RuneScape: Return to Canifis (32 page)

They had taken meagre shelter in an alley, among the dregs of Varrock. Sulla was roused from an uneasy sleep when a dozen guardsmen ran by, and across the city the harsh sound of men shouting could be heard. It passed quickly, but from that moment on sleep was even more elusive.

Just as he managed to doze, Jerrod’s voice dragged him back.

“I have news,” the werewolf said. “Important news.”

Sulla was angry and he was cold. He shivered in his torn cloak and tried to pull it tighter across his shoulders, fumbling with his wrists as he did so. Next to him slept Barbec, snoring gently and blissfully unaware.

Jerrod crouched, perched on the case.

“What is it?” Sulla hissed.

“Something is wrong, Sulla,” came the growled response. “Wrong in Morytania.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have just had a message from... someone. Not my master, but someone more powerful and far, far older.”

“Older than Drakan?”

Jerrod shook his head. And Sulla knew he was afraid.

“I don’t understand it,” the creature continued. “It was a woman, Sulla. She told me about the Wyrd. She told me where it is.”

What?

“Tell me,” Sulla demanded.
If I could deliver this creature to King Roald then I would become a hero, able to demand anything I wished.

“She’s in the lumberyard, Sulla, to the northeast of here. That’s her hideout. The woman wants me to destroy her. But I don’t
understand it. This is not my master speaking.”

“So who will you obey?”

“I will obey her, Sulla. She knows things, she is older than the one who sent me. She told me her name. It is one we fear to speak in Morytania. She is Vanescula, Lord Drakan’s own kin.”

“But I thought you were sent by Drakan himself.”

“I thought so, too. That’s what I was led to believe. But Vanescula is even more powerful than the being who sent me, so it can’t have been Lord Drakan. No, I must have been tricked. That’s how the vampires work their games, Sulla.” The werewolf growled in anger and clenched his fists.

So there are conflicting masters in Morytania
, Sulla mused silently.
And I know now where the Wyrd makes her lair.

“Very well,” he said after a moment’s deliberation. “Tell me Jerrod, is the girl still nearby?”

Jerrod sniffed the air and nodded.

“Good. She has something I want. Come!”

“The embassy left Varrock through the east gate an hour ago,” the man with the thin moustache told Sulla. He then pursed his lips in thought, ran his right hand through brown hair that was flecked with silver at the sides, and reached into the small bag that lay on the table between the two men.

“Kara-Meir and her friends went with them,” he added. “I saw them go.”

The man withdrew his hand to reveal a rounded pebble poised between two fingers. He turned it over and dropped it onto the table.

Sulla grinned when he saw the white markings on its surface.

“An air rune? That’s a point to you, Straven. So you have fifteen to my eighteen. And the death rune is among the three remaining.”

“Your turn,” the thief master replied. “Will you hold? Or will you risk it?”

Sulla shook his head and grinned behind his wild beard.

“I am ahead, and there is a one in three chance that you will pull out the chaos rune. Only then can you beat me. No, I’ll hold.”

Sulla saw Straven’s lip curl slightly in frustration, and he followed his opponent’s eyes as they settled on the item that sat at his side on the bench. Wrapped in a damp cloth, it dripped a brown liquid onto the wood and its smell reminded Sulla of a butcher’s shop. Straven gave a look of distaste. Very quickly, his eyes moved on, to pass over the Blue Moon’s customers.

From their position by the window, Sulla followed his gaze.

How many of them are your men, Straven? What are you waiting for?

It was early afternoon and the tavern was crowded, with at least two-dozen unfamiliar faces half-hidden in the fug of pipe smoke. The only man he recognised there was the gang-master’s own man, the fur trader Bareak, who had given him the message the day before.

Straven reached into the bag once more. Without pause, he withdrew his hand and dropped a single pebble on the tabletop. It was marked with salmon coloured lines stretching outward toward its edge.

Sulla laughed.

“A mind rune! Two points for you. I am still ahead by one. Now there is an even chance of victory or defeat, Straven. Only two runes remain, chaos and death. It’s a choice that reminds me of my own life up to this moment.”

“As I was saying,” Straven responded, “I watched Kara-Meir leave with the embassy. I am amazed that such a slight girl could have bested you in single combat. It makes no sense.”

Sulla shrugged.

“Much about her does not,” he admitted. “She even wounded my companion, and that’s no small feat in itself.”

“Ah, your companion. You’ve spoken highly of him, but he remains very elusive. From the moment you entered Varrock, Bareak had my footpads follow you, and yet you evaded them.” Straven looked Sulla in the eye, and continued cautiously. “I can’t recall anyone having done that before, not even that thief from Kandarin, the one who tried to run with my money. It unnerves me. And I don’t like being unnerved.”

His hand rested on the small bag which now only held two runes.

Is this the moment, Straven?
Sulla wondered.
Is this when you spring your trap and hand me over to the King? Or are you really unnerved by Jerrod and the ease with which he can vanish from sight?

He glanced subtly at a man who sat by himself. Jerrod was covered in a cloak he had stolen from a beggar the previous night. He had entered the inn an hour before Sulla, and had sat patiently by himself, watching and waiting.

“Come, Straven,” Sulla said amiably. “You have made a great deal of money from me in the past. When I was a senior member of the Kinshra, you worked for me a great deal, even though I could just as easily have used the Black Arm Gang.

“As I could now,” he added, leaning forward.

Straven’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t threaten me, Sulla,” he hissed quietly. “I have a dozen men in here right now. Within a half hour you could be trussed up and given to King Roald. Or worse. I could send you back to the Kinshra to suffer a slow death.”

Sulla smirked.

“And I have only Barbec, who waits outside in the street.”

“What of your mysterious companion. Is he here now, with us?”

Sulla shook his head.

