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

by David Michael Williams

  “And they say wizards do not have a sense of humor,” Calhoun laughed.

  Shek’s smile broadened. “They say the same about Knights.”

  * * *

  By the time they reached the temple, Klye felt as though he might collapse at any moment. After telling Scout and the others to hang back, Klye and Ragellan continued forward until they reached the last of the tall evergreens. From there, the Renegade Leader studied the isolated shrine.

  Compared to Aladon’s Cathedral, the Temple of Mystel was a modest structure, but what it lacked in stained-glass windows, vaulted ceilings, and towering steeples, it made up for in the beauty of simplicity. Looking more like an oversized cottage than the house of a deity, the square-shaped building crested a great mound of earth that rose majestically from the flat land around it.

  It was truly a welcoming sight.

  “Finally,” Plake groaned, walking right up behind Klye and Ragellan. He craned his neck to look over Klye’s shoulder. “What now?”

  “We should send someone to tell the healers about our situation.”

  “Who’re you going to send?” Plake asked.

  Without taking his eyes off the temple, Klye said, “You.”

  Plake looked as though he were going to object, but to Klye’s astonishment, the rancher bit his lip, nodded, and tried to cover his scabbard with his shirt.

  “Leave your weapon,” Klye told him. “We don’t want to alarm the good healers any more than is necessary.”

  With a belligerent look in his eyes, Plake opened his mouth to argue, but again he complied. After exhaling a deep breath, he handed his sword over to the Renegade Leader. Wordlessly, the rancher turned and walked toward the hill.

  “What just happened?” Ragellan asked. “He must have hit his head harder than I thought.”

  A smile crept across Klye’s face. “I think we have Tristana to thank for taming Plake’s tongue, not the goblins. I may have my reservations about Lilac, but her presence seems to be doing wonders for Plake’s attitude.”

  Ragellan gave the Renegade Leader a dubious look. “You believe he is trying to impress the woman? Flirtation is his motivation?”

  Klye shrugged. “All I know is I’m not the only one who’s been keeping an eye on her.”

  “You are a far shrewder man than I have given you credit for.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  The two were silent, then, as they watched Plake approach the temple and knock on the door. Klye heard someone coming up from behind them and turned to find Pistol there.

  “You sent Plake?” he whispered, appraising Klye with an incredulous stare.

  “I figured if these healers are going to have a problem with our kind, we’re better off finding out sooner than later.”

  “So you sent Plake? Oh…I get it.”

  The round door swung open, revealing a figure wearing a light-blue robe. It appeared to be a woman, though Klye could not be sure because rays of the morning sun were blinding him.

  When Plake finished speaking and started walking back down the hill at an unhurried pace, Pistol said, “Seems to have gone well.”

  By that time, the rest of the band had maneuvered closer to the forest’s edge. Plake rejoined them moments later, all but puffing out his chest.

  “What did they say?” Klye asked.

  “She said we’re all welcome in the temple.”

  “Did you tell her we were Renegades?” Klye asked.

  “No,” Plake replied. “Was I supposed to?”

  Rolling his eyes, Klye said, “I’ll handle it.”

  As he approached the temple, a hysterical thought crossed his mind. What if his strength gave out before he reached the top of the hillock?

  I just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, he told himself, resurrecting the motto that had echoed through his head during their morning hike.

  He motioned for the others to follow. When he reached the door, he noted that the healer Plake had spoken to was now joined by a man. Both of them wore robes the color of robins’ eggs, but the man’s gown had white trim around the sleeves and collar.

  “I am Jalil Shenn, the overseer of this temple,” the man said. “And this is Sister Gloria,” he added, indicating the large woman beside him. “You are all welcome to stay with us, but tell me, friends, how many of you are there?”

  “Ten,” Klye told him, “but I have to tell you, we aren’t the simple travelers my companion might have implied.”

  Jalil Shenn’s smile broadened. “I am sure we will have plenty of time for you to tell me your story once you are fed and your injuries are mended.”

