Betrayal at Falador (49 page)

It was dark when Theodore dismounted in front of the Imperial Guard.

A dark-haired man strode forward, his hand outstretched in greeting.

“I am Lord Radebaugh, leader of these men,” he said.

“I am Squire Theodore.” He grasped the hand firmly. “My dwarf allies told me of your presence here, and I come to ask for your help. Falador is under siege and the walls cannot last against the Kinshra guns. Together, however, we can have a chance of victory.”

Many of the men who surrounded them nodded in eagerness, looking to Lord Radebaugh, but he avoided their stares.

“We are loyal to the crown prince in Burthorpe,” he said. “Lord Amthyst was our captain and when the Kinshra embassy seized control of the citadel they executed him in the manner of a traitor.”

That yielded an angry rumbling amongst the men as Lord Radebaugh continued.

“The Kinshra have the crown prince now, and he is their puppet. Our orders are explicit—we are to return to our homes and disarm.”

“We must join the fight!” a desperate voice called from the back. “The Kinshra will burn Falador as they did Taverley.”

“But we are too few,” Lord Radebaugh sighed, looking to his men wearily, and it was clear they had discussed this before.

“By yourselves, that is true” Theodore agreed. “But we have help. Even now a hundred eyes rest upon you, for I have come from the dwarf mines where an army is mustering to go to Falador’s aid. If you and your men side with us, then we may yet achieve victory.”

A hush descended on the Imperial Guard. The men looked expectantly to their leader.

“For many years our orders have opposed each other, Theodore, yet today I fight not as an Imperial Guard but as a citizen of Asgarnia,” Lord Radebaugh said, and his voice reverberated with growing conviction. “I will fight with you.”

A stunned silence descended over the soldiers. Somewhere nearby a horse neighed. Suddenly there rose a cheer from every man present.

“I shall fight with you!” a man pledged, stepping forward.

“As shall I!” another declared, drawing his sword and holding it high.

And then, six hundred swords were raised in unison, and again the men cheered.

Theodore held out his hand and Lord Radebaugh took it in a tight grasp.

Kara used the rune metal sparingly. She had only ever worked with it once before, and she had not been successful then. And this time it was not a simple blade she was making. The amulet of King Alvis’s queen was a delicate thing of beauty, of subtle skill with hair-thick strands forming cascading rings emanating from the polished diamond that was embedded in its centre.

Three of the amulet’s rings had been broken and it was Kara’s task to rejoin them.

Kara was scared. She had never attempted to smith something of such subtlety before, and never when so much depended on the outcome.

She closed her mind to the sounds in the chamber, her concentration set on the task before her.

The tools felt strange in her hands. She held her breath as she leaned forward, her eyes focused entirely on the break.

“I can’t do this,” she sighed, panic gripping her. “It’s impossible! How can it be right for the fate of a city to depend on a broken amulet? Perhaps I am not worthy of this task?”

Her face fell as she turned from the amulet and moved to a bench. She sat in silence, her mind in a tumult as she regarded her failure.

It was the dripping of water that calmed her nerves. She searched for the source, high up in the shadows, away from the light of the forge.

As she did so she gasped in surprise. For the vial about her neck had begun to glow, strong enough to drive back the darkness of the cavern.

She held it before her, recalling Master Phyllis’s tale of how it had come into his possession.

“The tears of Guthix!” she whispered. “Can it be true?” As she spoke the water in the crystal vial responded. The blue light grew in intensity, lighting the chamber all the way to the ceiling, high above her.

She recalled what she had heard of the legends, of the calming influence of the tears, of how they appeared to lead lost dwarf miners out of the darkness and back to their homes. Of how they gave hope to those who believed.

With a new sense of destiny, Kara raised the vial to her lips. And without a thought, she drank.

Throughout the long night, the citizens of Falador stayed awake, listening to the unending roar of the Kinshra guns and the crash of masonry as the walls of the city shivered and cracked. Children cried in their beds and pulled the blankets farther over their heads, while young couples, knowing that their future looked increasingly uncertain, spent the time clutched in tight embraces.

A light burned in Sir Amik’s chamber. Bhuler pressed his fingers to his eyes to ease the weariness. He had worked tirelessly throughout the day, ensuring that his ailing master was made as comfortable as could be.

“There is nothing more I can do for him, Bhuler, and I have many others to attend to,” the matron told him. “It is for his mind that I fear most.”

Sir Amik was lost in a delirium brought on by his defeat, but the loyal Bhuler refused to leave his master’s side, working unceasingly to give whatever comfort he could.

He was disturbed by a knock at the door. Without waiting for an answer, Sir Vyvin entered, and peered at the figure on the bed. His own face was grim, for his wounded eye—although covered by an eyepatch—was causing him considerable pain.

“How is he, Bhuler?” Sir Vyvin asked. “Many of our order believe that he will not live to see the dawn.”

As the highest ranking knight who could still fight, Sir Vyvin had taken command of the castle. He needed some good news to bolster his men’s fading morale.

“He will live to see the dawn,” Bhuler said quietly. “But he will not be able to lead the men. I fear his wounds are so grievous that he will never again wear his armour.” The valet pointed to the crimson-splashed white armour which lay around the chamber. His attention focused on Sir Amik’s banner, which rested in the corner as if forgotten.

