RuneScape: Return to Canifis (35 page)

At last. We will finally learn of Gar’rth’s history.

Theodore waited with intense curiosity. Castimir gave him a quick look of excited anticipation as their friend haltingly began to speak.

“Most of you know me. What I am.” Gar’rth looked to William and Gideon Gleeman. “I am a werewolf, from Morytania.”

“By Saradomin,” Drezel uttered fearfully, only to be silenced by a glare from Lord Despaard.

William raised his eyebrows and looked quickly at Theodore, who nodded his head slowly. Reldo’s face paled. Albertus lowered his goblet quickly. The jester’s hands gripped the table, but when no one else moved he relaxed.

Theodore saw Doric grin in the Gleeman’s direction.

“I escaped from Morytania months ago. You should all know that I have never taken an innocent life. That means Zamorak does not rule in here.” Gar’rth beat his chest with his clenched right hand, indicating his heart.

“I was different from others of my race. I was never trusted by them.” He paused to gather his words. “I was ten years old, I think,
when I found out why. It was my parents. They were werewolves who had been sent to serve at Meiyerditch and Castle Drakan itself some years before I was born. Those who do so and survive are treated with suspicion, and not trusted.” Gar’rth took a drink of water and closed his eyes as he gathered his thoughts.

“That was no honour,” he laughed bleakly. “Many who go never return. Those who are sent are usually the losers in a game of chance, for none offer themselves up to serve such a master. Death offers no release there.

“But my parents were not chosen by chance. It is said the Lord Malak himself came to my mother in the night, ordering them both to leave the following day. Malak... may the Gods curse him!”

Gar’rth shook his head and gritted his teeth in anger.

“They say he corrupts the very earth he walks upon, that living grasses die from his passing. He is not one of my people. Malak is a vampire lord who commands the town of Canifis and the werewolf race. He is hated there, and he is feared—feared as no human lord can ever be. Legend says he is thousands of years old, that he fought in the God Wars and helped found Morytania. In Canifis, he decides who lives and who dies. He governs absolutely, and can overturn any decision made by the elders. It is even said that if you dream ill of him, he will know.”

So the magic of Drakan’s kin is true, then.

Theodore reached to his sword and drew comfort from its cold hilt.

Gar’rth breathed deeply before continuing.

“But whatever the truth, Malak sent my parents to Castle Drakan before I was born. Several years later, only my mother returned to Canifis, with me as an infant. My father, an elder, was killed only a few months before I was born.

“It was the thought of him—murdered on a vampire’s whim—
that started my path to rebellion. I was ten when I first asked my mother about Castle Drakan, for by then I had heard the stories the other children whispered about me. She refused to speak of it, and we grew apart, for the memories were painful to her.

“When I was thirteen, her brother came and took an interest in me. His name was Jerrod. He was a hunter, and would spend weeks away from Canifis trading with gypsies—” Gar’rth looked at the table suddenly and avoided their stare.

I know what he will say. We have all suspected it.

“Sometimes he brought human children and slaves to Canifis, sold by the gypsies.”

The cleric Drezel groaned and took his silver star in his hand. Reldo watched, transfixed, his eyes never leaving Gar’rth’s face. Gideon Gleeman looked once to the remains of the pig on the spit and grimaced.

“I am sorry for what happened to them. But that year everything changed for me. My friends and I were forced to witness the blooding of those a few years older than we were. Malak carried it out, and each of them had to drink innocent blood and swear to Zamorak.

“They were different after that. They were cruel and enjoyed the pain of others. Yet my friends and I were terrified by what we had seen, as was intended by Malak, to prepare us for our own blooding, to make us strong.

“That night, I took an oath. I promised to escape. My mother knew I was different from others, and it made her hate me.” Gar’rth shook his head and wiped his hand across his face.

“She hated me,” he said quietly. “On the night she died, she said I was a curse on her, and when she was gone, Jerrod hated me more, blaming me for her death. That was when he took over my care.”

“Care?” Doric growled. “That is hardly the word I would use.”

Gar’rth smiled for a moment.

“You are right, my friend. Jerrod thought me weak. He often beat me, and told me how soon I would undergo my own blooding. He found amusement in that.

