Williams, D M - Renegade Chronicles [Collection 1-3]

by David Michael Williams

  Ragellan wondered what honest sailors would need with all those weapons. He was not too concerned, however, for Stalwart Mariner’s mates had sometimes carried curved swords and daggers. Maybe these men and women were pirate-hunters, warriors who made their money by dispatching the various clans of pirates that roamed the Aden Ocean.

  Or perhaps he and Horcalus were now surrounded by one of those very clans.

  The two knights were about twenty paces from the bar when Ragellan caught sight of Plake. In his left hand, he held a tall stein that overflowed with white foam. He appeared to be talking with one of the mariners, laughing and throwing dice, as though he had been the black-haired, stubble-chinned sailor’s friend for years.

  Ragellan breathed a sigh that simultaneously expressed his relief and frustration. With renewed vigor, he began pushing his way up to the bar. Horcalus was right behind him. They were but ten paces from Plake when the inn’s main entrance was kicked open and the common room was thrown into chaos.

  * * *

  Arthur was more than a little surprised when he saw the three battleships sail past the harbor, hugging the coastline as they continued southward. He was even more surprised when the harbormaster announced that all the dockhands were freed from their duties for the remainder of the day.

  He looked around in confusion. The sun had only just begun its decent from the center of the sky. As much as he hated his work, Arthur was, after two months on the job, accustomed to the routine. Something was surely amiss.

  “What’s going on?” he asked Two-Hands Henry, who always seemed to know what was happening in the city.

  A small crowd of dockhands began to gather around Two-Hands, though Arthur recognized only a few of them.

  “Those coastal guard ships we saw go by are newly returned from Fort Honor. They’re goin’ after some pirate ships that were spotted t’ the south of the city last night. The guards prob’ly sailed all night t’ get here and chase ’em away.”

  One of the other dockhands snorted. “I heard that the two pirate ships’ve already gone, takin’ their chances with the B’lancia guards further south. DeGrange is wastin’ his time. They’re long gone,” Clyde Dovely assured them.

  “Naw,” argued Two-Hands. “Word is, some of the pirates’re already in the city. The ships wouldn’t’ve left without ’em. Honor among thieves, an’ all that. The guards’re clearin’ the docks because they expect there’s gonna be a scuffle.”

  While the other dockhands grew excited at the predication, with some of them placing bets, Two-Hands’ expression remained matter-of-fact. Arthur felt his heartbeat quicken.

  Pulling out a flash from somewhere, a giant of a man—dubbed Ogre by his friends—said, “Can’t say I care who wins. I only hope Lieutenant Brass gets what’s comin’ to ’im. I sure do hate that guy.”

  “Brass won’t be there,” Two-Hands told Ogre with a sneer. “DeGrange’ll lead the soldiers while Brass waits for the smoke t’ clear ’fore he comes out of hidin’.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Ogre. There ain’t gonna be no fight,” Dovely said. “Them pirates’re half-way to B’lancia by now, you mark my words.”

  Ogre nonchalantly socked Dovely in the arm, which almost knocked the smaller man to ground. The group of dockworkers guffawed boisterously at his expense, but Dovely knew better than to physically retaliate against Ogre. Dovely got to his feet and muttered something under his breath. Ogre took another swig before passing the flask to Two-Hands.

  “You don’t know nothin’, Dove,” said Two-Hands with a grimace, the contents of Ogre’s flask dripping in his beard. “There’s gonna be a brawl today, or I’m the King of Superius. Ain’t that right, Spook?”

  Arthur mumbled something incoherent and didn’t even notice as the flask passed him by, sparing him the obligation of taking a drink—or pretending to. His attention was drawn to Captain DeGrange, who was giving orders to the harbormaster and his pier guards on the other side of the wharves. The Captain of the Three Guards was in full uniform, looking less like the man who had escorted him home last night and more like a debonair swashbuckler from a bard’s tale. The curved blade of DeGrange’s sword shone brightly in the sunlight, and even the bronze hilt gleamed as though it had been recently polished.

