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  “You there, will you help me?”

  “No, Sir Theodore,” the man said, his sword half-drawn. “We would help you, of course, but not your… friend. Not one of them.”

  Before Theodore could respond, Gar’rth staggered, and he nearly lost his grasp, forcing the group to stop.

  “Wait a moment,” Theodore said as struggled to regain his balance. “Let us pause here while you get your strength back.”

  Gar’rth sat on the step as the guards waited. Above them, Theodore saw Lord Despaard, standing at the doorway, looking down impassively. He drew back his cloak and Theodore saw he held a two-pronged dagger at his side.

  “I cannot smell anything, Theodore,” Gar’rth muttered, his hands over his face. “And my hearing… there’s a rushing, and everything is so faint.”

  “Get used to it,” Lord Despaard advised. “I know how vulnerable that must make one of your kind feel. To us, it would be like losing our sight. But you should use this occasion to know that men are not so weak as you might have thought, nor without weapons against the savagery of your race.” The nobleman took a step down toward them. Theodore saw the cold anger etched on his face.

  “You should fear us Gar’rth,” he continued. “It must be a new experience for you.”

  “Leave him be, Lord Despaard,” Theodore said, striving to keep his voice calm and without anger. “You have misjudged him. In time, he will prove himself. I guarantee it.”

  Lord Despaard smiled grimly and gave a snort.

  “It is you who have misjudged him, knight. I don’t doubt that now he is as you say. But it cannot always be so. One day-perhaps soon-he will change. It is his heritage.”

  The nobleman descended until he stood only an inch from Theodore’s face. Gar’rth folded in on himself as the blade came closer. Despaard spoke in a harsh whisper.

  “And when he does show his true nature-as he will-who do you think he will go for? Castimir, with his sorcery? You, with your strength and armour? No. It will be Kara. You know it, and he knows you know it. They are animals Theodore, and it would take a blind man not to see how he feels about her.” He gave Gar’rth a quick look. “It is a feeling that can never be reciprocated, and his frustration will have only one possible outcome. In time, he will turn on her.”

  Theodore shook his head, but couldn’t bring himself to answer.

  For it would be a lie if I told him I had never had similar thoughts.

  Despaard stepped past them and descended the staircase until he was lost to sight.

  Finally, Gar’rth took a deep breath and stood, his legs swaying- but less so.

  “Could you hear what he said, Gar’rth?” Theodore whispered.

  “No,” Gar’rth said wearily. “But I think I can walk now.”

  Theodore instructed his friend to grip his shoulder for support. They went quicker than before, for Gar’rth’s steps were surer and more purposeful now. Despite their progress, however, it seemed like an eternity before they were in the palace’s dungeons. The only light came from a torch carried by one of the guards, and each barred alcove was too dark for any occupants to be seen. Lord Despaard waited for them at the open gate to a cell. Inside, guards had quickly arranged two rudimentary beds and had left a large jug of water for each of them. Otherwise, it was a bleak stone chamber.

  As Gar’rth sat down, a guard placed an iron cuff around his wrist, attached to a chain that was anchored to the wall. Then the torch was placed in a sconce. Opposite, in a similar cell, Theodore saw the woman who had accused him of complicity at the Midsummer Festival, still attired in her green dress. She stared at him in grim silence through the iron bars of her gate.

  This will prove to be an interesting evening. I am exhausted, and now I will have to contend with this harridan.

  “You should go to see Ebenezer, Theodore,” Gar’rth said. “I would like to, but…”

  “I will do so now, and then I will return.” He put his hand on the werewolf’s shoulder. “I won’t be long, my friend.”

  Theodore left the prison, and the iron gate was locked behind him. His last view of Gar’rth as he left the dungeon was of him sitting up in his bed, his back against the wall, lit by the soft glow of a flickering torch, his head bent low in deep thought.

  Could he really turn on Kara?

  It was a question for which he couldn’t find an answer as he headed to Ebenezer’s room.

  Ebenezer lay in his bed, his head bandaged, his face pale and his breathing shallow.

