RuneScape: Return to Canifis (54 page)

Lady Anne tutted in disgust.

“Who are the Charred Folk?” Ebenezer asked.

“They are a chaos-worshipping people in the far north, in The Wilderness,” Lord William replied. “I am unsure of their origins, but I think they were exiled by the church of Zamorak for their violence, for they followed the ways of the Chaos Priest Lungrim. Years ago his teachings were thrown out by the more tolerant Zamorak worshippers, although the Kinshra often used them in their wars.”

Ebenezer noticed how Lady Anne looked at Lord William with wide-eyed interest.

Is she just surprised, or is there something more there?

“You know the history of Zamorak’s church well, boy,” Sulla said. “That is a surprise. But you are wrong on one important detail. The Charred Folk no longer live in the far north. The last of their tribe died in chains in the mines of Ice Mountain, when I was a captain in the Kinshra. You see, after I was scarred by my father I took my revenge. I slew him and the priest who carried out the ceremony, and I burned their place of worship. Years later, I returned with my soldiers and enslaved the lot.” Sulla grinned at Ebenezer hideously. “That was a good day.

“So you see alchemist, that is why I am as I am. Had you been born in my place, and lived, would you have been any different? The pain of others is like food to me. I can
feel
it. I
need
it.” He leaned back in his chair and nodded to Lord William. The young man raised the goblet again for Sulla to drink. He did so eagerly, then pushed aside the vessel with one severed wrist. “But I know you can’t understand that. To you I am a monster. That was what I was born to be.”

I have heard enough of this braggart.

“You can try and justify yourself to me for all your remaining
days,” Ebenezer said. “Others have suffered and have turned out well. Kara-Meir for one. Gar’rth for another—”

Sulla laughed.

“Kara-Meir? Don’t joke old man. She
loves
the pain of others. I know that well enough. On the retreat from Falador, as I lay weak and near-death, I heard men tell tales of her actions on the battlefield. She killed without mercy, without pity. You should not hold her up as a paragon or you will be disappointed. She is a killer, like me.

“And as for Gar’rth? He won’t be coming back from Morytania. Whoever it was who sent Jerrod all the way into Asgarnia to bring him back won’t let him go, now that he’s returned. None of your precious embassy will. You are all that is left of your pitiful little band, and soon old age will put you out of your misery.”

Ebenezer wanted to roar, to jump at Sulla and tear at his scarred face with his hands. But his satisfaction could not be realised. He only gritted his teeth

It was Lady Anne who reacted. She grabbed his goblet of wine from Lord William and splashed it in Sulla’s face.

“How dare you!” she cried. “They went out of service, in the name of the King, and...” Her words trailed off, and she ran to the hallway. Ebenezer struggled to follow with Lord William on his arm.

“Come back, little princess,” Sulla roared drunkenly, wiping the wine from his eyes with his wrists. “I have need of the wife I was promised!” His laughter followed Ebenezer out of the room.

The alchemist caught up with her in the corridor. His face felt flushed, his heart raced and his head ached. The black spots holed his vision again.

“I should return to my room,” he said. “Please, Lady Anne, be careful with Sulla. He is cunning and will seize on any weakness.”

“I will return soon,” Lord William told her. “And don’t let Lady Caroline within sight of him. What were you thinking?”

“She came of her own accord,” Lady Anne said, sounding wounded. “She wanted to see him—” Suddenly her voice broke and she wept. “I am sorry, William. I asked her to help me. I have heard that the embassy’s horses returned, and many believe them to be lost. I can’t help but think of Theodore.”

Lord William sighed.

“I am sorry as well, Lady Anne. I didn’t realise you felt for him so strongly. I will return soon to help you, for Sulla will not be an easy guest. And as for Lady Caroline, it is right that she helps in the affairs of state in these trying times. But if it can be done, please keep her away from that wretch.”

“Do not give in to despair, Lady Anne,” Ebenezer told her softly. “The wizard Aubury told me that Castimir still lives, and that he is unharmed. That likely means the others are, too.”

Her face brightened slightly.

“Thank you,” she said, clutching at his arm. “Thank you.”

“Come back, my princess!” Sulla called from inside the room. “Your lord and master needs you.”

Lady Anne swore quietly, turned, and entered the room again, while Ebenezer was half-dragged back to his chambers. As soon as he was seated Lord William vanished again, leaving him alone.

He is worried about Lady Caroline. I can understand that. I was worried about Eloise whenever she was out of my sight.

I am so tired. Tired of it all.

He must have slept, for when he opened his eyes he saw Sally standing before him, a curious look upon her face.

“Guess where I have been,” she instructed him.

“I know that tone of voice, Sally. Your sister had it, too. I don’t approve.”

She folder her arms angrily.

“I have been to see Felicity and her mother. It took most of the day to convince her, but I think I am right.”

“Well... good for you,” he said, curiosity taking hold. “What have you found?”

He reached across for his water and put the goblet to his dried lips.

“Felicity has a strange birth mark, as well. On her chest. Above her heart.”

Ebenezer fumbled the goblet in his hand. It drenched his shirt and he cursed savagely.

Inspire them. Quench their doubt. Be strong. It’s gone well so far!

“So what do you want to do?” he mumbled humbly.

“What any scientist does when trying to validate their theories. Expand our sample group. I want to check with the families of the other missing children. I want to see if they, too, had birthmarks over their hearts.”

“Very well. Do it. Send a rider to the farm the Wyrd attacked twice. Lord William is worried about Sulla’s intentions toward Lady Caroline, so he won’t go. Reldo is busy with his books. And I am too tired.”

Sally gave him a victorious look as she left.

