His sanity slowly slipping away, Colt was grateful when they were interrupted by a knock at the door. But when he heard what Sir Gregory Wessner, the stableman, had to say, Colt thought that he might have preferred to stay in Noel’s imaginary world a little longer.
“Pardon my intrusion,” Sir Wessner said, his eyes lingering on the midge, “but I thought you should know Opal’s horse has returned to the stable…but Opal has not.”
Passage VI
Her hands bound securely behind her back, Opal was led farther and farther from Fort Faith. Klye Tristan and Scout walked before her, while the woman, her fancy sword at the ready, and the archer brought up the rear. They were herding her westward, across the plain.
She might have screamed if not for the gag they had fashioned out of the sleeve of her riding jacket—not that she supposed there was any help nearby. The soggy wool tasted terrible. Though her breathing had returned to its normal rate, her heart still raced.
Were it not for the archer, she might have attempted another escape, but even if she could avoid the female Renegade’s blade, she could never outrun an arrow.
Their pace was slow, thanks to her injured leg. Klye was impatient at first. When he mentioned carrying her, Opal gave him her fiercest glare and cursed him through the soggy gag. Apparently, that was enough to dissuade the Renegade Leader from hauling her around like a sack of flour.
She wondered why they didn’t beat her unconscious and drag her to their destination.
As they walked, she studied her captors. She had expected them to display a triumphant air as they returned to their camp, but none of them were smiling. Klye was particularly morose. He glanced back at her occasionally, and she wondered what he was thinking, what he had planned for her. She couldn’t help but grin beneath her gag when she saw the man wipe at the blood dripping down his cheek.
Scout and the woman had earned some bruises while wrestling the arrow from her hand, but it was Klye Tristan who learned that this cat had claws. Seeing those three red lines gouged into his cheek lifted her spirits a little. She vowed that she would make her captivity as difficult for the Renegades as possible. They would regret the day they ever laid eyes on her.
The Renegades spoke little as they guided her across the plain, but Opal had learned a thing or two about them from the sparse conversations she overheard. Trying to keep her mind off the pain that lanced up her leg at every step, she reviewed what she knew about Klye Tristan’s band of Renegades.
Klye had spoken of returning to “the others,” so there must be more rebels nearby. Scout had mentioned an inn, but the closest town in the direction they were heading was on the other side of the mountains. Unless they were taking her to the abandoned Port of Stone…a perfect hideout for a bunch of outlaws.
Scout and the blond woman had a short conversation about someone named Horcalus. Apparently, they had been looking for him when they had happened upon her. Judging by Klye’s expression, he would have traded her for Horcalus in a heartbeat. If Horcalus was a Renegade and the Knights found him before his friends did, such a trade was not impossible, though Opal planned to free herself long before the Knights learned of her captivity.
After what felt like hours, they finally reached the port. The archer and the woman took her to a sturdy-looking building the color of faded daffodil pedals. She decided not to attempt an escape while the two Renegades secured her to a chair with a rope. Although there were only two of them, Opal had no idea how many more Renegades were lurking about.
She would learn all she could—including how many of them there were in all—before escaping. Patience was not typically a virtue of hers, but Opal knew her life was at stake. The Renegades had wanted to take her alive, but they would surely cut her down if she forced their hand.
She would have to wait for the right moment to catch them unawares.
A few minutes after the female Renegade finished her handiwork with the rope, Scout and Klye entered the common room, followed by four men.
“Did you find Horcalus?” one of them was asking. He was a young thing with an innocent face and hair almost as red as her own.
Before Klye Tristan could answer, another Renegade pointed at her and asked, “Hey, who is she?”
“We don’t know her name. It seems that that mouth of hers is only good for spitting and swearing. But Scout is certain she lives at Fort Faith. As long as we have her, the Knights will think twice before attacking us.”
“Our first prisoner,” the other Renegade joked, taking a step closer to ogle their captive.
