Betrayal at Falador (51 page)

“Sir Amik will ride out tomorrow at dawn and charge the guns of the enemy,” Bhuler explained. “If they can be seized and broken then it will buy the city time.”

Sir Vyvin bristled at his words. “It will be a suicidal mission,” he remarked, shaking his head.

“Possibly not,” Sir Tiffy said from the desk, speaking with a hopeful tone that seemed out of place. The old knight stood up to explain, holding a piece of paper in his hand and motioning to Sir Amik’s hawk. The bird stood on the ledge of the chamber window, shifting its weight from one talon to the other as it gorged itself on a pigeon it had seized from the skies above the battle. On the pigeon’s leg was a small cylinder which had been opened.

“That’s one of ours” Sir Vyvin remarked suddenly. “The murderous bird has killed one of our messengers!”

“It was a worthwhile sacrifice. The communication is from Squire Theodore. I have examined it against a copy of his handwriting, and it matches perfectly. The code he has used is a recent one and I have decoded it accordingly.” He looked mischievously at his friends.

“Well?” Sir Vyvin said eagerly. “What does it say?”

“Kara is coming south. She will arrive tomorrow at dawn. She has several hundred dwarf warriors with her, and Theodore has recruited six hundred of the Imperial Guard. Together they number just fewer than one and a half thousand!”

So unexpected was the news that silence descended as each man looked at the others with renewed hope. If Kara could make it to the city then the Kinshra would not prevail against so many.

“It is tomorrow, then, that the fate of our city shall be decided. And it is all in the hands of the woodcutter’s daughter,” Sir Tiffy said as he burned the message. “Speak to no one of this, for Sir Erical has not been found and he may be watching our movements. Tell the men an hour before dawn to prepare for battle. Only at the last minute will they be told that we intend to ride out.”

Sir Vyvin nodded in understanding. When he left the chamber he was more hopeful than he dared to admit.

SIXTY-FIVE

The guns were relentless. By midnight, a second breach had been opened, wider than the first and several hundred yards to the east.

Some citizens collapsed on seeing the fissure, weeping in dreadful certainty that they and their loved ones would not be spared the Kinshra savagery. Brave men who had stood in the breach only hours before hurled their weapons down and cursed their gods for abandoning them. For, with two breaches, the defenders could not hope to defend the city.

Ebenezer had known this would occur and throughout the day he went along the northern wall, shouting encouragement and positioning barricades in the streets to impede the coming offensive. In the first breach, the defenders filled the gap with masonry and heavy timbers, stripped from those houses damaged in the mortar bombardment. They would prevent the enemy from making a surprise rush, but it would not keep them out.

To Sulla, watching from the plains, the walls were weaker than he had anticipated. They had been built generations ago by men who had never conceived of black powder and cannons.

Suddenly he detected a movement behind him. It was Jerrod, back from his hunt.

“Did you find anything interesting?” Sulla asked. “Perhaps a farm girl and her tasty young child?”

Jerrod wiped his hand across his mouth.

“No such luck, Sulla. I had to make do with some outlaws from The Wilderness who marched with the army.”

“Just so long as you don’t harm my Kinshra, for when the third breach is made we shall assault all three simultaneously, and I shall need them at their best.” He placed his gauntleted hand on the werewolf’s shoulder. “We’ll find you a girl of noble birth, my friend—something soft and pale and very, very tender!”

His good humour went unnoticed by Jerrod who watched the bombardment with interest. He peered out over the battlefield.

“Why do you not turn your guns on the wooden gates, rather than the stone walls? Would it not be quicker?”

Sulla shook his head.

“Behind each gate the road will be built to favour the knights. They will be able to pour boiling oil on us, or trap us between portcullises. It is better this way. It makes them fearful, makes them gaze in horror at their fate!”

Inside Sir Amik’s chamber the noise of the cannon and the wails of despairing citizens was inescapable. Bhuler was still awake and keeping watch, and he helped the knight to sit up.

“How long until the dawn, my old friend?” Sir Amik asked, his voice stronger than before. “How long until the darkness ends?”

“Another six hours,” Bhuler said. He had spent the time in prayer, pleading for the knight’s life and offering his own in its place. He knew that Falador needed staunch leadership now, more than at any other time in its history.

“Wake me at first light and help me with my armour.” Sir Amik’s eyes rested on his torn and bloodied standard, still leaning in the corner. “Everything shall be decided then,” he sighed, lying down to sleep once more.

The third breach was made an hour before dawn, and it heralded panic amongst the people of Falador. From the window of his merchant house Lord Tremene watched in dismay as the wealthier citizens hurled their valuables into the moat about the castle.

The people have turned into animals,
he thought. He saw a man push his wife to the ground and stand ominously over his daughter.

“It is a better end—to die here and now!” the man cried, tears running down his face as he raised his axe above his daughter’s head.

“No, father!” she cried in horror, realising his intention.

But the axe never struck. Lord Tremene watched as Squire Marius pushed the girl aside and parried the blow with his sword before kicking the feet out from under the hysterical man.

