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

by David Michael Williams

Colt thought he saw Plake shut his eyes tighter at the mention of his name, but he might have imagined it. Cholk swore he had done nothing more than break the man’s nose with the flat of his battle-axe, and yet Plake had been drifting in and out of consciousness for the past two days.

  Colt suspected that the Renegade was faking the severity of his condition in order to stay in the infirmary, and for the time being, that was all right.

  “The others are all safe in the dungeon.” When he saw Klye scowl, Colt quickly added, “They are not being mistreated, I assure you. I have put them there more out of convenience than for any other reason.”

  When Klye did not interject, Colt continued, “I have spent most of yesterday interviewing them individually, trying to get to the bottom this mess. Most have been very cooperative. Even the pirates answered my questions, albeit grudgingly.

  “The only one who is proving to be uncooperative is the boy—”

  “Arthur?” Klye scoffed. “He’s never done anything wrong in his life, other than to tag along with my band.”

  “Nevertheless, he won’t talk to anyone, not even Horcalus.”

  The Renegade Leader frowned, a thoughtful look in his eyes. At last, he said, “Horcalus is innocent, you know. T’slect said as much himself.”

  Colt gave the man a wan smile. “I do believe you are right, but he is a wanted man…you all are. I couldn’t set you free if I wanted to.”

  “And do you?”

  Colt let out a sharp sigh. “I want to believe that none in your band would harm another human now that the true enemy has been revealed, but the fact of the matter is you all have broken the law. Two of your men are buccaneers, for Pintor’s sake!”

  “But we are not your enemy,” Klye countered. “Just as you are no longer ours.”

  After another sigh, Colt said, “It’s complicated. When things settle down, I’ll consider letting your men out of the dungeon.” He heard Petton draw a sharp intake of air but proceeded without pause. “If your men agree to behave themselves and remain under house arrest, I will do whatever I can to make your stay comfortable until I receive orders to do otherwise. My first priority is to get word of the goblins’ scheme to my superiors.”

  “I hope it’s as easy as all that,” Klye said with a wry grin, and although he didn’t say it, Colt heard a silent, “but I doubt it.”

  “I believe you and your men to be honorable,” Colt said. “Were it not for you, I’d still be taking orders from an imposter. That may go a long way in getting you pardoned by the King.”

  “Let’s just hope he’s not a goblin in disguise too.”

  Colt wasn’t sure whether the man was joking or not, so he pressed on. “When you recovered, I hope you will grant me your counsel. You and your men have had experience in fighting the goblins. As far as I know, no living Knight has crossed swords with the scoundrels.”

  Klye nodded. “If it’ll keep my head on my shoulders, I’ll tell you everything I know about anything.”

  Now Colt did chuckle. “Then rest up, my friend. I fear the war is just beginning.”

  * * *

  His first thought was that he was alive, and that was enough to make him smile. Though he had failed to kill the hated Dominic Horcalus and though his true identity was no longer a secret, he was alive.

  And as long as he had life, he had hope.

  Darkness surrounded him. The air was cool but stuffy. Instinctively, he knew he was below ground. The sound of dripping water echoed nearby, and the air was so musty it made his nose itch. The ground on which he lay was hard and covered with something slimy.

  He was weak, terribly weak. The powers he had displayed during his battle with the humans had drained him beyond belief. But he would regain his stamina in time. He needed only to rest, and then he could finish what he had started.

  “You would have been wiser to kill me while you could,” he whispered to his unseen captors.

  “You would have been wiser to let them kill you before I interfered!”

  The words were impossibly loud, resounding from all around him, but the volume wasn’t what made his heart pound painfully in his chest. The disembodied voice had used the goblin tongue.

  His eyes were adjusting to the oppressive darkness, and he could make out walls of stone. But there were no iron bars, no human guards. He was in a cave. No, a tunnel. A rocky trail stretched out before him. He must have been rescued by a fellow shaman.

