Betrayal at Falador (35 page)

“I thought normal blades couldn’t harm you?” Sulla asked suddenly.

“Not unless they are wielded by a strong or skilled enemy, but she doesn’t wield a normal weapon. It is a stronger and sharper blade, and could cut through most armour with ease.”

Sulla thought back to his encounter with the blonde-haired girl who had ambushed his men. She had fought with ferocity, and the sword she had used had easily cut through the armour of his soldiers. Could it be the same girl?

Could this be the girl the sybil has warned me against?
he wondered grimly.
The one who invades my dreams?

“Tell me, my friend, this girl—what exactly does she look like?”

Ebenezer’s head pounded from the blast. His vision was blurred as he looked for his companions, peering through the murky light. One by one they crawled swiftly from under whatever protection they had found.

The alchemist himself had ducked behind one of the fountains, for his heavy pack and his aged limbs had not allowed him enough time to find anything better.

And he had been lucky. He had been so lucky he laughed hysterically. A shell had landed a short distance from him, impacting in the soft earth of a once-pristine flowerbed, its fuse sputtering wildly. Ebenezer had done the only thing he could think of—he had suffocated the flame with a clod of damp earth, holding it tightly over the burning fuse. And it had not gone off.

A moment later, a second shell had landed directly in front of him, splashing into the fountain and spraying his face with water. It, too, had failed to detonate.

“I’m living on borrowed time,” he breathed to himself as he attempted to pick up the shell that had landed by his side. It was heavier than he had expected, and
hot.
To overcome the heat he wrapped it in a discarded cloth that he retrieved from the nearby body of a monk who had been far less fortunate.

Castimir ran to his side and pulled him towards the safety of the stables.

“The monks are ready to go,” the wizard shouted.

“The town of Edgeville is closest,” Ebenezer answered. “If we can break out then we should turn east. It is a day’s journey away.”

Suddenly a huge explosion sounded from the southern end of the courtyard. The wooden gates were blasted off their hinges, sending deadly splinters flying in all directions.

As the smoke cleared a single rider appeared through the haze. A large black-armoured warrior on a heavy warhorse stared at the survivors. With a cry, he lowered his visor to shield his face, digging his spurs into his horse as he did so. At once the animal leapt forward and galloped into the courtyard. At least a dozen armoured warriors followed their leader, with as many men again running in behind them.

“What are we going to do?” Castimir asked in a panicky voice.

“Scatter!” Doric said quickly. The dwarf didn’t wait for the others to respond—he swiftly ran to the cover of the stables, his efforts inspiring action in his companions.

Castimir’s fear forced him to act quickly. Unconsciously his hand dipped into a pouch on his belt, then another. He hurled a ball of red flame at the foremost Kinshra warrior. His aim, although inaccurate, caused the man’s horse to turn suddenly in fright, confusing the charge behind. His magic had bought them valuable time.

“They aren’t attacking us” Theodore said, watching as the Kinshra rounded up two prisoners near the wreck of the gate. “What are they using the monks for?”

The answer came a second later. The monks were herded to the entrance. Although Theodore’s sight was obscured by the Kinshra horsemen, he could tell by their savage cries and the vicious thuds of heavy axes that the monks had been slain. He held a hand to his mouth as comprehension sank in.

“We are going to have to fight for our lives” he shouted to his friends. “They have killed the monks near the gate—they mean to kill us all!”

“Then they shall have a heavy price to pay” Doric growled, his eyes burning in righteous rage.

The rest of the companions stood silently, their grim faces removing the need for them to speak. They all knew Theodore was right.

“The entrance to the monastery has been defiled by the blood of the monks.” The man spoke to Sulla with breathless excitement, the heat of the raid instilling a passion that flared brightly.

Sulla smiled.

“Then take our friend to the monastery and allow him his fun.”

“Is there any sign of Gar’rth, or the girl?” the werewolf asked the messenger. The man hesitated, peering suspiciously at the tattered figure, then answered.

“Yes” he said. “They have taken cover near the stables at the rear of the courtyard. The men have refrained from attacking them, as you instructed.”

Sulla nodded.

“I would like the girl alive,” he said, his hand resting firmly on the chest of the werewolf.

The creature drew back his lips in a gleeful snarl.

“I shall keep her alive for you, Sulla. Together we shall design a fittingly slow end for her!” Without another word he stalked toward the monastery’s shattered gate.

The raiding party had lost what discipline it had once possessed. The leather-clad footsoldiers advanced toward the end of the courtyard to assault the monks who cowered near the stables.

There was a small paling near the stables, and the first soldier who advanced on it expected no resistance. He had no time to raise his guard as Theodore ran him through. The squire looked into the man’s eyes as he died, sliding from Theodore’s blade soundlessly.

“I killed him,” Theodore said, his face suddenly pale. He turned to his companions. “I just killed a man! I’ve never killed anyone before.” Suddenly he felt very sick.

“He would have killed you if you had not,” Doric muttered, his expression grim.

Ebenezer caught his look and nodded discreetly. The alchemist turned to his friends, speaking in low tones.

“We must fight. All of us! And we can have no qualms about killing these murderers, for if any of you hesitate then you will die today.” He turned to face the squire. “Theodore, you are a trained warrior of Falador—now is the time when all your learning will come into use. Castimir, you are a wizard in the real world now—your power is going to be important to keep the enemy at bay. Kara, you must ensure that Gar’rth stays close to us.”

