Betrayal at Falador (15 page)

As he did, Castimir finally spoke again.

“Not about the path, Ebenezer,” Castimir said. “I have no doubt that I am best suited to be a wizard. Could you imagine me as a farmer, or a miner, or a blacksmith?” He shook his head. “I grew up with books, learning about places far off, entertaining the other children with legends. My most eager student then was Theodore.” He smiled at the fond remembrance. “No, Ebenezer, my worry stems from something else, which could have severe implications for us all, over time.”

But he fell silent again, reluctant to explain further, for to do so—even to a trusted friend like Ebenezer—was strictly against the rules of his order.

And how could Castimir ever admit the truth, and tell Ebenezer that the rune stones were actually running out? Existing supplies could not be replenished, and the wizards were thus restricting the number of mages allowed to use them. Castimir had been granted permission because of his unusual aptitude for magic. His masters were certain he could be a great asset to the Wizards’ Tower, and an invaluable force for protecting the human realms from their enemies.

Only the royal households of each nation knew of the dwindling supply of runes, for it was a secret that could unleash panic amongst the citizens who believed that the wizards would always be there to protect them. Castimir feared that his would be the last generation of wizards. So limited were the runes that even to use them for practice was a rare privilege, reserved for only the most skilled mages.

Each time Castimir conjured a spell, he felt guilty watching the pebble-like objects dissolve in his hands as they were consumed to summon his magic.

“I am sorry, Ebenezer,” he said. “Pay no heed to my mutterings.” Castimir thought of a lie that would divert his friend’s attention, and he was summoning the courage to speak, when a knock on the door distracted them both.

It was Kaqemeex. His face was grave.

“Ebenezer, would you be kind enough to walk with me? I have some thoughts on your proposal.”

The druid looked kindly at Gar’rth, who bowed his head in respect.

The alchemist stood up.

“I would be happy to,” he said, following the druid out of the room, leaving the two youths alone.

NINETEEN

“Theodore will be here shortly,” the matron whispered to Bhuler. The valet was sitting at the girl’s bedside, a bowl of thick, warm broth in one hand, a wooden spoon in the other.

“You must eat,” he pleaded with the girl, who stared at him darkly. She still hadn’t spoken to anyone other than Theodore, despite the matron’s comforting words and his own attentions.

With visible reluctance, the girl took the spoon and proceeded to eat. She managed only two mouthfuls before she handed the spoon back to him and shook her head.

“But it’s delicious,” Bhuler insisted, tasting some in an effort to convince her. His smile vanished as he struggled to swallow the foul-tasting broth, and his eyes watered as he tried hard to ignore the taste.

The girl managed a stiff smile, as if she hadn’t smiled for a very long time and was unused to it.

And her expression did not go unnoticed by the canny valet. He decided not to try to force her into conversation, fearing that her good mood might vanish if she thought he was taking advantage of it.

Instead he decided to gain her goodwill by forcing a smile from her once more.

“It’s really not that bad, my dear,” he whispered, lowering his head to speak to her privately, while the matron turned her back to dispose of the bandages that she had removed from the girl’s hand. He risked another mouthful and exaggerated the natural grimace that the taste inspired. His suddenly grotesque appearance had the desired effect, for the girl smiled once more, looking at him as if she thought him a fool.

Saradomin knows what they put in this,
Bhuler thought as he prepared himself for a third mouthful, wondering how he could survive such punishment. He stopped the spoon just before his open mouth.

“No, I cannot lie to you,” he confessed. “It
is
awful!”

He put the broth down by his side and stuck the spoon in its dark surface. It stood upright without support from the bowl, as a dead log might stand in a thick swamp. To Bhuler it looked horrible, and it tasted even worse than it looked.

So the valet reached inside the folds of his white robe, and withdrew a red apple. He saw the girl’s eyes light up.

“Why don’t I leave you this, then?” he said as her eager hands reached for it. “But don’t let the matron see!” He looked back at the broth with a sorrowful expression. “She has interesting ideas about food.”

He patted her arm gently as he stood, and was shocked when he found her unwilling to let him go. Gently he brushed her hair back from her pale face.

“I have to leave now, my dear. I have my duties to attend.