  Arthur watched as Lieutenant Brass appeared on the scene, directing DeGrange’s attention to something down the main road, back in the direction he had come. Brass, too, looked more professional than usual. Like Captain DeGrange, he wore a black, three-cornered hat that Arthur had never seen either man wear before.

  Lieutenant Brass was no stranger to the northern harbor. In fact, the Guard’s second-in-command delighted in tormenting the dockhands. Once, after being pushed too far by Brass’s cruel words, a fed-up worker had stood up to him, inventing his own colorful vulgarities when he had used up all of the well-known curses used by dockhands and sailors alike. Irate beyond reason, the man had even pushed Brass, sending the officer back a few paces.

  Brass had skewered the man on the spot, and rumor had it that the mayor hadn’t done a thing to reprimand the lieutenant afterward.

  “We oughtta stick around and see what’s goin’ on. This could be more fun than drinkin’,” Arthur heard Clyde Dovely say.

  The other dockhands agreed, and then they must have wandered off somewhere because he didn’t hear them anymore. Arthur continued to watch DeGrange, Brass, and the harbormaster, though they were too far away for him to make out what they were saying. He found that his body had become tense, though he did relax a little when the Captain and Lieutenant made their way into the city.

  It wasn’t Brass’s presence alone that made him so nervous. Even though he had decided that Captain DeGrange was a good man, there was something about the red-and-white uniforms of the guards that kept him on edge. The law frightened him, especially the law in Port Town. Whenever he saw a pier guard or city guard headed in his direction, he imagined they were coming to arrest him.

  He thought that maybe it was time to move on, to leave Capricon altogether.

  Arthur remained at the docks even after all of the other dockhands had cleared out. Staring at a nearby ship, he considered sneaking aboard and leaving Port Town, with its pirates, Renegades, and cruel mayor, far behind.

  * * *

  Klye listened patiently as Leslie interrogated Scout. While he was convinced that Leslie and Scout were close friends—and maybe even more than friends—Leslie was suddenly all about business. Her voice had lost its causal tone, and Scout answered her questions as succinctly as possible, allowing himself to be interrupted when Leslie deemed it necessary to direct him in a different direction.

  Klye could hardly believe that this was the same woman who had been on the edge of tears not an hour ago.

  And what was all this talk of pirates? He wanted to ask Leslie why she was so preoccupied with the subject but decided not to draw attention to himself. Perhaps she feared the pirates would destroy Port Town, burn it to the ground—a legitimate concern, Klye conceded. Silently, he watched watch Leslie Beryl, studying her serious expression and decidedly fierce green eyes.

  His speculating came to an abrupt end with two quick, loud raps at the door.

  Crinkling her brow, Leslie said, “Come in.”

  Resisting the urge to draw his boot knife, Klye twisted in his chair to see who it was. Scout did the same, though the hooded Renegade did reach for the knife at his belt.

  A woman burst into the room, not bothering to close the door behind her. She was out of breath.

  “Maeve? What is it?” Leslie asked.

  The woman took a moment to catch her breath. While Maeve—whoever she was—did not wear any weapons openly, there were countless places for her to hide blades of varying lengths in the long, billowy coat she wore.

  Like Leslie, Maeve was dressed more like a man than a woman. She was taller than Leslie, but she was also slimmer and had less of a figure. If not for Maeve’s long eyelashes and full lips, he might have mistaken
her for a man.

  “The pirates have been spotted,” she told Leslie. “Three coastal guard ships are heading to where the two pirate vessels are moored, and the city guards are planning to surround the inn.”

  Leslie let off a string of curses that would have made a sailor proud. Scout looked as confused as Klye felt.

  “I don’t get it,” Klye finally said. “Why do you care about the fate of these pirates? If nothing else, they’ll take the pressure off you and your Renegades…and reduce the number of city guards in the process.”

  “It’s not that simple, Klye,” Leslie said, rising to her feet. She wore a slightly curved blade at her hip. “I was in the middle of negotiating with this particular gang of pirates. They were going to help me finally get to the bottom of my father’s plans.”

  “How?” Klye wondered aloud, but Scout was louder.

