“Outside the city, to the east under the gallows tree. In three nights, just two hours before dark. Tell them to be ready for a ride. And I will need a horse for myself.”
Straven nodded and made ready to stand, but Sulla stopped him.
“Two more things before you leave, Straven. First, I have something for you. It’s the object on the bench next to me. Take it.”
Straven looked doubtful. He reached down, and grimaced as his fingers felt the damp cloth. He looked at Sulla warily, but the man with the ruined face only smiled a horrible smile.
“Perhaps you had best finish the game first,” he said. “Will it be chaos and victory-or death?”
The gang-master shot him a puzzled look as he reached into the bag and pulled out the first pebble his fingers touched. He held it up.
“So it’s death, Straven,” Sulla said mirthlessly, looking at the white skull painted on the stone. “You have lost. Now take my gift.”
Straven looked hard at the damp cloth again.
“Don’t worry, you keep it, Sulla,” he said stiffly.
“Take it, Straven. I brought it for you.” His eye hardened and he stared grimly at the gang-master. “Consider it a warning.”
Straven took it up in his right hand. He pulled the cloth aside, and instantly turned away.
“Gods!” he said, and he gagged. “What is it?”
Sulla smiled.
“Don’t you recognise young Catspurse when you see her, Straven? It’s all that remains of the young footpad who trailed us. It’s her heart. Jerrod ate her other organs as she died, and she did so horribly. He especially relishes the liver for some reason. Didn’t I say I had watched him do it? Perhaps you thought I was being theatrical, but now you know better.”
“She was only twelve!”
“Oh, don’t pretend that you care, Straven. You use children, to rob on your behalf, and are fully prepared to let them be punished in your place. How many other Catspurses have died because of you?”
“They know the risks… but this is…” Straven shook his head.
“Quite so. It’s monstrous. Like Jerrod. Like me.” Sulla stood. “Three nights’ time then, under the gallows tree. We will be watching for any deceit on your part. And just remember, you have a heart, too. And a liver. It is Jerrod’s favourite.”
17
For a long time, the land through which they passed was densely overgrown, branches and vines clawed at them constantly, and their progress was slow.
Finally they entered a lush wildflower meadow with a treeline on the other side. Pia, dishevelled by hours of travelling, sighed deeply. It had been a hard journey for all of them. The horse staggered beneath her, equally exhausted.
“Can’t we rest now, Pia?” Jack asked from his perch in front of her. He peered up at the sun, which lay directly overhead “We have travelled all night and morning. Please Pia, let us stop for a moment.”
Pia craned her head back over her left shoulder, to the west. She listened intently.
Nothing.
Nothing save the breeze among the trees.
Yet she felt unsure.
I don’t know anything about this land, she thought, studying the distant treeline. I don’t know how far we have come from Varrock, or if there are any settlements left to hide us.
Her ignorance made her angry. She had grown up in a city, in a place of crowds and shadows where it was easy to hide. Out here, in the country, she felt exposed and afraid.
But I will not show it. For Jack’s sake, I must be strong.
“Very well, Jack,” she said. “I think we can take the time-”
A horn blew from the west.
Jack gasped, and glanced around frantically. He turned to her.
“Pia?”
She tightened her grip on the horse’s reins. The horse was fast when it needed to be-it had proved that when they had fled from Varrock the night before. Even now, even so exhausted from the trip carrying both of them, its head rose determinedly in response to Pia’s pull.
The horn sounded again.
She felt Jack shiver.
“Who are they Pia?” he asked desperately. “Do you think they are after us?”
Before she could reply, the bay of hounds fought its way against the breeze to her ears. It was a sound that made her heart stop and her stomach ice-cold.
They are not far away. Perhaps only a few minutes.
“Pia? What will we do?”
“What we always do, Jack.” She dug her heels into the horse’s flank and goaded it onward with a savage pull of the reins. “We run.”
The mare broke into a loping gallop. Pia’s legs ached horribly and she grimaced with every passing yard.
“We need to hide,” Jack said. “There.” Her brother pointed toward the treeline that rose before them. It was the only place they could hide now, for they had left cover behind.
She directed the horse as best she could, as the horn sounded again. The bays of the pack grew louder until they seemed to come from all sides. After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the edge of the forest and again fought their way into the foliage. Thin branches whipped her face and hands and she heard Jack cry out in pain as the sting of a thorn cut her bare cheek, drawing blood, then raked across her face, as well. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.
“Pia. Stop!” Jack shouted.
She opened her eyes as the horse neighed in alarm and stopped abruptly. They were at the top of a steep bank that led down to a fast-flowing river. Across the straining water the opposite bank was hidden in the shadows of a wild forest.
“Is this the River Salve?” Jack asked, his voice low.
If it was, then it fell short of her expectations. Even in her homeland there were legends of the holy river. Some had even said it glowed with a white light, and that its waters could cure any wounds or illness.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think so.” She nodded to the opposite bank. “That doesn’t look like the land of the undead does it?” But even as she said it, she felt unsure.
Jack didn’t reply.
Again the horns sounded and the hounds bayed.
If I am caught I will hang now for certain, she thought desperately. And Jack will too. We have stolen a horse of the King’s stable, and we have stolen a hero’s sword.
Pia drew the adamant blade an inch from its scabbard. Its green-tinted metal caught the midday sun. She made up her mind.
“Do you think the horse can swim across, with us on her back?”
Jack shook his head.
“I don’t know, Pia,” he answered. “But even if it can, should we go? What if that is Morytania?” She sensed her brother’s fear, and tried to pretend the same thought hadn’t crossed her own mind. She made her decision.
“We’ll cross over, Jack, so long as the horse can bear us,” she said firmly. “Then we’ll turn south and cross back after a few hours. If that is Morytania, then we won’t be there for long.”
She didn’t wait for her brother’s objections. She kicked with her heels. After a few moments of dancing around uncertainly, the horse started down to the water’s edge, treading its way carefully.
But then she stood and waited. Pia cursed and dug her heels into the animal’s flanks.
Still the horse refused to move.
“Zamorak curse you,” she spat as the hounds bayed behind them, closer now. Somewhere over her right shoulder she heard a man shout.
They are probably in the meadow, just before the trees. They will be on us in seconds.
Desperation forced her hand. She drew the wolfbane dagger she had taken from Kara’s satchel and stabbed it into the horse’s behind.
The animal neighed and shot forward, its speed catching Pia by surprise. She dropped the dagger in her haste to steady herself as she gripped the reins and held tightly. They plunged into the river. Brown water fumed at their sides as the horse ploughed ahead. A dog barked loudly and frantically behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw several of the pack break through the undergrowth at the top of the bank.