When the guard parried one of Klye’s wild swings, he conceded Eliot’s bodyguard was the stronger and, likely, more experienced in dueling. Klye was now the one taking generous steps backward in order to avoid getting skewered.
He had to do something definitive, something drastic that would dispatch his foe before the Knight with the magical blade reappeared. Klye feinted right, making his opponent believe he was going to once again dodge the horizontal slash, but at the last second, he pressed forward, driving his shoulder into the guard’s chest. Klye blindly swung his rapier at the oncoming attack, hoping he might, at the very least, deflect the guard’s sword away from any vital areas.
Several things happened at once…
The guard, severely off-balance, tripped over his own feet and fell onto his back. Klye nearly fell on top of him but somehow maintained his footing. Meanwhile, Klye’s rapier missed the broadsword entirely, and the blade bit deep into his left shoulder.
But rather than strike metal, Klye’s rapier found flesh. With a clang, the broadsword fell to the floor—along with the hand that had been holding it. The guard shrieked and clutched his bleeding stump.
Klye sucked in air through clenched teeth. Tears filled his eyes from the burning pain in his shoulder, but before he could do much of anything, the one-handed guard sprang up from the ground, his face contorted in a horrible expression of pain and rage. Klye had just enough time to bring the rapier back up and brace for impact.
The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back with something wet and heavy crushing the air from his lungs. With a great heave, Klye pushed the guard off of him and climbed to his feet, fully expecting his opponent to do the same.
The man did not move. Dark blood gushed from where the rapier had pierced his heart.
Feeling dizzy, Klye took a step back. He had not wanted to kill the man, but that couldn’t be helped now. Tearing his eyes away from the fountain of thick, black blood, Klye swallowed his regret and reminded himself of the importance of what he—and his Renegades—were doing.
The prince was only a few feet away, and as Klye cleared the distance, Eliot Borrom unhurriedly, almost leisurely, drew a long, slightly curved sword from the sheath at his hip. Though younger than Klye, Eliot did not appear to be a helpless, fearful youth. On the contrary, the prince looked composed, confident, and eager.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Klye told the prince. “If you cooperate, I promise—”
“You’ve made a terrible mistake,” Eliot Borrom said. The tip of his saber was aimed at the floor, but the glint in the man’s eye and the way he carried himself told Klye the prince would not be caught unawares. “You are Klye Tristan, I presume?”
“I am.” He stole another glance at the Knight with the enchanted blade. Klye was safe—for the moment at least—because he was trading blows with Lilac.
“A pity,” the prince said. “I would have rather been pitted against Chester Ragellan or Dominic Horcalus, but you will do, Renegade Leader. In retrospect, you were the start of all of this. After all, it was you who you rescued the rogue knights from the Citadel Dungeon. I shall enjoy killing you.”
Klye was more than a little disconcerted by how much the prince knew of him and his band—though nothing about Ragellan’s death, apparently—but he would not let Eliot’s chatter distract him. He and the prince circled each other, both waiting for the other to make the first move.
“Today, I will ensure that you and your little band will do nothing to thwart my plans,” the prince taunted. “Today, I accomplish what my assassins could not.”
The prince’s words struck Klye like a punch to the gut. Eliot Borrom knew about Dark Lily and the sai-morí. He had probably hired them himself. Hate and anger, the likes of which Klye had never felt before, churned in his stomach.
He didn’t know why Eliot Borrom wanted Horcalus and the rest of them dead, but of this he was certain: through some stroke of fate, he was being given the chance to avenge his Ragellan’s death.
“You are the one who has erred,” Klye said, his voice soft and steady. “I have nothing to lose and everything to gain, while you stand to lose it all.”
Eliot let out a howl that was half-jeer and half-battle cry before rushing him. Klye darted to his left, narrowly escaping the tip of the saber. The prince’s offense was ruthless. A series of well-placed slashes and thrusts kept Klye unbalanced and unable to risk a counterattack.
