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

by David Michael Williams

  Unable to come up with a better idea, Mitto shifted his weight and used the staff like a lever, using the monster’s own power to propel it up and over the wagon’s threshold, where it landed unceremoniously on its head in the wagon bed.

  The fiend quickly recovered from his short flight, and before Mitto could bring the quarterstaff into a suitable position, the thing sprang at him. It kept one hand wrapped tightly around the staff, forcing the weapon down and out of the way, pressing it uncomfortably against Mitto’s abdomen. Its other hand went for his neck. Mitto managed to catch the creature’s wrist at the last second, the long, filthy fingernails a mere inch from his flesh.

  Now that they were on equal footing, Mitto realized the full extent of his peril. Not only was the creature stronger than it looked, it was clearly stronger than him. Mitto fought back with every ounce of his might, but slowly the claws made their way to his throat.

  He continued to struggle, staring fearfully into his adversary’s bestial eyes. Even when he began to accept his inevitable death, he didn’t stop clawing at the squeezing fingers, though he did close his eyes shut out his killer’s grotesque face.

  Then, inexplicably, the talons were gone. Mitto gasped for air and opened his eyes to find the monster doing a strange dance, its gangly limbs flapping like a bird about to take flight. When the creature pitched to one side, Mitto saw Toemis Blisnes’s knife buried in the small of its back.

  The old man flung himself at the fiend, first removing the blade and then driving it home repeatedly. All the while, the monster grabbed at him and tried everything it could to shake him loose. Finally, the creature’s bony elbow connected with Toemis’s forehead, and the old man went sprawling into a corner of the wagon.

  By this time, however, Mitto had recovered from his initial encounter with the monster. When it turned to finish off Toemis, it found Mitto waiting. The powerful, deadly hands started to rise to fend off the blow, but there was no chance of that. Mitto swung with every fiber of his being and heard a satisfying crunch when the quarterstaff connected with the monster’s skull.

  The force sent the thing staggering into the side of the wagon, where it collided with the tarp and promptly fell to the floor, unmoving. To be sure that the thing wasn’t merely stunned, the merchant knelt beside it and investigated. A stream of black gore was oozing from its caved-in temple.

  Mitto slumped back against the canvas, his mind reeling. Toemis’s granddaughter was curled up into a ball in the far corner of the wagon, completely concealed in the material of her hooded cloak. In another corner lay Zeetan, his arms and legs bound together, a gag in his mouth. He stared at Mitto with wide eyes.

  Wizard or not, Zeetan looked scared out of his wits.

  Ignoring Zeetan and the girl, Mitto crawled over to Toemis. He was relieved to find the old man alive, and this surprised him, considering how much he had loathed him earlier. Toemis had nearly gotten them all killed when he instigated the fight with the brigands. And yet, after their clash with the monsters, everything else was ancient history.

  “Are you all right?” he asked Toemis, trying to help the old man up into a sitting position.

  Toemis let out a loud cough, cleared his throat, and nodded. Even in the poor light of the wagon, Mitto could see an ugly bruise on the old man’s forehead that stared back at him like a third eye. “I’ll be fine, but you’d better get those horses of yours under control before they overturn the wagon.”

  That said, the old man pushed past him and made his way over to the girl. Still clutching the quarterstaff as though it were an extension of his arm, Mitto poked his head out between the front flaps, expecting to find Baxter Lawler at the reigns.

  But the Knight was gone, and he had apparently taken one of the horses with him.

  Mitto crawled out onto the driver’s seat and looked around. On either side of the wagon, the forest was a green blur. Not far up ahead, the road crested the top of a small hill. If they maintained their current speed, the cart would likely lose all four wheels on the way down.

  “Whoa!” he yelled at the remaining horse. “Whoa!”

  Eventually, the beast complied, slowing to a safer pace. Although the animal’s hide was sleek with sweat, the stallion showed no sign of stopping, which was fine with Mitto. He had no wish to give the monsters a chance to catch up.

  He tried to steal a backward glance but couldn’t see past the bulk of the wagon. There was no sign of Baxter or the missing horse anywhere.

  “What foolhardy thing did you do this time?” Mitto asked, blinking back tears.

  * * *

  He felt the blows raining down on him, though his coat-of-plates turned aside the spearheads. The heavier impacts of axe and sword left dents in the armor, but none of the weapons punctured through the layers of metal. Swinging his hand-and-a-half sword in an effort to force the monsters back, Baxter fought his way to his feet and almost tripped over the dying stallion.

  When he saw the wagon careen past him on the road with only handful of the monsters in a position to fire their arrows at vehicle, Baxter let out a loud laugh. His audacity had worked. None of the missiles had found their way to the remaining horse.