“What happened to your face, Klye?” asked another man.
Klye brought his hand up to the wound. “Never mind that. What was it you were saying about a wizard?”
The four men all started talking at once. Klye silenced them by holding up a hand. Then he motioned for a man with the eyepatch to continue. Opal’s ears perked up upon hearing Albert Simplington’s name.
Her eyes widened when the man spoke of Albert’s transformation. Were it not for the midge’s claim that the old doctor was a wizard, she might have suspected the Renegades were making it up, but it was too coincidental. She felt lightheaded as a man with an eyepatch summarized what Albert had told them.
When the one-eyed man finished talking, Klye turned to the youngest Renegade. “And this wizard just wants to be left alone? You are certain he wasn’t looking for Horcalus?”
Arthur shook his head. “He never said anything about Horcalus. He didn’t even know we were Renegades.”
She could almost see the Renegade Leader’s mind at work, trying to put the pieces together. But Opal, who knew more about Albert Simplington than any of them, couldn’t puzzle it out either.
“Yet another complication,” Klye muttered.
“Is everybody all right?” the blond woman asked. “You don’t look like you battled a wizard.”
The man with the patch replied, “I was lucky not to break any bones. Seems I got the worst of it. Crooker and Plake were numb for a bit, but now there’s not even a mark to show where the magic struck ’em. The wizard didn’t do a thing to Arthur, except threaten him.”
Klye shook his head. “Well, if the wizard wants to be left alone, he’ll get his wish. We’re leaving this gods-forsaken place. Spell-casters aside, the Knights are bound to come looking for Red. It’s only a matter of time before they show up here.”
“But what about the wizard?” Arthur asked. “If the Knights search Wizard’s Mountain for her, Albert will take out his vengeance on me!”
Klye dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “He was bluffing…and even if he wasn’t, he’ll get the same reception Lilac gave Dark Lily. Wizards aren’t invincible.”
The boy didn’t look convinced.
“So where are we going?” Scout asked.
Opal leaned forward. If she knew their destination, she might be able to guess the route they would take. And if she knew that, she could choose the best place to make her escape.
But the Renegade Leader shrugged. “I don’t know yet. You and I will have to figure that out. The rest of you, get everything ready to move out. We’re leaving as soon as we can.”
Plake, Crooker, and Patch-Eye seemed all too eager to be gone from Port Stone. They and the woman, Lilac, left the common room. Arthur lingered, blocking Scout and Klye’s path.
“What about Horcalus?” he asked. “If we leave, he won’t know where to find us.”
So Horcalus is a Renegade, Opal thought.
“I haven’t given up on Horcalus,” Klye assured the boy. “But we can’t stick around Port Stone any longer. The Knights will suspect trouble when Red doesn’t return, and Port Stone will probably be the first place they look.”
The boy didn’t look satisfied with the Renegade Leader’s answer, but he too left the common room. Klye and Scout followed him down the hall, which, she assumed, led to the guestrooms.
Opal let out a breath when the last of the rebels were gone. She could hardly b
elieve it; they had left her all alone! She immediately began to struggle against her bonds, twisting her wrists to stretch the rope and wriggle one of her hands out. The knot was tight, but she pulled at it anyway, imagining breaking free, finding her knife, and stabbing each and every Renegade in the back before returning to Fort Faith.
She would start with Klye Tristan…
“You’ll only hurt yourself.”
Opal stiffened. Turning her head in the direction of the voice, she found a tall figure standing near a window near the front of the inn. She had forgotten about the archer. She let her arms go limp and swore, her colorful words sounding like nonsense thanks to the gag.
The archer’s face betrayed no emotion whatsoever. The man’s eyes were green, like her own, but they were brighter, catching the light in a most fascinating way. Like morning dew glistening on a leaf, she thought.
The man crossed the common room in a few even strides. To her surprise, he bent down and removed the gag from her mouth.
“How is your leg?” he asked, his voice deep and soft.
