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

by David Michael Williams

  Dark Lily had seriously considered killing Commander Ralz and the Stranger. Yet something in the young man’s eyes had told her that she would be wiser to accept the job and track down the two rogue knights.

  As with the spell book itself, Dark Lily had sensed a great power residing within the Stranger. Still, if the mysterious young man double-crossed her after she claimed the rogue knights’ heads, she would not hesitate to unleash all of her battle magic at the bastard.

  The thought of merely holding a spell book written by the legendary Braiseph Harrow made her head spin. Not only was the archmage renowned for his war wizardry, but also for his interest in portals, a mostly unexplored area of the arcane arts. If Dark Lily could master the manipulation of space and distances, she would certainly become the greatest assassin of her age.

  With Braiseph Harrow’s spells in her possession, no one could hide from her.

  She fell asleep with images of herself opening and closing portals with ease, materializing behind her victims and striking before they knew she was there. It was a lot like becoming invisible, but not nearly as taxing, she imagined. Then, after the kill, it would take little more than a thought to return her to her employer and collect her reward.

  And to think, all she had to do was find and kill two knights…

  She awoke early the next day, eager to complete her assignment. Her first spell of the day was an incantation that altered her appearance. Unlike some wizards, Dark Lily did not tamper with her looks overmuch. She knew for a fact that her mentor, the wizard who had taken her on as an apprentice many years ago, used his magic to maintain a handsome and youthful air.

  While the wizardess could make herself appear as beautiful as she cared to, Dark Lily didn’t want the attention that came with looking like a goddess. The spell affected her garb mostly, changing her shadowy gown into the clothing a laundress or seamstress was wont to wear. It took hardly any extra effort to erase a wrinkle or two in the process.

  Once she reached the nearest marketplace, she discovered gaining information about the local Renegades was not to be at all challenging. Everyone was talking about how the mayor’s daughter and her Renegades had fought a battle against the city guards in the Square as well as a jailbreak for which the Renegades were also being blamed.

  There was something about pirates too, but she was more interested in the rumors about a rogue knight who had recently escaped the mayor’s clutches. But no one seemed to know where the rogue knights or Leslie Beryl, the city’s Renegade Leader, were hiding.

  Eavesdropping was getting her nowhere, so she decided to head back to the tavern-lined streets near the northern harbor. Barkeepers had a habit of dispensing secrets in exchange for delicious promises she never kept. She was on the fringes of a large marketplace when her ears caught some words that made her pause.

  “I know you’re a Renegade sympathizer. You will tell me where I can find Leslie Beryl.”

  Dark Lily quickly spotted the speaker, an old man. He held his face close to the man he was addressing, a merchant who was selling earthen pots from a small stand. Dark Lily positioned herself so that she could walk up behind the old man without being seen.

  “I don’t know where Leslie is,” merchant replied calmly. “I have seen her only once in my life.”

  As she approached the curious scene, she looked past the old man and into the eyes of the merchant. They were glazed over. And he had spoken in a monotone. The merchant was clearly ensorcelled.

  The old man cursed, but before he could resume his interrogation, Dark Lily tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around with a speed that defied his age and scrutinized her with a suspicious glare.

  “What do you want?” he growled.

  “Apparently,” she began, “I want what you want…or, rather, who you want. Leslie Beryl?”

  The old man’s frown deepened. “You must have misheard me, miss. I’m looking for my niece, Liza Barrow.”

  “I’m no fool. I know you are a wizard, old man, so there is no use pretending otherwise.”

  Still scowling, the elderly mage squinted at her. Likely, he was trying to see through the illusion she had cast upon herself, which, as a fellow spell-caster, he might have sensed. “Who are you? What do you want from me, woman?”

  As he spoke, a gnarled hand drifted to a pouch that hung from his belt.

