Return to Canifis (runescape) Page 25

  They are not far away. Perhaps only a few minutes.

  “Pia? What will we do?”

  “What we always do, Jack.” She dug her heels into the horse’s flank and goaded it onward with a savage pull of the reins. “We run.”

  The mare broke into a loping gallop. Pia’s legs ached horribly and she grimaced with every passing yard.

  “We need to hide,” Jack said. “There.” Her brother pointed toward the treeline that rose before them. It was the only place they could hide now, for they had left cover behind.

  She directed the horse as best she could, as the horn sounded again. The bays of the pack grew louder until they seemed to come from all sides. After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the edge of the forest and again fought their way into the foliage. Thin branches whipped her face and hands and she heard Jack cry out in pain as the sting of a thorn cut her bare cheek, drawing blood, then raked across her face, as well. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.

  “Pia. Stop!” Jack shouted.

  She opened her eyes as the horse neighed in alarm and stopped abruptly. They were at the top of a steep bank that led down to a fast-flowing river. Across the straining water the opposite bank was hidden in the shadows of a wild forest.

  “Is this the River Salve?” Jack asked, his voice low.

  If it was, then it fell short of her expectations. Even in her homeland there were legends of the holy river. Some had even said it glowed with a white light, and that its waters could cure any wounds or illness.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think so.” She nodded to the opposite bank. “That doesn’t look like the land of the undead does it?” But even as she said it, she felt unsure.

  Jack didn’t reply.

  Again the horns sounded and the hounds bayed.

  If I am caught I will hang now for certain, she thought desperately. And Jack will too. We have stolen a horse of the King’s stable, and we have stolen a hero’s sword.

  Pia drew the adamant blade an inch from its scabbard. Its green-tinted metal caught the midday sun. She made up her mind.

  “Do you think the horse can swim across, with us on her back?”

  Jack shook his head.

  “I don’t know, Pia,” he answered. “But even if it can, should we go? What if that is Morytania?” She sensed her brother’s fear, and tried to pretend the same thought hadn’t crossed her own mind. She made her decision.

  “We’ll cross over, Jack, so long as the horse can bear us,” she said firmly. “Then we’ll turn south and cross back after a few hours. If that is Morytania, then we won’t be there for long.”

  She didn’t wait for her brother’s objections. She kicked with her heels. After a few moments of dancing around uncertainly, the horse started down to the water’s edge, treading its way carefully.

  But then she stood and waited. Pia cursed and dug her heels into the animal’s flanks.

  Still the horse refused to move.

  “Zamorak curse you,” she spat as the hounds bayed behind them, closer now. Somewhere over her right shoulder she heard a man shout.

  They are probably in the meadow, just before the trees. They will be on us in seconds.

  Desperation forced her hand. She drew the wolfbane dagger she had taken from Kara’s satchel and stabbed it into the horse’s behind.

  The animal neighed and shot forward, its speed catching Pia by surprise. She dropped the dagger in her haste to steady herself as she gripped the reins and held tightly. They plunged into the river. Brown water fumed at their sides as the horse ploughed ahead. A dog barked loudly and frantically behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw several of the pack break through the undergrowth at the top of the bank.

  When she turned back to face the front, she saw to her surprise that they were already half way across the river. The horse showed no sign of slowing.

  Pia grinned suddenly.

  “Never a rope for us, Jack,” she asserted. “I hope Kara understands the message we left.”

  Jack didn’t reply. She knew he was still angry at her for stealing Kara’s sword, but she wouldn’t let that dampen her spirits now. They had escaped once again.

  “Come back!” a man shouted behind her. “For the love of Saradomin, Pia, come back!”

  The man’s panicked voice caused Pia to look over her shoulder again. She felt the horse rise beneath her as the its hooves found firm ground.

  There were a half-dozen men gathered on the opposite river bank, clad in black-leather armour. Two or three of them were gesturing wildly, beckoning her to return.

