But no one was there.
Bryant had vanished, and the red-robed man was disappearing swiftly into the darkness, visible only for a second as he turned and hastened down the nearest alleyway.
I cannot miss this chance.
He cursed in the darkness, running out into the street to where Bryant had stood only seconds before. His legs ached in protest, unused to such exercise and enfeebled by his age, but he ignored the pain with an angry grimace. He rushed into the alleyway to see the red-robed figure stoop, a heavily-laden sack slung over his right shoulder.
The sack didn’t move, but as the man disappeared amongst the buildings, the traitor saw a booted foot slip from the cover.
It was Bryant. The man had kidnapped him.
The traitor hoped that he was dead, but the fact that the man had taken him made it more likely that he was alive. Slavery had long been outlawed in Asgarnia, yet there were always rumours of children being carried off to the savage communities in The Wilderness, or even smuggled to Morytania by the wandering gypsy folk, where their fates were beyond the imaginings of even the darkest human mind.
The red-clothed figure moved quickly, from one shadow to the next, and the traitor had to run to keep up. It quickly became apparent that the kidnapper did not know Falador, for several shortcuts presented themselves which the traitor would have taken, if their roles were reversed.
As he followed the fleeing figure to the poorest quarter of the city, he knew it would not be long before the kidnapper’s base was revealed.
Then he would have to decide what to do.
The rain interfered with his sense of smell and it always put him on edge. He was certain he hadn’t been seen as he had pulled the sack over his unsuspecting victim and knocked the peon’s head against the wall, yet he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was being followed.
The unfamiliar city further disconcerted him and he had decided that speed was the best option in making his way back to the old woman’s house.
But as he neared the house he caught a scent that he had not detected since the night he had scaled the castle walclass="underline" it was the smell of the dwarf. Doric’s odour lay heavily in the street, indicating he had walked up and down it several times.
“I have no time for that now!” the creature growled, his red eyes glowing in anticipation. He entered the house, bolting the door behind him. Then he tied the unconscious human down and gagged him roughly with a cloth scarf he had found in the woman’s cupboard.
He wiped the dried blood clear from Bryant’s temple. He had pushed his head into the stonework harder than he had intended in his rush to secure him, and he hoped he hadn’t caused too much damage.
For he needed the boy alive.
Doric was lost.
The city looked very different in the darkness and the rain, even to his night-attuned eyes that had spent long years in the perpetual blackness of the subterranean realms.
He had found where the old woman lived, and after a half hour of uneasy watching had decided to find Theodore and inform the squire of his story, whether he was willing to hear it or not.
But since that time he had been going round in circles, unable to find his way out of the warren of old buildings that tottered forward on their foundations as if they were about to fall over. Every street looked the same in the dark, and there were very few people he could ask for directions now that the rain had become a torrent.
Finally, frustration getting the better of him, he banged on the nearest door with his fist tightly clenched. An uneasy voice called out from inside and the door opened a thumb’s width, only enough to allow the occupier to peek out into the dim street.
“What do you want?” the man called out in an accent that Doric could barely decipher, and through a mouth that had long since lost all of its teeth.
“Just some simple directions,” he replied, holding his ill temper. “I’ll pay, of course.” Doric huffed as he reached into his pouch, feeling the cool metal coins in his fingers.
He was beginning to hate Falador.
The traitor watched the house for only a few minutes. He debated whether to try and enter, to make sure that Bryant was no longer a threat, or whether he should return to the castle and deal with Kara.
She was the important one. Bryant was just an unfortunate witness.
He recalled the red-robed figure and knew he was afraid of him. There was something very powerful about the man who had seized Bryant-unnaturally so. That helped him make his decision-he would return to the castle right away. He relaxed his grip on the dagger and withdrew into the shadows of the surrounding dwellings.
Kara will die tonight, he promised himself, and then I’ll see if I have to bother with the boy.
Bryant awoke slowly, unable to comprehend where he was.
Gradually he understood that he had been blindfolded. When he tried to cry out, he nearly choked on the gag that had been secured about his mouth.
He jumped when a guttural voice came out of nowhere.
“Understand, young peon” the voice said calmly, “that I mean you no harm. But understand this also: if you do not cooperate, then I will hurt you.”
The voice drew closer. Bryant could feel the hot breath on his face, and suddenly he was glad of the blindfold. A rough hand removed the gag.
Bryant gasped for air before speaking.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing more than information,” the voice replied calmly. “I have been sent to your land to retrieve something that is precious to my master. For some months it has evaded me, always running. Then very recently I chanced upon your Squire Theodore. He knows the whereabouts of the thing I am seeking, but he is unaware of its nature.
“It is a dangerous thing, young peon. It has killed several times and unless I can catch it, then it will continue to do so.”
“The monster? Is that what you are hunting?” Bryant whispered in awe.
“You call it a monster, but I have another name for it. Regardless of that, the truth is that we are after the same thing-we both want it gone from this land. Will you help me?”
“Why then the subterfuge?” Bryant asked, at once curious and fearful. “Why not simply ask me?”
A low laugh emanated from deep within his captor’s throat.
“I doubt the servants of Saradomin would be so quick to aid one who looked like this!” In an instant his blindfold was torn off, and red eyes glowed savagely as the wolfish maw with its long teeth and longer red tongue breathed a rancid odour into the peon’s face. Only in his darkest nightmares had he ever encountered such a creature before-a werewolf!
Bryant cringed back in abject fear.
“Your kind are only legend!” he whimpered. A strong hand gripped his face, so hard that Bryant thought his skull would crack.
“We are very real, boy! But we do not come into your lands often and you should be thankful for that. I have been tasked with bringing back a traitor. Theodore knows where he is. If you help me, I will spare your life and his.
“But if you do not, you will suffer as none of your order has ever suffered.”
“What guarantees do I have?” the boy asked, regaining a portion of his composure.
The werewolf looked at him with something new in its expression-something akin to respect.
“You are brave, peon,” he admitted. “But I do not seek your death, not unless you give me no choice. If I were to kill you I would be hounded by your knights, making my search all the more difficult. Logic is your guarantee.
“All I wish to do is to call Theodore in your name, boy. I will write him a letter, telling him of an injury you have sustained, and you will make certain of its accuracy. Then, when he comes, I shall release you.”
“I shall help you then,” Bryant agreed. “If you promise me you will act as you have said.” He bowed his head low in a defeatist gesture.