  At his side, on a stool, sat Doric. The dwarf held the old man’s hand tightly in one of his own while using the other to wipe the alchemist’s face with a damp cloth. Behind him stood Arisha, her head bowed, while Castimir sat on a chair and fidgeted with several runes. Kara was beside him, still dressed in her gown.

  “How is he?” Theodore asked after watching them for a long minute. Had it been any other of us we would be awake now, he thought. Perhaps laughing and joking, but not Ebenezer. He is too frail.

  Kara shook her head as Doric looked toward him, his face drawn with worry.

  “His blood still flows, and he breathes still,” the dwarf said. “But at his age…”

  Castimir ran his hand through his hair as he bit his lip. Theodore recognised his friend’s frustration.

  “Guthix offers him no aid,” Arisha said sorrowfully. “I fear the alchemist’s atheism is known to Him.”

  I fear you are right, Arisha, the knight mused. I was always uncomfortable with Ebenezer’s attitude toward the gods. Now, when he needs them most, will they answer? He jumped as Castimir cried out angrily.

  “There is nothing any of us can do!” He lurched to his feet. “My magic is worthless here!” The wizard hurled his runes to the floor, where they clattered loudly across the flagstones.

  “Castimir,” Arisha said severely. “What does that accomplish?”

  “I’m sorry,” the wizard replied. “I am. It’s just it…” He breathed deeply. “It’s Aubury. He said my actions in protecting Gar’rth from Captain Rovin might end in my expulsion from the Wizards’ Tower. And now this-he may never awaken-everything I do seems to go wrong.”

  “We all have our problems,” Arisha said. “But I think we should put them aside for tonight. We all owe our lives to Ebenezer. If it hadn’t been for him, none of us would ever have escaped the monastery. Let us not trouble his dreams with our own burdens.”

  A brief silence fell. Castimir knelt to retrieve his runes, while Kara nodded and Doric returned Ebenezer’s hand to the bed and wiped his head once more with the damp cloth before returning it to a bucket at his feet.

  “Have Sally and Albertus been informed of Ebenezer’s injuries?” Theodore asked as he advanced to the bed.

  “A messenger has been sent,” Doric replied as he knelt to retrieve one of Castimir’s precious runes. “They have been asked to come here tonight to keep him company. But what of Gar’rth?”

  Theodore felt all eyes turn upon him.

  “He is in the dungeon. He accepts his situation, and is being held in as comfortable conditions as we could hope for. I will return to him after I leave here.”

  “What do you think the King will decide?” Kara asked. “Will he really want to have him put to death?”

  “It would be foolish for him to decide so,” Doric said gruffly. “Gar’rth is the nearest anyone’s come to catching the Wyrd. Killing him would solve nothing.”

  Tell that to Lord Despaard, Theodore responded silently.

  “He would be within his rights to do so,” he said instead, warily.

  “What?” Kara stood, nearly toppling her chair. “Theodore, you almost sound as if you agree with him.” Her voice rose to close to a shout.

  “Of course I don’t!” he answered quickly. “But this is Varrock, not The Wilderness. You’ve seen what the servants of Drakan do here. The horrors that cross the river from Morytania, despite the barrier. Can you blame people for being so fearful?”

  The door opened before
anyone could reply. It was Father Lawrence, and his face was red. The elderly priest gave a sharp breath as he entered.

  “I have just come from my church,” he wheezed as he approached the bed. “And I have brought what help I may.” He held up a bag for their inspection and as he opened it Theodore caught the strong scent of herbs. Father Lawrence set a gnarled pale root upon the bed and then peered into his bag again. When he withdrew his hand the second time, the knight saw that he held a green leaf with a toothed edge.

  “A limpwurt root, and a tarromin leaf,” Kara said, and the Father nodded.

  “It is, although the leaf is a little grimy, I am afraid.”

  The priest dipped his fingers into the jug at Doric’s feet and cleaned the leaf between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Now I will need a vial of clean water and-”

  “A knife to cut the limpwurt root. I find that the tenderest parts of the root work best,” Arisha said as she moved to the priest’s side.