  “Be calm,” she said, sparing a glance at the merchant, who continued to stare straight ahead in a stupor. “I merely want to know why you are looking for Leslie Beryl. I have a need to speak with the woman, you see. She has some information I wish to have, and so if you seek the Renegade Leader in hopes of doing her harm, I should want a moment to speak with her before you get to your business. Maybe we could even work together.”

  She had no intention of allying herself with the elderly wizard, but she had to get him talking. Meanwhile, his right hand continued to inch toward his pouch. All right, she thought, so much for the easy way.

  “You are looking for the rogue Knights of Superius, aren’t you?” she asked.

  The rage that twisted his visage told her she was right. The wizard drew a thin, silver wand from his belt and pointed it at her. Then, shrieking out the arcane syllables that triggered the talisman’s magic, he sent a volley of dark light directly at her.

  But Dark Lily was already casting a spell of her own, and the wand’s black bursts were absorbed by an invisible sphere that suddenly surrounded her.

  “Did they promise you the spell book of Braiseph Harrow?” she taunted, bracing herself against the concussive blasts that shook the solid air around her.

  Passersby screamed and fled the area. Mindless of the pandemonium he was causing, the old mage kept up his barrage. Her arcane shield was weakening, and the dark explosions were coming closer and closer.

  She removed a dagger from a sheath hidden in her boot and threw the weapon at her adversary. Because of the violet explosions, she couldn’t see the old mage, but she didn’t have to. Like the man’s wand, her dagger was enchanted. All she had to do was picture a nearby target in her mind, and the dagger would do the rest.

  The blossoms of black lightening suddenly ceased. The elderly mage slumped to the ground, her dagger planted deep in his chest. She knew better than to go too near the dying wizard. All of his pouches and magical treasures were likely booby-trapped. The constables would arrive any minute, but she was not about to leave the battlefield empty-handed.

  Scooping up the wand, which had rolled a safe distance from the dead wizard, Dark Lily stashed it in her boot and gave her dagger a regretful look before hurrying away from the market.

  While she was loath to draw attention to herself, she was pleased to be rid of a rival. She decided she had fought well, even if she greatly preferred surprise attacks to open confrontations.

  Yet she was concerned about what the presence of the old mage portended. It stood to reason that there were other assassins—magically gifted or otherwise—trying to accomplish the same goal as she. The Stranger may have tricked her by withholding some fact, but Dark Lily intended to overcome any obstacle, even if she had to kill her peers along the way.

  No matter the cost, the spell book of Braiseph Harrow would be hers.

  * * *

  Klye’s first priority was to find some food for the band. As much as he hated to linger so near Port Town, he had little choice, for without sustenance, they might as well surrender to the authorities right then and there.

  According to Scout, a village by the name of Pillars lay almost directly to the south of their camp. They would have to get their provisions there.

  Because Port Town’s guardsmen had confiscated the majority of their funds when they arrested Ragellan, Klye’s had to convince everyone to donate whatever coins they had to the common good of the company. It hadn’t amounted to much, but Klye hoped it would be enough to buy some jerky and trail-bread.

  Since fewer travelers would elicit less attention, Klye decided he and Othello would go
alone. He left Ragellan in charge of the rest of the band, who would all wait in the meadow until they returned. As the Renegade Leader and the archer forged a path through the woods, keeping the setting sun to their left, they kept a sharp lookout for game as well as men. Othello had brought his bow and a quiver full of arrows in the event they ran into either.

  Klye glanced at Othello, who stared straight ahead at the crop of small houses and cabins through the thinning line of trees. He felt at ease beside the taciturn forester, for although Othello was not much of a conversationalist, he was a very valuable member of the band. When compared to a bitter knight or unpredictable pirates—not to mention Plake—Othello was the least of Klye’s worries.

  Up ahead, Pillars resembled a number of small communities Klye, Ragellan, and Horcalus had passed through on their flight from the Citadel Dungeon. In fact, it reminded Klye of the village where they had met Othello. If Klye believed in the gods—which he didn’t—he would have attributed their meeting to some meddling deity.

