Runescape: Return to Canifis Read online

  6

  Pia awoke slowly. Her eyelids were heavy, and slow to open. Her body ached as painfully as she could ever recall and she felt utterly exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to fall back into sleep.

  But as she stirred she felt the cloth tied over her eyes, so tightly that her head throbbed with pain, and the rope in her mouth that prevented her from crying out. On her first breath she gagged, an overpowering stench of apples covering her skin and clothing. It was instantly recognisable.

  Someone nearby laughed cruelly.

  “She’s awake,” another said.

  She sat up and tried to move her hands, but found they were bound together at the wrists. Her feet were likewise restrained.

  Ropes! Not ropes.

  She struggled as hard as she was able, until the cords were burning her skin.

  Finally, and to the laughter of her onlookers who were too numerous for her to count accurately, she fell back to the ground, exhausted.

  “Straven wanted you dead, you know. He gave you to us.” She heard a man’s voice that she didn’t recognise, yet his words brought back a memory.

  For she had only seen Straven that morning, an hour before dawn.

  Now I remember. It’s all coming back.

  Straven. The thief master of Varrock, in charge of the Phoenix Gang. She had first met him only a week ago, when she and her brother had proposed their plan to him, and he had given his permission for them to carry it out. Then, after making more money than they had ever possessed, they had tried to run. She had been taken within the first hour, and then she had been beaten. But what of her brother?

  Jack! Did they capture you, too? Oh, gods...

  “It’s true, you do look quite like her,” the man continued. “You could be a younger sister, two or three years maybe. You’re a head shorter than her, though, and little more than a rag doll. Your eyes are different, too. Straven didn’t tell me how much you conned from that crowd at the Flying Donkey, but when he caught you trying to run with his share, he wanted to roll you down a steep hill in a barrel of apples. Apparently that’s one of his ways of dealing with disloyalty. The severity of the treachery determines the height and inclination of the drop. Some are dropped in the River Lum, whereas particularly vile offenders have been sealed in their barrels in his cellar, with apples enough to last them a month.”

  She felt someone’s breath on her face. As the man laughed, she felt his spittle on her cheek. She grimaced, and he laughed again.

  “I am told that the smell when they are brought out is truly horrendous. I believe only one man has ever survived a full month, and he was mad and so near death that they cut his throat as a mercy.

  “I am telling you this so you understand your position. Straven gave you to me after my messenger persuaded him that I could use you. He put you in a half-filled barrel of apples, and you were brought to me in a cart from the city.”

  I am not in Varrock, then? Where am I?

  “So you have a choice, thief. You are uniquely placed to help me get my revenge.” There was a pause before he continued. “I don’t know how yet, but there will be a way to use you to my advantage.”

  She felt hands at the back of her head, untying the knot to the cord in her mouth. It fell loose and she gave a desperate gasp.

  But she didn’t try to scream. She knew how pointless that would be.

  “Where is my brother?” she said urgently. “Where is Jack? Did Straven take him, too?”

  “Your brother? I know nothing of him,” the voice spat. A moment later, it continued. “Keep her ankles and wrists bound for now, and give her a bath. She smells like a rotting orchard.”

  She was picked up roughly and carried a short distance. She knew from the sound of footsteps that she was inside a building—a spacious one, though she couldn’t guess any more.

  “The water’s cold,” a man taunted as she was dropped into a shallow trough. She gasped as the freezing liquid engulfed her, and water filled her mouth. Her arms beneath her, she fought to push upward and get her mouth above the surface. Finally she succeeded, coughing and retching to the sound of laughter and applause.

  “No! Wait! Please!” she shouted as a hand forced her head beneath the water again.

  Where it remained. Firm. Unmoving.

  This is it. I’m going to drown. At least it’s not from a rope. Never a rope around my neck.

  Jack! Please gods, send someone to take care of him.

  Suddenly the hand was ripped away and she burst upward, panting and retching once more.

  “I said wash, not drown!”

  “It was only a joke, Su—” A loud shout cut the man off.

  The men argued as she forced herself over the side of the trough—feeling her way to the ground where she coughed up water and shivered uncontrollably—but she had not the strength to pay attention to their words. Then the voices stilled and she realised that something else had entered the room.

  It’s like they are afraid.

  “He has paid us what we asked,” a strange new voice growled. It reminded her of an animal. “The noble was not at his estate. He is on business in Varrock, but his steward had orders to pay.”

  “He is rich enough,” said the man whose voice she had first heard. “He will pay to keep us silent. You see, men—you follow me and I promise you we will be comfortable by the winter. This is only the first noble I plan to blackmail. There is a great deal more information at my disposal. And remember, in case any of you get ambitious, I am the only one who can read the documents.

  “Now, take our guest and put her in the cellar, for we have decisions to make.”

  The girl knelt as two men grabbed her from each side and dragged her a short distance.

  “Kick that bale out of the way, Owen. I can’t get to the trapdoor.”

  A hay bale—am I in a barn? That would make sense, with the trough.

  The blindfold slipped, and she found she could see a sliver of light if she stared down toward her feet. As her eyes grew accustomed to the shade she saw ears of wheat.

