Betrayal at Falador (21 page)

“You believe her to be in danger?” Theodore’s voice was suddenly very high, his words strangled in disbelief.

“If the traitor is still alive, then it could be so,” Sir Amik admitted. “That is why I haven’t moved her from the ward, and that is why you are to spend as much time as you can with her without arousing suspicion.”

“I am to guard her then?” Theodore asked.

“That, and observe,” the knight acknowledged. “Watch who comes to see her, and make sure she doesn’t go out around the castle. She doesn’t know that she is the bait for our trap, and therefore she cannot be allowed to break the illusion that what she knows is vital to unmasking the traitor. You do understand, do you not?”

Theodore nodded, suddenly feeling unclean.

“I do understand, sir. And I will obey your orders. But I take no joy in doing so. What I do, I do for the good of the order, and perhaps the ruination of myself.”

Sir Amik had no reply. The young man bowed his head and left.

The old woman was restless. She chewed on her dirt-stained fingers, her eyes flashing nervously from left to right.

She stepped to the small doorway and looked through into the darkness within. Her lodger was sleeping, his body motionless in the shadows with his hands behind his head. He slept in absolute silence, and for a moment she hoped he might be dead.

“He is rich” she said to herself softly, for that same afternoon she had seen the contents of his pouch, the glittering jewels. “And he is sleeping. How can I lose this opportunity?” Her greed overcame her conscience. The knife felt heavy in her sweaty grasp. “It will only take a few seconds. He won’t feel a thing.”

She stepped through the doorway, careful to avoid the creaking and unsteady floorboards. Within a few seconds she was standing over her sleeping guest.

She raised the knife, breathing out slowly. And then she drove the knife downward into his body.

His cry was all the louder for the silence that had preceded it.

She pushed down with all her weight. But something was wrong.

There was no blood.

The knife pierced the skin easily enough, but there was something underneath that prevented it from going any further, something that gave a sound like sackcloth tearing.

And he stopped screaming. His arm was drawn across his face, his breathing deep. Then the hoarse laughing began.

“How utterly pathetic!” he sneered, his voice animalistic and inhuman.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling the knife out quickly as if she thought that was enough to make him forgive her. Then, suddenly, she stabbed down again, trying to pierce his heart.

The blade hit his body and failed to penetrate the sackclothlike coating that lay beneath his robe. He laughed once more. His huge hand seized hers and squeezed, causing her to let out a shriek of terror.

“You’re hurting me!” she gasped, falling to her knees.

He tightened his grip on her hand and old bones cracked under his fingers. Her breath came out in rapid gulps, each one a grunt of pain.

“Have mercy on an old lady!” she wept. Never before had she felt such agony.

“I shall give you the same mercy you offered me,” he growled. With his free hand he pulled back the hood, his red eyes glaring in the darkness, his long teeth gleaming under his wide nose.

“No!” she gasped. “No!” Her heart was pounding in her chest.

“You humans are all alike.” He released her hand and she could feel her old skin torn into strips by her broken bones, wet with her own blood. “I assume you are interested in my expensive jewels?”

She shook her head feebly, a last attempt to deny her greed.

He reached for his pouch, and plunged a clawed hand into it.

“You may have this one—the largest one!” He withdrew the hand, which held a huge opal between thumb and forefinger, bringing it just an inch away from her eyes. Then he grabbed her jaw with his free hand and forced her mouth open, inserting the opal before she could resist. Her attempt to bite seemed only to amuse him. Her soft gums barely tickled his thick skin, for she had lost all her teeth years before.

He shook her violently and she swallowed the opal in a single gulp, the large gemstone lodging in her throat. With a savage push the monster sent her staggering into the centre of the room, where she fell.

The old woman’s hands reached for her throat as she began to choke. But nothing could dislodge the opal. Her last thought was to avenge herself on her murderer, to reveal his presence to the citizens of Falador, but she hadn’t enough strength even to reach the door.

The monster watched her die without any satisfaction. He had suspected she might attempt something like this.

Yet killing her meant that he had to act quickly now. She was, he knew, well-known in the marketplace. It would only be a matter of time before she was missed. He needed to lure Theodore out of his castle for a lengthy and very private interrogation.

And he needed to do it immediately.

TWENTY-NINE

It was morning, and Doric was angry.

After a sleepless night in one of Falador’s gaols, spent in the company of a flatulent drunkard, he was released at dawn with a warning from the guard who had arrested him.

“No more talk of the monster, citizen,” the man said pompously. “We can’t afford a panic in the city.” With that, the self-important law-giver shut the door.

As he stood alone in the morning light, Doric shivered, and anger gave way to wisdom. He recalled the scene of the purple-robed men who had been killed in their sleep. It was no mere animal with a taste for flesh they were after; it was a callous assassin, a cunning murderer who possessed monstrous strength. Whatever it was, its intellect made it doubly dangerous.

His first plan was to alert Theodore. He made his way to the castle, and his mood darkened further when he was told by a guard that the squire could not take the time to see him.

“You have not even told him that I am here,” he said angrily. “Tell the squire that the monster is in the city.” His voice rose, and he tried his best to put fear into the man. “Tell Sir Amik to recall his men from the countryside. Tell him to bring them home to patrol the streets of Falador!”

But to no avail. The guard ceased even responding to his entreaties, and he left with a foul curse on his lips. With no other course to follow, he returned to The Rising Sun and retrieved his weaponry and helm, for he would not be caught unguarded. It was shortly after midday when he found his way once more to the gem stall in the marketplace.

The trader gave him a long look as he saw him approaching.

“You won’t be disturbing my customers again, will you, master dwarf?” he asked.

