Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) (22 page)

It
was all he could do to keep those two swords from ripping him apart. He swung
his weapon viciously in an attempt to gain momentum, and when he finally found
an opening in his opponent’s defenses, he swung his sword in a downward arc to
carve his enemy open from neck to groin.

The
warrior brought both of his blades together, forming a large
X
across
his chest. The three weapons came together in a loud clang.

Pistol
pushed forward, hoping to skewer his opponent by sliding his blade through the
space above the crossed swords, but the other man proved quicker. Keeping his blades
braced against Pistol’s, the masked man shifted his weight slightly to left,
leaned back, and shot his right foot out in a kick that connected with the
pirate’s already wounded belly. The force of the blow sent Pistol hard into the
base of a knotty pine.

He
hit the ground hard, breathless and swooning from the pain. The last thing he
saw was the man in black standing over him. His second kick knocked Pistol out
cold.

*
         
*
         
*

Ragellan
crouched beside Crooker and Scout. They were both breathing, and their heartbeats
were strong, but neither man could be roused.

They
were in a precarious situation. Four of them were unconscious, Pistol and Klye
were missing, Lilac was still away, and the woman still had Othello’s bow. That
left only he, Arthur, and Othello to fight, and none of them were fit to wage
another battle.

Ragellan
was relieved when Klye came hurrying back into camp, though he was far from
pleased to learn Pistol had run off.

Othello
clutched his hunting knife; Arthur, the rusty hatchet. His borrowed sword at
the ready, Chester Ragellan stood over Horcalus, whose moaning was the only
sound that rent the quiet night. Arthur gaped fearfully at the shadows that
conspired at the edge of the firelight.

“Should
we douse the fire?” Klye asked, looking to Ragellan for the answer.

“Unless
we abandon our friends, we must fight,” he replied. “And if we must fight, we
may as well have light. Our opponents already know where we are.”

“I
think there’s only one of them,” Klye said. “We’ll have to wait for him to come
to us, but that doesn’t mean we all have to stay and guard the injured.
Othello, take Arthur and hide as far away as you can go without losing sight of
the firelight. Stay hidden until one of us calls for you. If we lose…well, flee
and do whatever you must to survive.”

Othello
gave the Renegade Leader a questioning glance but hesitated only a second
before grabbing Arthur by the arm, half-leading, half-dragging the boy into the
woods. They headed in the opposite direction Pistol had chased the enemy.

There
was wisdom in Klye’s decision. Without his longbow, Othello wasn’t as much of
an asset, and Arthur was more of a liability than anything in a melee.

He
and Klye waited in silence, hoping Pistol had dispatched the latest threat and
was already on his way back to the campsite. They realized the truth, however,
when Klye swore and swatted at an insect that wasn’t an insect. Klye plucked
the dart from his neck, gave Ragellan a helpless look, and promptly collapsed
to the ground.

Ragellan
was left with two choices. He could either wait for another dart to lay him
low, or he could confront the mysterious attacker head on.

He
charged in the direction he supposed his foe was hidden. As he reached edge of
the clearing, a figure clad in a dark costume leaped out of the trees and came
at him with one sword raised and the other swishing through the air before him.

Ragellan
had no time to wonder at the identity of the masked warrior. He gripped his
sword with two hands and did his best to blaze a path through the whirling
silver blades without getting chopped apart in the process.

The
mysterious attacker was nimble and fleet, but his smaller frame was no match
for Ragellan’s strength. Only minutes before, the knight had been on the verge
of collapse, but now, engaged in a battle that would decide not only his fate,
but also his companions’, the knight fought with renewed vigor.

His
opponent’s blades left minor cuts on his arms and sides, but Ragellan allowed
no fatal blow to penetrate his defenses. At the cost of receiving another
injury, the knight concentrated all of his force on one of the masked man’s
swords, the one that was retreating from Ragellan’s latest parry. The maneuver
freed the slight sword from his opponent’s grasp. However, the dark man was
able to follow through with his own attack.

When
Ragellan felt the enemy’s sword ripping through his upper arm, he went with the
momentum of the attack. If he hadn’t done so, he would have lost his right arm.
But he lost his balance as he avoided dismemberment and came crashing down hard
on his side.