  Do they take me for an idiot?

  “Don’t be a fool, girl!” another shouted, waving to her. “It’s not too late.”

  “If I go back I die,” Pia shouted angrily. “My brother, too. We will take our chances-”

  “But there are no chances in Morytania,” the first man yelled. “Please. Please, come back to us, Pia. Kara-Meir has asked that you be returned unharmed. The King will honour his pledge to her.”

  “You don’t know what you are doing, girl,” a third man cried.

  The horse broke from the water now and Pia couldn’t reply. She tightened her legs on the horse’s flank as the animal clambered wearily up the steep bank, water running off of it in long, thin rivulets.

  She looked back at her pursuers. They were arguing, their arms gesturing wildly. They stopped, and one of the men put an arrow to his bow.

  “Pia?” Jack said gently. He leaned back into her, as if trying to make himself small.

  It seemed to happen in slow motion. The man sighted his arrow toward her and loosed.

  The black-feathered arrow missed her by a scant yard, passing in front of her face.

  “Pia, we must run!” Jack said in panic.

  “You said you wanted us unharmed!” Pia shouted in anger. Already the man was reloading, and she saw how others reached for their bows.

  “It is better for you, Pia,” the first man shouted. She couldn’t be certain, but it seemed as if he was afraid. “It is better for you to die now, before you go any farther.”

  They mean to kill us. They really do. It was not a warning shot.

  Pia shouted and slapped the horse’s neck, pulling the reins and digging in her heels as she forced the animal away from the bank. Arrows snapped past them and overhead, but none found their mark, and within a minute of riding, when she turned back, the river had vanished from sight in the deep undergrowth.

  The sounds of their pursuers were lost, as well.

  As if they were never there.

  Although she was determined to keep track of the river, and cross it again after they had travelled a safe distance, within an hour Pia was lost.

  She didn’t dare say anything to Jack for fear of making him afraid. The sun was obscured behind a veil of green fog that grew denser as they travelled, and the woods gave way to a swampy marshland. At its edge, Pia halted and dismounted for the first time in many hours. Her body protested in agony, and in an effort to spare her brother the same she helped him from the horse as gently as she was able. His inner thighs were coated in sweat and dried blood from where the jolting of the horse had chafed his skin. She had no doubt her own legs were in a similar condition, yet she refused to look.

  “We will rest here, for an hour or so,” she told him. “Let the horse get her breath back.”

  “And then we start south?” Jack asked. His voice was low. “We can’t be more than two miles from the river now.” Her brother spoke in a hushed whisper, as if afraid to offend some dreadful observer. He peered around them, into the mist. But there was no movement, no sound.

  Pia nodded.

  “Then we start south and cross back over the river a few miles downstream.” She gave her brother her most roguish smile. “We did it, Jack. We did it again. We survived.”

  I haven’t the heart to tell him that I’m hopelessly lost. Nor that I lost the dagger that kept Jerrod so afraid.

  Th
e thought of the werewolf caused her to glance around, but the fog seemed impenetrable. They seemed so vulnerable here, intruders in a place that would never forgive their trespass. Pia shivered.

  “Perhaps we should start for the south now,” she muttered. “I don’t like it here.” The horse fidgeted, as if sharing her anxiousness.

  “Do you think they followed us across the river?” Jack’s face was doubtful.

  “Maybe,” she replied. But she really didn’t think so.

  It is not them I fear.

  She ran her hand across her face and looked down. It came away with a bloody smear. She remembered the thorn that had cut her cheek in their rush to the river bank. Still it hadn’t dried.

  The iron smell seemed to hang in the stale air, impossibly strong.

  “Pia. Look.”

  She looked to where he pointed across the swamp. In the hazy distance she thought she saw something. It looked like a cloaked figure, but as quickly as she spotted it, the fog rose up from the black waters that separated them, and obscured it. She strained to find it again, but the green mist hid the horizon from view.

  She felt her stomach tighten.

