Betrayal at Falador (26 page)

Suddenly the girl stepped boldly forward, her sword held before her. The monster ducked backward, circling to stand a single pace behind her.

How to do it?
he pondered, and licked his lips. Many decades earlier, his mother had taught him not to play with his food, telling him that he would be burnt by a mage or cut with a holy blade if he did so. But she had died a long time ago, and this girl who stepped blithely into the room did not know what manner of creature he was.

He decided to play.

He leaned forward, a claw hovering an inch from her skin.

The girl struck.

She spun on her heel, driving her blade into his body with all her strength, forcing it through the tough skin that had protected him from all manner of human weapons over the years.

He screamed with pain, his eyes widening as he felt his own blood pour from a deep wound and stream onto the wooden floor of the house. He reached down and grasped the blade with both hands, pulling it from his body, the sword’s edges slicing deeply into his palms.

His strength was greater than hers, and she could not impale him further. So the girl stepped back and pulled the blade free, leaving two of his twitching fingers on the floor as she did so. Once again he screamed.

But still the girl hadn’t finished her dreadful work. She brought the sword over her head and into his face.

At the same time he made for the doorway, knowing now that it was his turn to run. As he did so, the sword tip sliced across his forehead, severing his left ear. His hot blood flowed freely into his eyes as he fled into the alley, his hands pressed against his stomach to staunch the wound.

He ignored the few onlookers he passed, his face revealed now for all to see: the face of the werewolf. None dared to stand in his way, for no guard or peon was willing to confront him at the gates to the city.

Within a short time he was away from Falador, back out in the countryside, nursing his wounds in a deep hollow a good distance from any road, away from the eyes of men.

By the dim light that filtered in through the door, Kara released Theodore, while Doric retrieved his axe. The dwarf pulled a match from his cloak and held it up, giving them some more light.

“How did you do that, Kara?” the squire asked in shock.

“She can see in the darkness,” Doric said.

Kara smiled wickedly.

“You are right, master dwarf” she said in his own language. “I have spent more time underground in the darkness of the mountains than above. My eyes have grown accustomed to seeing in darker places than this.”

Doric bowed deeply with genuine respect.

“You saved our lives,” he said in the common tongue. “I owe you a great debt.”

“As do I, Kara” Theodore said slowly. Yet the change in his voice told her that he was deeply unhappy. “But you left the castle when I specifically asked you not to. You put yourself in danger.”

Kara was in no mood for Theodore’s lecture.

“I saved your life, as well, Theodore. The monster was after you—not me.”

“I did not mean the danger of the monster, Kara...” Theodore’s temper had got the better of him and he lowered his gaze in haste.

“Then of what?” She tried to look him in the eye, but he wouldn’t allow it. “What else am I in danger from?”

Theodore shook his head and declined to answer. Doric lit the candle and immediately the room was illuminated with an eerie glow.

“Look at the blood!” Doric’s eyes widened as he gazed at Kara’s sword and the monster’s blood which still dripped onto the floor.

“It is pure black,” Theodore whispered, looking at it in disgust. “What creature was it? Could it be a werewolf?” His eyes turned to the dwarf.

“If legends are anything to go by, then surely so. A wolf in a man’s body—ideal for hiding in a city of men,” Doric said.

“We should find Bryant. He was here the longest, and maybe he can tell us more” Theodore advised, heading out into the alley.

The night air was cool on their flushed faces, the city of Falador was strangely quiet. A horse neighed and Theodore saw his mare wander into view.

“I told Bryant to take the horse back to the castle to get help,” Kara said, her hand once again gripping her sword.

“Bryant is usually very reliable” Theodore said. Kara saw his worried frown. “It might be his injury—perhaps he’s fainted?”

Swiftly the three companions moved to the junction of Dagger Alley.

It was the smell Kara noticed first, a sickly smell. Theodore turned his head away in sudden disgust and Kara stepped back to breathe the cleaner air.

Only Doric remained unmoved.

“It is blood.” The dwarf spoke quietly, his eyes glaring intently at the narrow passage that lay before them, attempting to make out the silent shapes.

Suddenly, one of the shapes moved in the darkness, and a thin sigh sounded.

Theodore and Kara overtook Doric as they ran forward simultaneously, their weapons readied for any new foe that might assail them.

Kara knew something was wrong, terribly wrong.

The squire reached the moving shadow and gently turned it over. As he did so the small figure sighed once again.

Hot tears leapt into Theodore’s eyes as he cursed in the darkness. Kara stifled a cry and dropped her sword, falling to her knees with her hands covering her eyes in despair. Doric averted his gaze and reverently removed his helm, shaking his head in anger.

It was Bryant.

His face was very pale, too pale, and Theodore suddenly realised that he’d knelt down in a dark pool of the peon’s blood that flowed from a savage wound in his neck.

“I’ve failed you...” Theodore wept as he clasped his peon’s cold hand. “I’ve failed you.”

Bryant tried to speak but he could not form any words, and yet another quiet sigh escaped his blood-stained lips. All he could do was to squeeze Theodore’s hand with the last of his strength.

Kara raised his head and rested it on her lap, her tears falling onto Bryant’s forehead.

“Lady Kara is here, Bryant,” she whispered. “Lady Kara will avenge you.”

His eyes took in her face, his expression suddenly happy as her golden hair teased his cheek.