  So it is a barn. I am out of Varrock, but where?

  “Untie her legs, Owen,” a new voice said. “I can’t drop her down the ladder.” When her bonds were loosened she had the urge to lash out. But she resisted.

  These men won’t hesitate to hurt me, she realised, perhaps even kill me. I will have to wait for a better opportunity, and learn what I can.

  She caught sight of the trapdoor. On top of it she seemed to see a black image, faded with age. For some reason it reminded her of a bird with its wings spread and its head turned the wrong way.

  “Down you go!” Rough hands pushed her into place. She felt her way backward down the short ladder, her hands grasping tentatively, one foot testing each rung. No one came after her, and so sure were her captors that they even left the trapdoor open. She listened breathlessly from the bottom of the ladder, the voices faint.

  “If we need to go to Varrock we should go by the southern road,” the bestial voice said.

  “That will take hours. The eastern road is quicker.”

  “My master has told me that the eastern road is... watched.”

  Master? Who is this man?

  She needed to see, to find out who was holding her prisoner. As the men talked she struggled furiously with her blindfold, teasing it only slightly upward. And in the darkness of the cellar, that was next to useless.

  “Can you still hear this song you keep going on about?” a man said sarcastically, to the guffaws of a few others. “It must sound terrifying, if it can scare a werewolf!”

  What? A werewolf? She froze, straining to hear what was said next. Werewolves don’t exist. Surely it must be a nickname?

  “It’s here,” the growling voice said in anger. “I have heard it since we first came into Misthalin.”

  With growing urgency she tried once more to prise her blindfold loose. It was an impossible task with her wrists bound as they were. As she sank to her knees in frus
tration, breathing heavily from her exertion, her foot kicked the side of a wooden object.

  Craning her head back, she could just make out a cupboard.

  Why would that be down here?

  She grasped the handle and attempted to open it. But it was locked.

  Lucky Straven didn’t strip me when he beat me and sealed me in that barrel.

  Quickly she reached down to her boot. Her fingers tore at the sole, and came away with a thin metal strip and two pieces of wire. She knelt at the lock, feeling for it with her fingers.

  All those years of training in the dark. Thorn would be proud of me. And Ginny and the others, for I was the best. No hangman’s rope for me.

  The voices carried on above her, but she was concentrating too hard to listen. It could have been a minute, or five, but finally the lock gave in to her teasing.

  And when the cupboard fell open, she knew her luck had changed.

  “So Jerrod, Barbec, and I will return to Varrock via the southern road,” said the voice of the man who commanded the group. “Until I return, you will have to keep a low profile here. I will, of course, be taking my box with me, as I am sure you will all understand.”

  “How do we know you won’t run?”

  “I have been running for the last six months, and I weary of it. We need to establish a secure headquarters, and I need men who I can trust to do what is needed. Now that you have seen the rewards I can deliver—and you know you can’t run from Jerrod—I believe you are such men.” He paused, and when no one objected he continued. “For the moment, our fates are intertwined.”

  From her position, peering over the rim of the trapdoor, the girl watched. The view of her captors was obscured by the three hay bales that rested between them. She shifted the two-bladed dagger she had found in the cupboard. It felt heavy in her grasp.

  I could go now, she thought, not entirely convinced. They are all standing together, away from the entrance. If I could make it to cover then I would be safe.

  She tensed her legs in preparation for a fast run. The distance to the open barn door was unobstructed, so there was no chance of her escaping unseen. Outside, the sky was overcast.

  “And what do we do while we wait?” countered the bandit.

  She didn’t wait for the man’s answer. She jumped up, running as soon as her foot touched the floor.

  When she was halfway to the door, she was noticed.

  “Jerrod! Get her.” She glanced over her shoulder. A bearded man in a black cloak commanded as a small army of men rose in pursuit.

  Didn’t know there were so many!

  She made it to the door as something heavy landed behind her.

  So quick. Impossibly quick.

  She spun instinctively as her nearest pursuer snarled. The two-pronged knife darted out before her in a desperate, unthinking lunge.

  “No!” she shouted as her attacked side-stepped at the very last moment. He wore a cloak that obscured his features, and something about him froze her blood. Behind him, she saw how the other men had stopped and looked on. They were grinning.

  It’s as though this is a show.

  I’ll give them a show!

  “Give her a scare, Jerrod,” a man without his nose roared. “Show her your pretty face from under that hood.”

  They laughed as the man called Jerrod jumped back a step, giving her room to wield the dagger.

  “But I want her unhurt, Jerrod,” said the man in black. “She could still be useful to us, once you’ve quenched that fire in her.” The man who spoke—she realised he was their leader—strode to the front of the group. His face, when it emerged from the gloom of the barn and into the dim light of the overcast sky, made her gasp.

  His left eye was a pale opal, blind of sight, while the right was bereft of mercy. His thin ragged hair fell to his shoulders, framing a face that was scarred beyond any she had seen.

  Yet the torments didn’t end there. When he thrust his arms from his cloak, she saw the two bandages that were tied to the stumps where his hands had once been.

  “Unhurt,” the man said again.

