RuneScape: Return to Canifis (47 page)

Pia wailed and hid her face in her hands. Jack stared dumbly out at them.

The boy is terrified beyond reason.

“I will not!” Kara yelled. “I gave them my promise before they entered this land. I am of an embassy sent here by the highest authority. My word will count for something.”

Do not deceive yourself, Kara.

“This man is right, Kara,” Despaard said. “We can do nothing, and we must not attempt to try. If we do, then our protection becomes forfeit and we will be lost. And if the embassy fails, how many more lives in Misthalin will follow?”

“Listen to him, Kara,” Theodore said softly. “I don’t like it either, but he’s right.”

She stared at Gar’rth.

“Please Gar’rth...” she whispered. “There must be a way.”

She wants me to say otherwise. But I cannot.

“I’m sorry, Kara. Lord Despaard and Theodore are right.”

Behind them, Imre laughed scornfully, his joy echoed by others who perceived Kara’s tearful face.

“But at least we may stay here for a while, at their side,” Doric suggested. “It may be some small comfort in this dark place.”

“Thank you, my friends,” the prisoner said, “but you must not. The werewolves are too dangerous now their blood is up and their hunger stirred. I doubt even if your protection would keep you safe.”

“What is your name?” Despaard asked warily. “You speak
bravely my friend. Tell me, are you one of
them
? Are you one of the Myreque?”

The man smiled suddenly and leaned as close to the bars as he dared.

“I am one of those you speak of, my friend. One of the few,” he said, his voice low. “It is apparent that you are no stranger to this cursed land.” He looked quickly at the werewolves and thrust his right hand through the bars. Despaard took it firmly.

“As to my name, it is Vanstrom. Vanstrom Klause.”

Castimir watched as Vanstrom Klause stood back from the bars and breathed deeply. The wizard clutched his hand about his runes, taking a small measure of comfort from their presence. But he did not seek to use them.

His own worries were forgotten now as he gazed at the three condemned souls, and no possible witticism could in any way alter his black mood. A quick look at Doric told him the dwarf was of the same mind.

“Then we should go,” Theodore said grimly. “Vanstrom is right. It is no longer safe for us out here, and there is nothing we can do if we stay.”

A moment Theodore
, Castimir thought.
Just a single moment for Kara. Give her that!

But Kara just shook her head. Her hand gripped one of the bars as if she wished to rip it away, her blonde hair hid her face from the wizard’s view.

No one moved, and Theodore looked about him in concern. The furor around them was growing more chaotic.

“Did you not hear me?” the knight asked. “We have to leave here. Now.”

“You go, Theodore,” Kara said coldly. “I will remain for a while.”

Gar’rth gritted his teeth at her side. Castimir saw how his eyes were unnaturally black.

“Theodore is right, Kara. We should go.” Gar’rth’s voice was a growl.

Castimir looked over his shoulder as a cry went up from one of the spectators. The pack had edged closer, their proximity unnerving him, but now they leaped back and some even turned and vanished into the green mist.

“Gar’rth, what is going on?” he asked, surprised to see his friend’s face pale and his lips curled back in a snarl.

Is he changing?

Why?

“Gar’rth?”

“He is here,” the werewolf growled. His inhuman face made Castimir shiver.

I can’t forget the dream, Gar’rth. The one we all shared. Nor what you did in it, to me, to Arisha, especially to Kara.

But then all such thoughts were cast aside. A pale mist drifted toward them. It formed into a tall column and deposited quickly into a solid form of a cloaked man.

Kara gave a gasp as she turned to see.

Gar’rth fell to his knees.

Castimir sensed the man’s power as a wave of coldness that chilled his bare skin. The newcomer’s face was an unblemished white, reminding Castimir of a polished alabaster sculpture. It was topped with silky black hair that narrowed to a point on his forehead. His eyes were an animal yellow, like the Wyrd’s but even more calculating and malicious.

Unwillingly, he felt himself begin to kneel.

“Malak,” Despaard murmured from behind him. Castimir shook his head and straightened his back, fighting the urge to kneel or flee.

So this is a Lord of Morytania.