A faint moan from Abbot Langley caught their attention. He lipped toward them pale-faced, clutching Arisha’s wrist for support.

“Gar’rth” he stammered, “you must not be afraid to fight. It is only the blood of innocents that you must fear to spill. These men are not innocent!”

The youth seemed to understand, and he nodded, moving forward to stand beside Theodore. Behind him stood Doric, his axe ready, and farther back, his runes ready, Castimir waited.

But now the Kinshra attack was renewed with increased ferocity. With terrifying yells, six of the leather-armoured foot soldiers charged amongst them, hacking wildly in their anger.

Theodore was the first to bar their way. With a cry he smashed the nearest with his shield and slashed at another man’s hands, severing fingers and forcing his enemy to drop his sword with a scream. He heard Kara yelling wildly at his side as she fought the third, the ring of adamant on steel echoing as swords clashed, and he heard the sharp crack as the steel weapon was severed in two.

The Kinshra warrior cried out as Kara ran her blade deep into his chest, his armour no hindrance to her weapon.

Without pausing, she leapt to Theodore’s side to confront the squire’s two opponents, whilst from behind them Doric hurled his hand-axe at the first of their foes, stunning him. But the two men behind leapt over their comrade without slowing. As the dwarf readied his axe, a blazing red ball of flame struck the nearest attacker squarely in the chest, setting him alight.

The man ran wildly away, shrieking in horror, trailing the smell of burning flesh.

The last of the Kinshra, outnumbered, turned to flee, but Doric leapt after him, his axe cutting deeply into the back of the soldier’s calves. The man howled as he fell and Doric silenced him with a vicious blow.

“That’s the last of them for now!” Theodore called, for the squire’s two enemies had fallen quickly and without mercy at Kara’s hand. He peered at her strangely.

“Do not look at me like that, Theodore” she chastised. “These people deserve the same mercy they offered others. Others like my family.” There was anger in her eyes, and a hunger for revenge.

“And what of him? Are you going to kill him also?” Theodore demanded, pointing to the man whom Doric’s hand-axe had stunned. The man lay prone, unmoving, but he was still alive.

Kara put her sword to his throat and gritted her teeth.

“Don’t do it Kara,” Arisha warned. “Killing in battle is one thing, but what you are about to do is quite different.”

A horn sounded in the courtyard, drawing their attention away from their unconscious enemy.

“We must ride out now” Theodore insisted, watching the Kinshra gather. “If we leave it any longer there will be too many of them.”

“We are ready to go,” Brother Althric said wearily. “Every man who is still able is ready to ride.”

The wind changed suddenly, carrying the heat of the raging fires toward the stables. With a blistering crackle the flames found new thatch to consume.

“It is the archives” one of the monks moaned in despair. “The archives will burn. All our labours will have been for nothing.”

The words felt like daggers piercing Kara’s skin. Looking at the flames, she made a decision.

“I am going to get the records,” she cried. “If you have to go, then go without me—but I will not let the Kinshra win again!” She gripped her sword and ran into the courtyard before anyone could stop her.

A Kinshra soldier shouted out in alarm and several men ran to intercept her.

“Come on!” Theodore yelled, running after her. The small group split, with Gar’rth and even Castimir refusing to heed Doric’s cries of warning in their eagerness to help Kara.

“Impetuous youths!” the dwarf called out, knowing that her rash action had likely condemned them all. With an oath he followed them, leaving behind a fearful Ebenezer who watched discreetly from behind the wooden paling, deep in thought.

The first man who tried to seize Kara died before he could even touch her. He saw her blonde hair and noted her slight frame, and with a brutal arrogance he underestimated his foe. Her sword edge sliced across his throat. Without waiting for him to fall she ran past, Gar’rth following close behind her.

Then Theodore, yelling an ancient battle cry of the knights, charged into the midst of the invaders. He made straight for the largest of the enemy but quickly the Kinshra warrior parried his sword thrust, slipping his own blade beneath the squire’s shield to stab him in the side.

Theodore screamed.

But even as the sword tip stabbed through his leather armour, the Kinshra warriors were put to flight. His blue robes flailing behind him as he ran, Castimir hurled red flames from his hands, scattering the enemy. Doric followed, hurling his hand-axe with unerring accuracy, felling a Kinshra foot soldier as the sharp edge embedded itself in the man’s forehead.

And then there was Gar’rth, who carried no weapon. One of the Kinshra lunged toward him but he was too quick, sidestepping the foot soldier’s thrust and hitting him with all his strength. The man went down at once, a sickening crack sounding from his jaw.

“Follow Kara!” Doric yelled to Gar’rth as he leapt toward Theodore, putting the wounded squire behind him so he could face the big warrior in his stead.

The dwarf ducked and parried the warrior’s attacks, buying time for Theodore to overcome his pain and rejoin the fray. The squire’s blade intercepted his enemy’s thrust. Seizing the advantage, Doric drove his axe into the man’s calves, felling him instantly.

Theodore stepped over the soldier, an angry glare in his eye.

“For Saradomin!” he declared, and ran the man through in a single thrust, putting his weight onto his sword to drive it through the man’s armour and into the soft earth beneath.

“They are regrouping” Ebenezer called out in warning. He ran out to support a weary Castimir who had spent much of his strength with his magical fire and was clearly exhausted.

“I’m not sure if I can go on,” the young wizard wheezed.

“You have to, Castimir,” the old man said, squeezing his hand in support. “For all our sakes!”

FORTY-NINE