Passage IV
It was so late it was early. Klye’s physical exhaustion from his hike to Fort Faith and back was compounded by his worry for Horcalus.
He considered following the man but thought better of it. For one thing, Klye didn’t know what he could say to convince Horcalus to stay away from the Knights. For another, the man probably just needed some space—and a few hours of rest.
Not going after Horcalus proved to be a mistake.
Horcalus did not return to the inn during the night. When morning came, Klye struck out to search Port Stone, but Horcalus was nowhere to be found. It was Othello who found the path of muddy footprints leading down a side avenue to the outskirts of town. By Klye’s command, the archer followed the tracks for half of a mile before returning to the inn, where everyone was now gathered.
By Othello’s estimates, Horcalus had maintained a straight course out onto the plains, heading in a northeasterly direction. Horcalus had not been bluffing, Klye realized; the rogue knight fully intended to present himself to the inhabitants of Fort Faith.
Klye was frustrated, angry, and apprehensive all at once. A part of him was quick to point out Horcalus was his own man. He had made it clear he was done with the Renegades. If he wanted to turn himself over to murderers, that was his mistake to make.
As a Renegade Leader, Klye had a responsibility to the remaining members of his band. He didn’t want to believe that Horcalus would betray them, but there was a chance he would tell the Knights about the rebels’ camp in Port Stone.
But Klye was finding it difficult to order his men to pack up and leave. After all they had been through together, could he really stand by and let Horcalus walk into a den of hungry lions?
When Klye announced his decision to pursue Horcalus, no one wanted to stay behind. Some of their enthusiasm was surely due to being a little restless. Klye couldn’t bring them all, however. He wasn’t ready to abandon their hideout, and, besides, a large troupe would only slow him down.
He would have to take Scout, for he needed his knowledge of the terrain. Othello’s tracking abilities, not to mention those uncanny eyes that saw danger before anyone else’s, were also indispensable.
Lilac refused to stay behind. Klye almost argued with the woman, but he remembered how Lilac had left her luxurious life in Superius behind to try to protect Horcalus and Ragellan.
She had saved Horcalus’s life once; maybe she could do so again.
Little was said as the four Renegades departed Port Stone that morning. Even Scout seemed subdued, keeping his many theories and stories to himself for once. The man’s face was clouded by grief, and Klye wondered if the man felt somehow responsible for Horcalus’s sudden departure.
It wasn’t Scout’s fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, Klye reasoned.
But as he thought back on the long trek from the Citadel Dungeon to ruins of Port Stone, Klye wondered why he hadn’t foreseen this inevitable bend in the road.
* * *
She almost felt guilty for leaving Colt to deal with Noel—for Cholk and Sir Petton were more likely to be a hindrance than a help in managing the midge—but Opal wouldn’t miss her morning ride for all the riches in Afren-Ckile.
I’ll help him by retrieving Albert, she thought. Maybe I can cool the old man down a bit and learn what really happened between him and Noel.
She pocketed two apples from the larder on her way through the western wing of the fort, smiling innocently at the Knight who had been placed in charge of the kitchen. The burley warrior-turned-cook complained good-naturedly about her freeloading, which he did nearly every day. Opal didn’t know the man’s name, but he knew hers, which was unsurprising since she was the only woman at Fort Faith.
“If I catch you in here again, snitching food for that poor excuse for horseflesh, I’ll see to it you spend a night in the dungeon,” the Knight threatened, holding a wooden spoon aloft as though it were a sword.
“It’s so cold and spooky down there,” Opal said with exaggerated terror. “I might need a big, strong Knight to keep me warm.” She was back out in the hallway before the man could reply, tucking the apples in the pockets of her riding jacket.
The new stable wasn’t much to look at—there wasn’t a proper carpenter among the Knights—but it was solid and kept out the weather. The rough wooden planks made it resemble the gnarled trunk of some stalwart tree growing out of the side of a mountain. The recent addition to the fort had been built on the same spot as the old stable, which had been little more than a pile of rotted timber when they had arrived.
The Knight who generally tended to the horses was nowhere to be found, so Opal made a mental note to scold the man for leaving his post when she saw him next. The stableman’s ruddy complexion tended to darken to an even deeper red whenever she teased him, which was often.
Apart from the time she spent with Colt within the fort, Opal spent much of the day in the stable. She felt at ease with the horses. As she walked past the stalls, she greeted each of the steeds by name, patting their heads and scratching their favorite spots.
By the time she reached the end of the row, Nisson was shaking her head impatiently and whinnying. Compared to the massive war-horses the Knights kept, Opal’s mount looked more like a pony. Yet she knew the Knights’ fastest charger was no match for Nisson.
Stepping into the last stall, she stroked the white mare’s forehead and laughed when the animal began poking its long snout under her jacket.
“You know me too well,” Opal said, producing one of the apples. “Here you go, girl.”
While Nisson contentedly munched on the tasty treat, Opal saddled the horse. She spoke to Nisson as though the horse were an old friend, which she was. Opal had purchased the animal from a Ristidaen rancher years ago, when Nisson was little more than a filly.