“You have returned, Gar’rth,” Malak said, his voice clear and powerful. “And of your own free will, bringing with you enemies of our lord. People have been executed for crimes a thousand times less severe than yours, wolf. Yet you will be spared, for I have given my word to your embassy.”

Malak made a single sweeping gesture with his hands and from around him the very shadows moved, abandoning their positions and racing to merge behind him. Very quickly they grew in shape and volume, forming a throne of blackness upon which he sat.

How did he do that?

Malak looked at Castimir with obvious amusement.

“You are a wizard. I have always thought it very arrogant of humans, to label themselves as such, for your command over nature has never been more than rudimentary at best. So dependent on your runes. It is quite... pitiful.”

“Master Malak,” Kara said firmly. “I speak with the voice of the King of Misthalin. These two youngsters are under my protection. I demand their instant release.”

How can you dare to make demands of such a being, Kara?

Casimir shook his head, his sudden anger at Kara’s impertinence fading. Why he should have felt that way, he had no idea.

Malak was unmoved.

“The werewolves are starving,” he said. “Your chattels entered Morytania unbidden, of their own accord. They will die tonight.”

“But my lord Malak, is there nothing we can offer in their place?” Gideon Gleeman spoke quickly, and with reverence. “May we not offer a trade, perhaps?”

Clever jester. But what would you offer?

“The fool speaks with a surprising tongue,” Malak smiled, his lengthened teeth dropping down over his lower lip. “But really,
look about you. Does it appear as if these creatures can afford to give their food away?”

Castimir looked behind him as Malak nodded. He saw a woman with a silent infant in her arms, watching the three prisoners with hungry and desperate eyes.

He’s right. These wretches cannot spare anything. Least of all food.

“But we can offer more than these three humans,” Theodore said boldly, following the jester’s lead. “Our steeds would feed more of your people than the prisoners. Surely you are gaining more from such a bargain.”

Malak laughed cruelly.

“These requests will not be entertained. You have nothing to offer in their place. Horse flesh is no substitute for the tenderness of youth. Would you be satisfied with nettle broth instead of steak? No. Tonight, the prisoners will die.

“But I sense the truth of what you speak, Kara-Meir. These two were your property in the unholy land across the river. Their belongings will be returned to you shortly. Roavar will see to that. I have respected your embassy, but now I must know of its purpose.”

He leaned forward and locked eyes with her.

“What is it the King of Misthalin wants?”

Despaard stepped forward.

“He requests the return of those unlawfully taken from his lands. He wishes this creature we call the Wyrd to be destroyed, withdrawn, or better still to be handed to us for punishment. And finally, he wishes to have the assurance from Lord Drakan that the prophecy foretold by the High Priest of Entrana will in no way be acted upon.”

Malak remained silent for what seemed an interminable time.

“Very well,” he whispered silently, rising from his throne of shadows. “I know you have come to this land with the King’s Seal
to prove your status, but I will not require that from you. I will take these requests to my master. In the meantime, you must all remain in Canifis.”

The shadows that composed his throne drifted apart, falling rapidly back.

Incredible
, Castimir marvelled.
What would I have to do to gain such power? Think what I could do with it.

“You should put these three from your mind, Kara-Meir,” Malak told her. “If you attempt to rescue them, you will violate the terms of your embassy and your lives will be forfeit, in ways you cannot imagine.”

Malak’s body shimmered and then the details of his being began to fade. The folds in the robes of his cloak blurred and the colours merged into a subfusc blandness. His face lost its detail. Soon, his solid form sublimated into a pale mist, vanishing on the breeze.

Castimir felt as if a foot had been taken off his chest. He breathed easier, and was aware of a cold sweat upon his skin.

I felt myself agreeing to everything he said. Was I alone in that, or were the others affected likewise?

He shook his head, aware that Kara was talking to Pia, aware of Theodore interrupting her angrily, and of Gar’rth and Despaard joining in on the Knight’s side.

Suddenly, a snarl silenced them all.

It was Imre. Behind him walked Arisha, with Albertus leaning on her arm. The old man looked older than when Castimir had seen him last, paler and weaker, his skin more wrinkled than before.