  As much as it hurt him to do so, T’slect propped himself up on an elbow. It wouldn’t do to have one of his subjects see him in so pitiful a position. He peered into the shadows but saw no sign of his savior.

  “Show yourself so that I might know whom to reward,” he called out in his native language.

  A figure materialized in front of him. T’slect’s breath caught in his throat. It wasn’t the sudden arrival that so stunned him—the goblin prince knew more tricks than most shamans would ever learn—but the palpable terror the figure exuded.

  A familiar fear gripped T’slect’s soul.

  Although he had only been in the presence of T’Ruel’s emperor only once—had seen the face of his father when he was little more than a whelp—T’slect recognized the terrible majesty his sovereign lord wore like a gown.

  “Father—“

  “Silence!” roared the Emperor of T’Ruel. “Your mouth has already gotten you into enough trouble this day. Do not make matters worse.”

  T’slect obeyed. He was powerless to do anything more than stare in stark horror at the one who had given him life—and, in all likelihood, the one who would take it away.

  Despite his keen vision, the goblin prince could not penetrate the impossibly dark shadow that surrounded his father. Two pale red eyes shone in the blackness, fixed on T’slect, who was too afraid to even grovel.

  “You are not the only prince of T’Ruel,” his father said. “I have sired more sons than I know what to do with. But I chose you over all of your brothers. You had proven yourself in battle, shown that the power of Upsinous was strong in you.

  “Yet you jeopardized everything today like a common fool. You revealed yourself to the humans, and for what? Vengeance? Vainglory? You allowed your spite for the humans…for a handful of men…to blind you.

  “And you came to this island without my blessing.”

  “Spare me, Father, and I shall make it up to you,” T’slect promised. “Give me another chance, and I will make sure none of Fort Faith’s inhabitants live to see tomorrow. Together, you and I could—”

  The red dots flared brighter, and T’slect squirmed under the wrathful gaze of his father. “It is too late for that. Even if I were here in my physical form to assist you, how would Prince Eliot explain the destruction of the fortress? No, son, you have failed, and so will you be punished.”

  T’slect wanted to argue that they could blame it all on the midge. By Upsinous’s strong black heart, there was still hope! There was still a chance for the Renegade War to continue unhindered. But he dared not further anger his father.

  “You shall not die this day,” the Emperor said. “I have devised a fate worse than death. No more will you wield Upsinous’s gift.”

  T’slect let out a wail of anguish. Already, he could feel something changing inside of him. The sense of loss greater than any pain he had ever known.

  “I am not finished. This past year you have paraded around in the guise of a human. This was a necessary part of the plan, but I fear you have come to think and act too much like a human for your own good. We goblins do not confront our enemies head on, not when we can slash at them from the shadows. You have become impetuous and selfish, sacrificing the greater good for your own petty revenge.

  “For this, I condemn you to live out the rest of your days as one of them. Today, I lose a son, and the world gains another miserable human.”

  “Father!” T’slect shouted, or at least he started to, but then his body began to spasm.

  His insides twisted, and he felt the
repulsive, pink skin melt over the handsome gray flesh of his heritage. He screamed and screamed, but at the same time he welcomed the pain for in it he was able to lose himself.

  Writhing there in the subterranean tunnel, suddenly very alone, T’slect hoped that the pain would never end. He wished that there would never be even one second where he could think and know that every time he looked at his reflection in a mirror, he would see a hideous, human face looking back.

  The former Prince of T’Ruel prayed to Upsinous for death, but T’slect knew his god well enough to know that there would be no easy way out of his punishment.

  No, he would live, and as long as he had life—even a human’s life—he had hope.

  Volume 2:

  Heroes and Liars

  PART 1

  Passage I

  A drizzling, overcast sky had haunted him all the way from Hylan. His small team of horses plodded along uneasily as the road grew slick with mud. Meanwhile, Mitto had nothing to do but count the raindrops that pelted his hat.

  With an empty wagon and two horses, the trip should have taken no more than four hours, but he had had to stop twice when sudden downpours forced him beneath the waterproof covering.