She had gotten a good deal too. According to the rancher, Nisson—the elfish word for “impulsive”—had proven impossible to tame. The man had strongly encouraged her to pick a different horse.
But Opal had already fallen in love with the spirited beast. Young Nisson did prove to be challenging, but as they left the ranch far behind, Nisson grew less and less defiant. Opal had immediately removed the metal bit from Nisson’s mouth, and it wasn’t long before she did away with the bridle altogether.
As the years passed, their relationship evolved beyond master and mount.
Opal smiled as she told Nisson about Albert’s spat with the midge. “We’re going to find the old man before he gets himself lost. He couldn’t have gotten far.”
One of the Knights patrolling outside the main gate told her Albert had headed to the south, heading toward the congregation of trees less than a mile from the fort’s doorstep.
“He’ll no doubt stick to the shade,” the Knight predicted. “It’s destined to be a hot one today. What was the doctor so upset about, anyway?”
“He wanted me to marry him, but I turned him down,” she replied with a wink.
She gave Nisson’s flank a nudge, and the horse broke into a gallop, leaving the fort and its grinning sentry far behind. The mare raced across the open land, breaking headlong into the wind, eager to test her limits. Opal held onto Nisson’s mane, reveling in their speed.
She let the horse choose its own direction for a while before leaning to the left. Nisson snorted and altered course, heading over to the copse of trees. Opal gave the horse’s mane a slight tug once they reached the woods, and Nisson slowed to a steady trot. They followed the line of trees, skirting the woods but staying near enough for Opal’s gaze to penetrate its shadows.
According to the sentry, Albert had left on foot. By Opal’s estimation, she would overtake the doctor in minutes.
From the woods, she could hear wrens flitting from branch to branch and filling to air with their beautiful, chaotic music. Colt would sometimes join her on her morning jaunts, but today she was happy to enjoy the morning in silence.
She enjoyed Colt’s company well enough, but t
he man tended to ask a lot of questions, mostly about what it was like to have no memory of the first eighteen or so years of her life. Opal didn’t like discussing her amnesia, as the healers had named it. She had wasted the past couple of years trying to find out who she was before waking up on that frontier trade road with no money and no name.
Continuing her search here in Capricon was a longshot at best. Or maybe it was time to move on. During the voyage to the island, she had realized how weary she was of bothering strangers with questions they couldn’t answer.
She had lost so much of her life as it was. Why squander more of it on a hopeless quest?
“It’s time I stop trying to find out who I was and learn who I am.”
Her own words, spoken aloud, broke the spell of her reverie. She told Nisson to stop, which she did, immediately lowering her head to graze on a patch of clover. Opal absently scratched the mare’s back as she peered into the woods. A quick search ahead and behind revealed they had gone much farther south than she had intended.
And still no sign of Albert Simplington.
Could she have missed him? Or had the old man gone deeper into the woods than she had assumed. But why would Albert head into the woods unless he was trying to hide?
And just why in the hells was he running away in the first place?
Opal glanced back at the open plain. The land was flat and featureless. A lone traveler would stick out like a giant among gnomes.
“We must have passed him.”
Nisson, busy chewing, didn’t reply.
Deciding to let the mare enjoy her green breakfast—it wouldn’t be long before winter robbed her of that joy—Opal dismounted and removed the other apple from her satchel. Nisson snorted.
“Sorry, girl. This one’s for me.”
She took a bite, wiping the juice from her chin with the back of her hand. After a short rest, she would head back up along the fringe of the woods. Lost in her daydream, she must have simply passed Albert by. It was as simple as that.
As she stared into the distance at the sprawling lowlands, she realized she was squinting. The sun was still a few hours from its highest point in the bold blue sky, but its rays were already bearing down on her, warming the exposed flesh of her face and hands. There was always a wind when Nisson galloped, but now the air hardly stirred around her.
Holding her apple between her teeth, Opal unslung her quiver before removing the heavy, woolen jacket, laying them both on the ground at her feet. The brisk air sent goosebumps racing down her bare arms, but Opal found it refreshing.
She sat down on the ground, not caring if her trousers got a little dirty and thought that it was a perfectly beautiful morning. If not for Albert, she might have lingered there for the rest of the day, basking in the unseasonably warm day.
Opal took another bite of the apple, pondering the mystery that was Albert Simplington. People tended to be jumpy around midge, but the doctor’s reaction was downright strange. Albert had always seemed to her a mild-mannered creature. She had never seen him get even a little miffed until that morning.
Perhaps Noel was right, she mused with a smile. Albert had cast a magical spell and simply flew away…
Nisson snorted.
“Just a minute, you glutton,” she told the horse. “You can have the core when I’m done.”
Then Nisson made a sound Opal had never heard before. She scrambled to her feet in time to see four people emerge from the trees beyond Nisson, running right for them. Dropping the half-eaten fruit to the ground, Opal reached for her crossbow, fumbling with the straps that held the weapon against the side of Nisson’s saddle.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” one of the men said, as he and another guy wearing an open-faced, black hood came around one side of the horse.
The man who had spoken carried a thin-bladed sword, which he pointed at her chest as he stepped forward. The other man held a knife and lingered near Nisson’s head. He probably would have probably grabbed the reins if there had been any.
