When she returned she found Reldo in a heated discussion with Papelford, the old man insisting that his apprentice should take certain books with him on the journey. Nearby stood Gideon Gleeman, his long face fraught with worry, the King’s Seal held tightly in his hands, while at the entrance to the bailey waited Despaard and Ruthven, both men impatient to get underway.
“I want to be at my manor before dark,” Lord Ruthven shouted to everybody. “It will mean a supper for us if we can do it, and a bed for the night.”
“I am ready,” a young monk in brown robes said. Kara saw the four-pointed star dangle from a necklace. His tonsured head was burned by the sun, yet he showed no discomfort. “My pilgrims have prepared their wagons and they will follow us tomorrow. It should be enough to ensure that Paterdomus is supplied till winter.”
“I am glad you are travelling with us, Drezel,” Despaard said. “The Pass of Silvarea can be treacherous on occasion.” The monk Drezel gave a slight bow in his saddle as another horse trotted through the entrance to the bailey. On it rode Lord William.
“May I accompany the embassy to Paterdomus, Lord Despaard?” he asked. “It is, after all, my duty to ensure that Kara-Meir’s companions have all they need while in Varrock.”
Lord Despaard glared at the younger man. When he didn’t answer, Kara saw Lord William turn his gaze toward her.
“Do you find my company so unpleasant, Kara-Meir?” he asked sweetly.
Kara smiled.
“Not at all,” she replied. “I would be glad to have you with us on the road, and I know my friends would be too.”
“Just don’t go getting lost or left behind,” Despaard said, impatiently. Kara found it amusing. “We cannot afford time to pander to the vagaries of a dilettante.”
But Lord William replied at once.
“I can assure you, Lord Despaard, this dilettante is more than capable of pandering to his own vagaries.”
Despaard nodded grimly and looked about the bailey carefully.
“Very well. Then let me do a head count. There are nine of us in the embassy itself, with Lord Ruthven and Drezel to act as our guides as far as Paterdomus. Reldo also, of course. And an escort of twelve trusted men.” He caught Kara looking at him. “My rangers,” he explained, “including Simon. Twenty-four of us in total.”
Lord William coughed, his expression slightly wounded.
“Don’t you mean twenty-five?”
Despaard turned away without a reply. A short time later he ordered the embassy to mount. With their escort, they rode forward, preceded by a contingent of the palace guard who were to accompany them through the city. As they drew near the gate, Kara happened to cast her eye back to the palace, and became aware of someone staring at her.
She saw Lady Anne, standing in a window on the second floor. Her hand was pressed to the window pane.
Quickly Kara turned away, to concentrate on the road ahead.
Theodore has not seen you, Lady Anne, and I will not tell him. I wonder if you will go to bed cursing my name?
But as the gate neared Kara glanced upward again. Anne was still there. This time, their eyes met. “Please” she mouthed. The gate was only seconds away, and once they were through, the window would no longer be visible.
Kara turned away with a wicked smile that instantly made her feel guilty.
No! No I will not ride off like this. I will not sink to her level.
“Theodore,” she said gently, pointing up with her hand.
He turned sharply in his saddle and followed her gesture. Kara saw Anne’s face brighten as Theodore waved.
And then they rode through the gate, and Lady Anne was gone.
“Thank you, Kara,” Theodore said. “You could have said nothing. She and I parted on… awkward terms.”
“I am sorry to hear that, Theodore. Truly.”
And it is true. I am.
16
The day had thus far been foul.
The Midsummer Festival had ended as they entered Varrock through the southern gate, on the cart which had brought Pia in her barrel to the barn. As soon as they arrived in the city, Jerrod had whispered to him that they were being followed. Cautiously, Sulla had spied their shadow-a young girl, probably no more than twelve years old.
That’s how the gangs operate. Children take the risk for their elders, and swing for them if they are caught.
The cart owner-a man named Bareak who posed as a fur trader, but who in reality worked for Straven, the leader of the Phoenix Gang-had separated from them in the south of the city, among the squalor and the poor. He left behind the briefest of messages.
“Come to the Blue Moon Inn tomorrow, after midday. Straven will be there.”
From that moment on, as they wandered Varrock, Jerrod carrying the heavy case of documents as if it was empty, the young girl kept her eye on them, likely unaware that Sulla knew of her presence.
Although I wouldn’t have if I didn’t have Jerrod here, with his hunter’s nose.
She was still there now, some hours after the sun had gone down.
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.”