RuneScape: Return to Canifis (42 page)

“Will I be safe, Roavar?” Gar’rth asked the innkeeper.

The man shrugged.

“That will be up to Master Malak,” he replied. “And
Him.
”

Him. The lord of Morytania. What does Lord Drakan want of me?

Of all the people he knew, only Gar’rth’s mother had ever seen Drakan. But to her dying day she had refused to talk about her time in Meiyerditch.

“Why was Jerrod sent across the river after me?” he asked the innkeeper. “As a town elder you, if anyone, will know.”

Roavar shook his head.

“I don’t know,” the man replied. “Master Malak told Jerrod to go, and he did so. Even you with your soft heart should know that we don’t ask when told.”

The door opened behind Gar’rth and Theodore entered, followed by the rest of the embassy, Albertus supported between Gideon and Castimir. They set him down on the nearest stool where he slumped forward onto the table. Roaver greeted them without a hint of welcome.

“There are rooms upstairs,” he said. “The inn has been reserved for you. No harm will come to you here.” He peered at Albertus intently. “Strange,” he muttered. “It is rare to see one so old in Canifis.”

“I noticed that,” Kara said. “There are children and infants out there in the crowd, but there are no old people. Where are they all?”

You shouldn’t ask so many questions, Kara!

“I am as old a wolf as you are like to see,” Roavar answered as he filled a jug of beer from a barrel. He set it on a tray and carried it across to the largest table, about which the embassy gathered. “When a man or woman is too old to be of any use to the town, then they are killed. Our race is not a wealthy one. We don’t make tools, we don’t manipulate metals, we don’t create art or literature. We just exist to serve, and we cannot afford to waste resources.”

“You
kill
your old people?” Gleeman said as Imre entered the inn. Gar’rth noticed that his cuffs were damp with black blood.

“Aye. Either that or they willingly go to Castle Drakan for the blood tithes,” Roavar explained. “Our race is extremely long-lived. It’s not unusual for us to live for several generations of men, as I
myself have already surpassed. Yet our young are rare.”

“To survive in Morytania you must be strong,.” Imre added with a cautious look to the embassy. “When old age comes to us, death is a blessed reprieve from such an enfeebled state.

“And remember, death is a far better option than undeath.”

Gar’rth turned to the nearest window—one that faced north onto the town’s centre. Through the cloudy glass he could just make out the crowd of people who had followed them. They stood, eerily silent, watching.

Half of Canifis must be gathered here.

He saw young mothers with weak children stand at the forefront of the crowd. Among them, one held a baby that was too ill to cry, its frailty obvious.

Kara was at his side, and soon the entire group looked out.

“What a poor people,” Doric said quietly. “Those children are starving.”

“And yet we can do nothing,” Lord Despaard advised.

Kara flashed him an angry glare.

“We can try to help, can’t we? Perhaps ask Malak—”

“No, Kara. Lord Despaard is right.” Theodore’s tone was soft but forceful. “We are a diplomatic mission. If we start interfering in Canifis’s governance, then we will have erred, no matter how unpalatable that governance is.”

Imre nodded, his eyes hungry as he looked at Kara.

“The knight speaks truthfully, woman,” he said. “Interfere in such a way and you will break the conditions of your embassy.” His eyes remained fixed on her. “I for one would find that quite welcome, for I would relish the chance to show you the skills of a
real
werewolf, and not a soft-heart.” He darted a look at Gar’rth.

“Have you taken care of our animals, as I asked?” Theodore interrupted sharply. “It would be unfortunate if Master Malak
were to hear that they had been mistreated in any way.”

Imre growled and said nothing, then hastened to the door, pausing only as long as it took to cast a last look at Kara and Arisha. Neither woman flinched.

Yet they are scared. They have not forgotten the dream, and here in Canifis it could so easily become a reality, if we make but the tiniest mistake.

“One moment, Imre,” Lord Despaard called. “When are we to make the journey to Mieyerditch? How long are we to wait here in Canifis?”

Imre cringed slightly.

“Master Malak has left instructions that you are to wait here. He will send for you if
he
wishes to see you. Now my men shall find a place to secure your animals, for we don’t have stabling.”

The werewolf vanished, and the embassy was left alone. Through the window they could see the guard surrounding the inn, most likely to prevent any from getting too close.

“What a dreadful place,” Castimir said, watching as their steeds were led away.

Gar’rth smiled without humour.

“Welcome to Canifis,” he said bitterly.

Ebenezer dreamed.

From far away he heard Eloise’s voice telling him about the children, of how happy they were, of how proud she was of him. He stretched out and found himself in bed.

His bed, from many years ago.

He felt a weight rest on his chest and he breathed in the familiar lavender smell of Eloise’s freshly washed hair. She had always liked lavender.

“The children will have a sister to play with very soon,” she whispered. “I think to call her Sally, after my sister.”

“What if it’s a boy? Could we call him Erasmus, after Sally’s husband? Should we?”

“It will be a girl,” she replied. “I know it. She will grow up in a happy household and you can continue with your tinkering. And we will grow old together in comfort. There isn’t much more one can ask than that.”

Growing old. Together.

But I am old, aren’t I?

He sat up in bed, gently moving her head aside. The familiar
cramps in his muscles were gone. He stood up easily, no stiff ness in his legs. The bone didn’t click in his hip. It had been a long time since that had happened.

Then he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

He was younger. His beard was dark with the vigour of youth, absent yet of any silver or white. His hair was characteristically dishevelled, but long ago he had given up trying to impose any control on it.

