Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) (19 page)

After
laying a coin on the counter, Klye and Othello took their drinks and headed to
one of the tables crammed between the bar and the door. Taking a sip of his
beer, Klye wondered if there was ever a time when the tavern was full. It was
no wonder the barkeep had been so eager to retain a regular customer—not to
mention secure two new ones.

“I’ll
talk to the grocer after we’ve finished our drinks,” he told Othello. “We can’t
afford to stay any longer, though I’m sure the barkeep would rather we wasted
all our money on his stale beer.”

Othello
nodded but said nothing. The forester took a swig of his draught and then
shifted his eyes from Klye to something behind him. Klye heard the door open
and sneaked a peek at the newcomers.

All
conversation ceased at the appearance of three men in red-and-white uniforms,
curved swords at their hips. Klye tried to appear nonchalant as he turned back
to his drink. Inward, he cursed fiercely. There was no doubt in his mind the
soldiers were from Port Town.

Klye
studied Othello’s expression, which provided precious few clues as to what was
happening behind him. Then one of the guards walked into view, past Klye and
Othello, and up to the bar. He exchanged words with the barkeep, and Klye
suddenly wished he were anywhere else—though attempting a prompt exit now would
undoubtedly earn the soldiers’ suspicion.

The
soldier at the bar suddenly turned around to scrutinize the patrons. Klye
glanced away, hoping the man wouldn’t recognize him. But his hopes were dashed
when the guardsman drew his blade and shouted, “That one! He was at the prison
raid. Those two men are Renegades!”

Klye
was on his feet instantly, cursing his ill fortune. He had left his rapier back
at the camp, but he still had the knife at his belt, which he quickly
unsheathed. Othello swiftly unslung his longbow, nocked an arrow, and glanced
back at Klye as though asking, “What now?”

“Let’s
get out of here,” Klye said, upturning his chair as he ran toward the door and
the two guards blocking their way.

By
the time he reached the exit, one of the soldiers was already down, clutching
the green-shafted arrow protruding from his leg. The second guard leaped
forward, but Klye easily dodged his wild swing and came in with a shove that
sent him hard into a nearby window, which shattered on contact.

Well
aware that the third soldier was likely right behind them, Klye threw open the
door and ran.

They
were not a dozen paces from the tavern when a voice called out, “Halt! I have a
crossbow!”

It
might have been a bluff, but Klye wasn’t going to wager his life on it. Slowly,
he turned around. Othello also came to a stop, though he reached for an arrow
as he did so.

“Drop
your weapons!” the soldier from Port Town shouted, leveling his very-real
crossbow at Othello.

That
was when Klye realized the guardsman was not alone. A blond-haired woman came
up from behind the soldier. Before the crossbowman could issue any more
commands, the woman hefted a broadsword above her head and brought the weapon
down, pommel-first, on the unsuspecting guard’s head.

The
soldier slumped senselessly to the ground, providing Klye a better view of
their savior. The woman looked to be in her late twenties. She wore a cuirass
made of boiled leather but nothing else in the way of armor. Replacing her
sword in the scabbard on her back, the woman ran toward him and Othello.

Although
she had just saved them from imprisonment—and possibly worse—Klye didn’t sheath
his knife.

“Are
you Renegades?” she asked.

“Are
you?” Klye countered.

“Of
course I am. That’s why I came to your rescue. My name is Lilac.”

The
barkeep and other patrons peered through the tavern’s broken window, and a few
villagers were poking their heads out the doors of the nearby cottages. Someone
was shouting for the militia to assemble.

“Nice
to meet you,” Klye said to the woman. “Are you a member of Pillars’ Renegades?”

Lilac
chuckled. “I think Pillars is too small to have its own band of Renegades. I’m
from Superius. I just happened to be passing through this village and thought
you might need a hand.”

The
disturbance at the tavern had roused the rest of the sleepy village, for
curious folk were beginning to edge farther out of their homes, glaring
suspiciously at the three Renegades. There was no sign of any militia—not yet.

“Damn,”
said Klye. “I was hoping you might know the area around here. My band is
waiting for us. They’re not far, but we’ll have to run for it.”