  The man gestured for the Renegades to enter, taking Klye by the arm and leading him through the front hall and then through what appeared to be a common lounging area. A few blue-clad priests were having a quiet conversation in one corner of the room.

  As he followed Jalil Shenn, Klye cast a few glances at the healer. He had a naturally friendly air that made Klye instantly suspicious. The Renegade Leader had always found that the nicest people were also the people who were most likely to stab you when you turned your back on their secret smiles. And priestly types had always made him uneasy.

  “I’m afraid we do not have any accommodations big enough for all ten of you, but we do have two large, adjacent rooms that are presently unoccupied.” Jalil opened a door and continued on until he reached a second one, which he also pushed open. “I will return shortly with my best healers. Please, place your sick friend on one of the beds.”

  Jalil Shenn disappeared around a corner at the end of the small corridor, leaving Klye to wonder about the healer’s true intentions. Oh well, he thought helplessly, it’s not as though we have much of a choice. He told Ragellan and Plake to take Horcalus into the first room. Lilac joined them without being asked.

  “The rest of you can wait in here.” He pointed to the second room the healer had shown him. “If there are any problems, fetch me immediately. Otherwise, do as the healers say. I don’t want any trouble.”

  “We’ll behave,” Pistol promised, walking past him and then plopping down sideways on one of the beds. “I’m sure even Plake’s too pooped to burn the place down.”

  Klye left Scout, Othello, Arthur, and the pirates and returned to the first room. It was large enough to hold four beds with room between them for two people to walk past each other without bumping shoulders. On the first bed lay Dominic Horcalus. The knight’s eyes fluttered open when Klye came into the room, but there was no recognition in them. He said something Klye couldn’t hear before returning to his uneasy sleep.

  Ragellan stood by Horcalus’s side. Lilac sat on the bed beside the feverish knight’s. Across the room, Plake lay with his hands behind his head, looking more comfortable than a cat curled up by the hearth. The remaining empty beds caught his eyes, but Klye quickly looked away and joined Ragellan.

  “I’m sure the healers will make him as good as new,” Klye assured him.

  Ragellan raised a dark eyebrow. “You have faith in the healers’ powers?”

  “I have no reason to doubt the healers’ skills,” Klye corrected.

  Jalil Shenn returned at that moment, along with four healers. Klye and Ragellan were ushered into beds of their own while two priestesses began assessing Horcalus’s condition. Lilac, unscathed as she was, took up position by the door.

  When Jalil took Klye’s right wrist and began counting to himself, the Renegade Leader slowly pulled his arm back and told the healer, “I haven’t suffered any serious injuries. With a few exceptions, my men mostly just need food and a safe place to rest.”

  “Which you will have,” Jalil replied. “My best cooks are already preparing a meal for you, and you have my solemn oath to Mystel herself that you may rest here without worry of persecution.”

  “Thank you, Mister Shenn, but—”

  “Please call me Jalil or Brother Shenn, if you prefer.”

  “We don’t have anything to gi
ve you in return for your generosity.”

  “Doing the goddess’s work is reward in itself.” Little creases appeared by his eyes as he favored Klye with another smile.

  Klye’s gaze followed Jalil as he stepped over to where the healers were rolling Horcalus onto his stomach. Brother Shenn was much younger than Elezar. Despite the patches of white hair above the healer’s ears, there was something in Jalil’s eyes that made him appear youthful. But by the way the other healers unquestioningly followed his directions, it was obvious Jalil Shenn was in charge at the temple.

  As the healers began examining the Renegades’ wounds, they softly whispered prayers to their goddess. Sometimes Klye could understand what they said—mostly, they thanked Mystel for her benevolent intervention and her kindness—but some of them seemed to chant in a different language, words that sounded so hauntingly familiar Klye thought he might understand their meaning if he only listened closer.