  He muttered an insincere thanks to the gods when he finally pulled up to the city gates. After nearly two weeks on the road—all the way from Kraken with stops along the way—he was eager to get to an inn, order something warm to drink, and enjoy the first of several days dedicated to doing absolutely nothing at all.

  Once I’m inside, it can rain for a week straight for all I care, the merchant thought as his wagon creaked to a halt.

  A man stepped out of the gatehouse, a cramped, three-walled structure made of unfinished wood. Although he was covered in a long cloak and a deep cowl to protect himself from the elements, Mitto knew him for a Knight of Superius. There was no mistaking the stiff, proper march of the watchman as he approached the wagon, no mistaking the rattle of a scabbard against armored thigh.

  And the city gates were always guarded by the Knights of Superius. This was the capital, after all.

  “State your name and your business in Rydah,” the Knight barked, resting a hand against the hilt of his sword. In the other, he carried a shuttered lantern that bathed the area in a dull yellow light.

  Mitto refrained from rolling his eyes. “I am Mitto O’erlander, a traveling merchant.”

  A traveling merchant of some renown in these parts, he added silently.

  “And what goods do you bring into the city?” the Knight asked, his eyes narrowing as he thrust the lantern near Mitto’s face.

  Mitto squinted. “Nothing, good sir. I dropped the last of my goods in Hylan.”

  The lantern loomed closer, and Mitto felt the heat of the flame against his face.

  “What of Hylan’s harvest? Any trader worth his wagon would have brought at least a keg or two of lager to make the trip worth his while. Yet you come to the greatest city in Capricon with nothing to sell? You are either a fool or a liar!”

  Mitto was momentarily speechless. The Knight peered into the abysmally dark interior of the wagon. In spite of himself, Mitto spun around in his seat and watched the lamplight spill into cart’s interior. But the lantern’s glow couldn’t penetrate the shadows at the far end of the wagon.

  “I’d bet a month’s pay you’re hiding something back there,” the Knight said. “Or someone. Might be you’re a Renegade sympathizer sent to smuggle one of your rebel friends into the capital.”

  Cold sweat mingled with the raindrops soaking his skin. “No, sir. You have it all wrong—”

  “Silence!”

  The lantern was positioned once again between merchant and guard, making it impossible for Mitto to see the man’s face. He knew several of the Knights stationed at Southgate. Never had he encountered one as ornery as this fellow. He was on the verge of dropping the name of an acquaintance—an old friend who surely outranked this paranoid upstart!—when the sound of deep laughter interrupted his thoughts.

  “Ah, Mitto,” the Knight said between chuckles, “you must forgive me for having a little fun with you. Staring into the darkness for hours on end gets so boring.”

  The voice the Knight used now was one Mitto knew well, so even before the light was subdued by a shutter, he knew the identity of the prankster. Old friend indeed, Mitto thought.

  “I’ll consider forgiving you, Baxter, if you hurry up and open the gate before winter’s chill turns all of this to ice.”

  Baxter frowned and moved a hand back toward his weapon. “That’s Sir Lawler to you, Renegade!”

  “Oh, shut up and open the gate!”

  Baxter Lawler laughed all the way to the ironclad barrier blocking the road. After whispering the current shibboleth to a comrade on the other side of the wall, he stepped back and shook his head.

  “You have to admit I got you good,” he said to Mitto.

  “Yeah, yeah, but he who laughs last, laughs best.”

  Despite the darkness, Mitto saw the Knight’s smile. “Is that a threat, master merchant?”

  Mitto urged his team toward the opening gates. “I would never threaten a Knight of Superius.”

  That earned another laugh from Baxter. As the wagon passed, he said, “I’ll be sure to stop by Someplace Else after my shift so you can buy me a drink.”

  “I’d say it’s you who owes me a drink,” Mitto called over his shoulder.

  Now that the Knight couldn’t see him, Mitto allowed himself a slight smile. Above the splashing rain and the clip-clop of horseshoes against cobblestones, he thought he heard, “Fair enough, old friend. Fair enough,” before the gates crashed closed behind him.