“I’d
better stick with you for now,” Lilac said as she followed Klye and Othello.
“Where is your band headed?”

“Fort
Faith,” Klye told her, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t
being followed.

Lilac
quickened her pace to sprint beside him, “Fort Faith? Then you must be in Klye
Tristan’s band, along with two former Knights of Superius.”

Klye
almost tripped. “
I
am Klye Tristan. How do you know so much about me?”

“I
spoke with Port Alexis’ Renegades,” she said matter-of-factly. “Their leader
told me all about your quest, and I came to Capricon to see if I might be of
any help. I figured you would be somewhere between Port Town and the fortress
by now.”

Although
his breath was becoming more labored, Klye had a few more questions for Lilac.
But then Othello said, “We are being followed.”

Did
Pillars send out its militia, after all? Klye wondered. Even if Pillars’
militia was small, they could do a lot of damage, particularly if his band was
unprepared. 

“We’d
better lose them before reaching the camp,” he told his companions.

But
as they shortened the distance between village and camp—the sound of their
pursuers growing ever louder—Klye could only hope the others would be ready for
the fight that was sure to come.

Passage IV

At
first, Dark Lily had been disappointed to find Klye Tristan in place of
Ragellan and Horcalus, but she supposed it made sense that the purloined purse
had belonged to the Renegade Leader rather than a rogue knight.

The
arrival of Port Town’s guards couldn’t have come at a more inopportune time,
but either way, the assassin would have no trouble following Klye to his camp
and to where the two rogue knights unknowingly awaited their execution.

The
spell book of Braiseph Harrow was as good as hers…

“And
that’s when I summoned the last bit of my strength, leaped onto the bear’s
back, and slit its throat with this very knife,” Scout said, striking a
dramatic pose by holding his blade aloft.

He
was very pleased when the pirate, Crooker, applauded. Ragellan clapped too.

But
Plake rolled his eyes. “Yes, bravo, Scout. That was a most wonderful
performance.”

The
rancher had listened to his tale from outside of the circle that had formed
around Scout, methodically stabbing his short sword into the bark of a tree. Now
he stepped forward, clapping in an exaggerated manner. “Now tell us about the
time you slew a dragon with a toothpick.”

“Hey,
I’m telling the truth,” Scout protested. “You can ask Leslie if you don’t
believe me. Anyway, dragons don’t exist anymore.”

“They
never did,” Plake argued.

Arthur
asked, “There are bears in these parts?”

Before
Scout could answer, Ragellan rose to his feet and said, “Why don’t you tell us
about one of your adventures, Plake? I’ve only been to Param twice, and I
confess that there is much about your country I don’t know.”

“Well,
I’m sure I could come up with a better story than Scout’s,” Plake said.
“Hmm…let’s see…there was the time I wiped out an entire army of ogres just for
fun.”

Scout
scowled and clenched his fists.

“I
got a story,” Crooker volunteered. Turning to Pistol, he said, “Remember the
time
Seahunter
was makin’ a getaway near Port Errnot last year?”

Before
the other pirate could respond, Crooker stepped forward to address his
audience. “We’d just pilfered an entire hold of pelts from a local merchant’s
vessel, when outta nowhere comes an Imperial Patrol ship. Damn thing’s speedin’
toward us like a thousand giants are blowin’ in its sails, and when it gets
close enough, we see the deck’s just crawlin’ with knights in full suits of
armor.”

“Crooker—”
Pistol tried to interrupt, but Crooker was wrapped up in his storytelling.

“Well,
there ain’t no way we can fight ’em off, so Pistol here takes the wheel and
steers us straight into the Misery Shoals. There we were, barely avoiding a
reef that had sunk hundreds of ships. Those stupid knights’re right behind us,
followin’ our trail through the shoals.

“So
then Pistol makes a hard turn to starboard, one that the imperial ship couldn’t
possibly imitate.
Seahunter
misses the reef by inches, but the other
ship hits it almost head on. The shoals rip a huge hole in her hull, and she
starts sinkin’. You should’ve seen the looks on those knights’ faces as they
stripped off their armor so they wouldn’t drown…”

Crooker
stopped suddenly, his wide eyes darting between Ragellan and Horcalus. The
former met his gaze with a polite smile. Horcalus looked away.

