteen men who deserved it. Fourteen men who refused your offer of mercy. You did it, but you didn’t like doing it. And now you can offer these two young thieves the chance of a better life.”

  “The laws of Misthalin are not mine to make or withhold, Arisha,” Kara countered. “I cannot dare to claim as such. And nor can you.”

  When Arisha spoke again, Pia heard a condescending note in her voice.

  “I am reminded of a girl I saw once who rode into my village. She had stolen a horse to get there, all the way from Falador. That certainly would have been a hanging offence if subsequent events hadn’t turned out the way they did.” The barbarian woman looked west, to where Gar’rth walked with his prisoner. “And Gar’rth’s own history is not so different from Pia’s. He stole to survive, and had he found someone without Ebenezer’s humanity he, too, would have been hanged.”

  “That was different...” Kara began.

  “How?” Jack chirp
ed innocently.

  Kara remained silent, staring at the young boy. Then she shrugged.

  “Very well, Arisha. You are right. As usual. Pia and Jack will return to Varrock with us.” The two dark eyes fell on Pia. “I shall take your case to the King himself, and if he accepts—and provided there are no other serious crimes you have committed—you will both enter my service. Neither of you will ever steal anything again.”

  Jack grinned, and Pia forced a smile to her face.

  No other serious crimes, she thought. How long then before I am found out, until I have to run again?

  But for now, Pia hugged her brother tightly.

  Never a rope!

  7

  Castimir’s face burned and his head ached.

  He wore the ceremonial robes of his order, heavier than his normal garments, with wide cuffs and uncomfortable shoulder pads. Gone were the unsightly pouches on his belt, although he still kept a few runes in his pocket. He had learned painfully never to be without them.

  Though they are not easy to get at, he mused irritably. It’s not at all practical, nor comfortable.

  He stood with several of the off-duty palace guards and soldiers of Misthalin who had insisted that he join them in a drink of fellowship. They had been joined by Gideon Gleeman, the jester Castimir had met on the road to Varrock. All around them clusters of revellers drank and chattered and laughed.

  As the church bell to the east chimed four times, he shaded his eyes with the flat of his hand and looked up to the palace’s easternmost outer wall. Upon the parapet, built up from the stone and protruding forward on wooden scaffolding in order to extend its width, was a purple-coloured canopied box, overlooking the bailey. In its foremost rank was a high yellow chair which Castimir knew was meant for King Roald. Already many nobles had gathered, and he noted Lord Despaard seated next to the man Lady Anne had named as Lord Ruthven.

  I have only had two drinks, yet in this heat it is enough to make me feel drunk. I must sit down, get in the shade, and have some water.

  He strode forward, making for the score of guards who stood in a line below the royal box. As an honoured guest of King Roald, he—like his friends—had been offered prominent seats from which to better experience the festivities.

  “Come come, Castimir!” The jester’s voice pierced the hubbub of the crowds. “You’re not getting away quite so soon. Here, have another...”

  Gleeman’s words provoked a cheer from the nearby listeners.

  “You drink it for me, Gideon,” the wizard said as cheerfully as he could manage. “I need to be on my best behaviour today. As you can see, I am even dressed up in my ceremonial attire.”

  “But I cannot. I dare not,” the jester said in mock seriousness. “I am to dance upon a high rope this afternoon. Would you have me fall and break my neck? Now, mighty wizard, you would be doing your new friends a dishonour by refusing them another toast.”

  Castimir’s new friends groaned loudly to emphasise the jester’s point.

  Yet beneath their drunken ramblings, they are afraid, Castimir knew. These slayings and kidnappings have them worried, and already today I have heard more mention of this prophecy that has everyone whipped into a frenzy.

  Suddenly another player entered the fray.

  “He cannot participate, Gideon,” William de Adlard said as he strode forward. “His presence is required by royal decree. Come, Castimir, before these wicked men lead you astray.”

  The wizard bowed quickly—to the cheers of the party—and followed William through the boisterous throng. They passed a myriad of entertainments and once, when a fire-breather risked charring them, Castimir lifted his staff threateningly. From its knotted tip a red glow reached outward in all directions, warming those in its glare. Humbled, the fire-breather bowed and backed away, to the laughter of his spectators.

  The guards parted for them at the bottom of the scaffold, and they ascended the stairs to the parapet. Castimir’s stomach rumbled.

  “I am hungry, William,” he said over the din. “Do I have time to eat?”

  But his question went unheard as the crash of metal and the neigh of a horse signalled the end of another joust. Men and women cheered as Castimir followed William’s gaze to the lists.

  “That is the last for now, until the King comes,” William commented. Suddenly he paled. Looking down from their elevation, they could clearly see the fallen knight over the heads of the crowd below. Blood ran from the armoured man’s throat, for his enemy’s lance point had splintered and penetrated his leather gorget. Still he held his shield, its crest a silver sword on a dark background. From all sides men rushed to help him as the ladies of court looked on with blanched faces.