  Aside from their prayers, the priests and priestesses used poultices and salves of varying shapes, colors, and smells. It was in these natural curatives that Klye put his trust. If these people were more comfortable treating their patients while singing to an imaginary deity, so be it.

  Klye had seen magic before, including incantations that mended flesh and hastened the healing process, but he did not conclude, as did many, that these uncanny abilities were the gift of invisible giants.

  When Jalil Shenn returned to his bedside, Klye told him flatly, “We are Renegades.”

  “I know. Or, at least, I suspected as much.”

  “And you let us in anyway?”

  “We servants of Mystel lack the authority to choose who lives and who dies. We help all of the gods’ children when they need it.” When Klye continued to regard him skeptically, Jalil laughed and said, “Is it so hard for you to fathom that a man can take pleasure in helping others?”

  Before Klye could defend himself or apologize, Jalil Shenn told him the food would be ready soon and left.

  With a sigh, Klye leaned back on the bed and tried not to fall asleep.

  Passage IX

  When Lily was nowhere to be found the next morning, everyone grew suspicious.

  Regardless of the mysterious woman’s disappearance, Sir Selwyn McRae and his troupe departed from the fort at first light. The subcommander and his twenty Knights rode at a restrained pace, sending forth scouts in search for traps. While Sir Vincent Magmund had suggested that Lily might have gotten lost in the capacious fortress, McRae was convinced she had been a Renegade agent.

  He fully expected to encounter an ambush at any moment.

  It took the entire morning to traverse the road that blazed a path through the tall trees, connecting Fort Milo and the Temple of Mystel. McRae could sense his men’s frustration, not to mention the horses’ anxiousness to stretch their legs in a full gallop.

  When they reached the temple without incident, the subcommander remained cautious, dispatching scouts to search the woods for Renegades. He was eager for a confrontation and hoped a band of rebels would burst forth from their cover at any moment.

  The scouting party returned minutes later, however, and reported no one was sneaking about. One of the Knights, however, had found evidence that a small group had recently used a dirt trail that ended at the temple’s glade. The trampled grass indicated those same people had then climbed the hill and approached the healers’ abode.

  McRae knew the Renegades were already inside the Temple, and he cursed Lily for tricking him into thinking she had been trying to trick him.

  After ordering the bulk of his mounted men to remain behind on the road, McRae motioned for two men—Sir Duerot and another Knight whose name McRae could not recall—to follow him. The three of them dismounted and hastened up the hill to the temple. Upon reaching the door, McRae pounded a heavy fist upon the wooden portal.

  The door opened almost immediately, and McRae found himself face to face with a young man in a light blue robe.

  “Good day, Sir Knight,” he said, stepping out onto the small stoop and positioning himself squarely in front of McRae and his small entourage. “Do you seek the gift of the Healing Goddess?”

  Selwyn McRae had never been to Mystel’s Temple before. Fort Miloásterôn had its own surgeons. He had heard accounts of miraculous recoveries at the hands of the healers but was inclined to dismiss them as exaggerations.

  “We do not need any healing, thank you. What we seek is information.”

  The youth said nothing, patiently waiting for the Knight to continue.

  “I have reason to believe there are Renegades, including two rogue Knights of Superius, in the vicinity. My scouts have discovered signs they may have come through this way. Tell me, young man, have you seen hide or hair of these outlaws?”

  The boy gave a slight smile as he said, “The band of which you speak arrived this morning.”

  “The Renegades came to the temple?”

  “Yes, sir, and they are still within.”

  McRae coughed and did his best to peer past the young healer. “These men are dangerous. I recommend you step aside and allow us to take them into our custody.”

  But the boy did not budge. “If you wish to enter the temple, you must relinquish your weapons and armor at the door. No tools of war are allowed inside.”

  McRae glared at the healer, who was too small a man to bar him from victory. “Now look here, this is war. The Renegades have been stirring up trouble all over this island for more than a year now. Send out the rebels, or we will be forced to come in after them.”

