RuneScape: Return to Canifis (2 page)

“Need I add that I will spare your lives?” Sulla asked as a low growl emerged from the newcomer. The bandits spun, and several cried out in fear as the hirsute figure neared.

“A w-w-werewolf!” one of them stammered.

Several of his fellows drew their blades and held them out. But none dared advance on the creature.

“Do nothing, for he is my associate,” Sulla said. “From Morytania. His name is Jerrod. Put away your rusted weapons—none of them can harm him. They will only serve to make him angry, and if that happens, you will not live out the day.”

“What do you want from us?” Barbec asked. He was a short bald-headed man with a nose that looked as if it had been broken a number of times, and he spoke in a low grumble.

“We shall go to Varrock,” Sulla replied. “It is a big enough city to hide in, and with the contents of this box we will make ourselves rich.”

The men hesitated.

Finally, Barbec decided for them.

“We’ll come with you... Sulla.”

So you do know me!
With that realisation came anger—that news of his defeat had spread so far that even in The Wilderness, simple bandits dared to mock him.

“How long have you known?” he demanded.

“Since we made the agreement.” Barbec looked to Leander once, and licked his lips uncertainly. “Leander wanted to sell you to the Kinshra, but I thought we should first see the treasure.” His eyes fell on the box. “What’s in there anyhow?”

Sulla laughed.

“These parchments contain important information, but they are written in an old Kinshra code, and only
I
can decipher them.” He turned to face the men, who still clustered away from the werewolf. “For now that is all you need to know. Now, get the horses ready!”

The men moved to obey, while Jerrod reached for Leander. As he did so, the thief drew a knife in trembling hands, and found his tongue.

“It hurts!” he gasped, dropping his knife as Jerrod dragged him a short distance away.

“As I knew it would,” Sulla said gleefully. “Alas, it is a temporary poison that only lasts a single day. An old woman prepared it for me when I was still part of the Kinshra knighthood.” Briefly, he wondered what had become of the sybil who had served him so well, but swiftly he shook off such sentiment. He crouched and moved in close to the thief, nodding in the direction of the knife that lay on the ground.

“That is the easiest way to end your pain, my duplicitous friend,” he sneered.

“What is in the box?” Leander stammered.

Sulla leaned down to speak privately his ear.

“When I was in the Kinshra I made copies of certain secret documents. These documents contain sensitive information concerning a number of wealthy people and their organisations, from here all the way to Kandarin. In diplomacy, the Kinshra often have to persuade influential people to aid their cause, and blackmail has proved a most effective tool.” He stood again. “Now
I have that tool. And I will use it.”

“The Kinshra will kill you for it!”

“They would kill me anyway, if they could. Meanwhile, I can have a little fun wrecking their spy networks—for a small profit—can’t I?” He looked into the distance. “I think I will start in Varrock. There is wealth there, wealth owned by people whose names appear in those documents.”

With that, Sulla brought his boot into Leander’s chin with a sharp
crack
. The thief’s head jerked, and he slumped into unconsciousness.

“Why don’t we kill him?” Jerrod whispered.

“No,” Sulla said. “We need his men’s loyalty, at least for now, and killing him might be too much for them to stomach. Besides...” He looked warily around him. “Lone travellers don’t last long out here—especially unconscious ones.”

A moment later, with Jerrod’s aid, Sulla clambered into a saddle. The werewolf stepped away and pulled his cloak about him, hiding his face as he returned to his human form. Once he had done so, he climbed up behind Sulla. He never rode alone—no horse would tolerate it, and he was as uncomfortable with the beasts as they were with him.

“We ride south to Varrock—if we make haste, we can be there in time for Midsummer,” Sulla said. “Our destination is an estate to the east of the city. The owner has lands that range from the River Salve to the edges of the city itself. There I will send a message to an old acquaintance of mine, the leader of the Phoenix Gang.”

And then, as darkness fell across The Wilderness, and creatures far more terrible than Jerrod stirred, they rode south toward more civilised lands, leaving Leander the thief to his fate.

It was well past midnight when the two men strode through the deserted streets. Theodore stifled a yawn, and his companion noted the sign of fatigue.

“What in Saradomin’s name inspired you to wear your armour to Lady Anne’s party, Theodore?” he inquired. “It’s no surprise that you are tired, after such a long evening.”

“I knew that I could not be asked to dance in my armour, Father Lawrence,” the young squire replied, stifling another yawn. “It provided me with the one excuse I could think to contrive.

“And it worked,” he added with a satisfied nod.

“Lady Anne is a most generous hostess,” the older man replied, peering intently at his friend’s shadowed face. “And she is a beautiful woman.”

“I would not have expected to hear that, coming from you,” Theodore said wryly. “Surely, a priest of Saradomin should have interests that are perhaps more... celestial?”

The old priest shook his head and laughed, mirroring his companion’s good humour. Father Lawrence’s clean-shaven face displayed the burden of years and just a passing familarisation
with the sin of gluttony. His red nose and cheeks were a symptom of the Varrock ale he had consumed earlier that night, at the behest of the selfsame Lady Anne.

“I say it only to tease, Theodore,” he admitted. “As a squire in the service of the Knights of Falador you and I are similarly barred from the pleasures of a hearth and a home.” He nodded his head, as if to acknowledge the presence of a greater authority. “It is the vow we must all take, those of us who enter Saradomin’s service.”

“Perhaps you could kindly explain that to Lady Anne, then,” Theodore responded, a hint of irritation edging into his voice. “For six months now, she has repeatedly made unwanted advances, ever since my arrival here.” He glanced at the stars and exhaled. “And I do not trust her. She schemes as easily as you and I might breathe the night air.”