“Do you call yourselves men?” he roared. “You are citizens of Falador—of the greatest city in the world! And look at you now. Sacrificing your women and hiding your gold, driven mad by your fear! Where is your pride?”

He gestured wildly with his sword at the crowd and immediately a strange calm settled over them. Men stopped shouting and the women ceased their laments. Swiftly the city militia broke the group up.

“Squire Marius!” Sir Vyvin called from the castle wall. “Bring the women inside the castle. They will be safe here.”

If the Kinshra don’t come soon,
Lord Tremene thought,
the city will destroy itself.

Ebenezer looked with disappointment bordering on despair at the men gathered near the westernmost breach, where they had successfully held the goblins before. Of his total strength of six hundred remaining men in the city militia, less than half had responded to his orders summoning them to the wall. The others had fled, to spend what they believed would be the last few hours of their lives with their loved ones or to hide themselves in the lowliest corners of the city.

Marius stood next to him, sharing his disappointment. The alchemist could sense anger in the squire, who felt betrayed by the citizens his order had defended for so many years.

Lord Tremene rode up behind them, and dismounted.

“Where are the reserves?” he asked as he stepped closer.

“There are none, save the city guard, and those number less than two hundred” Ebenezer said. “They are stationed at the gate under the command of Captain Ingrew.” He spoke softly, his fingers caressing the runes in his pocket. He had retrieved them from the body of Master Segainus. He knew he could not wield a weapon with any degree of skill, so he had decided that resorting to magic was his best option.

At least,
he thought wryly,
Castimir would approve.

The alchemist looked grimly at the desperate men before him. He knew they could only hope to defend one of the three breaches that now perforated the wall. He cast tired eyes to the east, where he knew dawn would be lighting the streets of Varrock in neighbouring Misthalin. For a moment he wished he had fled before the siege had begun.

Anywhere but here,
he thought.

Tremene laughed bitterly, catching the others off guard.

“Suddenly wealth doesn’t seem so important anymore.” He smiled ruefully at Ebenezer.

The alchemist smiled knowingly back.

“No” he said. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Permission to join your militia, Master Alchemist, to stand in the breach and fight by your side?”

The two men shook hands.

“Permission granted, my friend. Find yourself a suitable position and send to the Abyss any enemy who crosses your path!”

The two dozen followers of Lord Tremene rode up and dismounted, checking their weapons and armour and finding places alongside his men. All the citizens of Falador were represented in the remaining militia—rich men stood alongside poor men, all of them
free
men who had offered to fight for their city.

Ebenezer looked into their faces—they knew that only death awaited them. As the drums of the Kinshra started to signal their advance, he felt very proud.

“Do you hear that?” a young peon said, his youthful face deathly pale from lack of sleep. “It’s the drums. The Kinshra are coming!” The boy turned fearfully from the castle ramparts to face the man by his side.

“Courage lad!” Sir Tiffy looked unflinchingly into his young companion’s eyes. “It is just a noise—and a noise cannot harm you.” He ruffled the boy’s hair playfully, looking northward across the city and over the shattered wall to the plain beyond. There was just light enough to see by, and on the plain he saw the black massed ranks of Kinshra soldiers march steadily forward, the sounds of the drums growing with each step.

“Soon they will be within range of our trebuchets,” Sir Tiffy said loudly, “then their drums won’t sound so confident!” His efforts were rewarded by the fleeting smiles of sudden hope on young faces.

The old knight left the ramparts a few moments later, walking swiftly across the courtyard to his horse. Without a word he climbed awkwardly into the saddle and rode toward the gate. He stopped to speak to Sir Vyvin, who was supervising the massed ranks of men who stood patiently in their armour next to their horses.

“Is Sir Amik ready to lead you out?” Sir Tiffy asked.

Sir Vyvin looked upward to Sir Amik’s window.

“Bhuler is readying him now,” he replied. “When he comes down we shall ride out into the city and Captain Ingrew’s men will open the gate. With any luck we should be able to reach Sulla’s guns before they can intercept us.”

Sir Tiffy’s eyes rested on the peons who sat nervously on their horses. There were only three hundred men and boys.

“They are too young for this, Vyvin” he said quietly. The other knight nodded gravely.

“They either die out there or in here, Sir Tiffy. If we ride out, we can buy time...” He lowered his voice even further. “... Time for
her
to come!”

The two men said nothing more, each praying that every minute brought Kara-Meir closer. Finally the old knight extended his hand to Sir Vyvin, shaking it firmly.

“Then good luck, my friend” he said with finality. “I doubt if we shall meet again. I shall go now, to visit the park for the last time and await the end, then to help where I may.”

“Several of the old knights have gone out to help the city militia” Sir Vyvin said. “If you wish to fight, my friend, then you might be best employed there.” He stepped away from the horse.

“Then I shall” Sir Tiffy promised, “after I have taken the air in the park one last time.”

With a nod he rode out through the gates of the castle and across the moat, ignoring the despairing cries of the citizens as he galloped north.

SIXTY-SIX