The door handle turned and the lock was opened from the inside.
“It is good of you to come, Squire Theodore.”
The door opened, and before Theodore could react, a huge hand seized his shoulder and dragged him inside, forcing him to the floor as if he were a child’s doll. He glimpsed Bryant tied to the chair, his arm bleeding.
Rolling free, he rose to confront his attacker, his hand on his sword.
A tall figure stood before him and Theodore could sense the power of his assailant.
“Who are you?” he demanded, his will faltering in the face of this enemy.
His foe made no attempt to answer. With a speed that confounded him, he hit Theodore in the stomach. As the squire cried out he saw red eyes glow deep within the hood, eyes that delighted in inflicting pain on others.
A monster’s eyes.
Theodore drew his sword and lunged, the tip of the blade cutting deep into the red robe and glancing off something underneath.
Animal hide was Theodore’s first thought as he pulled his arm back to deliver a second strike. But this time his enemy was ready for him. He sidestepped the blade and retaliated with a punch that Theodore could not hope to avoid. His vision blurred and his grip loosened on the sword hilt. With a groan, he knew he couldn’t remain conscious.
Doric had tried hard to memorise the location of the house in Dagger Alley, knowing that he could not afford to waste any time in leading Theodore back there to confront the monster.
Now he ran through the dark streets, aware that each passing second reduced the chances of him finding the young man alive.
“If only my legs weren’t so short,” he muttered angrily to himself as he paused to read the street names carved into the stone walls. He ran as swiftly as he could, hopeful that he knew where he was going.
If he was right, he was less than a minute away.
The carriage driver was fond of Falador. He liked the white city’s wide streets and clean thoroughfares, and he always felt a certain peacefulness settle upon him whenever he saw the castle at the city’s centre.
He didn’t like the city at that moment, however. The mud-stained urchin girl, dripping wet, had appeared next to him out of the darkness as silently as a wraith. She had forced him to change his route and to carry her to a part of the city about which he knew little. He prayed that his prestigious passenger, the daughter of a Varrock noble, didn’t get curious and open the cabin’s curtains.
“How long?” the little thief asked him.
He flogged the horses harder.
“We should be at the end of Dagger Alley in a few more minutes.” He swallowed as he spoke, trying to sound calm.
“Be sure you are right this time! I cannot afford any more mistakes.”
The glint in the girl’s dark eyes scared him, and the sword that she held with a deadly assurance made him decide against any attempt to resist her commands.
“Yes, ma’am!” he said automatically, whipping his horses all the harder.
THIRTY-THREE
“Wake up, Theodore!”
The guttural voice penetrated his consciousness.
“Your peon needs you!” it persisted. “Wake up!”
He could just make out the shape of the tall figure standing over a whimpering Bryant. He tried to speak, but his mouth was gagged, and when he attempted to raise his hand to calm his pupil he found that he, too, was restrained in a chair.
The red eyes glowed sadistically in the darkness.
“So you are awake at last.” He stepped forward, standing close. “We can do this in one of two ways, servant of Saradomin. You can willingly tell me everything I need to know about the man I hunt, or you can resist me. If you choose the latter path, then both of you will die, and neither quickly.”
The single candle could not penetrate the black depths of the captor’s cowl, but Theodore sensed that he was dealing with something unnatural, a foe beyond his power. He flinched as the creature’s strong hands tore the gag from his mouth and the leather-like palm closed over his lips to prevent him from crying out.
“If you shout I will hurt you and kill the peon.” The hand remained. “So what is your decision?”
Theodore nodded, and his captor loosened his grip, allowing him to speak.
“Let the peon go,” Theodore insisted. “Then I will help you as best I can.” Somehow his words sounded strong, reflecting a confidence he didn’t feel.
Bryant heard the words and cursed into his foul gag, but the creature didn’t appear to notice. Just before Theodore had arrived the werewolf had told Bryant that it was he who had carried out all the killings, and that he was going to kill them whether they cooperated or not. It seemed to relish the effect its words had upon him.
And now Theodore was making the same mistake he had. He was trying to bargain with something that had no intention of keeping its word.
We are lost, the peon thought. We are both going to die here and this monster will continue to kill. Is there no justice? Bryant was close to cursing Saradomin. Had all his years of diligent work been wasted?
And then the door shook.
The werewolf looked up at the sound, his attention drawn away from Theodore.
“Help us!” the squire shouted before the creature’s huge hand clamped once more across his mouth, gripping him so tightly it was painful just for Bryant to see.
Then the door shook a second time. An instant later it flew open with a splintering crack.
“I’ve been looking for you!” Bryant recognised Doric’s voice instantly.
“And now that you have found me,” the monster sneered in reply, “what do you intend to do?” He thrust the gag into Theodore’s mouth once more. Then he strode forward.
But Doric had years of experience behind him. He had fought numerous enemies, both underground and beneath the open sky, from goblins to trolls and darker nameless creatures. Before his enemy could take another step he launched his first attack.
A hand-axe sliced through the air toward the monster’s face. Without waiting to see if it struck home, Doric yelled and charged into the room.
The traitor had only just managed to avoid the dwarf in the narrow streets that joined Dagger Alley, ducking out of sight as he observed Doric pat the white mare. He watched in surprise as the dwarf stood for a minute at the door and listened, noting how well he was armed.
He heard Theodore’s cry for help and watched Doric force the door’s lock with two heavy blows from his axe. Then the dwarf stepped into the semi-darkness, and the sounds of a vicious battle followed.
The traitor knew he was too old to fight either Doric or Theodore. He was turning away from the house, intending to keep watch from a safer distance, when he heard a carriage shudder to a halt on the main street. He watched in stunned silence as a blonde-haired girl jumped from the driver’s seat, wiping back her wet hair and running with a confidence he had rarely seen in the most seasoned warriors.
He pulled farther into the inky shadows. The girl passed him by, unaware of his presence, heading as fast as she could toward the anxious mare that was now straining at its rope.
It wasn’t going well for Doric. He was surprisingly fast, and his small stature allowed him to duck and avoid many of the creature’s swift strikes, but he didn’t have the chance to deliver a strong blow with his axe. He was reduced to jumping and parrying, using his weapon more like a staff to fend off the creature’s frenzied claws.
The monster lunged at him and swung with one large hand. Doric stepped back and batted it away with the handle of his axe.
And he knew he had made a fatal error.
With superhuman speed the monster seized the axe-haft with its other hand and wrenched it toward him, pulling Doric toward his jaws.
Doric knew he had only one chance to avoid the knife-like teeth that were tearing at his face. He lowered his head and drove his armoured helm as hard as he could into the wide mouth of the beast, hearing it roar in frustration as one of its teeth broke.