“You mean the one you shot?” she snarled.
She expected to find something new in those strange eyes—ridicule or maybe remorse—but the archer’s expression didn’t alter in the least. He had tended to her wound in the woods, wrapping another piece of her jacket tightly around her calf. His touch had been firm but gentle.
Kneeling before her now, the archer loosened the rope that held her to the chair and unraveled her bandage. She briefly considered kicking him in the face with her uninjured leg. Her hands were still tied behind her back, but she knew she could slip them over the top of the chair once her legs were free.
All she had to do was overpower her lone guard, and she would be free…
The archer withdrew something from his pocket, a pouch of some kind. He said nothing, didn’t even look up at her, as he started to rub the contents of the pouch onto her wound. She sucked in her breath sharply, expecting the pressure to produce pain, but despite his large, calloused hands, the archer wasn’t at all clumsy.
The salve felt wet and cold at first, but as he spread it over her wound, her skin began to tingle and grow warm. Soon, her leg didn’t hurt at all. As he wrapped a new bandage around her leg, she again considered striking out.
“My name is Othello,” he told her as he secured her legs to the chair once more.
“I’m Opal.”
Had her hands been free, she might have clapped them over her mouth. She hadn’t volunteered any information to Klye before he jammed the gag in her mouth. It was as if her mouth had spoken without permission.
But Othello was just making conversation, she realized, not interrogating.
“You seem too kind to be a Renegade,” she told him, flashing him a big smile. She had learned long ago that flattery was a useful tool in dealing with men.
“You seem too free-spirited to be a Knight.” He had finished with the rope but remained kneeling at eye level with her.
“Of course I’m not a Knight,” she said coyly, affecting the voice she used when teasing the soldiers at Fort Faith.
“You live among Knights,” Othello said.
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean—”
“You have friends among the Knights and would fight for their cause,” he added.
“True, but—”
“Then you are as much a Knight as I am a Renegade.”
Opal closed her mouth, pondering Othello’s words. She had missed her opportunity to escape, but a part of her wasn’t at all sorry that she hadn’t attacked the archer. She thought about pretending to cry, hoping her tears would lead the man to greater acts of mercy, but before she could say or do anything, Othello replaced her gag.
When Othello returned to his post over by the door, she defiantly held her gaze in the opposite direction. As the minutes slipped by, she tried to focus all of her thoughts on escaping, but her odd conversation with the archer replayed itself in her mind.
* * *
Colt pulled at his breastplate, working it in several directions to test the integrity of the buckles. He found no fault with the armor. The joints in the pauldrons were well greased, as was the visor of his helm. The small, round shield he had used since his first days as a squire sported only a few scrapes and dents.
He strapped Chrysaal-rûn to his side, looped an arm through the strap of his buckler, cradled his headpiece in the crook of his arm, and headed for the door. In lieu of cuisses and greaves, he wore trousers made tough, boiled leathers, not wanting his legs to be hindered by the bulky metal encasings.
It occurred to him that Opal had never seen him fully bedecked in the garb of his profession. He was tempted to don the plate mail for his lower body as well but dismissed the notion. He was too worried about the woman to concern himself with looking heroic.
He found Sir Petton and Sir Wessner, the stableman, waiting in the hall outside his room. To his surprise, the latter was clad in a massive hauberk of scale-mail. An unremarkable baldric traced the Knight’s wide frame from shoulder to hip, supporting a sheathed broadsword on his back. In addition to the sword, Colt saw a steel-studded mace hanging from his belt.
Like Colt, Sir Wessner carried a helm in one hand, but the stableman’s headpiece was open-faced and of an older style than Colt’s. It looked well-used, probably having been passed down a generation or two.
“Commander, I request permission to join you in your search for Opal,” Sir Wessner said, his tone formal.
Colt looked from the large Knight to his lieutenant. Petton’s expression was stern—as it was wont to be—but didn’t hint at his feelings on the matter.