“But my blooding was put back. I was slower developing than my friends. Some said it was the curse of Meiyerditch, that my birth there had affected me somehow. In Canifis, being different makes you an outcast. Jerrod grew angrier, his punishments harsher, and I watched again as my friends underwent their blooding and gave themselves to Zamorak.

“Then I was alone in Canifis, so I decided it was time to fulfil my oath. I planned my escape, over many months.

“Jerrod helped me, though accidentally. He regularly took me with him on his hunts, forcing me to run until I collapsed, at first, before I grew strong enough to keep up with him and then to run faster than him. And he taught me the secret routes around Canifis. Ways used by the hunters, through swamps and marsh known to very few. In tormenting me, he had given me a strength beyond many of my race, and knowledge of secret ways which would allow me to escape.

“After several weeks, I crossed the Salve far to the south of here, forced to do so as Jerrod very nearly caught me. The power of the river prevented him from crossing, but it was no hindrance to me, for, as the monks found, I am still an innocent, untainted by Zamorak. Then I believed I was free, until some weeks later, when I caught his scent among the farming communities and woods.”

“That would be Lumbridge,” Ruthven said. “Last year we trailed a beast that crossed the river, and followed it there, where we lost the trail. That must have been Jerrod.”

Gar’rth nodded.

“Then I must thank you. He would have caught me if you hadn’t
pursued him. I used all the tricks I knew to lose him. I followed rivers, I double-backed over many miles and long days and tried to hide in crowds. As the winter closed in, I turned west and north, before I found my way to Taverley and into the arms of Ebenezer. I was exhausted then. I could not have gone farther, and without his help I would have died. Or worse.”

Gar’rth took another draught of water.

“But Jerrod could not keep his discipline. I know that he murdered a young mother and her child south of Falador, and Theodore himself discovered the wreck of the gypsy caravan after he killed three more. How many others he slaughtered, before and since then, I don’t know, but their deaths haunt me.”

Gar’rth gave Kara a long look. In return she nodded slowly.

She has travelled with Gar’rth after the war.
Theodore mused.
She and Arisha will know all this already.
He felt a sudden stab of jealousy.

“But I know this also,” Gar’rth continued. “To leave him alive is a death sentence to others. That is why we followed him into The Wilderness. He must be found. He must be destroyed.”

“That will be Varrock’s task now,” Lord Despaard said. “For all his evil, Jerrod is only one individual. Our task is more important, dealing with Morytania, and the unknown.”

Albertus Black slumped suddenly, waking to catch himself with a stir.

He is too old for this. He should not be coming.

“We have travelled far today,” Ruthven said with a sidelong glance at the old man. “And we have another journey tomorrow. I think we should all find our beds.”

Those at the table rose as a distant chime sounded.

“It is midnight,” Ruthven observed grimly as he listened. “And that is an eastern bell, for the wind heralds from Morytania
tonight. Should any of you have cause to venture outside, do not go beyond the gatehouse. It will be guarded. And when you do rest, lock your windows and keep your weapons close at hand, for such winds have carried far worse than stale air.”

Theodore saw Doric roll his eyes.

“We aren’t even in Morytania yet,” the dwarf said with ill-disguised contempt. “Surely we are safe on this side of the river, dark or day, wind or no wind.”

Ruthven shook his head bitterly.

“There are those who think so. I was once one of them, yet I paid for that arrogance with everything I loved in life. Now all that remains to me is vengeance.”

Outside the manor house, but still within easy reach of the torch that burned above the doorway, Doric lit his pipe. Theodore watched the dwarf’s nose wrinkle in sudden delight at the smell. It was comforting to him, as well.

“Well, what’s on your mind squi—” Doric growled and corrected himself. “—Sir Knight?”

Theodore grinned hesitatingly. He still wasn’t used to it either.

And after wanting it for so long, since I was a boy.

Is it all I thought it would be? Something seems to be missing now. So much has happened in such a short space of time.

“I am worried,” he said, “about Albertus. Do you not think he is too frail to take part in this journey?”