It was all Klye could do to remain on his feet while—not to mention keep his head attached to his body. One bold swing of the saber would have decapitated him, but Klye dove beneath the whir of steel. A second horizontal slash forced Klye to crouch even lower.
The saber sailed harmlessly over his head, but already Eliot was readying himself to come in with a thrust that would pin Klye to the wall.
With nowhere else to retreat, Klye stayed down, shifting his weight to one leg while extending the other. He focused all of his energy into the kick. His foot connected with the prince’s knee, and Klye heard a satisfying snap. Eliot cried out in pain, his leg buckling beneath him. The prince fell back a few steps, nearly losing his footing entirely.
Klye was gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles were white. Without a moment’s hesitation, he pushed off the wall, springing at his injured opponent. He was no longer fighting the Crown Prince of Superius, but Ragellan’s murderer.
With a single thought on his mind, Klye lunged.
But suddenly there was someone between him and the prince. Klye tried to stop but couldn’t. He collided with the Knight with all the grace of an avalanche. The Knight, who had had both feet planted firmly on the ground, grunted at the impact. Then he shoved Klye back against the wall and swung his sword with both hands.
Two pieces of rapier skidded across the floor. Klye, desperately drawing breaths to replace the air that had been knocked out of him, sat with his back up against the wall and looked into the eyes of the man with the magical sword.
The tip of that spectacular weapon hovered less than an inch from his throat. Klye had a dagger tucked in his boot, but there was no way to reach it without the Knight seeing. The thought occurred to him that he might bat the crystalline blade away with one hand while drawing his knife with the other, but the blisters on his left hand and his broken rapier reminded him that this was no ordinary sword.
There was no way out. Fending off the despair that came with the realization of his failure, Klye did the one thing that he could think of, the one thing that would, at the very least, buy him some time.
“I surrender!” Klye shouted, raising his hands above his head.
The Knight with the magical sword let out a deep sigh, obviously relieved.
“No!” cried a voice from beyond them. Prince Eliot came hobbling toward them. “This man tried to kill me. He is a Renegade and deserves death. Run him through, Commander!”
The Knight—Commander Crystalus, Klye realized—looked back at the prince and then stared into Klye’s eyes once more. Klye saw a battle raging within the commander; it played out on his face, which twitched and frowned.
“You can’t kill me.” Words began to pour out of his mouth, and Klye did not stop them. Quick-talking had saved his skin time and time again. “I am unarmed and have surrendered. You can’t kill me until after I’ve had a trial. Have you no honor?”
Slowly, ever so slowly, the commander drew back his sword. Klye had no idea if he was doing this to show that his honor would not allow him to kill a helpless opponent or to give himself some more room to swing his sword.
“Kill him, Commander, or I will do it myself!” Eliot snarled. The prince still held his saber, and Klye had no doubt that Eliot would keep his word.
Klye’s gaze flashed from the prince to the commander’s unreadable countenance to the enchanted sword. Ragellan had been slain by a magical weapon, Lilac’s vorpal sword. Klye allowed himself a grim smile. He supposed there were worse things than being beheaded by an unnaturally sharp
blade. At least it would be over quickly.
As the last moments of his life slowed and stretched, Klye stared at the blade, absently wondering if it were actually crafted from a huge diamond. It didn’t look like any gemstone Klye had ever gotten his hands on, though. The crystal sword’s blade resembled an icicle more than any mineral.
No, it was clearer than ice. Klye could see right through it…
A strangled sound escaped his lips. His head was spinning, his thoughts a dizzying cyclone of revelation and dread. Finally, when he regained his ability to speak, he whispered, “Commander, your sword. Look at the prince through your sword.”
* * *
Colt feared the Renegade Leader had lost his mind, but that was only one of the many thoughts assailing him. What would be the consequence of defying the Prince of Superius? Didn’t Klye Tristan, who had attacked a member of the royal family, deserve death? But as much as he hated the man—hated the rebels one and all—Colt couldn’t bring himself to slay the man in cold blood.
