Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1)

by David Michael Williams

  Rebels and Fools

  David Michael Williams

  Rebels and Fools is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  © 2016 One Million Words, LLC

  Excerpt from Heroes and Liars copyright © 2016 by One Million Words, LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, utilized, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, without prior written permission from the publisher. Inquiries can be directed to onemillionwords@hotmail.com.

  ISBN 978-0-9910562-4-8

  Cover art copyright © 2016 by One Million Words, LLC

  Cover design by Jake Weiss (jacobweissdesign.com)

  Author photograph by Jaime Lynn Hunt (jaimelynnhunt.com)

  Interior art copyright © 2016 by One Million Words, LLC

  Map by David Michael Williams and Jake Weiss

  http://david-michael-williams.com

  CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  PART 1

  Passage I

  Passage II

  Passage III

  Passage IV

  Passage V

  Passage VI

  Passage VII

  Passage VIII

  Passage IX

  Passage X

  Passage XI

  Passage XII

  Passage XIII

  Passage XIV

  Passage XV

  PART 2

  Passage I

  Passage II

  Passage III

  Passage IV

  Passage V

  Passage VI

  Passage VII

  Passage VIII

  Passage IX

  Passage X

  Passage XI

  Passage XII

  Passage XIII

  Passage XIV

  PART 3

  Passage I

  Passage II

  Passage III

  Passage IV

  Passage V

  Passage VI

  Passage VII

  Passage VIII

  Passage IX

  Passage X

  Passage XI

  Passage XII

  Passage XIII

  Passage XIV

  Passage XV

  Passage XVI

  Passage XVII

  Passage XVIII

  OTHER BOOKS IN THE SERIES

  HEROES AND LIARS EXCERPT

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  DEDICATION

  Rebels and Fools is dedicated to everyone who ever encouraged me to keep writing no matter what and/or humored me when I spoke of the people and places that existed only in my mind.

  PART 1

  Passage I

  The Captain of the Guards’ boots tapped a steady cadence on Port Town’s weathered street. According to the messenger who had been sent to fetch him from his home, Stalwart Mariner had finally dropped anchor at the northern harbor.

  “About bloody time,” he muttered.

  As he hurried to the wharves, Captain DeGrange thought that he ought to be thanking the gods that the ocean voyager had arrived at all. Reports from Fort Honor told of increased piratical activity off the island’s western coast. Everyone had feared Stalwart Mariner had been intercepted somewhere between Continae to Capricon.

  DeGrange squinted as the docks came into view. The setting sun cast an orange reflection on the harbor, where most of small fishing vessels were heading back to shore. The smell of frying fish drifted from the chimneys of the inns and houses he passed. It was enough to make DeGrange’s stomach roar. He had had only a few bites of his own dinner before duty had whisked him away from the company of his wife and daughter.

  Approaching Stalwart Mariner, he saw the ship’s crew and the local dockhands unloading crate after crate from the ship into a nearby warehouse. The wooden boxes were filled with rare Huiyan spices, a cargo valuable enough to tempt any ne’er-do-well who scoured the Aden Ocean.

  A moment later, he spotted the ship’s captain, a wide but squat man who looked like he would sink faster than an anchor if he fell overboard. Upon noticing DeGrange—and apparently recognizing his rank by the golden stripes on his uniform—Stalwart Mariner’s captain gave a final order to one of his crew before turning to DeGrange.

  “Looks like you have everything well in hand here,” said DeGrange, coming to stand beside the captain. “Judging by the fact that your vessel is in one piece and you still have cargo to unload, I’d wager you didn’t encounter any pirates.”

  “Not a one,” the captain assured him.

  “Then tell me, why you are a week late?”

  While he had gotten to know many of the captains who sailed back and forth between the island and Continae, DeGrange recognized neither this seaman nor his ship. But DeGrange’s brusque manner wasn’t due to unfriendliness. He knew that, after the long voyage from the continent—a trek that typically took two weeks but had taken Stalwart Mariner three—most sailors were eager to leave the confines of the ship and enjoy a few precious days ashore before returning to the sea.

  Better to get business out of the way as quickly as possible.

  Not that DeGrange himself didn’t have his own reasons for hastening matters. Today had been the first day in weeks he had arrived home before sunset, and he could not remember the last time he had shared an evening meal with his family. He did not blame the job itself for such inconveniences. Rather, he blamed the individual factors that made such long hours necessary.

  Rebels who threatened the peace, Mayor Beryl’s impossible demands, slow ships—all of these things and more were his concern as Captain of the Three Guards in Port Town.

  “Ya can’t see it now, ’cause her sails’re down, but there was a storm that tore her mainsail to ribbons and sent us far off course to boot. Hell of a squall, it was,” the ship’s captain said.

  As the man recounted the events of the voyage, DeGrange studied the ship with only a mild interest. Typically, it was the harbormaster’s responsibility to interview the captains of newly arrived vessels, but the mayor had ordered DeGrange to handle Stalwart Mariner personally.

