RuneScape: Return to Canifis (24 page)

Two guards fought it, slashing at it with their swords, their blows seemingly ineffective against its calloused wings, which were like two unbreakable shields. Two more bodies lay motionless on the floor, and in a second Ebenezer saw their black faces twisted in death. Gar’rth was crouched away to his right, clutching at his chest, sweating profusely, and behind him was a dead nurse, her body fallen across a baby’s cot as she sought to protect the child even in death. The infant gave a cry as its chubby little arm flailed beneath the corpse.

As the wings parted the thing advanced, and Ebenezer caught sight of the bat-like face with its wide snout and elongated jaw. He froze as its eyes held his, two orange pits of malice. There was nothing human about it.

“Castimir!” he cried as the guards stepped backward.

“I’m here, Ebenezer,” the wizard said, sounding calm, his right hand extended toward the Wyrd.

But whatever magic he had planned to cast, the creature acted first. Its lower jaw dropped grotesquely and its narrow tongue coiled backwards as it screamed. The sound was hideous.

On and on it went, assailing their ears and forcing them to their knees.

Ebenezer’s vision blurred as dizziness swept over him. He saw Castimir at his side, curled up in ball, his runes forgotten. Lord Despaard, too, had fallen over Doric, and the King’s crown had fallen from his head as the monarch pressed his hands to his ears in agony.

Suddenly the cry ended, leaving a pounding inside Ebenezer’s head and a sickly feeling in his stomach. His vision still blurred, he saw what appeared to him like two of the creatures move forward, quickly running their talons across the faces of the guards nearest them, and then leap toward the blurred figure of Captain Rovin, his ears bleeding from its cry.

He blinked and the figures merged into one again. The Wyrd thrust its arm forward, attempting to cut Rovin with its talons. The man screamed and ducked as he swung his sword from a kneeling position. Ebenezer saw it retreat, cautious now.

“Run, my King!” Captain Rovin called.

“King? King of nothing,” it said, its voice was as inhuman as its song. “Soon
he
will come, and the lands of the living and the dead will be one, as was foretold. Now I will take this child.”

The Wyrd crouched in preparation for a leap.

Captain Rovin readied his blade, one foot in front of the other to steady himself.

But then Gar’rth stood and howled a challenge.

The creature looked at him for the first time, and froze in its tracks.

“You live?” it said. “Impossible!” Before it could say any more, Gar’rth charged forward.

“Get the child clear,” Ebenezer shouted. “That’s what she wants.”

Arisha leapt over him as Gar’rth tackled the Wyrd. The creature raked its claws across his back and Gar’rth screamed as dark blood soaked his clothing.

No
, the alchemist cried inwardly.
Please, no!

He saw Arisha take the baby and run to the door. He saw Castimir stand, his runes ready. He saw the fear on the faces of King Roald and Captain Rovin—but they were looking at Gar’rth now. He saw Lord Despaard reach for a dagger on his belt, an unusual one with a two-pronged blade.

He saw Gar’rth’s eyes turn entirely black and his skin turn grey as the change began.

Without thinking he ran forward to Gar’rth, to cover him up and to protect him as he had done before, to succeed where he had failed with his own children.

“No, Gar’rth, no,” he pleaded. “Not here! You must not—”

Suddenly the Wyrd’s wing turned and rushed toward his face, and he felt it crash against his forehead. He had the sensation of falling from a great height, and when he landed a cold numbness spread from his thigh, and something wet blinded his right eye.

But he felt no pain as the darkness descended.

After all, we have tomorrow Gar’rth. We all have tomorrow to talk.

Then everything will be made right.

Tomorrow.

Castimir saw Ebenezer collapse as he readied his runes. He knew he only had one chance.

“By the gods,” King Roald cried out from in front of him. “Gar’rth! He’s not human.”

Gar’rth’s face had changed entirely. His jaw had distended horribly, his nose had flattened and was now wide across his face in a wolfish snout. His shoulders, too, had become wider and black hair covered the backs of his suddenly long hands that now resembled paws.