  The figure in the hood growled in response. He advanced a step, crouched, his arms outstretched to seize her knife hand.

  “Go on girl,” the noseless man goaded. “Prick him at least with your little dagger.”

  “I’ll bet you a gold piece that she doesn’t get near him, Velko.” The speaker was a pale-faced man with a mole at his forehead.

  “You’re on, Owen,” Velko replied. “Go on girl—if you fail, you will have lost me money. And I will be forced to cut it out of your flesh.”

  He had barely finished his sentence before she leapt, thrusting her knife arm out as she carried her entire body forward in a lunge.

  And if her enemy had been quick before, he was slow now. Her knife slashed the loose cloth at his wrist and went through. She felt the tip of the longer blade stab something beneath.

  When she pulled it back, she saw that its tip was black.

  But blood isn’t black. It’s red. It must be the light.

  The figure howled. Not a human yell of pain but something else, like the cry of an animal in agony. As he jumped back, the men behind fell silent in shock.

  “It burns!” Jerrod roared. His head tilted back and for the first time she could see the face under the hood.

  And when she did, she dropped the dagger with a cry of fright. Her will to fight vanished.

  For it was an inhuman face that stared at her. Jerrod’s eyes were blood red, his jaw hideously swollen and his teeth too long to be anything natural. Quickly he jerked the hood back into place.

  “Get her,” the scarred man ordered, before she could run. He stepped forward and put his foot on her dagger as his men seized her arms. “Tie her to the ladder.”

  Her heart calmed as she was bound. But even the hated presence of the rope wasn’t enough to clear her head of that hideous face.

  “Well, Jerrod. What happened?” the scarred man asked as Owen picked up the weapon.

  Jerrod pushed the hood back again from his face and she braced herself for the terror that was certain to grip her. But when she saw what was revealed, she gave a gasp of surprise. For he looked human. Gone were the red eyes and distended jaw, and now he sat on a hay bale, pale-faced, retching.

  “Get that dagger away from me,” he mumbled to Owen, who backed away. “It’s a wolfbane blade, cursed by Saradomin. I cannot concentrate while it is near. Get it away from me!”

  Jerrod stood and swayed like a drunken man, lurching from the barn. Velko climbed down into the cellar, and she heard a surprised whistle.

  “She’s good,” he called up. “She opened the cupboard somehow.”

  Good, she thought silently. Show them your worth. If they think you are useful they will keep you alive.

  “I picked the lock,” she said softly. “I’m a thief after all—just like the rest of you.”

  “Wrap the dagger up Owen,” the scarred man instructed. “I will take it with me. But you, little girl... you have proved yourself more resourceful than I had thought. You will not be harmed so long as you don’t try to run. I will return here in a day or two, and by then I expect I will have thought of a good use for you.” He advanced and fixed her with his opal-clouded eye.

  Can he see me with that thing?

  “What is your name, thief?”

  She breathed deeply before answering, to ensure that her voice sounded strong.

  It was all my parents left me with. It will not be mocked. It will not be whispered.

  “It is Pia,” she said. “My name is Pia.”

  Be bold, Pia. You have nothing to lose now.

  Her chin jutted forward.

  “And you?” she demanded.

  The man laughed, slowly at first, and then with a hint of madness.

  “Who am I?” he responded. “Who am I? You impersonated Kara-Meir, so surely you know her story. I have heard it spread throughout The Wilderness. About her and her friends, a
nd their victory at Falador. Who do you think I must be then? Who else in all this world would have such cause to hate her that he would spare you in case you might be useful? Who has lost both hands to that wretched she-devil in single-combat?”

  He leaned in closer, his foul-smelling breath disgusting her.

  “You tell me who I am.”

  The man was hissing now, spitting into her face.

  Pia closed her eyes in sudden panic.

  Of course, she thought. How could I not know?

  “You are Sulla,” she said.

  And this time, her voice did not sound so confident.

  “Can we trust Sulla?” Velko asked his fellow outlaws.

  “Not much choice, is there?” came the answer.

  It was two hours since Sulla had left them and the men all looked tired. Pia was tied to the wooden ladder that led up to the gambrel. She was aware of the increasingly hostile looks the men gave her. She said nothing in an attempt to avoid provoking them.

  She knew that she would have no other opportunity to escape. There were fifteen outlaws in all, armed with dirks, axes and swords. Even if she could free herself from her bonds, there was always someone watching. None dared to risk the anger of their leader—and the creature he commanded.

  The shadows had darkened inside the barn. The only light came from a single lamp that was set well away from the dry hay. Outside, the sky was still overcast and the gloom was increasing.

  After a time, resignation gave way to quiet desperation.

  My only chance is to knock over the lamp, then escape in the darkness.

  Unnoticed by her captors, she strained at the rope about her wrists, hoping that the old flax fibres would soon give.

  My brother is out there—he needs me.

  Finally, one of her captors spoke, putting a voice to the fears of his friends.

  “What worries me is that we’re all wanted in Varrock,” Owen said.

  “If we’re caught we’ll hang,” added another. “We lived in The Wilderness for a reason, and that’s ‘cause we have bounties on our heads. Every one of us.”