  Castimir caught sight of Lady Anne. She alone looked unmoved by the man’s injury. Suddenly she laughed and Castimir saw her speak, her circle of friends craning their heads to listen. One of them, a pretty, dark-eyed girl with a gap between her two front teeth, gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, while others stifled inappropriate giggles.

  It made Castimir feel slightly unwell.

  When he turned back, he saw how William’s gloved hands gripped the wooden rail, and he noted the nobleman’s sickly face.

  “Are you all right, Lord William?” the wizard asked.

  “It’s these jousts, Castimir. Theodore participated in them when he first came to Varrock, much to his credit. Today, however, he has decided to play at mélèe with the most dangerous men in the realm.”

  “You do not care for such sport?”

  William’s eyes focused grimly on the injured man.

  “That man will likely die today, Castimir,” he said. “Such a wound I doubt will heal, and Sir Prysin will have lost his first born for no reason other than pride. It is no sport. It is the play of madmen.” Then he gathered himself. “But come, the King will arrive shortly and we must be in our places for him.”

  From the purple-draped box the view was very different. Smells and sounds rose up to tease Castimir’s aching stomach. Smoke and cooking, musicians and singing, all the happy mayhem of a grand revel. But not all was festive, for along the ramparts and on the turrets of the palace towers the wizard could see dozens of archers.

  It must make the nobles feel rather safe up here, he supposed. If the crowd began to riot, they could flee along the walkways to the safety of the palace as King Roald’s archers turned each reveller into a hedgehog. They could even close the gates to prevent them from escaping back out into the city.

  Shaking off such thoughts, Castimir looked for Theodore. His eyes crept to the far side of the bailey, where a stage had been built against the inner wall of the palace, on which the popular play The Betrothal of Glarial was being performed. Not far from the stage he recognised Theodore by his squire’s armor. A group of his men—all in white—were preparing themselves to fight against an equal number of Varrock’s finest knights, their weapons blunted to avoid fatalities.

  Good luck my friend. Make us all proud.

  He gazed up from the bailey to the southern parapet, where a small group of women stood, fussed over by Father Lawrence. Castimir had been introduced to him that afternoon.

  He behaves like an anxious hen.

  “I see you have spied the debutantes,” William said, nodding in their direction. “They are mostly women of high birth who have come of age and are to be introduced to society, though a few are of merchant families and lesser gentry. I am told it is a very nervous occasion for them all.”

  Castimir peered at them. One, a dark-haired woman with high cheekbones, clearly seemed fraught. She wore a red toque and an olive-green dress, her headpiece making her stand out from the others. William saw her, as well.

  “Poor girl is probably embarrassed,” he said. “She will earn the contempt of her peers if they think she is trying to upstage them.” He smiled before looking back toward where Lady Anne was seated. Castimir saw how she gave him a subtle nod.

  “So you led Theodore into her clutches, Lor
d William,” Castimir said with a smile.

  Theodore, you are too noble to know how lucky you are.

  “I am ashamed to say that I did betray our friend, Castimir.” William smiled wickedly. “Lady Caroline is there, standing behind Lady Anne, as always. She has dark hair and a gap between her teeth. Do you see her?”

  “I do.”

  “Is she not worth a little treachery?”

  Castimir laughed. “I think so, Lord William.”

  “Then I shall go to see if Lady Anne has really made good her promise,” he said, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. “Good day, my friend, I shall see you shortly.”

  As William left, Castimir became aware of a man sitting down on the chair next to him.

  “Interminable robes, these,” the newcomer said in good humour as the wizard turned to greet him. Then, his voice lowered. “I think they are deliberately designed so we wizards can’t use our runes while wearing them, you know. Don’t you agree?”

  Castimir’s attention sharpened. He saw the narrow grey beard, the thinning hair, and a green-tinted monocle that the man held to his right eye—and he noted, too, the man’s robes, similar to his own in design but differing in colour. Where his were blue, the newcomer’s were grey, emblazoned with yellow sigils.

  “Are you Layte Aubury, sir?” Castimir asked hesitatingly.

  “Indeed I am. And you are Castimir.” The man held out his hand, which Castimir took firmly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I have heard many things about you from our master, Sedridor, just this morning in fact. Most of them good.” His eyes narrowed and he looked Castimir full in the face. “But not all.”

  Not all?

  “Forgive me, sir, but I don’t understand,” Castimir said. “As far as I am aware, I have conducted myself appropriately. If I have erred, please tell me.”

  Can he know? Can the Tower know about Master Segainus’s diaries and spell books and of how I kept them to myself?

  He felt his face go red.

  “I saw you drinking earlier, Castimir, with the clown.”

  “Gideon Gleeman? We shared a drink, yes...”