“He’s one of
them
, Sire!” Captain Rovin shouted. “He’s a werewolf.”

Castimir saw the devastating effect of the captain’s cry on men already afraid. Lord Despaard leapt in front of the King with his two-pronged dagger held before him as the guards dropped back, leaving the two creatures to their fight. Only Captain Rovin remained in front, yet even he was stunned into hesitation.

The Wyrd tore at Gar’rth’s head as the youth continued his change.

He can’t protect himself. He will be killed unless I act.

“He’s not the enemy,” Castimir yelled. “It’s her—stand aside!”

But his words were lost in the din as Lord Despaard advanced and brandished the dagger toward both combatants, now locked in a deadly embrace.

Suddenly Gar’rth stumbled as Despaard neared. His grip on the Wyrd slackened and she shook him off.

“The dagger!” Gar’rth roared in Despaard’s face as the Wyrd turned to confront the two men. Castimir heard Doric shout. The dwarf bowled into Despaard and hurled him off his feet, propelling the nobleman away from Gar’rth, the two-pronged dagger still clutched in his hand.

“Majesty, you must listen to me,” Castimir shouted. “Gar’rth is not the enemy!”

Taking advantage of the chaos, the Wyrd jumped to the window, but before she could launch herself into space a renewed Gar’rth grabbed her right wing. She attempted to fight him off, but the werewolf was stronger. His knee crashed against her spine, and at the same time he pulled her wing back and grabbed her around the neck with his other arm, forcing her down.

You’ve got her Gar’rth!

“Sire,” Castimir cried. “We can take her alive.”

Either Rovin hadn’t heard through his tortured ears that were still dripping blood, or he didn’t care. The captain staggered forward and drew his arm back, in preparation for a lunge.

No... No!

Only too late did Gar’rth perceive his presence, yet whether Rovin was aiming for the werewolf or the Wyrd, Castimir couldn’t say. The man’s desperate thrust missed the werewolf by a finger’s width alone, yet it forced Gar’rth to relinquish his hold on the Wyrd who batted him free and leapt back to the window before launching herself through the shattered glass and out into the darkness.

Now all eyes turned to Gar’rth. From every side, the men of King Roald’s guard closed in. Castimir saw now that Despaard was free of Doric, and the dwarf was being held back by two men.

“You are an enemy of our realm,” Despaard said as he advanced, the dagger held before him. “Your kind have only one fate this side of the river.”

Gar’rth knelt, suddenly a pitiful sight. He hid his face under a paw and when he looked up again it was more human than before. It seemed to Castimir that the dagger was somehow countering his friend’s lycanthropy.

“Consider this a mercy,” Rovin grunted as he stepped forward and raised his sword above his head.

No. I will not allow this. I am a wizard of the Tower and I still have a spell or two left.
Castimir breathed calmly and concentrated on the man’s sword. The runes melted in his hand.

Suddenly Rovin screamed and dropped his weapon. As it landed the hilt hissed, and glowed red hot.

“You protect him, wizard?” Despaard demanded. “A werewolf?” Rovin stared at his burned hand, aghast, then peered at Castimir with utter hatred in his eyes before fleeing from the room. Now the guards fell back, and Castimir could see their uncertainty.

Fighting a werewolf is one thing, but will they dare turn on a wizard? Be strong. Call their bluff.

“I do,” Castimir replied. He stepped forward and made his way to Gar’rth’s side, saying a silent prayer as the guards stood back to let him through. “And I will do so again if I must. Gar’rth is my friend who fled his homeland. He is not like others of his race, and has proved that many times.”

It was King Roald who responded.

“You have lied to us! You and your friends,” he spat angrily. “How
dare
you knowingly bring such a creature into my realm.
He is evil.”

“No, he is not, Sire,” Doric said. The guards let the dwarf go and slowly he made his way to Ebenezer’s side. “And we must all remember that it is thanks to him that we managed to confront this Wyrd tonight, saving a child. We might have captured her, too, if the prejudice of your lords hadn’t blinded them.”