Tall, lean, with a face that rejoiced in the small happinesses of life. A face that had been made to laugh. That was what Eloise had said when they first met. He studied himself in the mirror with approval mingled with growing despair, for he knew all this would be gone when he awoke. He realised Eloise was speaking.

“...will be Gar’rth,” she concluded.

Gar’rth? That’s an odd name for a girl!

But no. Gar’rth comes later. After you and the children are... dead.

With him will come Castimir, Kara, Theodore and Doric and the war and the siege. I am in no rush to experience that again. No, let us take our time, Eloise, let us enjoy these moments again. Please.

He turned in his bed. This time the cramps in his muscles were there, returning to remind him that they were still very real, and that Ebenezer was indeed old.

It might have been minutes or hours or days later, he did not know. His head ached and he was aware of a dim light that he couldn’t escape. Voices filtered through to him—kind voices, and he was content to sleep for a while longer in the knowledge that he was safe.

But then it came to him.

Gar’rth, covered in blood, vicious, violent. He felt a sudden pressure around his neck as the werewolf squeezed and his old bones cracked under the force of that inhuman grasp.

Another dream. But this one different, more real.

Somewhere far away he heard Kara scream, and the triumphant howl of a werewolf.

Then it faded, and quickly, as if he had heard it muffled through a closed door and had decided to move on, rather than open it and face what was inside.

There is always tomorrow Gar’rth. We can talk then.

Instead, he opened his eyes.

The face of an elderly woman stared back. A familiar face, so like Eloise.

“Ebenezer?”

“Sally?” he said. “What happened?” The last thing he remembered was the Midsummer Festival. He had argued with Gar’rth and then the youth had run off to chase the Wyrd.

She hit me, I think.

“You were injured by the Wyrd,” Sally confirmed. “You have been asleep now for nearly a week, on and off. You have woken twice before, and talked coherently. Do you remember that?”

Ebenezer shook his head.

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Well, try and stay awake now,” she responded. “Father Lawrence said head injuries are nasty things and can have strange effects. He has helped tend you, along with Ellamaria and Lucretia, Lady Caroline’s maid. The King has even been to see you, although I think it was also because of his deSire to see Ellamaria.”

The words meant little to Ebenezer. His head ached and he struggled to sit upright.

“Where is Gar’rth?” he asked. “I remember now... he changed.” He went cold and turned sharply to Sally. “They
know
, don’t they? They know about Gar’rth.”

“Calm yourself, old friend,” she said gently. “I have told you this
before, when you woke the first time. We talked for an hour then, and you seemed quite lucid. Evidently you have forgotten.” Sally sighed. “I do not know what you mean about Gar’rth, but he is no longer in Varrock. Nor are the rest of your friends. They have gone to Morytania as part—”

Ebenezer made a high-pitched wheezing sound. Her look kept him from speaking, though, and she continued.

“As part of an embassy, Ebenezer. To seek peace—not to fight. They will be there by now. They left the day after your injury, and Albertus went with them. They even left messages for you, which you read the first time you woke.

“They are on the floor by your bedside. Do you wish to read them again?”

He shook his head.

“No,” he replied, struggling to remain calm. “Not yet. I have no recollection of waking before. Perhaps my mind is damaged.”

Gods don’t let that be so! Please, if you are listening now Saradomin, grant me the use of my faculties.

“I do not think so, Ebenezer,” she said. “Father Lawrence thinks it is a concussion and that you will recover in due course. Do you feel well enough to stand?”

Whether I feel well enough is besides the point. I won’t lie here like a decadent prince while my friends ride into danger. I must help, in any way I can.

He summoned his strength and twisted his legs from the bed onto the stone floor.

Muscle cramp, as expected. Hip joint clicking. All is well then, no changes there.

He thrust himself forward and tottered for a moment. His head ached, and the world about him spun slowly, as if he had had too much ale.

At least if I were drunk, I would have an excuse.

Somehow he held. He straightened his back and winced at the familiar
twang
of muscle.

Then, with an exaggerated flair and a smile that would have made Eloise proud, he raised his arms above his head, as if he were a giant awakening from an age-long slumber.

Back world! The Alchemist has returned!

He gave a wicked chuckle and took a step forward.

It will take more than a bat-winged horror to stop—

His left knee buckled, and he fell forward into Sally’s waiting arms. Gingerly, she pushed him back to his bed, where he sat with a flushed face.

“I shall find you a walking stick,” she said matter-of-factly. “Wait here, you silly old fool.” She smiled as she left him alone to think.

If I can’t march off to war, then I might as well unleash my greatest weapon.

He began to organize his thoughts.

Where do I start?

The Wyrd has killed a great number of citizens from all walks of life. She has kidnapped several people, children mainly, targeting some for a specific purpose. Those like the child Gar’rth was trying to save. The creature wanted her in particular.

And the tailor’s child, which Theodore failed to save.

Ebenezer sighed and put a hand to the back of his head. The bandages there were stiff and he was glad he didn’t have a mirror to hand.

Why? Why that child? There has to be a reason there.

The door banged open and Sally returned with a walking stick, her face in shock. Behind her Ebenezer could see Captain Rovin and Father Lawrence, and the blanched face of Lady Caroline.

Something is wrong.

“What is it?” he asked, a cold dread making him nauseous.

“We have just received word from Paterdomus,” Captain Rovin said. “I am afraid it is bad—several horses of the embassy, including Albertus’s mule and Castimir’s yak, have returned of their own accord, riderless. Drezel sent word by pigeon yesterday, and he thinks we should assume the worse. King Roald has sent command to The Wilderness garrisons to move to the east, for fear that this incident might provoke Morytania into futher action.”

No. This can’t be. Not with Gar’rth and Kara.