“Gods.” Jack breathed. “Ride, Pia. Please. Ride!”
But she couldn’t move. She told her legs to do so, to dig her heels into the horse’s side, but they refused. She was frozen, the burning red eyes of the man looking into hers.
The horse neighed.
“Pia!” Jack cried, louder now,
The hair on the man’s head was torn out in great clumps. When he coughed and opened his mouth she saw that half his tongue was missing. He coughed again, and this time his jaw hung open, wider than nature had designed. Or it might have been a laugh, and Pia saw him give what she thought could be a leering smile.
His arms uncoiled from the tree and he moved toward them. His speed was unnatural.
“Pia!”
She had never seen anything so perverse, so wrong. The old man with a skeletal body leapt the first pool that separated them, a jump that even a young man in peak condition could never have accomplished.
Impossible. Still she remained transfixed.
The man opened his mouth wider as he charged toward them. He was as fast as a horse, she realised suddenly.
“Pia,” Jack cried, wriggling in her lap and turning to peer up at her. “Do something!”
Finally Jack’s voice broke her fear, and she kicked the horse into action. The horse bolted forward suddenly, as if it had been similarly frozen in fear. She looked behind, and on it came-for now she knew it wasn’t human-and it was gaining, its arms outstretched. She looked forward again, panic rising inside her.
When she looked back again, the skeleton creature was so close. She faced forward again and closed her eyes. But the tears came, and she couldn’t stop them.
No, no, no no no nononono…
She felt something hard grab her thigh and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of white as the thing’s hand slipped off her body. Her skin felt frozen where it had been touched.
Jack cried out in terror.
Pia leaned forward, ignoring the sound.
The horse reared suddenly and kicked backward. Pia heard a sound like a breaking twig, and she dared to turn to look.
The thing was there. Right behind her, its hand gripped around the horse’s rear leg. It pressed its face forward, into the horse, its mouth biting…
The horse bucked again as a torrent of blood gushed into the thing’s face. This time Pia lost her balance.
She fell from the horse.
Jack screamed as the horse bucked again. As she fell, Pia saw its hoof smash against the attacker’s temple. It was a blow that would surely have felled a giant. And it was enough to send the creature sprawling back, into the mire.
Pia gasped as her heart pounded. She watched in a daze as the thing vanished beneath the surface of the swamp, and the horse bolted with Jack holding on desperately, his arms wrapped around the frantic animal’s neck. And then he was lost from sight in the swirling green mists.
She tried to rise, but again her limbs refused to obey her commands. Minutes passed-or were they hours? Somewhere far away she heard Jack scream again and the horse whinny loudly. Then both sounds were cut short.
No! But still she remained frozen.
There was the sound of movement-of something being dragged. A form was thrust down to the earth at her side, so that she could see it without needing to turn her head. It was Jack, his face ash grey, his eyes unseeing.
Above her stood a figure wrapped in a black cloak. Behind him stood another.
She tried to speak, but no words came.
“You have trespassed into our realm, human,” the thing said, but still she couldn’t see his face, obscured in darkness and mist. “You were lucky to escape the ravenous, but that is as far as your fortune goes. Your horse is dead. It’s flesh food for Canifis. As you will soon be.”
Canifis! It’s a werewolf, she thought, her mind racing. The dagger…
The figure pushed its cowl back, and its eyes gleamed with malice and hunger. There was no wolf-like snout. No fur covered its face.
But within its horribly distended jaw, the unnatural light of the swamp glinted off two sharp and pointed fangs.
18
Gar’rth was miserable as they rode from the bailey and across the palace’s courtyard.
There the column turned south and rode down the tree-lined avenue to the palace’s outer wall. Once through the gate came the great square, with its four statues watching over the frothing pool, where a line of yellow-tabarded guards kept the way clear for Lord Despaard’s embassy.
And as they rode out, the people cheered. Some shouted out to Kara, others blessed King Roald, while other, bolder voices offered helpful suggestions as to what to do to Lord Drakan by applying sharp-edged weapons to various parts of the dark lord’s anatomy.
“I’m not even sure if Drakan has one of those,” Lord William said thoughtfully, raising a brief smile from those who heard.
As they rode east through Varrock and finally out of the city itself onto the King’s Road, Simon never left Gar’rth’s side.
This is worse than the dungeons. At least there we were separated by bars.
Shortly before the crossroads, when the city of Varrock was more than a mile behind and hidden from view by an army of willows and oaks, Gar’rth breathed deeply.
At least I am away from the city now, with its foul smells. Out here, I can take full advantage of the wild aromas.
He did so, and then he stopped suddenly, coughing.
Kara saw his distress.
“What is it, Gar’rth?”
“Something nearby. A familiar scent. A man. A dead one.” He gave another sniff. “Not long dead, either.”
The column stopped to hear him.
“It’s probably just Theodore, in need of a bath,” Lord William said, but no one laughed. Nor did they question Gar’rth’s observation, causing the young noble to frown in puzzlement. Reldo did likewise.
They don’t all know about me, Gar’rth realised. I should take more care in future.
Suddenly the silence was broken as Lord Ruthven laughed from the head of the column.
“The boy plays tricks upon us, Lord Despaard,” the hawk-like man said loudly. “He knows that we approach the crossroads. Come. Let us hasten on, and the answer to this riddle will no longer be left … hanging.”
The column continued, and as they journeyed to the northeast the scent grew.
I am right. A man has been killed here, and very recently. And it was at the crossroads that he was proved right.
A hanged man’s body dangled from the branch of a sprawling oak tree. It twisted in the afternoon breeze as a crow, perched in the branches above, cawed at the embassy, staking its claim. The man’s hands were bound behind his back and as the body twisted to face them. Kara gasped.
It’s Velko! Gar’rth realised.
The outlaw was missing one eye. The fatted crow high in the branches stretched its wings as a man might stretch his arms after a satisfying meal.
“You recognise him, Kara-Meir?” Despaard asked.
“I do,” she replied grimly. “One of Sulla’s band.”
“May Saradomin have mercy on his soul,” the cleric Drezel said earnestly.
“It is a dreadful waste of life,” Albertus bemoaned.
“He was hanged this morning,” Ruthven told them. Gar’rth saw him stare at the corpse in contempt. “And with luck we will soon have Sulla himself by the neck. How I would dearly like to see him swing from the gallows tree.”
Lord Ruthven wants Sulla badly. I wonder why?
Theodore and Kara shared a confused look, no doubt thinking the same.
Meanwhile, the elderly noble goaded his horse on and the column advanced once more. Despaard waited at the side of the road as the column passed, rejoining it only when Gar’rth drew level with him.