  He looked at her with an expression of surprise.

  “You know your herbs, young lady,” Father Lawrence said as the two set to work.

  Theodore, however, shared Doric’s look of slight bewilderment.

  “They are making a potion for Ebenezer,” Kara explained. “Tarromin and limpwurt can revitalise an exhausted man.”

  “But too much can be fatal,” Father Lawrence cautioned. “Too much of the limpwurt root can cause the person’s heart to fail. It all depends on our patient. Ebenezer is elderly, so I’ll only give him a little to start with.”

  “Very well,” Theodore said, and he turned to leave. “Good luck. Let me know if there is any change in his condition. But for now, I must return to Gar’rth.”

  The knight took his leave and made his way once more into the dungeons of the palace.

  When the gate was locked behind him, he saw that Gar’rth had fallen asleep. The shackle that was still clasped about his wrist showed that the guards were not taking any chances.

  There is so much I would ask you, now we are alone. About your history, about your people beyond the river and why you ran.

  About Jerrod.

  But mostly I would wish to know about Kara. You spent so long with her in The Wilderness…

  It was only when he removed his boots and sat on his bed did he notice a man, a vague shadow just beyond the range of the torchlight, peer through the gate.

  I wish I had Kara’s vision. She would see him with ease.

  “Who are you?” Theodore asked quietly, so as to not disturb his friend.

  “I am here by Lord Despaard’s order,” the man said. “To keep an eye on your friend.” He drew a dagger, and in the torchlight Theodore could see its two blades glint.

  “He won’t be any trouble,” the knight replied.

  The man laughed.

  “You are right,” he said. “He won’t be. Not if he’s wise. You should know, Knight of Falador, that it is most likely that he will be sentenced to death. No matter what the judgement, he will not be allowed to remain at large.”

  With that, the man took a seat on a low stool and stretched his legs out.

  “Are you of the Society of the Owl?” Theodore asked, forcing himself to remain calm. But the man didn’t answer. Instead, it was Ellamaria-in the opposite cell-who spoke.

  “I think he is,” she said. “He arrived just after you left and took a look at your friend, but I knew him, for I have seen him before. He was one of the men who was at the tailor’s house. The same night you were there, covering up the truth.”

  Theodore bowed his head and sighed angrily.

  “That’s not true,” he said after a moment. “You are mistaken.”

  Ellamaria laughed from the darkness of her cell.

  And now she taunts me.

  “Ignore her, Sir Theodore,” the onlooker advised. “Like all peasants she doesn’t know what’s good for her,” the man sneered. “She’s broken the King’s sumptuary laws, wearing clothing that is far above her station, as if she were the daughter of a duke.”

  “I never knew my father,” Ellamaria declared.

  The man laughed.

  “Typical peasant. They are like sheep, although sheep are more useful. Sheep don’t go around wearing others’ clothing.” The speaker turned aside and glared down into Ellamaria’s cell. “Sheep don’t hang, Sir Theodore.”

  Ellamaria gasped in the shadows.

  “Hang?” she said.

  Her tormentor laughed viciously as Ellamaria choked.

  “Enough!” Theodore hissed. He cast a brief look at Gar’rth who slept soundly, undisturbed by their conversation. “Leave the girl alone. I don’t approve of what she did but I don’t approve of your conduct either. What is your name?”

  The man didn’t reply.

  “I will have it from you or from Lord Despaard himself come tomorrow. It will be easier on you if you tell me now.”

  The man growled from beyond the torchlight.

  “It is Simon, Sir Theodore.”

  “Then leave us in peace, Simon. I will watch Gar’rth tonight, and if my word is good enough to satisfy your King then it is certainly enough to satisfy you. Now leave us.”

  Simon retreated, his footsteps fading into the darkness.

  “Thank you, Sir Theodore,” Ellamaria whispered.

  Has she been crying? he wondered. Perhaps only now does she appreciate the consequences of her actions.

  “But please, Sir Theodore, will I… Will I really hang?”