  “Pia… Pia I’m frightened.” Jack turned to look at her. “I want to go back. I want to go back to Kara and I want to tell her I’m sorry. Please, Pia. Please. Can we go back?”

  We made a mistake coming here. A dreadful mistake.

  “Get on the horse, Jack. Now.”

  Suddenly she shivered. She breathed out as her brother did as she had instructed, and she placed her hand on the hilt of Kara’s sword.

  What would she do here?

  Pia was cold now-unnaturally so. Her hand shook on the sword hilt, her grip weak.

  “Come on, Pia. Get up.” Muted though it was, Jack’s voice cut through her fear. Quickly she clambered into the saddle behind him. The horse snorted once, its body steaming from her exertion. Clearly the creature was exhausted.

  From her vantage point, Pia looked back to the swamp. The green mist faded slightly, and she could see the place where the figure had stood. There was no sign of it now.

  Jack was looking, too.

  “Did you see him?” he asked.

  “I thought I did,” Pia said, “but only for a second. I think it was a man. It doesn’t matter though. We’re going now.”

  She turned the horse, and guided it forward, not sure of the direction she was going. Her route followed the firmer land that lay at the swamp’s edge.

  Time seemed meaningless in that fog, and she didn’t know how long it had been before they heard a sound-like a man coughing-as it echoed across the dim expanse. Pia froze and she felt Jack stiffen. Her skin crawled uncontrollably.

  There across the mire stood a diminutive figure, his arms draped around the gnarled form of a dead tree, his face hidden behind the decaying bark. As Pia stared she saw that saw it was an old man, with skin as white as milk. His clothes were torn rags through which she could see his ribs, and arms that were devoid of any muscle. She had seen people like that before, beggars who starved in the winter.

  “Don’t let him see us, Pia,” Jack hissed. “Please. There’s something not right about him.”

  The man coughed again, and as he did so he moved, his head sliding out from behind the bark.

  “Gods.” Jack breathed. “Ride, Pia. Please. Ride!”

  But she couldn’t move. She told her legs to do so, to dig her heels into the horse’s side, but they refused. She was frozen, the burning red eyes of the man looking into hers.

  The horse neighed.

  “Pia!” Jack cried, louder now,

  The hair on the man’s head was torn out in great clumps. When he coughed and opened his mouth she saw that half his tongue was missing. He coughed again, and this time his jaw hung open, wider than nature had designed. Or it might have been a laugh, and Pia saw him give what she thought could be a leering smile.

  His arms uncoiled from the tree and he moved toward them. His speed was unnatural.

  “Pia!”

  She had never seen anything so perverse, so wrong. The old man with a skeletal body leapt the first pool that separated them, a jump that even a young man in peak condition could never have accomplished.

  Impossible. Still she remained transfixed.

  The man opened his mouth wider as he charged toward them. He was as fast as a horse, she realised suddenly.

  “Pia,” Jack cried, wriggling in her lap and turning to peer up at her. “Do something!”

  Finally Jack’s voice broke her fear, and she kicked the horse into action. The horse bolted forward suddenly, as if it had been similarly frozen in fear. She looked behind, and on it came-for now she knew it wasn’t human-and it was gaining, its arms outstretched. She looked forward again, panic rising inside her.

  When she looked back again, the skeleton creature was so close. She faced forward again and closed her eyes. But the tears came, and she couldn’t stop them.

  No, no, no no no nononono…

  She felt something hard grab her thigh and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of white as the thing’s hand slipped off her body. Her skin felt frozen where it had been touched.

  Jack cried out in terror.

  Pia leaned forward, ignoring the sound.

  The horse reared suddenly and kicked backward. Pia heard a sound like a breaking twig, and she dared to turn to look.

  The thing was there. Right behind her, its hand gripped around the horse’s rear leg. It pressed its face forward, into the horse, its mouth biting…

  The horse bucked again as a torrent of blood gushed into the thing’s face. This time Pia lost her balance.