  Just what was so important about a spice-laden ship, DeGrange did not know. True, wares from lands beyond Continae were precious and few in Capricon, but it was hardly the type of thing for the Captain of the Guards to worry about.

  Well, thought DeGrange, Crofton Beryl will be pleased to hear that Stalwart Mariner has arrived safely and the people of Port Town will be able to purchase perfume and seasonings to their hearts’ content.

  “But my crew don’t shirk in the face of danger,” Stalwart Mariner’s captain continued. “No, we fought every wave that tried to take us to the bottom. We—”

  “None of the cargo got wet, did it? Were the spices damaged?” DeGrange knew Mayor Beryl would blame him for the ruined cargo. Never mind it would have happened many leagues away from Port Town.

  Stalwart Mariner’s captain snorted and gave a sharp chuckle.

  DeGrange frowned.

  “Spices?” the captain asked, knotting his brow. “What’re ya talkin’ about, man? We’re carrying arms. Swords, spears, chain mail…you name it!”

  “Wait…what?” he demanded.

  Now DeGrange was once more studying the ship, thinking perhaps that he had been misinformed, that the lookouts had mistaken this ship for the true Stalwart Mariner, which, sadly, lay at the bottom of the ocean.


  But, no, he could see the ship’s name, complete with a depiction of a sword-wielding sailor, painted on the ship’s prow.

  Before DeGrange could put any of his many questions into words, he spied something unusual near the ship’s stern. A solitary figure, his face hidden by the hood of a long dun cloak, seemed to be staring back at him.

  Absently scratching his graying beard, DeGrange realized he must have blinked, for suddenly the person was gone.

  “Something isn’t right,” DeGrange muttered. “Captain, did you take on any passengers at Port Alexis?”

  The captain opened his mouth to reply, but then both men’s attention was drawn away from the ship to someone running down the dock. The young man’s blue-and-white uniform denoted him as a pier guard, but DeGrange did not know him.

  That was not much of a surprise, however, for Port Town was growing rapidly. Although DeGrange had been Captain of the Three Guards for almost a decade, he could hardly keep all of his men straight. New recruits were hired daily.

  Leaning forward, his hands on his knees, the young pier guard spoke the dreaded words between deep breaths: “Pirates…nearby…sir…”

  DeGrange looked out into the open waters, expecting to find nothing less than an armada of the buccaneers charging toward the city, but seeing nothing other than small skiffs and fishing boats, he asked, “Where? Are they attacking?”

  “No,” the guard replied, his face regaining a little color, all of it red. “We spotted…two ships…a caravel and…the other has two masts—”

  “Where?” DeGrange repeated, trying not to shout at the lad.

  “They’re anchored a couple miles south of the city…just off the coast. They’re hidden by the dense trees…no one can see them from the road, but—”

  “Take me there.”

  On his way from the wharves, DeGrange told the harbormaster to have a chat with the captain of Stalwart Mariner. He quickly told him of the discrepancy in the cargo and mentioned the figure he had seen on deck. Confident the harbormaster would get to the bottom of it all, DeGrange focused on the next problem.

  Running through the streets of Port Town with the younger guard beside him, DeGrange marveled at how much energy the boy possessed. He had surely sprinted all the way to the wharves. Now he was running at full speed once more.

  DeGrange, meanwhile, was already breathing hard and had a stitch in his side. And the harbor wasn’t even out of sight yet! He suddenly felt much older than his forty-six years, as though the weight of his responsibilities were aging him quicker than the seasons could. At that moment, DeGrange would have gladly traded places with the pier guard, rank and all.

  So much for dinner with the family, he thought. Then he banished all thoughts except those concerning Port Town’s safety from his mind.

  * * *

  After his brief exchange with DeGrange, followed by an almost identical encounter with the harbormaster, Captain Toeburry decided that he would never drop anchor in Port Town again.

  First, there was the confusion over his cargo. Why, the mayor of this gods-forsaken city himself had requested the arms shipment and had provided quite a sum of silver to pay for the voyage!

  And then there were the pirates the young guard had mentioned. Toeburry had fought off buccaneers before, but the casualties were always high. Toeburry planned on shoving off as early as tomorrow if he could manage it. He’d have to promise his men a full week of shore leave back on the continent, but if that’s what it took to avoid pirates, then by the gods above and below, so be it.

  He only regretted that he couldn’t weigh anchor immediately after unloading the ship.

  “Faster, boys. Faster!” he called to his men. “The quicker we’re done with this mess, the quicker we can be gettin’ drunk in the city!”

  Captain Toeburry, however, was scheduled to share a drink with the harbormaster in his office. Apparently, there were more questions that needed answering. He spat in the direction of the whitewashed building and made a colorful comment about Port Town’s forefathers.

  He boarded Stalwart Mariner to retrieve one of his fancier coats when he caught sight of the monks. The five of them were making their way to the upper deck. Toeburry wondered if they would have bothered finding him before disappearing into the city.

  The captain spat again but swallowed the curse that would have followed had the monks not been near enough to hear him.