Before
he could regain his footing, he was kicked hard in the same arm that had just
been cut. He fell on his back, fighting off the impulse to pass out.

Now
his nemesis stood over him, his remaining sword outstretched and aimed at
Ragellan’s neck. Judging from speed he had exhibited in battle, the masked
warrior could surely plunge the blade into his neck before Ragellan could stop
him.

“I
have come for you, rogue knight.”

The
words were somewhat muffled by the warrior’s mask, but Ragellan had no trouble
understanding them.

“My
life is forfeit,” Ragellan said. “My last request is that you tell me why.”

The
assassin never had a chance to answer. From Ragellan’s prospective, it looked
as though the masked man threw himself to the side in a most unnatural way.
Hardly believing his luck, Ragellan scrambled to his feet, but the mysterious
opponent was not to challenge him again. He lay sprawled near the edge of the
clearing, blood gushing from a massive wound in his side.

Lilac
walked over and wiped her sword on the dead man’s shirt. “Well,” she said, “at
least I didn’t miss all of the fun.”

Passage VII

After
calling Othello and Arthur back to camp, Ragellan did what he could to make the
unconscious Renegades comfortable. As he and Lilac moved Crooker and Klye near
the fire, Plake groaned and opened his eyes. Other than a splitting headache,
Plake complained only of being hungry enough to eat an entire deer. As Ragellan
poured more of Othello’s tea down Horcalus’s throat, he told Plake of all he
had missed since the goblin attack.

Pistol
staggered into the camp a little while later. Othello had heard him coming and
kept an arrow pointed at the man’s chest until he recognized him. The former
pirate king looked like a walking corpse, his tattered clothes stained with
dirt and sweat and blood.

Pistol
didn’t complain, however, and refused Ragellan’s offer to take a look at his
wounds. He knelt beside Crooker and tried waking his companion by slapping the
man’s face. Other than starting to snore, Crooker didn’t respond.

Ragellan
had left the body of the black-clad warrior where he had fallen. Now that some
semblance of order had been returned to the camp, he walked over to the dead
man and removed his mask. He didn’t recognize him, which wasn’t surprising.
Ragellan had never encountered an adversary with that fighting style.

Yet
there was something familiar about him. The dead man had short-cropped black
hair, and his eyes were narrower than most men’s—almost elflike—an indication
of his Huiyan heritage.

“
Sai-morí
,”
Ragellan said as the word popped into his mind.

“What?”
Pistol asked, joining him by the body.

“A
Huiyan assassin,” Ragellan explained.

“I
have heard of them before,” Lilac said, coming up beside them, “but I have
never seen one until today, thank the gods.”

“He’s
awfully far from home,” Pistol muttered. “What the hell did he want with us?”

Ragellan
stared into the
sai-morí
’s unseeing eyes, asking himself the same
question.

But
he knew the answer. As loath as he was to admit it, he knew.

“I
spent much of my life in central Superius and then at Fort Splendor, which is
as far away as you can get from Huiyah without leaving the country,” Ragellan
said. “I learned a little about the
sai-morí
during my training as a
squire, though not much is known about them…I suppose the same could be said
for Huiyah itself…but from what I recall, the
sai-morí
are a sect of elite
assassins.”

“An
assassin?” Pistol gave Ragellan a skeptical look. “Why would an assassin attack
us? Would the Mayor of Port Town have wasted so much coin on the likes of you
and me?”

Ragellan
sighed. “The
sai-morí
defeated you in combat. You were at his mercy. So
why didn’t he kill you? And what of Crooker and the others? If he were intent
on killing us all, why didn’t he coat his darts with a lethal poison?

“From
what I have heard of the
sai-morí
, they are not wanton murderers. They
are disciplined and kill only those whom they are ordered to kill. This
sai-morí
was not after you, Pistol. He was after me.”

“What
makes you say that?” Pistol asked.

Before
Ragellan could reply, Plake came upon them. “Hey, what’s going on over here?
Searching the body? Did you find any more of those strange metal stars?”

Ragellan
felt someone pulling at his arm and turned to find Lilac regarding him with an
unhappy expression. “I need to talk to you.”