“No disturbance today,” the dwarf said quietly, swallowing his pride and leaning heavily on his axe. He couldn’t let his temper get the better of him again. “But I am interested in the old woman. Do you happen to know where she lives?”

The trader pointed the dwarf toward a squalid quarter with narrow streets and dark alleys that people called the Dens.

“Most people in Falador know of her, my friend,” he said, his tone almost conspiratorial now. “If you head that way and continue asking, then you should be able to find her.”

Doric thanked the man and slung his axe over his shoulder. As he left the marketplace he ran his hand over the two sharp daggers he had secured in his belt, and the smaller throwing axes that hung from his hip.

He took comfort in his weapons, and he had a grim feeling that he would be glad to have them.

Theodore pulled back the cloth and smiled as Kara’s eyes widened in happiness.

“I thought you should have it back.” The words came surprisingly easy to Theodore as he watched her examine the adamant sword closely.

It is because I am telling her the truth,
he thought to himself.
Kara should have her sword, and not just in case she might need it to protect herself from the traitor.

“Thank you, Theodore.” She put the sword down and embraced him. The young man stiffened at her touch. She released him with an embarrassed look.

“You said you had received a message—was it important?” she asked suddenly, changing the subject to that of the anxious guard who had knocked nervously at the door some hours earlier.

“Not really” Theodore lied. The guard had told him how angry Doric had been at being denied entry to the castle, and how he had raved about the monster. Perhaps, Theodore thought, he had been drinking again.

And yet...

He went to the window and looked up at the ramparts. The day was cloudy. Sir Amik had invited the residents of the almshouse into the castle, and quite unexpectedly. He had requested their help in teaching the peons, for their training was suffering because many knights had been sent to hunt the monster in the countryside north of Falador. The old warriors had willingly agreed, thankful to be of use to their order once more.

Yet Theodore knew the truth. He knew it was a ploy by Sir Amik to bring the traitor back amongst them, to let him think he had a realistic chance of striking at Kara before he could be identified.

That was why the young squire refused to leave her. That was why he had ignored Doric’s warning in the morning. Kara’s safety was more important to him than anything else. He would not leave her side while the residents from the almshouse were in the castle.

The peon Bryant had been sequestered by the amiable Sir Balladish. The old knight needed the youth to run to the apothecary to purchase the ingredients for one of the many potions he consumed to ease the pains of an old body dented in battle.

“Make sure you get everything, young soldier,” Sir Balladish told Bryant as he eagerly took the list. “We old war dogs need all the medicine we can get to keep us going. Isn’t that right, Sir Finistere?”

“Indeed it is, Sir Balladish,” the bearded man agreed, turning to add his own encouragement to the young man. “Run along, and be sure to get everything he requires.”

Bryant ran all the way, his face beaming in pleasure that he had been chosen for the task. In his eagerness, he turned a corner swiftly and ran directly into someone who was coming the opposite way.

“I’m very sorry, sir!” he said as he regained his balance. The newcomer had hardly flinched. “It was entirely my fault!”

The tall figure in the red robes said nothing, and Bryant’s face wrinkled as he caught a sweet smell from the man. He could feel the man’s eyes, concealed deep within the cowl, watching him eagerly. After a moment he spoke.

“Are you one of the knights?” the man asked. “I am new to these parts, and I am eager to meet the warriors of Falador.” He spoke in a guttural tone, an animalistic accent which Bryant couldn’t place, emanating from deep inside his body.

“I wish to be, sir!” the young man said eagerly. “I am Bryant, a peon, under the tutelage of Squire Theodore.”

“Squire Theodore?” The man said the words with a tone Bryant assumed was reverence.

“Yes, indeed—you have heard of him, sir? He’s the squire who rescued the dwarf from the monster, and found the corpses of the human supremacists. He’s the best of our order, and promises to be a great knight!”

“Indeed, I have heard it said so.” The man spoke softly, his voice suddenly gentle. “I would like to meet him, young peon. Do you think you could arrange that?”

Bryant shook his head.

“I am afraid not, sir. The squires are far too busy to meet with the citizens of Falador, especially with so many of the knights away hunting the monster!”

“That is unfortunate” the man said slowly.

For a second Bryant stiffened, suddenly feeling as if, for some unknown reason, he was in great peril.

“But I do understand,” the man uttered finally, and his soft words diffused Bryant’s concerns. He said nothing more, however, and stepped past, briskly disappearing into the crowds.

Aware that the delay had cost him time, Bryant ran quickly on.

A few seconds later, the red-hooded man turned the corner once again, this time following the peon’s path, even though the young man was no longer in sight. He found his way easily to the apothecary several streets away, as if following an invisible trail that only he could see.

He watched the youngster through the murky pane as a list was handed over to the apothecary, and he noted, too, how the shopkeeper’s eyes widen as he read the list.

“I hope your knight knows what he is about, master peon,” the older man said grimly. “If he mixes these in the right doses, then he will come up with a rather nasty poison.”

A look of confusion swept over Bryant’s face.

“He does know—he must, for he often uses potions as a salve for his ancient injuries. Many of the older knights do.”

“Be that as it may, master peon, you just remind your knight of what I’ve said.” Then the apothecary disappeared, hunting amongst his jars and powders to fulfil the needs of the list in his hand.

Several minutes later, Bryant emerged from the shop, closing the door behind him and looking downcast. The apothecary had charged him more than he had expected, and Bryant had not had enough money to pay him. Knowing he was a peon of the knights, however, the kind apothecary had given Bryant all he had asked for, on the condition that he would return that same day to pay the outstanding sum.