  “I’m sorry, truly,” the boy said, his face infuriatingly calm, “but we cannot ask the Renegades to leave. They sought our help, and the Healing Goddess forbids us from refusing aid to any sojourner.”

  Selwyn McRae took a step closer. He loomed a full foot taller than the young man. “Let me see if I understand you clearly. You are harboring criminals with no intention of turning them over to the proper authorities?”

  “Is there a problem here, Brother?”

  The young healer stepped aside and retreated a little into the temple while a second healer took his place. The newcomer’s robe was the same color as the lad’s had been, except for some strips of white that broke up the monotony of blue. A frosting of white hair lay about the man’s temples, starkly contrasting the rest of his hair, which was as black as boiling oil.

  McRae noted the priest’s slender frame and skinny arms. Even a fresh squire could pin this man in seconds flat, thought the subcommander.

  “There is no problem,” McRae told the older priest, “so long as you healers comply with the law. By order of King Edward Borrom III himself, I demand that you stand aside and allow us to arrest the rogue knights and their company.”

  “We respect the laws of Superius, Continae, and the Alliance of Nations,” the priest replied pleasantly. “However, this temple was erected here on the condition we healers be allowed to obey the mandates of our faith. That is all we ask in return for the services we provide the citizens of Capricon…services we have provided for nearly two hundred years.”

  Frowning, McRae said, “I will speak with whoever is in charge here.”

  “You already are, Sir Knight. I am Jalil Shenn, the master of the temple. And you are?”

  “Subcommander Selwyn McRae of Fort Miloásterôn. I have direct orders from Commander Calhoun to do whatever is necessary to bring the Renegades to justice. We have ridden all morning in search of these vile men, only to find that the clerics of Mystel, our supposed allies, have taken them in…and now refuse to let us do our job!”

  “If you leave your weapons at the door, you three may enter and speak peaceably with the Renegades. Perhaps you can come to an accord—”

  “You smug son of a—” McRae broke off his curse, reminding himself that he was, after all, addressing a servant of the gods. Without turning around, he said, “Sir Duerot, I want you to ride to Fort Miloásterôn at full speed and inform Commander Calhoun of our i
mpasse. In the meantime, we will wait for you in position at the end of the road…in full view of the Temple.”

  Jalil Shenn did not appear the least bit uncomfortable with a host of Knights camping on his doorstep. Stewing inside, McRae turned his back on the priest and marched back to his men. He felt his face burning with righteous indignation and said a prayer to Pintor the Warriorlord.

  If his patron god had any pity for victims of politics, he would send the Renegades out now and end this stalemate posthaste.

  * * *

  Klye awoke to someone gently shaking him. He sat up suddenly, not fully realizing where he was until he glanced around the room. Plake, Ragellan, and Lilac were still sleeping, the woman half-sitting, half-leaning against the side of Horcalus’s bed. One healer still hovered over the unconscious knight.

  Klye had no idea how long he had slept. He remembered eating the hardy stew and soft bread Jalil Shenn brought them. His body had surrendered to sleep soon after.

  It was Othello who had roused him.

  “You’d better take a look out the window.”

  Klye leaped out of bed and was surprised to find no strain in his muscles. He had twisted his ankle during the fight with the goblins, but there was no hint of that injury now.

  As Othello went to wake Ragellan, Klye hurried over to the large round window at the opposite end of the room. What he saw outside made him feel ill in spite of the healers’ efforts. At the bottom of the hill, a company of Knights tended to their warhorses and talked among themselves. He counted fifteen warriors but guessed more were strategically positioned around the temple.

  “What’s going on?” Plake asked, joining Klye by the window.

  “Yes, what is going on?” Klye reiterated when he saw Jalil Shenn enter the room.

  The healer sighed as he sat down on the bed nearest the window. “This doesn’t look good, Klye. The Knights have never liked the fact that we assist individuals on both sides of the law, but they have always respected our traditions.”

  “Will they attack the temple?” Ragellan asked.