“I wanted to... wanted to come with you.” Albertus’s voice was faint and slurred. “Have I... have I missed anything?”

The old man’s presence surprised them all, and a brief silence fell. Then it was shattered.

“Help us! Please help us!” Pia shouted. “Please, you can’t leave us here.”

Vanstrom Klause pursed his lips and shook his head.

“You have to go,” he said to them. “Now. Your friends are right, Kara-Meir. There is nothing you can do for us. I thank you for trying, but we three are dead. When the time comes you must not interfere. If you do, you will suffer a far worse fate than death. It will be an eternity of suffering.” Vanstrom pressed his face as close to the bars as he was able.

“And you should know, our lives have not been wasted. We will be dead soon, but our sacrifice will mean many others will live. Promise me, promise me you won’t interfere.”

Kara took Pia’s hand in her own. Castimir could see her body shudder as she wept. Doric lowered his face in shadow and Arisha, moving among them with Albertus still on her arm, put her free hand upon her friend’s shoulder.

“I promise,” Kara said finally. “I promise I won’t interfere. Pia, I’m so sorry.”

“No!” Pia yelled angrily, wrenching her hand away from Kara’s as if she had been burned, her face a mask of rage. “You promised us, Kara! You promised you would help us! You promised...”

Suddenly Kara broke away and ran. Castimir leapt aside as she fled toward the inn, its outline barely visible through the swirling mists. Pia shouted after her.

“You promised us, Kara! You gave your word! Please... please don’t leave us. Please!” She grabbed the bars and shook with all her strength, yet the metal was unyielding.

And Jack, behind her, stared blankly ahead as if they were all strangers.

It is the gaze of a person waiting to die.

Now Pia turned to those who remained.

“Sir Theodore, you must help us,” she pleaded. “You cannot permit us to be murdered here—”

“I’m sorry, Pia,” he said. “There is nothing any of us can do.” The knight turned and strode away quickly, back to the inn.

Cold, Theodore. Very cold.

“Please don’t go. Just don’t leave me here...” Pia’s voice had faded now to a whimper, her voice hoarse from shouting. Tears ran down her face as she collapsed against the bars.

“It is too hard a burden for one so young,” Vanstrom murmured.

Arisha handed Albertus over to Gideon Gleeman. The jester steadied the old man as the priestess knelt before the girl.

“I will remain here with you, Pia,” she promised. “Come, let us pray together, in this dark place. And you also, Jack—come to me here where I can hold you.”

Castimir felt his eyes water. A quick look at his companions informed him he wasn’t alone. Lord Despaard stared angrily into space, Gar’rth clenched and unclenched his fists, his face human once more, while Doric shook his head slowly. Albertus Black’s eyes were blurred, his tears faint on his pale skin.

Arisha took the siblings through the bars and kissed each one on the forehead. She held them very tightly and Pia’s wailing subsided. Even Jack seemed more animated at her touch.

How does she have the strength to keep giving? Even here.

“The rest of you should go back,” she told them over her shoulder. “There is nothing you can do here, and it might become increasingly dangerous as the werewolves grow bolder. Can I rely on your protection, Imre?”

The werewolf looked at her with hatred. Castimir clutched the runes in his hands in readiness.

“You can,” he said finally. “Malak has said that none of you shall be hurt by my people. My guard will keep you safe.”

“Then I shall remain also,” Castimir said, feeling Arisha’s stare bore into him. “You should not be alone, Arisha, and my powers are perhaps most effective to safeguard you here.”

“Very well,” she said. “But the rest of you must leave.”

Doric patted Arisha on the shoulder and strode away, muttering in his own language and shaking his head angrily.

Only Gar’rth hesitated now.

“You should speak to Kara, Gar’rth,” Arisha told him. “Theodore and she will no doubt find an argument in their discussions, but he is right. This time.”

“I will not be far away,” the werewolf said, then he turned and followed the rest of them.

And they were left alone.

How many from the Tower can say they have stood in the centre of Canifis, guarding a Guthixian priestess as she performs last rites?

None
, he mused,
save me.

Then Castimir gritted his teeth, angry at himself as he saw Jack’s glassy gaze.

Today wasn’t a day for him to feel proud.