  She fell from the horse.

  Jack screamed as the horse bucked again. As she fell, Pia saw its hoof smash against the attacker’s temple. It was a blow that would surely have felled a giant. And it was enough to send the creature sprawling back, into the mire.

  Pia gasped as her heart pounded. She watched in a daze as the thing vanished beneath the surface of the swamp, and the horse bolted with Jack holding on desperately, his arms wrapped around the frantic animal’s neck. And then he was lost from sight in the swirling green mists.

  She tried to rise, but again her limbs refused to obey her commands. Minutes passed-or were they hours? Somewhere far away she heard Jack scream again and the horse whinny loudly. Then both sounds were cut short.

  No! But still she remained frozen.

  There was the sound of movement-of something being dragged. A form was thrust down to the earth at her side, so that she could see it without needing to turn her head. It was Jack, his face ash grey, his eyes unseeing.

  Above her stood a figure wrapped in a black cloak. Behind him stood another.

  She tried to speak, but no words came.

  “You have trespassed into our realm, human,” the thing said, but still she couldn’t see his face, obscured in darkness and mist. “You were lucky to escape the ravenous, but that is as far as your fortune goes. Your horse is dead. It’s flesh food for Canifis. As you will soon be.”

  Canifis! It’s a werewolf, she thought, her mind racing. The dagger…

  The figure pushed its cowl back, and its eyes gleamed with malice and hunger. There was no wolf-like snout. No fur covered its face.

  But within its horribly distended jaw, the unnatural light of the swamp glinted off two sharp and pointed fangs.

  18

  Gar’rth was miserable as they rode from the bailey and across the palace’s courtyard.

  There the column turned south and rode down the tree-lined avenue to the palace’s outer wall. Once through the gate came the great square, with its four statues watching over the frothing pool, where a line of yellow-tabarded guards kept the way clear for Lord Despaard’s embassy.

  And as they rode out, the people cheered. Some shouted out to Kara, others blessed King Roald, while other, bolder voices offered helpful suggestions as to what to do to Lord Drakan by applying sharp-edged weapons t
o various parts of the dark lord’s anatomy.

  “I’m not even sure if Drakan has one of those,” Lord William said thoughtfully, raising a brief smile from those who heard.

  As they rode east through Varrock and finally out of the city itself onto the King’s Road, Simon never left Gar’rth’s side.

  This is worse than the dungeons. At least there we were separated by bars.

  Shortly before the crossroads, when the city of Varrock was more than a mile behind and hidden from view by an army of willows and oaks, Gar’rth breathed deeply.

  At least I am away from the city now, with its foul smells. Out here, I can take full advantage of the wild aromas.

  He did so, and then he stopped suddenly, coughing.

  Kara saw his distress.

  “What is it, Gar’rth?”

  “Something nearby. A familiar scent. A man. A dead one.” He gave another sniff. “Not long dead, either.”

  The column stopped to hear him.

  “It’s probably just Theodore, in need of a bath,” Lord William said, but no one laughed. Nor did they question Gar’rth’s observation, causing the young noble to frown in puzzlement. Reldo did likewise.

  They don’t all know about me, Gar’rth realised. I should take more care in future.

  Suddenly the silence was broken as Lord Ruthven laughed from the head of the column.

  “The boy plays tricks upon us, Lord Despaard,” the hawk-like man said loudly. “He knows that we approach the crossroads. Come. Let us hasten on, and the answer to this riddle will no longer be left … hanging.”

  The column continued, and as they journeyed to the northeast the scent grew.

  I am right. A man has been killed here, and very recently. And it was at the crossroads that he was proved right.

  A hanged man’s body dangled from the branch of a sprawling oak tree. It twisted in the afternoon breeze as a crow, perched in the branches above, cawed at the embassy, staking its claim. The man’s hands were bound behind his back and as the body twisted to face them. Kara gasped.

  It’s Velko! Gar’rth realised.