“He’s a younger man than I by thirty winters,” Doric sighed, scuffing at the ground with his right foot as if kicking a nagging doubt. “But this is not a fight we are going to. It is a diplomatic mission.” He grunted softly and whispered. “At least I hope it is, anyhow.”

“It’s not just him I worry about, Doric. I am still worried about Ebenezer...”

“There was nothing any of us could do for him in Varrock, squire,” Doric said, making no effort to correct himself this time. “Better to be here, with your friends, by their side when they need you. Here, we can make a difference.”

“I hope so, Doric. I hope so.”

Somewhere beyond the gatehouse and near the moat, a goose honked several times. A duck replied with a high-pitched squawk of its own, as if they were two neighbours arguing.

“Do they have birds in Morytania?” Doric asked quietly.

Theodore shook his head.

“I don’t think so. Gar’rth never mentioned them.”

“Ah, but I am glad I know his tale now. Long have I wanted to understand his history.” Doric took the pipe from his mouth. “And Ebenezer would wish to know also. Might we ask Reldo to write down Gar’rth’s account of his past, so that it can be relayed to Varrock for when he wakes?”

“Yes. I will do that tomorrow,” Theodore agreed. “He can complete it at Paterdomus if necessary. It would good for Ebenezer to know what we have heard from Gar’rth’s own account, and William can take it back to the city when he returns.”

Doric nodded and remained silent.

“Are you afraid Doric?” Theodore spoke quickly, fearing he would falter unless he rushed the words. “I am, of what we will find in Morytania.”

Doric took the pipe from his mouth and beat it gently against his palm.

“Me, too. I think we all are. Especially Gar’rth himself. Lord Despaard’s man sticks to him like a second shadow. Perhaps they suspect he will run.”

The dwarf gave the knight a long look.

“What would you do if he did?” Doric asked quietly. “If you
knew he was going to go tonight, with Kara?”

No! They won’t make it. Not with all of Misthalin in pursuit. Kara is too hot-headed.

“Are they planning that?” Theodore asked with a gasp. “Truly, Doric, are they going to do so?”

The dwarf shook his head.

“Kara suggested it to me on the journey here. Arisha and I talked her out of it, I think.”

“And what did Gar’rth wish to do?”

“Kara didn’t mention it to him. He was watched too closely. She thinks that if he goes back to Morytania, he will die.”

“Gar’rth doesn’t believe so, though,” Theodore said, but he knew he sounded uncertain. “And he knows better than any of us.”

Doric sighed.

“That is what I told her. The blood mark should be his guarantee, but she didn’t believe so—not against Lord Drakan.”

“That’s the real riddle behind all of this,” the knight said. “Why is Gar’rth wanted so much?”

The two friends fell into silence. From the moat, the goose and the duck exchanged a final insult before they too fell quiet.

It’s like a calm. A calm before a storm.

They stood a moment longer, enjoying the night, looking up at the clear sky away from the light of the torch, before they turned inside and made their way to their beds.

Theodore could not find sleep—Doric’s words plagued him.

It was shortly after the chimes sounded again, far off, muted by distance, and no more than four or five bells, that he heard another sound, the sound of a footstep in the passageway outside.

It’s her. I know it is.

He stood in silence, grimacing as his shoulder ached. He had
kept the latch lifted on his door, so it would not give him away should he need to enter the passageway undetected.

She can’t be so foolish as this. I will confront her, quietly. If Despaard finds out, then she will be sent back to Varrock as a prisoner.

The door opened as silently as he hoped it would.

In the dim light, a shadow moved.

“Kara?” Theodore whispered.

The shadow stopped and turned, and then stepped closer.

It was Arisha.

“I know who you are watching for, Theodore. But she promised me she would not run. Not until Paterdomus at least. Once there, we will hopefully be able to test the power of the blood mark and see if it holds.”

“And if it doesn’t? Do you run then?”

“I shall do as my conscience dictates, Theodore. Goodnight.”

She vanished, leaving him alone and feeling oddly guilty.

He ground his teeth in silent anger and returned to his room.

And this time, he closed the latch behind him.

They left early, riding in a northerly direction before the sun was up. Theodore was tired from lack of sleep, and they had only been going a few hours when Simon gave a curse.