He
was about to ask her why when Arthur called out for him. Giving Lilac a
questioning look, Ragellan walked back over to the fire, where Scout was
rubbing his eyes. He gave a great, open-mouthed yawn and looked about in
confusion.

“Is
it morning already?”

“You
were put to sleep by a dart laced with a drug,” Ragellan told him. “We were
attacked by a
sai-morí
.”

“Did
we win?”

Looking
from Pistol’s battered body to the unconscious forms of Crooker and Klye,
Ragellan replied, “More or less.”

“Well,
one thing is for certain,” Scout said, stretching his arms above his head.
“We’re going to have to stop at the Temple of Mystel whether Klye likes it or
not.”

His
gaze lingering on Horcalus, Ragellan couldn’t refute Scout’s words.

*
         
*
         
*

Dark
Lily listened as the Renegades debated their next course of action.

It
was impossible for them to leave, even though some, like the fellow with the
eyepatch, worried there might be more
sai-morí
in the area. Chester
Ragellan, who had taken command of the band, decided they would get as much
rest as they could until the other two Renegades awoke. Then they would proceed
to the Temple of Mystel under the cover of darkness.

The
wizardess’s time was running short. If the Renegades made it to sanctuary, she
would have even more obstacles to contend with. The priests and priestesses of
Mystel were renowned pacifists, but she supposed even the most peace-loving
people could be forced into action.

Another
option was to wait until they regained their health and left the temple of
their own volition, which could take days.

She
wracked her brain for a solution. She was still too weary to risk a battle
against the surprisingly stalwart band, and the
sai-morí
had
disappointed her by not killing a single Renegade. She needed someone to do her
dirty work for her, but who?

Then
she remembered the man in the black hood—Scout, they called him—had said
something about a nearby fort. Quietly but quickly, Dark Lily withdrew from the
group and imbibed the last of her hastening potion.

*
         
*
         
*

 
“This had better be good,” Commander Fredmont
Calhoun grumbled, sleepily making his way through the halls of Fort Miloásterôn
and buttoning his tunic as he went.

Beside
the large Knight walked one of the fort’s sentries. Usually, Calhoun left the
treatment of unexpected visitors to whichever subcommander was on duty. However,
with the Renegades growing bolder with each passing day, he had ordered his men
to awaken him if anyone was spotted near the fort.

Calhoun
followed the sentry to one of the fortress’s many drawing rooms. Entering the
cozy room, his eyes were drawn to Subcommander Selwyn McRae, pacing back and
forth before a blond-haired woman wrapped in a dark cloak. Seated near the
fire, the woman looked up and smiled prettily at him

“Thank
the gods you are here,” McRae said with a hasty salute. “This woman is impossible.
We caught her sneaking around the far shore of the lake, but she refuses to
speak to anyone but you.”

The
lady rose to her feet and preformed a curtsey. “I am sorry to have disturbed
you tonight,” she said in a mild voice. “I was not sneaking around, as this one
claims, but rather trying to find a way to cross the water and reach the island
upon which your great fortress stands.”

Calhoun
bade her to sit down and joined her at the edge of the fireplace. Though winter
had not yet begun its invasion, Fort Miloásterôn’s stone walls already emitted
a coldness of their own. On an autumn night like tonight, only a well-tended
fire kept the chill from seeping into his bones.

Selwyn
McRae remained standing where he was, hands on his hips.

“Pray
forgive the subcommander’s frustration, Miss—?”

“Please,
call me Lily.”

“Very
well. Forgive Sir McRae his brusque demeanor, Lily. We Knights of Superius are
a bit jumpy with so many rebels roaming the countryside. I, Commander Fredmont
Calhoun, invite you to stay the night at our fortress, and in the morning, you
shall have my full attention on any matter that concerns you and the
Knighthood.”

Lily
averted her eyes demurely, and a faint blush painted her cheeks pink. “I am
sorry, Commander, but I have come bearing the most urgent of news, and I think
you would do well to hear what I have to say before the Renegades escape your
grasp.”

McRae
regarded the woman with a shrewd stare. “What do you know about Renegades?”