Gaelor Petton hadn’t been silent, however, on his disapproval of Colt’s leading the search party. Colt, he had said, was too valuable to risk in such an unstructured operation. While the Knights had good reason to believe Opal was in peril—Nisson’s reappearing at the fort without her rider was enough to suggest something was amiss—Petton pointed out that they would find Opal a lot easier if they waited for morning when they could follow her tracks.
But the letter from Commander Calhoun of Fort Miloásterôn had made waiting impossible.
Colt had quickly perused the contents of Calhoun’s letter, only to learn that a new band of Renegades was making its way east. This band, accompanied by two rogue Knights of Superius, had stirred up trouble in Port Town as well as compromised relations between the Knights and the healers at the Temple of Mystel. In his missive, Fredmont Calhoun warned him to be wary of these clever Renegades, though he wouldn’t wager a guess at their intentions.
Colt wanted to believe that the Renegades in the area and Opal’s disappearance were unconnected, but he dared not wait until morning, when the trail might prove too cold, to find out.
Colt laid a gauntleted hand on Gregory Wessner’s shoulder and said, “I appreciate the offer. However, I cannot ask any of the Knights to accompany me. We cannot weaken Fort Faith’s security on the chance that one of its…unofficial residents has met trouble of some sort.”
Colt tried to keep the sarcasm from his tone as he all but quoted Petton.
“On the contrary,” Petton countered, “since I cannot convince you to wait until tomorrow morning, it is in the best interest of Fort Faith that its commander is well-protected and assisted during his mission.”
As he welcomed Sir Wessner to join the search party, Colt gave Petton a smile, grateful his lieutenant wasn’t treating him like the lovesick youth he probably resembled.
“Sir Silvercrown will be accompanying you as well,” Petton added.
“But Zeke is in command of the night guard. I cannot ask him to come,” Colt said.
Without looking at Colt, Petton replied, “I am to take his place tonight.”
Colt didn’t know what to say. The lieutenant was willing to stay up all night so his commander could embark on a mission he, Petton, thought unwise. “Sir Petton…I…”
“Your thanks are neither necessary nor welco
me, Commander,” Petton replied. “You can express your gratitude by finding Miss Opal and returning with you, her, and your men all in good health. And might I suggest parting ways with the midge before you are welcomed back to Fort Faith?”
Colt shrugged noncommittally.
He had not particularly wanted Noel to come along, but the midge insisted. Actually, he had begged, promising his magic would be of great help. Colt didn’t want to think about what harm the little spell-caster might do, but neither did he wish to leave Noel at Fort Faith with Petton and the others. Reluctantly, he had agreed to let Noel tag along.
He had agreed to other things too…
Descending the grand stairway into the entry hall, Colt found Cholk leaning against one of the thick columns supporting the high, vaulted ceiling. Sir Ezekiel Silvercrown, bedecked in a cuirass of plate and ring mail, stood beside the dwarf, testing his longsword in its scabbard.
Cholk was covered in masterfully crafted armor composed of overlapping plates. The hauberk did not shine in the flickering torchlight, as Sir Silvercrown’s did. The dwarf’s armor appeared dull and black even in daylight, Colt knew, for the body armor that covered Cholk from head to toe was not made of metal, but of the carapace of some creature from his homeland.
A stout short sword hung from his belt, but Colt had never seen the dwarf use it, for Cholk preferred the iron battle-axe strapped to his back, a war trophy taken from an unlucky ogre during his time in Thanatan. The weapon’s length was more than half of the dwarf’s height, but Cholk bore its considerable weight without difficulty. A variety of notches and scratches decorated the crescent blade. The battle-axe was no stranger to battle—and neither was Cholk.
“About time you got here,” Cholk said. “Maybe you can talk some sense into that fool of a midge. He thinks he’s coming with us.”
Colt spotted Noel sitting on the other side of the room, slumped up against a column.
Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) Page 35