  “You’ve been dealing with pirates?” he demanded, his voice cracking on the last word. “When did this come about? Why didn’t you tell me about it?” The last part was accompanied by a glance at Maeve.

  Leslie sighed. “I don’t have time to explain it all to you now, Scout. You had already left Port Town by the time the pirates arrived. It’s not like they sent me any word of their coming.”

  “They sought you out?” Scout asked.

  Leslie chewed at her lower lip. “Not exactly. Look, Scout, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it, but I wasn’t even sure the pirates were going to come. I acted on my own, without addressing any of the other Renegades.

  “Maeve has since presented me with an unending list of the disadvantages of working with pirates, but if you think of anything she missed, I’ll be glad to listen to your concerns later. Right now, we have to warn the pirates that are still in Port Town.”

  Scout opened his mouth as though to further protest, but then he drew his lips into a mischievous grin and said, “What do you need me to do, Les?”

  Leslie flashed the man a brief smile before asking, “Maeve, when are the guards going to ambush Oars and Omens?”

  “What?” Klye said, though he must have misheard the woman.

  Maeve shrugged. “I don’t know. The guards are already gathering. They might attack in an hour, or they could be there already.”

  “Did you say Oars and Omens? The inn near the northern harbor?” Klye asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

  “We have to warn them,” Leslie said. “They may be pirates, but I brought them here. They’re my responsibility.”

  “I’ll go,” Maeve volunteered.

  “No,” Leslie argued. “They’re a suspicious lot. They’ve already dealt with me. I’ll go myself.”

  “Then I’m coming with,” Scout insisted, jumping to his feet.

  Leslie nodded, but Maeve put her hands on her hips. “If you insist upon going in person, Leslie, at least allow me to assemble a proper entourage.”

  “There’s no time,” Leslie said. “You and Scout will have to be enough, not that I can’t protect myself.”

  “Hold on!” Klye shouted as he stood up. “Did you say the pirates were staying at Oars and Omens?”

  Leslie blinked, as though noticing Klye for the first time. “Oh. Yeah. Why?”

  Now it was Klye’s turn to swear. “That’s where my Renegades are staying.”

  “Looks like you’ll be coming along then,” Scout said, and Klye wanted nothing more than to slap the man’s silly grin right off his face.

  “Bad news.”

  Klye, Leslie, Scout, and Maeve all turned at the sound of a new voice. Elezar stood in the doorway, his face as white as his robe.

  “City guardsmen have positioned themselves around the Cathedral,” he said. “They’re not doing anything yet, but I’m certain they were sent to watch the church.”

  “So we’re stuck here?” Scout asked.

  “No,” Klye and Leslie replied in unison.

  The room grew silent as the five of them stared at one another, trying to come up with a plan.

  “I got it,” Scout said with a snap of his fingers. “We’ll take the sewers. There has to be a way into them from down here.”

  “Yes,” Elezar replied after a moment of thought. There’s a grate behind the stairs, if I’m not mistaken. I don’t know where it leads though…”

  “I’ve been in Port Town’s sewers before. I’ll figure it out,” Scout promised. “Come on, let’s get going.”

  The hooded Renegade pushed past Maeve and Elezar into the hallway.

  “I must return to the upper levels lest anyone grow suspicious.” Elezar gave them an apologetic look before disappearing back down the hall.

  “I have an idea.” Leslie grabbed a gray cloak from somewhere under her desk and shoved the letter she had been writing into a drawer. Covering herself with the coat, she said, “Maeve, I want you to try to sneak out of the Cathedral’s ground level without being seen. If you are followed, try to lose your tail and head for Oars and Omens. If we don’t make it to the inn, it’s up to you to get the pirates out of there.”

  Giving Leslie a steely look, Maeve hesitated only a second before agreeing. “Don’t do anything foolish!” she called over her shoulder as she ran down the hall. She took the stairs two at a time and was gone. Klye didn’t know if she had directed her warning at Leslie or Scout, whom she had passed in the corridor.