“Um,
I don’t think any of ’em drowned,” the pirate added quietly.

An
uncomfortable silence followed as Crooker reclaimed his place next to Pistol.

“Have
you ever seen a leviathan?” Scout asked the pirates.

“Quiet!”
Plake yelled. Scout and the others looked at him in surprise. A frightful look
in his eyes, the rancher craned his neck as though listening for something.
“Did any of you hear that?”

“Hear
what?” Arthur whispered.

“Stop
it, Plake,” Scout said, “you’re just trying to scare Arthur.”

Plake
pulled his short sword out of the tree. “No, really, I heard something out there.”

Everyone
looked to where Plake pointed. Nothing stirred in the trees on the western side
of the meadow. Scout strained to hear anything above the sound of the breeze
through the branches, but he heard nothing—not even the singing of the birds or
the chattering of chipmunks.

Something
was
out there!

“Maybe
it’s just Klye and Othello,” Arthur said timidly.

“They
went south, not west,” Scout said. “I think someone might be spying on us.”

A
tingle of excitement shot through his veins as he walked over to the edge of
the clearing. He heard the sound of weapons being freed from their sheaths
behind him as he crept into the woods. Whoever had been watching them couldn’t
have gotten far.

*
         
*
         
*

As
promised, the Stranger was far from Fort Splendor before the sun peeked over
the hilly horizon. In fact, he reached his destination long before the new
shift of guards replaced their compatriots atop Fort Splendor’s walls.

He
had no need to borrow a horse or carriage from Commander Ralz, for he was
possessed of certain talents that made traveling more expedient than ordinary
people—people like Gerard Ralz—could ever conceive.

He
had wanted to get in touch with his contacts in Port Town as soon as possible
but had had to waste time explaining his absence to many individuals. When he
finally found himself alone in his personal quarters, the Stranger removed a
handheld mirror from his cloak.

He
hated touching the thing. Like the Braiseph Harrow’s spell book, the mirror
reeked of magic. It seemed to wriggle in his grasp as though trying to resist
him.

The
Stranger had no choice but to use the talisman, for he could use his own
talents only sparingly in this place he now called home. A certain wizard—King
Edward’s own advisor, in fact—lodged nearby, and it wouldn’t do for the spell-caster
to perceive the Stranger’s gifts. Using the mirror was a risk in itself, but
being discovered using a magical devise was far preferable to the alternative.

After
making sure his door was sufficiently secured against intruders, the Stranger
held the mirror up to his face and spoke the odd, nettling words that activated
the mirror. The mantra leaked out of his mouth like thick oil, leaving a bad
taste in his mouth. A few seconds later, his reflection wavered. The mirror’s
glass became opaque, only to lighten once more.

A
face other than the Stranger’s looked back at him, an inhuman visage. The
creature’s skin was grayish yellow, the color of a bruise. Its amber eyes had
no whites, and the pupils were more sickle-shaped than round.

“What
news from Port Town?” the Stranger asked, keeping his voice low but loud enough
for his words to reach his servant. He was not worried any eavesdropper would
understand what he said, for he spoke in a language that very few humans—if
any—could comprehend.

The
Stranger listened as the creature related recent events in Port Town, including
the Battle of Oars and Omens, the skirmish in the Square, and the daring rescue
at the prison. The Stranger felt his skin grow warm when he learned Crofton
Beryl had had at least one of the rogue knights in his possession, only to let
him get away.

“And
what are you doing to expedite the knights’ capture?” the Stranger asked.

The
creature flashed him a smile comprised of many pointed teeth and told him, “The
mayor was told to send word to the neighboring cities but nothing more. I sent
a small force to track the rogue knights and their friends. We will succeed
where the humans have failed.”

The
Stranger trembled with rage, causing the mirror to shake in his hands. “How
dare
you execute such an order without asking my permission first!”

“My
apologies,
n’Pruelta
, but you were not responding to my calls through
the mirror, and I dared not wait any longer, lest the knights gain too much of
a lead. Be at ease,
n’Pruelta
. We will not be discovered.” The creature
spoke the last part in the Superian tongue, as though trying to impress the
Stranger.