Birthmarks! I suppose it’s better than nothing.

“Wake up, Gar’rth. Wake up.”

He stirred. His heart beat faster as he turned from his back onto his side. For some reason he was afraid of opening his eyes.

Instead, he inhaled through his nose, now somehow free of the choking smoke that had burned his lungs and throat. It took him a moment to realise that his body was free from pain.

Am I healed? And are my friends safe?

Kara...

“Wake up. Wake up. Wake up...”

Finally, he relented. He opened his eyes and sat up.

There is no point in pretending any longer.

Gar’rth looked for the speaker but if he was there the youth could not see him. Every piece of furniture, the drawers, the walls, the bed and the very sheets he found wrapped around him were black, as if they had been made from the shadows themselves.

Opposite him, a wide deep bathtub of black stone stood against the far wall.

But it was the bed itself that caused his eyes to widen in surprise.

This is opulence on a scale that I have never seen before.

Gar’rth threw off his sheet and stood, naked and cold. A dim light shone through the one small window, reminding him of a forest in the twilight, a dark place made darker still by the dilution of the sun.

As he stepped toward it a motion on his periphery made him gasp. He leapt back suddenly, crouching and ready to defend himself, only to see his reflection act likewise in a long mirror that stood facing him.

The bruises are gone, the cuts vanished. I have been healed somehow.

How long have I been here?

And why am I alive?

He struggled to remember what had happened in Canifis. There had been flames and smoke and he had been beaten—he recalled that, and yet now he stood, free of pain and injury. He found it impossible to reconcile.

Was that a dream? What happened in Canifis?

He went to the window, determined to discover where he was, hoping it would answer some of the questions that made him so uneasy.

Below lay a vast city, stretching to the horizon, divided by immense black walls that were far higher than anything he had seen in Varrock—or even in Falador. A green smog hid the detail. He thought he saw tiny figures dressed in grey rags trudge through the shadows. Wherever he looked it was the same. Not a tree, not a park, no colour of life. It seemed to him as if the whole city with its black walls and black buildings had been designed to inspire despair and sap all hope.

It looked as though it was late morning or early afternoon. The sun was high, and yet it gave no warmth. Farther away, to what he thought must be the south, great columns of black smoke rose into the green-tinted sky.

Industry and misery. But where is the master of this horror? And what does he want me for?

“Some might say it’s beautiful,” said a voice, “if they were mad or wicked beyond any mortal reckoning. Here, in this castle, we have both such inhabitants.”

Gar’rth spun around to see an elderly man with a thin build holding a silver tray. The door was open behind him, and as he stepped forward Gar’rth sniffed the air.

“We share the same talents, you and I,” he said. “I am like you, Gar’rth.”

As the man walked forward Gar’rth found himself unable to speak. He had so many questions to ask. So many that he did not know where to start. The newcomer spoke first.

“My name is Georgi. I knew your parents, Gar’rth, served by their side, seeing to the whims of our masters—in particular the Black Prince himself. I was proud to have known them.” The old man put the tray down without making a sound, taking delicate care to ensure that it was so, as if fearful of making any noise. “Here, under the eye of such a master, we shared danger every day. I learned to trust those at my side in such a place. As will you.”

Georgi’s craggy face was framed by his white hair, which ran down in two thick sideburns all the way to his chin. When he spoke, Gar’rth saw that his teeth were pointed.

“Where am I?” he said after a moment of silence. “And my friends—”

“You are safe in Castle Drakan. Your...
friends
from beyond the holy river are also safe. You were brought here, together, on the Prince’s instructions, carried by the Vyrewatch. You will see them soon, but now you must eat and dress.”

Suddenly Gar’rth remembered his nakedness. In his curiosity, he had forgotten it entirely. He took a step to the bed, to wrap
himself in one of the black sheets, when the old werewolf held up his hand.

“You are to dress in these,” he told him, pointing to a neatly folded pile of clothes that lay upon a closed chest at the end of the bed. “And you should wash and shave, also. I shall bring you a bowl of water and a razor. Should you require anything, just pull the bell rope above your bed. But you cannot leave this room. Not yet.

“Please, for the friendship I had with your parents—and especially your mother—do not try to do so.” With that he turned to leave.

“Wait! Wait! I must know, why am I here? Why does Lord Drakan need me? And tell me, tell me please of my father.”

Georgi shook his head.

“I do not know such things, Gar’rth. And you would do well not to wonder about them. They are not our concern. But as for His Majesty, I have never seen him, and I have lived here for many years. It is not he who wanted you. It is the Black Prince.”

The servant left and the door swung shut behind him, as soundlessly as it had opened, leaving Gar’rth alone and with more questions than he’d had before.

Over the next few hours, Georgi appeared several times, coming and going in quick succession, bringing with him copper jugs of hot water with which he filled the bath and washbowl. He did not speak, and the unanswered questions gnawed at Gar’rth’s mind.

Alone again, he ate and bathed and dressed without a thought to what he was doing, for his mind was occupied always by the uncertainty of his captivity and of what Georgi had told him before.

He has told me only enough to keep me guessing.

Even a closer inspection of his surroundings gave no help.
He knew he was in a tower, for the wall with its single window was curved. His clothes were black finery, a jerkin as soft as any material he had ever felt, a brooch of white gold to hold his black cloak across his throat.

The image in the mirror was not one he liked.

The man standing there is soft, pampered...

He ran his hand over his smooth chin. It was not a sensation he was used to.

Finally, he pulled the red cord that hung over his bed, and somewhere from far away he thought he heard a bell ring.

Within moments, Georgi came.

“I am ready,” Gar’rth said. “When will I see my friends again?”