  * * *

  The rain sounds like the hiss of a sea monster. She remembers hearing stories about ferocious serpents whose long bodies could wrap around a dozen times over, dragging the doomed vessel and crew to the dark depths of the ocean.

  Julian told her many stories she wasn’t supposed to believe or to even think about—especially before bedtime. But she is never afraid of the snakes in the garden, and the monsters that show up in her dreams never harm her.

  Anyway, she is on dry land now. She doesn’t know how long they were on the ship that brought them here. She doesn’t even know where here is, but she’s confident they were at sea long enough for even the most sluggish of serpents to find them. Maybe Larissa was right about there being no monsters. Maybe Julian had been teasing her after all.

  She can’t ask them now, though, because they’re both dead.

  The street is wobbly beneath her legs. Toemis tells her she must be careful until she finds her land legs again, but she doesn’t know what that means. Lately, Toemis says a lot of things she doesn’t understand. But she has known him longer than she did Julian. And since Larissa and Julian are gone, only Toemis is left to take care of her.

  Wherever they are, there is a lot to see, lots of buildings. This place is bigger than where they lived. She wants to see everything at once and gets dizzy trying to take it all in. Toemis looks straight ahead. He walks fast, leading her by the hand. It isn’t easy to keep up with him, even though he is very old, but she does her best.

  She wonders how long they will be out in the rain. Larissa never let her play in the rain.

  She catches a glimpse of people seated around a table through a window when Toemis stops suddenly. She stops too and looks at what he is seeing. Someone is leading two horses and a wagon into a stable. She wants to run over and pet the horses, to look into their big eyes, but she won’t leave Toemis’s side. She hopes maybe he’ll take her to the horses because she likes animals of all kinds—even snakes.

  But instead of walking toward the horses, Toemis leads her to the door of a different building, and they go inside. It’s warmer here. The people gathered around tables drink from big cups. She starts to take off her wet coat, but Toemis doesn’t let her. He is strong for an old man. They sit down at a table. She wants to touch the scratched surface but doesn’t wan
t Toemis to see her do it. Toemis doesn’t like it when she fidgets.

  A woman comes over to them. She has blue eyes that remind her of Larissa’s. The woman asks Toemis if she can get them anything, and he tells her warm milk. When she returns with two cups, Toemis digs a coin out of his pocket. With Toemis distracted, she quickly wipes her hand across the tabletop. Its roughness feels good against her skin.

  Toemis tells her to be careful with the cup. It’s hot. She lifts the cup with both hands and trickles some of the liquid into her mouth. She swishes it around a few times before swallowing. She hadn’t had any milk since they left home, since Larissa died. The milk could’ve come from a cow or a goat, but she doesn’t care which. She likes all animals.

  After another sip, she carefully sets the cup down. Toemis does not touch his milk.

  There is a lot to see inside the building, which is bigger than their room on the ship and bigger than home was. The milk-woman is sitting near a fireplace now. Toemis is looking over at the fireplace, and at first she thinks Toemis is staring at the milk-woman. But he is really watching the other person over there. He watches the man for a long time, long enough for her to make a handprint on the table. She wants to take off her wet clothes.

  When the milk-woman leaves the fireplace, Toemis stands up quickly. She knows he wants her to do the same because he takes her hand again. And she knows better than to leave Toemis’s side. Toemis is the only one left to protect her.

  Toemis walks over to the fireplace. She walks beside him, but because her legs—land legs?—are smaller, she has a hard time keeping up with him. It wasn’t always that way. He used to walk slower. These days, though, he walks fast and says things she doesn’t understand. When they reach the fireplace, Toemis starts talking to the man.

  She listens but doesn’t say a word.

  * * *

  Few people walked the streets of Rydah that night. Mitto wanted to attribute the lack of passersby to the deluge that had him shivering in his seat and futilely pulling his sopping cloak tighter. But he knew it was more than that.