“She is a young woman of high birth, Theodore,” the priest said. “Consider it from her point of view. What better match to make than a hero of the war in Asgarnia? And her schemes are not malicious.” He paused as they approached the centre of the large square that stood to the south of King Roald’s palace. Theodore sensed a change in his friend’s mood.

“You are still only a squire, Theodore,” Father Lawrence continued. “As peons, you vow to serve your order, but it is only when you become a full knight that you commit yourself irrevocably to Saradomin and your mission.” His eyes were bright, in contrast to the shadows cast by the torches that ringed the square.

“What are you suggesting, Father Lawrence?” Theodore asked, his tone harsher than he had meant it to be.

“I am not suggesting anything, Theodore,” the old man answered hastily. “Everyone has heard stories of the war, and of its heroes. Of the passions that gripped those who fought together to defeat the invading forces.”

Theodore laughed, then stopped suddenly as the sound echoed off the walls of the square.

“I see,” he said, lowering his voice. “You think I refuse Lady Anne because I am in love with another? I suppose there may be an element of truth in it, but even if that is the case, it doesn’t matter. I am committed to my order. I took my vow, and I expect to reinforce it with a new one when I become a knight.”

Father Lawrence said nothing as he regarded the fountain at the square’s centre. It was a tribute to the River Salve and the safety only the legendary waterway could ensure. The fountain was a large pool over which a cross-shaped bridge had been built, the paving laid out from north to south and east to west. Where the two paths met—not quite in the centre—there stood four austere statues rising from the waters, armed as knights and ready for war. At the base of each a thin stream of water cascaded out.

Theodore sensed unease in the priest, as if he was withholding something.

Does everyone in Varrock know?
he wondered.
Am I really such an open book?
After a moment of silence, he spoke again.

“It has been my life’s dream to become a knight, Father Lawrence,” he said. “I have fought and killed and carried out all my duties to the best of my ability. As for Kara, it was a message from our friend Arisha that actually informed me of her plan.” At that, the priest glanced in his direction.

“And you fear for her safety?”

“Who wouldn’t?” Theodore replied. “She pursues her enemies into The Wilderness, with only Gar’rth and Arisha to help her. She is a genuine warrior, Father Lawrence, but I fear for anybody who ventures north into that land.

“They say even the gods have abandoned it,” he added.

The old man shook his head as he ran his hand over his hairless cranium.

“You first came to me to confess your doubts weeks ago, Theodore,” he said, “and I have kept your confidences. I know the conflict that carrying out your duty has caused in you: you obeyed orders that endangered Kara.” Father Lawrence pointed to the fountain that stood before them, and the figures standing in the water.

“They knew their duty as well.” He indicated the nearest statue, representing a tall man of lean muscle with a grim expression carved onto his stone face. “That one there is Tenebra, who was the King’s heir at the time he went to war. He was just twenty, only slightly older than you, when he led his father’s nation against Lord Drakan. His three brothers make up the remaining statues—Bran, Hywell and Henry. None of these men returned from the battle at the River Salve, and the fifth and youngest son inherited the crown. Poor Tenebra, from what I recall, there weren’t enough of his remains to be recovered.”

Theodore regarded the statue.

“I suppose you’re suggesting that duty will lead to a short and unhappy life.” Theodore grinned. “Nevertheless, I do my duty here as a diplomat of the Knights of Falador, though I admit the role is making me feel lazy and entirely too comfortable.” He smiled wryly as he thought back over the evening’s events. “No, romance is not for me—that is a sacrifice with which I will have to live. I have made my choice Father Lawrence.”

“And what a noble sacrifice it must be Theodore!” Father Lawrence answered sarcastically. “Well, I know your friend William would welcome Lady Anne’s attention, so he at least will be pleased to know of your decision.” Then he lowered his voice, serious once again. “But to be a knight of Saradomin is to be
respected by soldiers and kings far beyond Falador and the borders of Asgarnia. Here in Varrock and the realm of Misthalin, young men queue up to follow you and train for your order, to test their mettle. In your diplomatic role you have recruited and trained hundreds of candidates, and many more will follow. Indeed, so proud are the citizens of Varrock that we have even paid for their armour, white, like your own. It is—”

Suddenly the priest stopped and stared. He knelt and examined a portion of the fountain wall.

“Look here.” Father Lawrence’s voice had lost all trace of warmth. Theodore knelt at his side. At the base of one of the statues was a painted mark. What he had thought at first was an act of vandalism was evidently something more.

It was the image of an owl, with its wings spread and its head turned fully behind it.

“I have seen several of these images in my time in Varrock,” Theodore noted. “But what are they? What do they mean?”

“It is the symbol of vigilance, Theodore. We in Varrock are barely more than a day’s travel from the holy river. Being so close to such a powerful evil, we must always be watchful. Some whisper that the Society of Owls protects Varrock from Lord Drakan’s minions, that its followers venture into Morytania itself. It is a Varrock folklore, I fear, and in times of worry citizens are apt to scrawl the sign above doorways and upon walls to give one another confidence.”

“In times of worry?”

Father Lawrence stood, his face drawn.

“There is nothing to concern you, Squire Theodore,” he said. “Let us leave it at that. It is late, and you should return to the palace, while I find my way back to my church and to bed.”

The two men shook hands and made to part. As they did so,
a passing black cat with a red collar arched his back and hissed aggressively.

Instinctively Theodore turned, following the cat’s gaze.

Something large flew overhead, in a westerly direction. He caught a glimpse of immense leathery wings and was reminded instantly of a bat.

“Did you see that?” he cried. “What was it?”

But Father Lawrence was already moving, running to the western side of the square.

“Follow me Theodore. We must act quickly!”

And in his hand, Theodore saw the four-pointed silver star that was the symbol of their shared god, Saradomin.