“Who did this to you? Who was it?” Doric shouted at the boy. But the grip on Theodore’s hand relaxed and the light in the peon’s eyes dimmed.

Bryant was dead.

Theodore wept openly, and Kara held Bryant’s still head in her arms, her head bowed next to Theodore’s, the two young people united in their grief. Only Doric, who in his hundred years had seen death in many forms, looked farther into the alley.

He was about to speak when he decided to leave them to their grief, for another shape drew him onward. He knew what it was before he stood over it. It was a second body—a man who wore the white tunic of the Knights of Falador.

“Theodore!” the dwarf called, readying his axe, his eyes scanning the narrow streets nearby. Was there any chance the killer was still here?

The squire’s sobbing subsided as he raised his head to look at the dwarf.

“It’s another body! A knight!” Doric called.

At once Theodore stood, pausing only to place Bryant’s hands neatly on his lap as if he were sleeping. Kara remained by the body of the boy, seemingly unwilling to leave him alone in the darkness, her hands still gently resting on his face.

“Do you recognise him?” Doric asked.

Theodore knelt at the dead man’s side.

“It is Sir Balladish,” he said. At his side, coated in blood, was a curved dagger.

Doric pulled the dead man’s cloak aside to reveal a dreadful wound in his chest where the dagger had entered above the heart.

“What does this mean?” Doric asked in a hushed voice.

“Sir Balladish is an old knight who lived at the almshouse near the park.” The squire examined the dagger closely. “And this is Bryant’s knife! He was killed with my peon’s weapon. Why would they fight one another?”

Their debate was silenced as several shouts echoed from the main street and the sound of running feet drew their attention. The voices were drawing nearer and in a moment the glare of torches held in the hands of a dozen men illuminated the alley and drove back the shadows. It was a group of peons and squires, alerted to the battle while in search of Kara. At their head was Marius.

“We have been scouring the city for you!” he said. “Are you all right?”

Behind him stood Sir Pallas and Sir Finistere, both wheezing heavily.

“Step with caution, Marius. We have two dead members of our order here.” Theodore said.

“Who?” Marius asked, his face suddenly dark.

“Bryant is dead. My peon is dead. And Sir Balladish also.” The tears came again to Theodore’s eyes.

Marius clasped his hand on Theodore’s shoulder, all signs of rivalry forgotten in their mutual sorrow.

“Sir Balladish is dead?” Sir Pallas asked in an awed voice.

“Slain with Bryant’s own dagger” Doric said flatly.

The two old knights forced their way into the alley, holding a torch above them. Sir Finistere knelt to examine the body of his long-time comrade, then pulled something from the folds of the man’s cloak.

“What is this?” he remarked in surprise, holding his hand out for the scrutiny of the onlookers.

“It looks like a Guam leaf,” Sir Pallas answered. “And something is wrapped inside it. Are those Belladonna seeds?”

“I think so, Sir Pallas” Sir Finistere said, speaking softly. “Belladonna seeds—mixed with Guam leaf and other herbs—can be used to make a deadly poison.”

“But why would Sir Balladish have such things on him?” Theodore asked.

Both men looked briefly to Kara with deep questions reflected in their eyes. She left Bryant’s body and walked over to Sir Balladish.

“And why did he kill Bryant?” she asked, her voice edged with menace. Kara looked briefly at the man, and then her eyes looked deeper into the alley.

“We do not know that he did,” Sir Finistere said. “You must return to the castle,” he continued. “Everyone is looking for you. And you are not needed here. Sir Amik will have stern words for you. Theodore, take her back, for she is not safe.”

“Not safe? What do you mean?” she demanded.

He brushed aside her questions by grabbing Theodore’s shoulder.

“Take her back to the castle. And take a guard of men with you.”

The squire took Kara by the arm and led her away, Doric following. Several peons and squires formed a cordon around them as a sombre guard. Still others remained behind to guard the bodies of Bryant and Sir Balladish.

No one spoke, for no words they knew could express the bitter emptiness they all felt.

THIRTY-FIVE

The two bodies were brought back to the castle under cover of darkness.

Theodore sat in vigil over Bryant’s body in the castle’s chapel, the young peon wrapped in a white cloth and laid before the altar. Soon after, he heard a noise and turned to watch the other squires walk quietly in to sit on the benches behind him, their faces downcast in grief and their heads bowed in respect.

As each passed Theodore they grasped his shoulder in a gesture of support. Never before had such a thing happened to any of them, and the event unified them in grief.

On searching the house, the knights found the body of the old woman, a well-known resident of the city who was a professional beggar.

Elise’s body was discovered in the ward when the guard woke. Kara understood that the murderer had meant her to die, and not the nurse. Her chocolate drink was spilled next to the body and Theodore—his grief overwhelming him—finally told Kara the truth.

She knew now that Sir Amik had deliberately used her as bait, spreading rumours that she remembered more than she did in an attempt to draw out the traitor. She also knew that he had invited the almshouse residents to help educate the peons in place of the knights, in order to put the traitor in their midst and within range of harming her.

Kara lay in her bed, but she could not sleep. She went through the fight in her mind, wondering if she could have taken another course of action that would have kept the young peon alive.

Was I too hasty to prove myself? Was I too eager to fight, to show the knights that I am as good as they are?