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?”
“The Black Prince wishes to see you, Gar’rth. I will take you to him now, but first I think you should know more of your situation. You walk upon the edge of a knife here. We all do. A stray step is all it takes for our lives to be forfeit. The Black Prince is bad enough, but worse still is Vanescula Drakan.
“Have you heard of her?”
“I think so,” he replied. “Is she Lord Drakan’s daughter?”
Georgi shook his head.
“She is his sister. And there are none worse than her. Not Malak, not her brother Ranis, perhaps not even Lord Drakan himself, and certainly not the Black Prince. They play their games against one another, entertaining themselves with the lives of humans in the ghettoes, as well as those like your parents and me. We are all pawns to them, pawns in a game where death is no finality.
“Can you imagine what that means? There can be no escape for us.”
The old werewolf shook his head and looked at Gar’rth curiously.
“And you will be in very real danger here. These corridors may seem empty, but the darkness itself is a slave to their will, as much as you or I. She especially uses it to smother the life from her victims. or to tear the flesh from their bones, and she-Vanescula-will hate you Gar’rth. You must be careful.”
Gar’rth frowned.
“Why? Why would she hate me so much?”
“Because you are a favourite of the Black Prince. There is no other reason than that.” He ignored Gar’rth’s questioning stare. “Like I said, it is a game to them, and a favoured pawn of one is a particular enemy of another. Here, might is right, Gar’rth. There are no other laws.