“It is done!” she said, her voice stronger and more commanding than before.
The blind priest gestured to her, his hand outstretched to feel the amulet. They all dared not breathe while he examined it in silence. Then he turned to them.
“She has done it!” he announced. “Kara-Meir has received the blessing of Guthix!”
They all clustered around to witness with their own eyes the miraculous workmanship. Murmurs of admiration rippled through the group.
“Then we shall fight under the banner of the White Pearl,” Master Phyllis’s friend said with pride. “And we shall be victorious!”
Ebenezer had not slept. He knew that if the goblins could get inside the city, then the Kinshra would follow quickly behind. Therefore, he planned to trap the first invaders in the breach, using his column of pikes as a second wall. But he knew the goblins were too numerous, and his four hundred strong body of city militia would not stand forever. He needed to impede the goblins’ entry, so that even if they could get inside the walls, they could not do so in a single wave of overwhelming force, but only in small units where they could be cut down.
It was because of this that he now stood in front of thirty large pigs. Standing next to him, Lord Tremene raised an eyebrow quizzically.
“How can pigs help to separate the ranks of the enemy, Master Alchemist?”
Ebenezer put his finger to his lips.
“The enemy has many agents within our walls. I would advise you to be more cautious.” He motioned to a dozen men drawn from his militia who he knew had families in the city-men he could trust.
“By first light I want each of these thirty hay bales coated in pig fat and then carried to the ramparts and the artillery.” Ebenezer noted the uncertain look on Lord Tremene’s face. “Do you have so little faith in me, friend?” he asked the merchant.
“I have plenty of faith in you, alchemist” came the reply. “But using pig fat to fight a war?”
“Sulla uses goblins, we will use pigs. I’d say that gives us an advantage.”
His humour gave his men strength, for laughter was no longer a common sound in a city that was preparing for death.
The traitor had sent his signal from the now deserted almshouse, for all the retired knights had been pressed back into active duty after so many had been lost in the battle.
He knew Falador was a city ready to fall, and when it did he needed to be sure he had an escape planned so he could avoid the butchery. And with the signal sent, he had arranged both his escape and a gift for Sulla. For the traitor had promised that he would deliver the knights’ spymaster-Sir Tiffy Cashien himself.
As he reached the street he pulled his cloak tight about him, walking swiftly westward in the direction of the castle. He prayed silently to his true god, Zamorak, that he would not be caught in the open.
Kara-Meir looked to the south, her gaze followed by Theodore and Lord Radebaugh. Behind them stood several dwarf captains and Castimir, the wizard shivering with cold from the mountain air.
“It looks quiet from here” Theodore muttered.
“It will not remain so for long” Kara replied. “You must send your message, Theodore. We shall come to Falador at dawn, the day after tomorrow.”
The squire nodded, turning to the small cage of pigeons he had brought with him. He had already composed the message with her, written in code so only the knights could understand it.
The birds didn’t struggle as he took two of them from the cage. With a silent prayer to Saradomin, he threw them both into the air, and watched with satisfaction as they instinctively gained height and headed south. It would take them only a few hours to reach Falador from Ice Mountain, but still he prayed that it was time enough.
Two hours before dawn, a terrible rumbling stirred the citizens of Falador from what little sleep they had managed to take. It ended with a crashing echo that shook the earth and that could only have one single, terrible meaning-the northern wall had been breached.
It was the moment Sulla had been waiting for. As the dust rose into the dark sky, blotting out the lights of the city and the shivers of moonlight on its white stone, he smirked.
“Send in the goblins an hour before dawn!”
As he spoke he clenched his fist greedily, imagining the massacres that would follow his conquest of the city. The goblins had been angered by their defeat at the hands of the knights, and many more had hastened south to swell their ranks to nearly five thousand, in answer to their leaders’ clamour for revenge.
The city would be turned into an abattoir.
SIXTY-FOUR
Thousands of goblins charged the breach, climbing over the wreckage of collapsed stone. They ignored the arrows that flew from the ramparts, as if they were pebbles thrown into the sea to stop the rising tide.
Even the frail Master Segainus and his fellow wizards who threw fire down into their midst, could not turn them back, for leading the charge were goblin warriors whipped into a suicidal frenzy by their more cunning masters.
Within moments, ladders were pushed up against the wall and more goblins climbed to storm the ramparts, in order to distract the defenders there from hindering the main thrust of their attack.
Even as Master Segainus blasted a third ladder from the wall, Sulla’s artillery moved in behind the goblin hordes, sending shells over the wall and into the city beyond.
In the castle Sir Amik woke to hear his city in tumult.
“Has it come, Bhuler?” he asked, his face pale. “Has the end of Falador come?”
The valet was about to reply when the door opened. Sir Vyvin stood framed under the lintel.
“The goblins are outside the walls, Sir Amik,” he announced. “If we do not go to the aid of the city guard and militia then they shall break through.” His grim face, made all the grimmer by the black eyepatch he now wore, was resolved.
“Then go with my blessing, old friend” Sir Amik replied. “But do not allow the knights to leave the city-you are too few to face Sulla.”
Sir Vyvin bowed his head and left the chamber hastily.
Bhuler looked down into the courtyard in the light of early morning, and the sight that greeted him made him gasp. For every man or boy who could wield a sword had been summoned, from the lowliest peon to the oldest knight. Even Sir Finistere of the almshouse was present, his face pale as he practised a thrust with his sword.
Sir Vyvin emerged and addressed the men.
“Knights of Falador, our city is endangered,” he said, his voice loud and strong. “As we speak, the city militia are losing courage and men that could fight have fled, believing that we have abandoned them to hide behind the walls of our castle.
“Each of us took an oath when we took service in our order. The foremost of our responsibilities is the protection of this city. We shall join our citizens on the ramparts and in the streets, and we will fight with a courage that will instill all men with the will to take up arms to defend their homes. We shall drive the goblins out!”
He drew his sword and held it aloft, and the assemblage cheered.
“Sir Amik was injured, but he is very much alive. I have just seen him, and he gave me the order to fight!”
The men cheered again, and suddenly a young peon cried out, his finger pointing to the very window through which Bhuler stared. The valet turned to find Sir Amik leaning wearily on his banner, his grey eyes looking over the men below.
“Sir Amik lives!” a voice shouted. The cry was taken up by every man, and some bashed their swords onto their shields in martial salute.
With a bow Bhuler moved to the side. Then with deliberate and calm slowness, Sir Amik raised his hand for silence, and a hush fell instantly.
“I do live, and Saradomin does, as well,” he said, and all strained to hear, for his voice was weak. “The last few days may have made many of you question our faith, but know that we are his chosen people and Falador is a blessed city. So go now. Go forth to fight, and to avenge our fallen friends!’