  Klye and the recently liberated knights had taken refuge from a storm in the only inn of a quaint Superian town. To this day, Klye didn’t know the name of the settlement. He had noticed Othello immediately, for he was clad in buckskin clothes and eating all by himself at a table near the fire.

  But the tall forester was not alone for long. After a few minutes, a group of men at the bar, who, from their raucous laughter and boisterous boasts, must have been slaking their thirst for the past few hours, left their seats and crowded around Othello.

  From what Klye could glean from the one-sided conversation that flowed from the thick-tongued men, Othello was a hermit who lived in the woods where the men, woodcutters all, plied their trade. Apparently, they had had a few run-ins with the forester, and it was clear that woodcutters did not care for the way he “prowled around the forest.” Moreover, the forester’s cabin lay in the path of the woodcutter’s advancement, and they threatened to chop down his house with him inside if he didn’t leave the area immediately.

  Klye didn’t see who made the first move, but now, after having spent more than a month in Othello’s company, the Renegade Leader was inclined to believe one of the drunken woodsmen had tried to push Othello off his chair. The next thing Klye knew, there was a dead man on the floor, his throat slashed by Othello’s large knife.

  Moving with incredible speed, Othello had then jumped to his feet and drew an arrow from his quiver. The other woodcutters came forward, and the archer let fly three arrows, two of which made fatal entries—one in a windpipe, the other to the chest. The third missile sailed harmless up at the ceiling, for one of the remaining woodcutter had gotten close enough to tackle Othello by that time.

  Maybe it was Klye’s respect for the archer’s audacity that prompted him to join the fight. He knew that the forester wouldn’t survive the scuffle without help, for those who had stayed at the bar were now getting to their feet to help their friends. They outnumbered Othello twelve to one.

  Ragellan and a reluctant Horcalus followed his lead, and moments later, Klye, the knights, and Othello were fleeing the inn with a mob of angry woodcutters at their heels. The men gave chase for a more than a mile, until the cold rain quelled the fires of their drunken rage. Klye introduced himself and the knights to the forester, who then told them his name.

  When Klye invited Othello to join his band, Horcalus had not looked at all pleased, and the younger knight’s face had curdled even more when the archer accepted his offer.

  “They will likely burn down my cabin before the night is through. There is nothing for me here anymore,” Othello had replied.

  “If we hurry, we might get there first, and you could salvage some of your belongings,” Klye had suggested.

  Draping his longbow over one shoulder, Othello said, “I have everything I need.”

  Now, as they walked past Pillars’ modest residences, their chimneys seducing him with the smells of roasted meat and freshly baked bread, Klye’s mind returned to the present. A large, single-story building made of logs stood near the center of the village.

  With the barking of dogs outside mixing with muffled human voices inside, Klye and Othello entered Pillars’ only tavern.

  Passage III

  The first tavern Dark Lily came upon was nearly empty, but when she noticed one of the patrons wore a red-and-white uniform, she decided to stay. She had no idea what the three golden stripes denoted, but even a low-ranking soldier might know something of value.

  “Is this seat taken?” she asked in a sickeningly sweet tone, all but batting her eyelashes. Some things, like capturing the attention of males, did not require an arcane touch.

  “It’s all yours,” the man replied.

  He introduced himself between hiccups, and as luck would have it, he was Port Town’s Captain of the Guard. Better yet, judging by his foul breath and the way he unabashedly admired her bosom, Harrod Brass was quite drunk.

  It took only a few well-aimed questions to provoke Brass into a surly tirade.

  “I’m beginning to think the mayor’s gone completely nuts,” he told her in a conspiratorial whisper that was loud enough for all in the bar to hear. “I mean, the Renegades in the city should be the Guards’ top priority, but Crofton Beryl can’t get his mind off these two rogue knights from Superius.”

  Dark Lily coughed, trying to catch her breath after that last swig of beer ended up down the wrong pipe.