Calhoun
let McRae’s accusation linger in the air, though he cast a warning glance in
the subcommander’s direction. Selwyn McRae was a most valiant warrior, as brave
as any Knight Calhoun had ever fought beside. The man never backed down from a
challenge. But his behavior off the battlefield left much to be desired.

“I
am a member of Pillars’ militia,” Lily told them. “This evening a band of
Renegades were spotted moving through the woods north of our village. Soldiers
from Port Town were also in the vicinity, looking for two rogue knights who
recently escaped that city. The messengers recognized the rogue knights among
the Renegades, and so we attacked.

“But
we had underestimated the strength of the small band and were forced to
retreat. And so I have traveled all night, pushing my way through the forest in
an attempt to reach this fort before the Renegades reached the Temple of
Mystel, where they hope to find succor at the hands of the healers.”

“How
do you know the Renegades are going to the temple?” McRae demanded.

Lily
regarded the subcommander with a sad smile. “My brother and I followed the
Renegades, hoping to learn their intentions. Not long after we heard them speak
of heading to the temple, one of the Renegades…a one-eyed man with a curved
sword…happened upon us and killed my brother. I barely managed to escape.”

Wiping
a tear from her soft white cheek, she added, “I implore you to avenge the
senseless deaths of my brother and the other militiamen.”

Fredmont
Calhoun leaned back in his chair and frowned. What she said made sense of a
sort. Messengers from Port Town had reached Fort Miloásterôn earlier that day,
imparting the news that two rogue knights—the former Commander of Fort Splendor
and his accomplice—had fled Port Town after inciting a riot. There also had
been mention of a pirate king with an eyepatch in league with that band of
Renegades.

“If
you are a warrior, Miss Lily, where is your sword?” McRae asked.

Lily
glared at the Knight. “I lost it when the one-eyed man disarmed me. I had no other
weapons, and so I ran…I ran like a coward.” The woman began to sob softly,
hiding her face in her hands.

“That
will be
enough
, Subcommander.” Calhoun rose and patted the woman gently
on the back. “There, there, Lily. It will be all right. You have done a heroic
thing in bringing this matter to our attention. On my honor, the Knights of
Superius will find these scoundrels, and justice will be served.

“Now
you must think of yourself. I will have one of our retainers take you to a
room, where you may rest. If you need food and drink, just ask the attendant,
and he will bring you whatever you need.”

Fredmont
Calhoun picked up a small silver bell from the mantle and rang it. Seconds
later, the retainer arrived and took Lily by the arm.

“Thank
you, Commander,” she said. “Truly, you are a kind and generous man.”

When
they were gone, McRae said, “Forgive me for speaking bluntly, Commander, but I
do not trust her. Who ever heard of a girl as pretty as that one enlisting in a
militia? Have you ever seen the kind of women who become soldiers? I’d sooner
kiss an ogress than—”

Calhoun
raised a hand to silence the Knight. “I agree the circumstances of her arrival
are unusual, and I might have questioned her further but for my chivalric
obligations. If her tale is true, I do not want to add to her grief by
offending her with more questions.

“Tomorrow
morning, I shall speak with her again. We will know more about this Lily of
Pillars. In the meantime, we must discuss our course of action pertaining to
the band of Renegades in our vicinity. Wake Sir Magmund. We will meet in the
northwest council room.”

McRae
saluted, turned on his heels, and briskly left the drawing room. Exhaling a
yawn that reminded Calhoun how late it was, the commander nevertheless hurried
out of the room.

Rather
than go straight to the council room, however, Fredmont Calhoun chose a
destination few other Knights ever approached.

*
         
*
         
*

As
the silent attendant led her through the maze of hallways and staircases, Dark
Lily gave up on keeping track of each twist and turn. She wondered how much
gold and silver such a massive fortress kept in its treasury, but she quickly
abandoned the thought.

Once
she had Braiseph Harrow’s spells, she could pillage any castle she wished.

The
many guards aside, a thief who burgled Fort Miloásterôn would have her work cut
out for her. The labyrinthine layout was as much a hazard as the Knights’
blades. Dark Lily mused that if someone had ever stolen from Fort Miloásterôn,
he was probably still wandering the halls, trying to find his way out.