Castimir stood in front of Gar’rth now, relieved to see his humanity return. Still, he saw how weak his friend was, how the sweat poured off his skin, and how he shivered.

“Ebenezer?” Gar’rth whispered.

“He lives, but he needs a doctor,” Doric said, kneeling next to the fallen man. He turned to face the monarch. “And now King Roald, you must decide what to do. Will you truly murder Gar’rth, the man who came so close to giving you the Wyrd? To do so, you will have to go through me.”

“He is no man!” Despaard spat.

Theodore appeared at the doorway, his sword drawn. Behind him came Kara, armed only with her hunting knife, her face wild, and Castimir saw the wizard Aubury at the front of several guards. At the very back stood Arisha, holding the rescued baby in her arms.

There is no way I can fight them now. No way at all.
The young wizard turned to face the King again.

“Just grant him time, your majesty, please...” he begged. “As Doric said, he nearly captured the Wyrd tonight, coming as close as any in your realm have come. Surely,
surely
that must weigh in his favour.”

King Roald turned and looked into Gar’rth’s eyes for a long moment. Then he spoke.

“His fate is yet to be decided,” he said. “But I will not kill him tonight, nor will anyone in my service, for what you say is true.
But he will be imprisoned until a decision is made.”

“And what of the wizard, Sire?” Despaard demanded, sheathing his sword as if to give his words emphasis. “He threatened us, and injured Captain Rovin.”

Castimir felt Aubury’s eyes upon him. He could feel his anger.

Surely he will understand. I acted in the best traditions of the Tower, for truth and honour.

The guards placed Ebenezer onto a litter and lifted him carefully. Doric remained at his side.

“Take the alchemist to his room,” King Roald instructed. “And get Father Lawrence to have a look at him. As for the wizard, Captain Rovin has endured far worse injuries in the course of his duties. It is a case best left to Aubury and the Tower.”

Castimir saw Aubury bow to the monarch, then turn to stare icily at him as the guards carried Ebenezer from the room, followed by the dwarf.

“Yes, majesty,” Aubury agreed. “That would perhaps be best. I will consult with the Tower, but first I would speak with Castimir myself.”

“There is one more thing, Sire,” Kara said. All eyes turned to her. “Pia and Jack have vanished from my room tonight. They took my sword, and left a severed rope on my bed. I think I know why they have run, but I would like them brought back alive and unharmed.”

A guard knelt at King Roald’s feet and deftly picked up the fallen crown. The monarch took it with a sigh.

“It is a heavy crown, this,” he said, and the anger was gone from his voice. “The wearer must wield a conscience as cold as the gold it is made from, at times.” He stared at Kara wearily. “My men will be combing every street and alley of Varrock tonight, searching for the Wyrd. I will instruct them to do as you ask, to find your wayward servants. But know this—I cannot forget that
you and your friends brought Gar’rth into my realm, knowing what he is. You saw fit to keep the truth from me, and it is a capital offence.”

His sword sheathed, Theodore approached Gar’rth, who still crouched, and helped him to his feet, letting Gar’rth lean on him.

“How do you feel?”

“It’s the poison,” Gar’rth answered, his voice little more than a croak. “It burns, but I will live.” Nodding, the knight turned to face the King.

“I can vouch for him, my liege,” Theodore said. “I thought as you do when I first met him and discovered his heritage. But I was wrong. And to demonstrate my faith in my friend, I will spend the night in his company, locked up with him.”

King Roald stared hard at Theodore.

“Very well,” he replied. “As you wish.”

“Thank you, Theodore,” Gar’rth murmured as the knight led him toward the door. “Thank you.” As they passed, Gar’rth turned to Castimir. “And thank you, Castimir. Thank you for your faith in me.” The further he moved from the two-pointed blade, the stronger his voice became.

Castimir nodded and made to follow, but Aubury stopped him. The King left the room, followed by the rest. It was only when they were alone—save for the dead—that Aubury did speak.

“You
fool
, Castimir,” he spat angrily. “Have you any idea of what you have done? You threatened a King of Misthalin and his lords! Do you have any idea, any idea at all, of what that will mean for your future?”