  “Rogue knights, you say? How dreadful!” She brought a hand up to cover her heart in mock terror. “Why do you think the mayor is so preoccupied with them?”

  Harrod Brass turned sideways in his chair and said, “Well, there’s a reward for their capture for one thing. But I think there’s more to it. I think there’s more to the mayor than meets the eye, if you know what I mean.”

  Dark Lily did not, but that didn’t stop her from nodding and affecting a shy smile.

  “It’s like he’s taking orders from someone…or someone’s providing him new information everyday…and new orders. He’s so self-contradictorary…self-contradictionary…self…he doesn’t make any sense! Just yesterday he said that the knights were to be returned to Port Town so he could personally arrange for their transport back to Continae, but today he says it doesn’t matter who gets ’em. Oh, and before he wanted ’em alive, but now he doesn’t care if they’re alive or dead. It just doesn’t make sense…”

  He punctuated his harangue by draining another stein of beer. After wiping his mouth with a soiled sleeve, he added, “And if he’s not planning on using the Three Guards to get the knights, well, who else is there?”

  Harrod Brass continued to ramble, but the assassin only half-listened. Her head was spinning, and it had nothing to do with alcohol. She was certain the Stranger and the mayor of Port Town were connected, but did Crofton Beryl know about the bounty hunters the Knights of Superius had hired to kill Ragellan and Horcalus?

  Or did the mayor have his own secret weapons?

  The captain swayed in his chair, barely keeping his balance. It wouldn’t be long before he passed out. If she wanted to ask any more questions, she would have to act quickly.

  “Suppose the rogue knights have fled the city,” she said, using a gentle hand to guide the man’s face so that he was looking at her, not off into empty space. “After all the trouble they caused, they would want to get far from Port Town. But where do you suppose they went…which direction, I mean?”

  Brass blinked repeatedly before responding. “If I knew that, I’d quit the Guards an’ find ’em myself. Then I’d use the reward money to buy a nice house and servants who’d heed my every beck and call.”

  Swallowing her impatience with another gulp of ale, she added, “But if you had to guess where they went, what would you say?”

  “I dunno. They might’ve gone to the Port of Balancia. It’s big enough that they could hide out there…and there aren’t any Superian Knights there, unlike Token. And, of course, they wouldn’t want to go too near
either Fort Honor or Fort Royal or Fort Miloásterôn.”

  Dark Lily recognized none of the names. She knew virtually nothing about Capricon.

  Brass placed his hand on hers and slurred, “Hey, yer glass is empty. Lemme buy you another. We’ll toast to the rogue knights. They’re the ones payin’ for it, after all!”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  The captain pulled a small leather purse from his breast pocket. “One of the knights had this on him when we arrested him at Oars and Omens. There are still a few coins left…”

  Dark Lily flashed Brass a pretty smile, barely able to contain her elation. If the coin purse had truly belonged to Ragellan or Horcalus, she could use it to find the knights.

  “Yes, I think I’ll have another,” she told Brass, leaning back in her chair.

  He ordered two more glasses of beer, and she pretended to listen to his stories until he came to rest his head in his hands. Seconds later, he was snoring contentedly. She pulled the leather pouch out of his pocket without disturbing him and promptly left the tavern.

  In an empty alleyway, Dark Lily produced a vial from one of the many deep pockets within her robe. Reciting the words to a finder spell, she sprinkled the clear liquid over the coin purse. Immediately, she felt a tugging sensation and started walking in the direction she was being pulled.

  Once she was far from Port Town’s gates, she procured another vial from her robe and brought it up to her lips. She quaffed the potion, which would enhance her movements, giving her the speed of a wildcat. With any luck, she would find the rogue knights before sundown.

  * * *

  Arthur hadn’t slept well, so when his turn came to take watch, he felt more tired than he had when they first reached the meadow. While he was happy to do his part for the team—and happy that he had been paired up with Scout, not Plake—Arthur soon found that keeping watch was more a matter of trying to stay awake than anything else.