At the same time, a woman with an elaborately decorated sword and a tall man with a longbow circled around from Nisson’s rear. The archer had an arrow nocked and aimed at her neck. Opal let the leather strips fall from her fingers and reluctantly turned away from her crossbow to face the leader of the group.
“I don’t have any money.” She kept her tone even, betraying no fear, all the while cursing her inattentiveness.
An infuriating smile grew on the dark-haired man’s unshaven face. “We aren’t highwaymen. I am Klye Tristan, a Renegade Leader.”
Opal cursed herself again. How could she have been so careless? While Colt’s men hadn’t encountered any of the rebels that roamed the island, she should have been on guard anyway. The Renegades were, after all, the reason the Knights of Superius had reoccupied Fort Faith.
Robbers would have been a blessing from above. If these people found out she was connected with the Knights…
“Nice to meet you, Klye,” Opal said, unabashedly staring back. “What can I do for you?”
She nonchalantly shifted her weight to one side and rested a hand against her thigh, where beneath her untucked shirt, the hilt of her knife pressed against her hip. Colt had provided her and Nisson with transportation to Capricon as well as a place to stay once they got there. She would not repay the commander’s kindness by allowing the Renegades to take her hostage.
If she couldn’t talk her way out of this, she intended to fight.
The Renegade Leader came closer, positioning himself between her and Nisson—between her and the crossbow. Opal took a few steps back to avoid getting stepped on, but her movements were causal, as though engaging Renegades in conversation were a daily practice.
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Red,” Klye said. “Scout tells me he’s seen you at the fort. Are you’re a friend of the Knights?”
“I’ve been to lots of forts,” Opal lied. “And I’ve gotten to know many Knights over the years…Knights of Eaglehand in Glenning, Superian Knights, even Ristidaen Legionnaires. I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”
“It’s her, Klye,” the man in the hood—Scout—said. “I’ve seen her target practicing with that crossbow outside Fort Faith. Ow! Stupid horse tried to bite me!”
Klye didn’t take his eyes off of her for one second. Outnumbered and surrounded, Opal could only hope next time Nisson would take Scout’s ear off. The woman with the sword and the man with the longbow kept their place at her left. They weren’t going to encircle her, but they needn’t have bothered. With only the open plain behind her, even a mediocre marksman would have no trouble hitting her if she decided to flee.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” Klye Tristan said. “If you come with us willingly, I promise no harm will come to you.”
So much for talking, she thought grimly. Her only chance was to break past them and make for the cover of the trees.
The Renegade Leader took a step toward her. Opal drew her knife and took a swipe at him. Klye quickly backed away, stumbling into Nisson’s flank. The horse, sensing something amiss, reared up, nearly striking the hooded Renegade with her flailing hoofs and all but trampling Klye on her way down.
Fully expecting to feel an arrowhead pierce her flesh at any moment, Opal pushed Scout out of her way and sprinted for the trees. She was using Nisson as a living shield and hated herself for it. She would never forgive herself if the mare were harmed because of her actions.
She ran as fast as she could, faster than she had ever run before. Behind her, she could hear the Renegades shouting among themselves, probably debating whether or not to kill her and be done with it. Why else wouldn’t the archer have fired by now?
The trees were tauntingly close. They seemed to hold their green-speckled branches out to her in welcome. By the Benevolent Seven, she was going to make it!
Pain exploded in her mind with the power of a battering ram. As she pitched forward, tumbling headfirst to the ground, she had the
outrageous notion that some wild beast had bitten clean through her leg. She brought her hands out to help break her fall, sparing her a concussion but landing hard nevertheless.
When the world stopped spinning, looked down to find a green-fletched arrow protruding from her calf.
“Lystra the whore!” She tried to pull herself into a crawling position, but the pain was too intense. Ignoring the dizziness, Opal dragged herself behind the base of the nearest tree. She wouldn’t let that archer get another clean shot at her.
Growling against the pain as well as her anger, Opal peeked around the trunk and watched impotently as the female Renegade and the archer ran toward her. Beyond them, the Renegade Leader and his hooded accomplice were trying to grab hold of Nisson, but the horse was having none of it.
Klye Tristan was forced to relinquish his hold on her mane when Nisson tried to seize his arm with her teeth. Uttering a wild whiney, Nisson thundered away, charging back toward Fort Faith.
Opal leaned against the brittle skin of the ancient elm for support, wishing she had maintained her hold on the knife during her fall. Listening for the sound of approaching footsteps, she bit her lower lip to keep from crying out as she pulled the arrow from her leg. A shiny, red river flowed down to her boots.
If they intended to kill her, the pain would end soon enough. If they needed her alive…well…they would find she was no helpless maiden. Gripping the shaft of the arrow tightly, Opal waited for the Renegades to come.
Passage V
Arthur yawned, trying to fight the lethargy that stiffened his muscles and weighed down his eyelids.
With Klye, Scout, Lilac, and Othello gone, Pistol had taken charge of the remaining members of the band. Although it was clear that he and Crooker were none too eager to spend another day fishing, they nevertheless headed for the pier once Klye and the others were out of sight.
Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) Page 33