“I won’t give
everything
away to you, Straven. But I will give you this—for your time and for a promise of a second meeting. Take my purse from my belt.”

Straven leant over and did as he asked. Without waiting for permission the gang-master loosened the cord and peered in. Sulla saw an eyebrow lift in surprise.

“The gem is yours, Straven. But there are more to come if you do as I request. Many more—it will be well worth your time.”

Request!
he raged inwardly.
Six months ago I made demands.
A dark side of him wanted to laugh at his own fall.

Instead, he waited, watching intently.

“It had better be,” Straven said, “for I could profit a great deal from turning you in.” He licked his lips and glanced around the room. “What do you want?” he asked finally.

“A hot bath would be nice,” Sulla responded. “A shave and a haircut, too. A place to hide for a while. And...” He held up his arms, his wrists still wrapped in bandages.

“...new hands.”

Straven nodded.

“The first requests can easily be accomplished. I can’t help with the hands, however. You might need a wizard or a cleric for that, or even an engineer to fit some artificial appendages.”

“That would suffice for now,” Sulla agreed. “Something with sharp edges, so I can indulge my interest in pain.” He grinned, and noticed how the man squirmed uncomfortably. “I have a lot of pain to give. Six months worth of agony.

“But I don’t need you to arrange any of those things,” he continued. “And I wouldn’t want you to know where I plan to make my lair. The lure of Kinshra gold—or your duty as a citizen to your
monarch—might outweigh your word to me. I want something else. I want asylum.”

Straven’s eyes went wide.

“What?” he said loudly. He glanced around, then leaned in and continued in a low voice. “You? The King would never grant it! You’ve too many orphans to your name—”

“Such as Kara-Meir?” Sulla countered. “I orphaned her, you know.” He waved his stumped wrists in the air. “She and her fellow victims have had their revenge on me, haven’t they?”

But Straven remained unmoved.

“No, Sulla. I have no way of contacting the King or his advisors, and you have nothing to offer them, even if I could.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Straven. Perhaps I have little to offer, but what of my companion? The one who evades your footpads with such ease?”

“Go on.”

“Jerrod is his name. Few know anything about him, though that may already have changed, thanks to Kara-Meir’s intervention in the barn. Regardless, he is a... man of unique value.”

Sulla leaned over to whisper.

“Jerrod is from Morytania. He is a werewolf.”

Straven gasped and pulled back.

“You keep ill company, Sulla,” he hissed.

“I am glad you realise that. Believe me when I tell you that he could find you wherever you hide in this city. Even if you were guarded by your best men, he would find you and eat your organs as you watched. I’ve seen him do it.

“But he knows things, too,” Sulla continued. “He knows about the Wyrd, Straven. His master can contact him from beyond the River Salve. It happened only last night, as we spent the night in an alleyway among the dregs, when Jerrod was asked to apprehend her.”

Straven’s face broke into confusion.

“Apprehend her? I don’t understand,” he said. “Why would
he
want her captured, if she is doing his bidding?”

Sulla smiled again.

“My question exactly. Interesting isn’t it? Something is afoot in Morytania, something that the King would give half his treasury to understand.” He paused for effect. “So here is what I want you to do. Find me fighters, Straven. I want you to recruit the most capable mercenaries Varrock has to offer. Men who are unafraid of The Wilderness and who will work under my command. Only a handful, but promise them they will be rewarded, for I intend to catch the Wyrd and give her to the King.”

“I know of four individuals, perhaps more, who will suit your needs, Sulla. Will that suffice? I think I can have them ready in three nights’ time.” Straven spoke carefully, eager to please, and Sulla knew he had the man in his grip. “Where shall we meet you?”

“Outside the city, to the east under the gallows tree. In three nights, just two hours before dark. Tell them to be ready for a ride. And I will need a horse for myself.”

Straven nodded and made ready to stand, but Sulla stopped him.

“Two more things before you leave, Straven. First, I have something for you. It’s the object on the bench next to me. Take it.”

Straven looked doubtful. He reached down, and grimaced as his fingers felt the damp cloth. He looked at Sulla warily, but the man with the ruined face only smiled a horrible smile.

“Perhaps you had best finish the game first,” he said. “Will it be chaos and victory—or death?”

The gang-master shot him a puzzled look as he reached into the bag and pulled out the first pebble his fingers touched. He held it up.

“So it’s death, Straven,” Sulla said mirthlessly, looking at the white skull painted on the stone. “You have lost. Now take my gift.”

Straven looked hard at the damp cloth again.

“Don’t worry, you keep it, Sulla,” he said stiffly.

“Take it, Straven. I brought it for you.” His eye hardened and he stared grimly at the gang-master. “Consider it a warning.”

Straven took it up in his right hand. He pulled the cloth aside, and instantly turned away.

“Gods!” he said, and he gagged. “What is it?”

Sulla smiled.

“Don’t you recognise young Catspurse when you see her, Straven? It’s all that remains of the young footpad who trailed us. It’s her heart. Jerrod ate her other organs as she died, and she did so horribly. He especially relishes the liver for some reason. Didn’t I say I had watched him do it? Perhaps you thought I was being theatrical, but now you know better.”

“She was only twelve!”

“Oh, don’t pretend that you care, Straven. You
use
children, to rob on your behalf, and are fully prepared to let them be punished in your place. How many other Catspurses have died because of you?”

“They know the risks... but this is...” Straven shook his head.

“Quite so. It’s monstrous. Like Jerrod. Like me.” Sulla stood. “Three nights’ time then, under the gallows tree. We will be watching for any deceit on your part. And just remember, you have a heart, too. And a liver. It is Jerrod’s favourite.”

For a long time, the land through which they passed was densely overgrown, branches and vines clawed at them constantly, and their progress was slow.