  “Brother Klye,” Toeburry greeted, nodding vaguely to the others, whose names he had never bothered to learn. “I hope the storm didn’t toss you ’round too badly.”

  The leader of the monks didn’t reply at first. He untied a pouch from his belt and held it out to the captain. “Fifteen crowns at both ports, as we agreed.”

  “Aye.” Toeburry snatched the purse from the monk’s upraised palm and quickly stashed it in the pocket of his dark blue vest.

  Brother Klye glanced around before adding, “We will be on our way now. Thank you, again, for accommodating us.”

  Without another word, Brother Klye and the four other monks started walking away. Biting down hard on his lower lip, Captain Toeburry trotted to catch up with their retreating forms.

  “Yer provin’ to be a bit of an inconvenience, ya know.”

  Brother Klye stopped and turned to regard him with a look that almost made Toeburry regret confronting him.

  “I’m to be thoroughly interviewed by the harbormaster,” he explained. “The Captain of the Three Guards saw one of ya up on deck. They’re wantin’ to know if I brought any passengers to Capricon.”

  “What did you tell him?” Brother Klye’s asked evenly.

  “I didn’t tell them nothin’, but when DeGrange is through chasin’ pirates, he’ll want some answers, don’t ya doubt.”

  “And what would you have us do, Captain? Buy your silence?”

  Toeburry shook his head so quickly he got a little dizzy. “No, no, no, nothin’ like that. I’m as honest a man as yerself, Brother Klye. I’m not trying to fatten my purse at yer expense, but maybe it’d be better if we all forgot that ya came to Port Town on my ship.”

  “So…this never happened,” Brother Klye summarized.

  “Aye,” said Captain Toeburry. “And if any of the guards see the five of ya leavin’ the Mariner, me and my men don’t know nothin’ about it. Stowaways are getting’ cleverer and cleverer all the time, ya know.”

  Brother Klye nodded.

  As the last of the monks disappeared up a ladder, one of them called back, “May Gnuren the Wise bless you and guide your path.”

  Captain Toeburry just stood there for a while, leaning against the wall of the narrow passageway. If Brother Klye is a monk, then I’m a monkey, he thought. Shaking his head, he spat and resumed the walk to his cabin.

  Toeburry and his mates had ignored the passengers during the voyage, and the five men had kept to themselves, remaining in their cabins most of the time. Toeburry hadn’t wanted to get caught up in whatever they were involved in, but the risk of smuggling them to Capricon had been worth the price.

  Once he reached his private cabin, Toeburry counted the silver coins and smiled.

  “May the gods watch over you, too, Brother Klye,” he said with a great laugh. “But if yer needin’ a ship to take ya back to Continae, you’ll not find Stalwart Mariner in this port again!”

  * * *

  As the five men left the ship, crossed the docks, and made their way toward the city proper, Klye looked around, making sure that no one was going to intercept them from ahead or follow them from behind.

  He tried to remain inconspicuous, not turning his head too often. Then again, he wasn’t sure if it was possible for them to be anything but suspicious. It wasn’t as though any other groups of priests were walking the docks.

  But the sailors and workers paid them not the slightest attention. Perhaps Captain Toeburry had told his men to ignore the monks. More likely, the tired, sweaty men were concerned only with finishing their work.

  Rum
and women were on their minds, not priests.

  “Where to now, Brother Klye?” one of his men asked.

  Klye didn’t answer. Before leaving Stalwart Mariner, he had told them to let him do all of the talking. If anyone posed a question to one of them, Klye would explain that his fellow monks had taken vows of silence.

  “When Othello told us that someone had seen him, I thought we’d have to fight our way out for sure,” Plake continued. When neither Klye nor any of the others replied, Plake muttered something under his breath and kicked a stone.

  Klye surreptitiously studied the faces of the guards they passed, but none of them gave him or his men a second glance. Bored and underpaid, the pier guards would act only if the harbor were in obvious danger, Klye supposed.

  As they walked, the wharves and warehouses were gradually replaced by a dozen or more pubs crammed one right after the other. Judging by the pictures on their signs and names like Gambler’s Grotto, these establishments were nothing more than places to drink cheap ale and gamble away one’s pay.

  But Klye could see larger buildings farther down the road, establishments where a traveler could get a bite to eat as well as find a room for the night. Deciding one inn was as good as another, he stopped in front of an inn called Oars and Omens.

  “We’ll stay here,” Klye told his men, “but I want to meet with our contact yet tonight. Ragellan, you and Horcalus get us two rooms. Use the aliases we agreed upon.”

  Chester Ragellan nodded and took the small leather purse Klye handed to him. Although Ragellan, at age forty-four, was the oldest of the group, he did not bristle at being told what to do by someone almost two decades his junior.

  “Othello and Plake, you will come with me,” Klye continued. “It would probably be easier if I went alone, but Othello’s eyes may come in handy.” That he personally wanted to keep an eye on Plake, he did not say aloud.

  “I’d rather see the city than just sit around some inn,” Plake said, flashing a triumphant smile at Ragellan and Horcalus, who did not respond one way or another.