“See
that you are not,” the Stranger hissed before ending the enchantment with a
single word.

He
placed the mirror inside the chest, along with the Braiseph Harrow’s spell
book, and hid the box under a loose floorboard. He slid his bureau over to
cover the spot, confident that the maidservant who cleaned his room daily would
not find it. Then he lay on the feathery-soft bed and stared up at the ceiling,
his mind awhirl.

Although
he was angry with his agents in Port Town for acting without his explicit
consent, he wasn’t too worried that they would reveal themselves to any of the
island’s inhabitants. They had been living in the city’s sewers for over a year
now, after all, and no one had stumbled upon their lair.

What
concerned him more was the fact that the rogue knights’ trail had led to Port
Town. What business did Chester Ragellan have in Capricon? The Stranger
realized that it could have been a coincidence, but then there was also the
chance that Ragellan and Horcalus knew more than he had feared.

When
lethargy began to lure him to sleep, he didn’t fight it. Between his allies in
Port Town and the assassins he had sent to the island, the rogue knights would
soon be dead, and he would have one less thing to worry about.

*
         
*
         
*

By
the time Klye, Lilac, and Othello reached the meadow, the Renegade Leader was
convinced a small army was following them. How a village as small as Pillars
could furnish so many militiamen, Klye couldn’t guess. What was more
frustrating was that no matter how close the pursuers seemed to come, they
somehow always remained just far enough away to conceal themselves and their
number.

Not
even Othello’s sharp eyes could penetrate the shadows that seemed to hang over
their stalkers.

When
they finally reached the meadow, Klye was pleased to find Ragellan and the
others had their weapons drawn—even Arthur, who clenched his rusty hatchet so
tightly his knuckles were white.

“We’re
being followed. Be ready for an attack!” he called out. To Lilac he said, “You
still want to join my band?”

The
woman gave him a curious smile and unsheathed her broadsword.

“Who’s
the wench?” Plake asked.

“Introductions
will have to wait.” Klye retrieved his sword and turned to Ragellan. “I don’t
know how many are out there.”

Ragellan’s
eyes swept the wall of trees. “Likely, they’ll try to surround us, if they have
the numbers. We should form a defensive circle.”

“Or
run,” Plake added.

“It’s
too late for that,” Klye replied. The sound of people moving through the woods
came from every side. “Don’t kill them unless you have to. They’re only trying
to protect their village.”

“Why
not try to parley with them?” Ragellan suggested.

It
was worth a try.

“We
mean your village no harm,” Klye shouted. There was no reply. “We stopped in
Pillars for supplies…that is all. Allow us to go on our way, and you will never
see us again.”

All
was silent except for the wind. Klye and Ragellan exchanged anxious glances.

The
forest suddenly filled with howls and shrieks that made the hair on the back of
Klye’s neck rise. These war cries were followed by an eruption of enemies
pouring into the clearing.

To
Klye’s astonishment, the attackers were not militiamen. They weren’t men at
all.

So
stunned was he by the appearance of the hideous creatures, Klye nearly dropped
his sword. The beasts charged the small circle of Renegades from all sides,
wielding machetes with serrated edges, barbed spears, and other
dreadful-looking weapons he had never seen before.

When
a black-tipped arrow whizzed past him, Klye remembered the ambush in Port
Town’s sewers.

“Fight
to kill!” he shouted.

Pushing
aside his questions and fear, Klye gave a roar of his own and came forward to
meet the first of the attackers. The creature carried a tool that looked like a
cross between a scythe and a spear, giving it the advantage of a farther reach.
Klye did his best to dodge and parry the odd weapon, but the creature was remarkably
quick.

When
the Renegade Leader brought up his rapier in to block the downward arc of the
sickle, he grunted against the force. Despite its lanky frame, the beast was
possessed of a great strength. It was all Klye could do to keep the
scythe/spear from inching closer to his face.

No
match for the monster’s muscles, Klye deftly drew back his sword and dived to
the right, narrowly missing the cross-body slash of another adversary that had
been trying to cut down Plake. He had no time to worry about the rancher, for
his own opponent was already pulling its weapon out from the hard earth.