RuneScape: Return to Canifis (15 page)

“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!

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, Lord 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...”

“That is not quite appropriate. Gideon himself is not a problem— he is in fact a respected man at court. But not the other fellows he was with. To them, you are a
wizard
, young man. That means you must be more than they.”

Castimir said nothing. He felt suddenly embarrassed.

“I have lived in Varrock for many years. More than I would like to admit, anyhow,” Aubury continued. “I am a Master of the Tower, and my role here is to ensure that our order is properly represented in Misthalin and in the court of King Roald. It is absolutely vital that we have the crown’s support. We cannot allow that to be jeopardised by any unnecessary or uncouth fraternisation. Wizards must be held in
awe
by the common folk. We cannot be seen drunk or boisterous or prideful. You know this.” Aubury’s eyes narrowed. “And you know why.”

Because our power is an illusion
, Castimir answered silently
. Because we don’t know how to replenish our runes, and they are fast running out.

“I do know why, of course,” Castimir replied instead, biting his tongue.

“Good. That’s good.” Aubury spoke in the manner of a teacher encouraging a wayward pupil. “And I have news for you, Castimir. News I think you are expecting?”

Castimir felt his stomach curdle in nervousness.

“My thesis? Did I pass?”

His fingers pressed themselves into the wood of his staff. His heart thundered in his ears and head.

“You have passed. Congratulations. You are no longer an apprentice.”

Castimir sighed volubly.

Thank the gods!

“But you didn’t pass well,” Aubury continued. “It was a very close affair, indeed. In fact, you were the last in your class of five. The tutors thought the subject matter too complex for one of your years. Your inexperience showed.”

Castimir’s relief turned to sudden anger.

“Inexperience?” he said. Realizing he had spoken loudly, he
lowered his voice. “But I’ve done more than most do in their entire lives!”

“I know,” Aubury conceded. “But some fear it has made you arrogant. You have time enough not to rush things, Castimir. And nonetheless, you passed, and I have here the token of your new office.”

He produced a long thin box, which Castimir recognised immediately.

“My new wand,” he remarked drily. “I lost my apprentice wand when I was in Kandarin.”

“And this is a teacher’s wand,” Aubury told him. “Sent to us from our desert-dwelling colleagues in Al-Kharid. Please try not to lose it.”

Castimir took the box with care. He had never really
liked
wands, for they were limited in their use, but they did help a wizard concentrate his spells. Even so, he favoured his staff over a wand, for at least the staff could be used as a weapon, should his magic fail or his runes run out.

Then the thought of his thesis brought the riddle back into his mind.

“Master Aubury, have you ever heard of the Dark Lady?”

The older man thought for a moment.

“It could be a name for the daughter of Lord Drakan of Morytania, though her existence is only legend. Other than that I do not know. Why do you ask?” Suddenly Castimir realised that he might have spoken too quickly, and revealed more than he had intended. But as he struggled to come up with a plausible reply, Aubury spoke again. “Ah! Your friend Theodore is about to begin his mélèe.”