Klye’s widened eyes remained fixed on the crystal sword. Colt sneaked a glance at Chrysaal-rûn, thinking perhaps the blade was glowing blue again. It wasn’t. Maybe the Renegade Leader had gone mad. Or maybe he was trying to divert his attention.
But no man could feign the look of awe and fear on Klye’s face.
With a sigh, Colt humored the man. He turned and peered through the transparent blade, following Klye’s gaze.
And then it was Colt’s turn to gasp.
“What are you staring at?” Prince Eliot demanded. “Never mind, coward. I will exterminate this pest myself.”
Before Colt realized what he was doing, he stepped in front of the prince and knocked his saber aside with the flat of Chrysaal-rûn’s blade.
“What do you think—?”
“Who are you?” Colt almost did not recognize his own voice.
“Commander, have you lost your—”
“When I look through the crystal sword, I see a monster in your place,” Colt stated, his voice growing louder. “Who are you!”
Colt heard Klye rise behind him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the false face of Eliot Borrom.
“He’s a goblin,” Klye said, coming to stand beside him. “My band encountered goblins in Port Town and near the town of Pillars. I don’t know what they’re up to, but I’d wager a dragon’s hoard this one is in charge of them all.”
Eliot shook his head as if to deny it, but when his shifty eyes made contact with Colt’s, he revealed a toothy smile that obliterated all pretenses of innocence. “Congratulations, gentlemen, you are the first to see through my disguise.”
“Where is the true prince?” Colt pressed. He felt at once relieved that this cruel Eliot Borrom was an imposter and terrified by the ramifications of such a ruse.
“Oh, I am a true prince,” the goblin replied, still smiling “You stand before Prince T’slect of T’Ruel.”
Colt recognized the latter name, having heard the name of the Goblin Empire back when he was a novice in the Knighthood. He desperately tried to recall everything he had ever learned about goblins, but precious little came to mind. He was fairly certain T’Ruel spanned much of Endyre, one of the western continents. As far as Colt knew, no goblin had been seen in Continae for centuries.
“But you were referring to Eliot Borrom, were you not?” the goblin prince continued. “Rest assured, he is nowhere near this wretched island.”
“What do the goblins want with Capricon?” Klye asked.
The two men would be more than a match for the wounded goblin should he try to escape, so Colt was content to let the interrogation proceed.
T’slect sighed dramatically. “The lifespans of humans and goblins are comparable, and yet mankind has such a short memory. Hundreds of years have passed, and yet we goblins have never forgotten our first clash with the humans of the eastern lands. We underestimated your resourcefulness and fortitude back then, but we are a cunning and patient people. The time for our reprise is at hand.”
“So this is about revenge?” Klye asked. “Revenge from before any of us were even born?”
The goblin prince gave a dark chuckle. “It is more than mere vengeance that guides our actions. We fight…we conquer…because it is our destiny. We are the chosen. Upsinous, greatest of the gods, has promised us domination over the lesser races. One day, all of Altaerra will serve us and, through us, serve Upsinous.”
“T’Ruel is no match for Continae and the Alliance of Nations,” Colt promised.
“Ah, but we have learned from our mistakes,” T’slect said.
If the wounded goblin prince was at all concerned that he was exposed, outnumbered, and without hope of escape, he showed no sign of it. All of his attention seemed caught up in what he was saying.
“The armies of T’Ruel do not engage in combat when we cannot utterly trounce our foes. We favor tactics that ensure our victory, never taking on a force that has a chance of prevailing. Humans often mistake our cunning for cowardice, but in the end, it matters little. Silly notions like honor and decency have never inhibited the goblin race.
“Rather than suffer the staggering losses and casualties that would inevitably result from a full-scale war with the Continae, T’Ruel patiently waits and grows stronger while you humans wage your civil war. Only after Continae destroys itself and the Alliance dies with it, will T’Ruel’s legions pour in and pick up the pieces…and this island will be our base of operations.”