  They found Scout crouched near a circular drain behind the stairs. He put his fingers through the holes and pulled upward with all his might. The grate didn’t budge. The hooded Renegade then used his knife to trace all around the grating, hoping to disrupt whatever grime had bonded the steel to the stone floor around it.

  His next attempt moved the grate a fraction of an inch. With Klye’s help, the third try yielded success. Setting the drain cover to the side, Scout immediately lowered himself down into the dark, reeking hole. Leslie hesitated.

  One hand on his stomach and other outstretched before him, Klye bowed and said, “Ladies first.”

  Passage VIII

  When the men in red-and-white uniforms began filing in through the inn’s main entrance as well as from the kitchen, all sound ceased in the common room. Plake’s first thought was that they were here for him and the other Renegades.

  Klye must have gotten caught and spilled the beans, the rancher concluded with a frown.

  Plake was already considering the best place to hide when one of the guards—a familiar-looking man who wore a triangular hat and yellow tassels on his shoulders—drew his sword and announced, “I am Roland DeGrange, Captain of the Three Guards. The inn is surrounded. Your ships have abandoned you. There is no hope of escape. Surrender is your only option.”

  At first Plake was relieved. They were not here for him. But one look at his new drinking buddy—a friendly chap who had introduced himself as Crooker—told him that he wasn’t out of danger yet.

  Crooker’s hand moved to the hilt of the curved sword hanging from his belt.

  The man on the other side of Crooker, a rough-looking fellow with a patch over one eye, drew his own weapon and shouted, “The Pirates of the Fractured Skull are no cowards. You’ll not take us so easily!”

  The volume of supporting shouts and cries nearly deafened Plake, as just about everybody in the common room rallied to that one pirate’s call. A few frightened patrons scrambled toward the exit and were escorted from the inn by guards. But everyone else, apparently, was a pirate.

  He thought he saw Ragellan, but then the mass of pirates surged forward, and the knight was lost from view.

  * * *

  “Watch your step,” Scout warned, though his warning was all but impossible to obey.

  The sewers were nearly pitch black and slick with moisture, moss, and mold. Once they got out from under the Cathedral, sunlight would filter down through the various grates in the streets, providing a little bit of illumination.

  Truth be told, Scout had only been in Port Town’s sewers once before, and that was years ago. He tried to remember how he had end
ed up down there, but one adventure always seemed to flow right into another. His missions for the Renegades and earlier capers all became muddled together in his mind.

  When he finally reached a place where some light streamed down from a hole in the stone ceiling, he called back to his companions. “Are you guys still back there?”

  “Yeah, we’re here,” Klye replied.

  Scout wondered if the Renegade Leader was always so terse. If so, it was bound to be a long and boring trip to Fort Faith. He did have to give the man some credit, though. Not once had Klye complained about walking through the sewers. Then again, Klye did not seem to be much of a talker at all.

  “How much father is it?” Leslie asked.

  “Not too far,” Scout estimated, “though I suppose it depends on how far you think ‘far’ is.”

  “Is it just my imagination, or is the water rising?”

  “Your imagination,” Scout said. “But it’s a good thing that it hasn’t rained much lately. Otherwise, we would find ourselves knee-deep…or worse…in this muck.

  “But we probably wouldn’t have had to swim, even in the most extreme circumstances,” he added. “I mean, the water can’t get too deep up here on this lip. Remember, these sewers were built by the dwarves who lived here long before Port Town existed, when this island was their colony, back before Glenning invaded it and won it for us humans.”

  “He’s a walking history tome,” he heard Klye say to Leslie.

  Smiling to himself, Scout said, “Can I help it if I’m intelligent?”

  Scout had lived in Capricon all his life and had never left the island in all of his twenty-two years. When he and his father used to travel together, Gaereth Aegis would tell his son about the island’s history.

  Elves had been the first inhabitants of Capricon, long before the first dwarf arrived. Scout had met a few elves—every once in a while, one would come to Port Town to see the Cathedral—and several half-elves resided in the city. But those elves were all from Ristidae, which was not the true elven homeland, so they seldom had the answers to Scout’s many questions.