“He
must
ride, Bhuler,” Sir Vyvin pressed. “Without Sir Amik, our men are fearful. They and the citizens of Falador need to rally. At first light, I shall lead a body of squires and peons to the ramparts to repel the coming assault.”

Bhuler raised his head in sudden alarm.

“Do you think it will be so soon?” he asked, silently shocked that the walls of the city could be breached in so little time.

“Sulla’s goblins are mustering north of the city. Tomorrow, if the walls break, they will come.”

The council members were uneasy. The amulet of King Alvis’s queen was one of the finest ever examples of a smith’s skill. Three dwarfs in the last two hundred years had attempted to repair it, and all three had failed.

Few expected Kara to succeed.

“She will fail, and then Falador will fall,” one muttered angrily.

“But if Guthix calls her, then she shall lead us,” an old dwarf said hopefully. He was a long-time friend of Master Phyllis, and he knew Kara well.

Before the doubter could reply, the door to the forge swung outward. From the chamber, with the red glow of the forge lighting her way, walked Kara-Meir. Her eyes shone with unnatural fervour and the crystal vial that hung around her neck was empty.

“It is done!” she said, her voice stronger and more commanding than before.

The blind priest gestured to her, his hand outstretched to feel the amulet. They all dared not breathe while he examined it in silence. Then he turned to them.

“She has done it!” he announced. “Kara-Meir has received the blessing of Guthix!”

They all clustered around to witness with their own eyes the miraculous workmanship. Murmurs of admiration rippled through the group.

“Then we shall fight under the banner of the White Pearl,” Master Phyllis’s friend said with pride. “And we shall be victorious!”

Ebenezer had not slept. He knew that if the goblins could get inside the city, then the Kinshra would follow quickly behind. Therefore, he planned to trap the first invaders in the breach, using his column of pikes as a second wall. But he knew the goblins were too numerous, and his four hundred strong body of city militia would not stand forever. He needed to impede the goblins’ entry, so that even if they could get inside the walls, they could not do so in a single wave of overwhelming force, but only in small units where they could be cut down.

It was because of this that he now stood in front of thirty large pigs. Standing next to him, Lord Tremene raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“How can pigs help to separate the ranks of the enemy, Master Alchemist?”

Ebenezer put his finger to his lips.

“The enemy has many agents within our walls. I would advise you to be more cautious.” He motioned to a dozen men drawn from his militia who he knew had families in the city—men he could trust.

“By first light I want each of these thirty hay bales coated in pig fat and then carried to the ramparts and the artillery.” Ebenezer noted the uncertain look on Lord Tremene’s face. “Do you have so little faith in me, friend?” he asked the merchant.

“I have plenty of faith in you, alchemist” came the reply. “But using pig fat to fight a war?”

“Sulla uses goblins, we will use pigs. I’d say that gives us an advantage.”

His humour gave his men strength, for laughter was no longer a common sound in a city that was preparing for death.

The traitor had sent his signal from the now deserted almshouse, for all the retired knights had been pressed back into active duty after so many had been lost in the battle.

He knew Falador was a city ready to fall, and when it did he needed to be sure he had an escape planned so he could avoid the butchery. And with the signal sent, he had arranged both his escape and a gift for Sulla. For the traitor had promised that he would deliver the knights’ spymaster—Sir Tiffy Cashien himself.

As he reached the street he pulled his cloak tight about him, walking swiftly westward in the direction of the castle. He prayed silently to his true god, Zamorak, that he would not be caught in the open.

Kara-Meir looked to the south, her gaze followed by Theodore and Lord Radebaugh. Behind them stood several dwarf captains and Castimir, the wizard shivering with cold from the mountain air.

“It looks quiet from here” Theodore muttered.

“It will not remain so for long” Kara replied. “You must send your message, Theodore. We shall come to Falador at dawn, the day after tomorrow.”

The squire nodded, turning to the small cage of pigeons he had brought with him. He had already composed the message with her, written in code so only the knights could understand it.

The birds didn’t struggle as he took two of them from the cage. With a silent prayer to Saradomin, he threw them both into the air, and watched with satisfaction as they instinctively gained height and headed south. It would take them only a few hours to reach Falador from Ice Mountain, but still he prayed that it was time enough.

Two hours before dawn, a terrible rumbling stirred the citizens of Falador from what little sleep they had managed to take. It ended with a crashing echo that shook the earth and that could only have one single, terrible meaning—the northern wall had been breached.

It was the moment Sulla had been waiting for. As the dust rose into the dark sky, blotting out the lights of the city and the shivers of moonlight on its white stone, he smirked.

“Send in the goblins an hour before dawn!”

As he spoke he clenched his fist greedily, imagining the massacres that would follow his conquest of the city. The goblins had been angered by their defeat at the hands of the knights, and many more had hastened south to swell their ranks to nearly five thousand, in answer to their leaders’ clamour for revenge.

The city would be turned into an abattoir.

SIXTY-FOUR

Thousands of goblins charged the breach, climbing over the wreckage of collapsed stone. They ignored the arrows that flew from the ramparts, as if they were pebbles thrown into the sea to stop the rising tide.

Even the frail Master Segainus and his fellow wizards who threw fire down into their midst, could not turn them back, for leading the charge were goblin warriors whipped into a suicidal frenzy by their more cunning masters.