Arthur knew almost nothing about knights and wars, but he had heard enough about the warriors to know he didn’t want to cross them.
“So…we’re going to Fort Faith to battle the Knights of Superius?” Arthur looked around at his sleeping companions. “There are only nine of us!”
Scout just shrugged. “Like I said, I’m not really sure what Klye has up his sleeve, but as I understand it, he wants to get to the fort before the Knights do. Maybe he wants to fill the place with booby-traps. Or maybe he has some reinforcements waiting for us, though I doubt it. I know about all of the Renegade Leaders in Capricon, and while some of them…like Domacles Herronin…want to confront the Knights out in the open, none of them have the men or arms to do so.”
“What about Ragellan and Horcalus?” Arthur asked. “They were once Knights of Superius, right? Why would they join a band that intends to fight their old allies?”
Scout scratched his head. “That’s a good question. Maybe I’ll ask them when they wake up.”
To Arthur’s relief, Scout must have forgotten about the question, for he never confronted either of the knights. After their watch, most of the other Renegades—with the exception of Plake and Crooker—were up and ready to be on the move again.
The thought of spending another day on the road made Arthur want to collapse and never get up. He already had more blisters on his feet than he had toes.
He was relieved when Klye announced he and Othello were going to make a trip to a nearby village to buy some food and that the others were to wait in the meadow until they returned. He happily contributed what little money he had to the cause. He couldn’t remember ever being so hungry.
After Klye and Othello left, Scout began throwing his knife at the bulls-eye he had carved into the log. The pirates were talking to each other, and Ragellan and Horcalus sat together in the center of the meadow. Arthur didn’t want to intrude, so he lay down on an out-of-the-way patch of grass and closed his eyes, hoping to get some rest, but then a shadow fell over him.
He opened his eyes to find Plake, arms crossed and mouth twisted in a smirk, standing over him
“Still sleepy, kid?”
* * *
Dark Lily followed the pull of the finder spell until she reached a cluster of wooden houses. If the coin purse had traveled with the rogue knights for a significant period of time, she would find them in this village.
Although the hastening spell was taking a toll on her concentration, she decided to cast one more spell.
An invisible predator once more, the assassin strode unseen into Pillars.
* * *
Klye walked up to the barkeep and asked him where he could buy some provisions for the road.
The short, fat man snorted and informed him the local grocer had already closed up shop for the day and was, at that moment, enjoying a drink at the end of the bar. Klye thanked the man and started to walk over to the grocer, hoping to convince him to reopen his store for at least a minute or two.
But the barkeep laid a hairy arm on Klye’s and suggested he and his tall companion stay for a drink or two before leading one of his best customers away.
“Besides,” laughed the barkeep, “his prices are bound to be more generous after a few drinks.”
Klye conceded, not wishing to upset the barkeep, who, judging by his grip on Klye’s arm, had some muscle hidden beneath his flabby flesh.
“We’ll have two mugs of your cheapest beer.”
As the man filled their glasses, Klye took the opportunity to examine the other occupants of the tavern. Aside from Othello and him, there were only five other patrons. To Klye’s left sat the grocer, talking with two other men. Likely they were neighbors with whom he drank every night.
On Klye’s right sat two other people, who nursed their drinks in silence. An empty stool served as a buffer between the raggedy matron and a largish man, who was spending more time staring into his glass than anywhere else.
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 th
rough 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 mor
e.
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.
Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) Page 19