  “Not unless you have committed another crime I am unaware of. Kara-Meir broke the King’s sumptuary law this night, and there is no charge against her.” Theodore shook his head. “No, Ellamaria, Simon was just tormenting you. People don’t hang for breaking such laws, but there will very likely be a punishment for near inciting a riot.”

  He heard her gasp in the darkness.

  “But it was the right thing to do, Sir Theodore. Do you not believe that? I acted to correct an injustice. Isn’t that what you knights do?”

  Her words injured Theodore.

  “I do not make or pass judgement on the laws of King Roald, Ellamaria. That is not my place-”

  “But you are a knight! A Knight of Falador. In every tavern from here to Kandarin they sing tales of the order’s love of justice. And you, Sir Theodore, are one of their most famed members.” Her voice broke suddenly and she wept. “That was why I was so angry at you, that night when I followed you from the tailor’s house. I believed in you, I thought you would help me. But then I saw how you left the house, and let those men carry on their work…”

  Her words were lost in her sobs.

  Is this really what I’ve become? he thought. Is this what I wanted, all those years ago? A knight should inspire not despair, but hope.

  “But what about you then?” he asked quietly. “Who have you lost to this creature?”

  “My own kin have suffered at the Wyrd’s hands. My aunt and uncle vanished one night, their children as well. I was working at the Blue Moon Inn when it happened. Like others, they were taken on the King’s command. I begged the authorities to help at first, and I was nearly imprisoned for my troubles. All that was left for me to do was to try and find them myself.”

  She choked again.

  “I don’t even know if they’re alive.”

  Theodore gritted his teeth.

  “Please, Sir Theodore, what will happen to me? Will Lord Despaard burn me for a witch? Will I be beheaded for treason? How will they make me disappear?”

  “You took a tremendous risk, Ellamaria,” he said. “Truly, I don’t know. But I will ask the King to act with mercy.”

  They spoke no more that night, and Theodore lay awake for a long time, considering her words. And finally when he did sleep, it was uneasy and unsatifying, despite his physical exhaustion.

  13

  Kara fumed silently as she studied the multitude of faces assembled in the round chamber. Her mind was in turmoil.

  Theodore had r
elayed his account of Simon in the prison, and of his certainty relating to Gar’rth’s fate.

  They can’t really mean to execute Gar’rth, she told herself. There is no justice in that!

  Her mind also wrestled with the disappearance of Pia and Jack-still there was no sign of them. Could she have done something differently-something that would have caused them to stay?

  But there is nothing I can do for them now. The city guards have orders to look for them, and I am faced with more pressing matters. She forced the loss of her sword from her mind with difficulty, aware that she would very likely never see it again.

  She sat on the front bench, between Theodore and Doric-a place reserved for honoured guests of the King, or so she had been told. From there she faced the King’s vacant throne, elevated upon a dais which stood-in turn-upon a stage where the monarchy’s nobility sat. Above her, on all sides save behind the King, numerous balconies rose in three tiers, all packed with the curious faces of every class of citizen in Varrock. The parliament was, Theodore had explained to her, a means of hearing the city’s concerns, of showing them that something was being done.

  Across the aisle sat the influential traders and craftsmen of Varrock. Kara saw Albertus seated at their front. She had met him only briefly-that morning-as he had arrived with Sally to see Ebenezer. The man’s eyes were dark with worry.

  Her attention returned to the stage. Among the noble peers Kara recognised Lord Despaard and a few half-remembered persons from the dance the evening before. Lord Ruthven, with his aquiline features and constantly moving eyes, was there, and behind him sat the jester, Gideon Gleeman, along with the King’s religious advisor, the man with a strange name that Kara couldn’t immediately recollect. His fanaticism inspired an instant revulsion in her.

  “That’s Aeonisig Raispher,” Theodore told Castimir, somehow reading Kara’s thoughts. “He’s a Saradominist who advises the King. And that old man nearby in the black coat is Papelford, the King’s archivist. Next to him is his apprentice, Reldo.”

  “Where is Lord William?” Doric growled, keeping his voice low. “I don’t see him there.”