I must ensure the castle’s seamstress and tanners are finishing off your new clothes as per my instructions.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “I have commanded they be fashioned in a similar way to your previous dress, even replacing your stubbed leather brigandine. They should be ready for you tomorrow. But do not fear, I will not be gone for long.”

With a smile on her face, she watched him go, her head resting on the pillow. Bhuler reminded her of the last person who had called himself father to her, the old dwarf who had picked her out of the snow all those years before.

“Kara-Meir” was what the dwarfs had called her, and while she knew she had possessed a human name before that time, she could not remember it. Nevertheless, her traumatised mind was reliving her youth again, when she had been in the company of humans. Slowly she was recalling her life in the village.

The tune that the matron had repeatedly sung was familiar to her. She envisioned the long summer evenings when her father, the woodcutter, would return to their house singing a similar verse.

She recalled the evening that her father had returned to the cabin with an injured bear cub. She had nursed it back to health before he had decided to return it to the wild the following year. It shocked her that she could ever have forgotten something like that. It was as if a door had been opened in her mind, through which she could witness those peaceful days of village life.

Suddenly she needed to talk to someone about her experiences, to tell another human being about her childhood and to confide in someone as she had never done before.

The door to the ward opened and Theodore strode in quietly. She turned to look at him.

“Theodore!” she said, and a look of surprise swept over his face. Nearby the matron gasped.

The young squire sat by her side, looking unsure of what to say. But Kara-Meir needed no spur to the conversation, for she wanted to tell him of her life in the shadow of the mountain.

For an hour she talked ceaselessly.

Sir Amik’s face was impassive as Theodore told him the girl’s story.

He began with her name, Kara-Meir, which was the only name she said she could remember. Her father had been a village woodcutter, often staying away from the community for days at a time. One of her first memories was being taken from the village to a monastery some days’ walk from her home. There, her father had asked for Saradomin’s blessing upon her, and the monks had given it.

The young girl had received special attention, for children were very rare visitors to the monastery, and the monks had been enchanted with her innocent smile and wide, enquiring eyes.

Under her father’s loving tutelage she had learned how to stalk and forage, how to live in the wild, how to shoot a bow and how to wield a sword. Her upbringing had been that of a hunter rather than a maiden.

It was toward the end of her story that Sir Amik grew more interested.

Her father had stayed away from the village for several weeks, and one evening he had returned badly injured. He had been in a battle. A few weeks after that, as the winter snows had fallen thick upon the earth and isolated the village, a man had come with others at his side, and her happy life had ended.

She had not mentioned the man by name, for her focus was on the happy time before he had entered her life.

Moved by her tragic story, Theodore had not wished to press her for details.

“You must find out more,” Sir Amik told him. “It seems as if her father’s actions might have brought the men to the village. I believe them to be the Kinshra.”

“Am I to give this priority over my other duties, Sir Amik?” Theodore asked.

“You are, Theodore,” Sir Amik ordered, not taking his eyes off the young man. “But I know your reputation. I know you will not neglect your duties.” With that, he dismissed the squire.

Sir Amik watched Theodore go, his brow furrowed in thought. He was indeed an excellent squire, but he wondered if the youth had enough aggression to succeed as a knight. Training against others was not a mark of ability—fighting for your life against your enemies was what counted.

All of the squires had yet to prove themselves in this manner.

TWENTY

Theodore returned to the ward to continue his discussions with Kara-Meir. The sky was grey and overcast with low clouds which threatened rain, and the blue flags of the kingdom shook energetically in the breeze.

“Tell me about the knights, Theodore,” Kara said as soon as he sat down by her side. A swift glance told the squire that the matron was nearby, her vigilance unrelenting.

“We are an old order, Kara,” he said. “We were formed at the end of the Fourth Age, before the founding of Asgarnia as a nation under King Raddallin more than a hundred and fifty years ago. We were charged with protecting Falador, and gained new prominence during the war with the dark wizards, followers of Zamorak, who were once welcome in the order of mages.

“It was their betrayal and subsequent burning of the Wizards’ Tower that gave our cause impetus and righteousness, for all men had until that time lived as one, their actions not governed by their religion. But then the world lost its most powerful mages, and since that time our cause has been at odds with the followers of Zamorak, especially the Kinshra.”

“And have you yourself ever fought any of these ‘followers’?” she asked eagerly, her eyes flashing.