“But in the meantime, you pull the strings of our government from the Superian throne,” Klye added. “You are responsible for the Knighthood’s crimes.”
T’slect shrugged, and even though he remained in human guise, Colt could only see him as he the gray-skinned creature he had seen through Chrysaal-rûn’s blade. It was all he could do to keep from plunging the crystal sword into T’slect’s heart.
And yet Colt needed answers to the myriad questions swimming in his head.
“You’ve been playing the Knights and the Renegades against each other this whole time,” Colt said. “If it weren’t for the goblins, there never would have been a rebellion.”
“You catch on quickly, my puppets, but we did not create the Renegades…not on our own,” T’slect said. “Not everyone was as eager to join an alliance with dwarves, midge, and ogres as the Kings of Continae were. The Alliance of Nations was a risky tactic to be sure. Many were looking for an excuse to hate the Alliance before the scroll was ever signed. Yes, you have been manipulated by us goblins, but it was your own selfish, violent tendencies that sparked the fires of rebellion.”
Colt could still hear the sounds of battle behind him as Knights and Renegades continued to wage their pointless battle.
“And you Knights are no better than the Renegades,” T’slect told him. “First, you deny the existence of a problem while the rebels gain formidable strength. Then, rather than parleying, you sharpen your swords instead of your wits. You cower before your beloved prince, doing his bidding at the cost of your precious honor. In that way, humans and goblins are very alike. The first thing a goblin soldier is taught is to never question authority.
“You humans may hide behind an exterior of civility, but your own suspicions and prejudices proved a far better weapon against the Alliance than any war machine we could have fashioned.”
Colt realized he was trembling when he saw the crystal sword shaking out before him. He hated T’slect, but he hated the truth of his words even more. Colt narrowed his eyes, suddenly wary. “Why are you telling us all of this? Now that we know the truth, your plans are foiled.”
Before Colt could react, the goblin prince threw out his free hand, and a wave of dark smoke billowed from his fingers. Colt swung the crystal sword out before him, but the goblin was already out of reach, lingering somewhere within the dense cloud of smoke. Beside him, Klye Tristan lashed out with a dagger, but they were both attacking blindly.
“This isn’t good,” Klye muttered.
T
win beams of violet light crackled forth from the swelling cloud and slammed into them, sending Commander and Renegade Leader flying across the room. They hit the ground heavily. Colt’s armor had absorbed most of the blast, but Klye wasn’t as well protected and did not immediately rise. His eyes scanning the black smoke for signs of T’slect, Colt hurried over to where Klye lay and helped the man to his feet.
“Did I neglect to mention that I am a shaman as well as a prince?” came T’slect’s mocking voice from within the smoke.
“What in Abaddon is going on here?”
Colt recognized the gruff voice as Cholk’s even before he turned to find the dwarf and the female Renegade regarding their respective leaders in bewilderment. The two warriors were squared off and, judging by their condition, they had been hacking at each for the past few minutes.
“Stop fighting each other,” Colt ordered, stepping between them.
“We’ve been duped all along. He’s the true enemy!” Klye indicated the prince, who had just emerged from the dark haze, with the tip of his knife. “He’s been playing us against each other. He’s a goblin in disguise.”
“And he’s a wizard too,” Colt added.
The woman looked like she didn’t know what to make of the news, but Cholk wasted no time in trying to figure it out.
“A goblin,” he spat. “Dwarves and goblins have shared a mutual hatred since the beginning of time. He’s no wizard, Colt. He’s a vuudu priest. He gets his powers from Upsinous, God of Deception and Greed.”
With a deafening shout, Cholk charged past Colt, heading straight for the goblin prince. Colt didn’t know whether to stop the dwarf or join him. Everything was happening too fast. He needed time to sort it all out, time to construct a battle plan against this new foe.
T’slect muttered harsh-sounding words in an unfamiliar tongue and waved a hand out before him, sweeping it across his body. The dwarf raised his shield and ran onward. He fully expected to see a wild conflagration engulf his brave friend, but the flames never came.
Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) Page 45