  Never mind that he himself was doomed…

  Baxter pushed the thought from his mind. Gripping his sword with both hands, he waged an assault that sent pieces of the creatures flying in every direction. Geysers of hot black blood soaked his surcoat.

  He howled when a war-hammer crushed his upper arm, crumpling his pauldron and shattering the bone beneath. He let the useless limb fall to his side and went into a great spin. Holding the hand-and-a-half sword in one hand now, he severed the head of the creature that had so grievously wounded him.

  His victory was short-lived, however, for another monster was already beating the spiked head of its mace into his helm. A second assailant had managed to pierce both his coat-of-plates and the haubergeon beneath with a barbed spear.

  Baxter managed to slay three more of the fiends before the weakness of his injuries drove him to the ground. Clawed fingers tore at his armor, tearing off his coat-of-plates, tugging off his battered helm. Within a matter of seconds, they had removed his haubergeon as well, and it appeared as though a few of the creatures were fighting over who would inherit the piece of armor. One of the demons was already painfully poking him with the tip of his own hand-and-a-half sword.

  “Well, go ahead and get it over with.” He had to shout to be heard over the creatures, which were shrieking and yelling at one another in a language Baxter couldn’t understand. “I accept defeat, knowing you’ll never have the others.”

  He laughed again and recognized the hysteria for what it was. The monsters didn’t seem to share in his mirth. They regarded him with sinister expressions, and more than a few spearheads prodded his exposed flesh.

  “Come on and finish the job, you bloody cowards!” he roared, but none of the monsters appeared to be in much of a hurry to comply.

  Have it your way, he thought, and made a play for the knife tucked in his boot.

  That spurred the creatures into action. A cacophony of discordant cries erupted from all around him. The spearheads and sword tips bit deeper into his body, but that was not enough to stop the Knight. Finally, one of the monsters kicked him in the side of the head hard enough to flop him over on his stomach. As he blacked out for what he knew would be the last time, he let out a final chuckle.

  Looks like I’ll be seeing the Immovable Tower sooner than I wanted…

  Passage VI

  They stopped only when Mitto realized he was on the verge of killing his horse. While he certainly didn’t want the animal keeling over from exhaustion, he allowed only ten minutes of rest each break. Whenever he was tempted to take more time, all he had to do was look at the corpse in the wagon, and that was enough to make him forget about his cramped legs and stiff joints.

  When dusk enveloped them, Mitto knew he should find a place to wait out the night. As much as he wanted to get to th
e safety of Fort Valor, traveling at night was out of the question. Too many dangers lurked in the darkness, including concealed rocks that could cripple a horse and wild animals.

  As he steered the wagon off the main road, he tried to calm his nerves, reminding himself they had put quite a few miles between themselves and the monsters. Hopefully, the monsters had given up the chase long ago.

  But as night descended, logic became an ineffectual weapon against his fears, and he started seeing the monsters concealed in every shadow.

  “Why have we turned off the road?”

  The query made Mitto’s entire body tense. Scolding himself for being so jumpy, he loosened his grip on the quarterstaff and glanced back at Toemis. The old man, his skull-like head and scarecrow neck protruding from between the flaps of cloth, wore a decidedly disapproving look.

  “I know of a place where we can rest for the night,” Mitto told him. When a soft, low sound escaped the old man’s lips, Mitto turned his attention back to the road ahead. He wore a frown to match Toemis’s. “You didn’t think we’d ride day and night without rest until we reached our destination, did you?”

  Mitto took Toemis’s silence as a testament to the affirmative.

  “Look, I’d like nothing more than to go nonstop to Fort Valor—”

  “Fort Faith,” Toemis corrected.

  Mitto swallowed a harsh retort. Did the old man really think he was just going to bypass Fort Valor? He took a deep breath before continuing. “It’s too dangerous to be wandering around at night. All it would take was one exposed root or an unseen stone, and we’d lose another horse faster than you can say…” His mind blanked, but he pressed on. “Besides, there are other hazards.”

  He left it at that, waiting for the old man to argue with him, to thrust the bag of gold under his nose once more. Well, just try it, Mitto thought scornfully. I’ll throw each and every coin back at you. Look what your tainted treasure has cost me so far.

  The missing horse was a constant reminder of what he had lost, though he could always buy another one. Baxter Lawler, one the other hand, was one of a kind…

  Toemis didn’t press his point, and when Mitto glanced back over his shoulder, he saw the old man had already withdrawn back inside the wagon. After a few more minutes, Mitto slowed the wagon and then stopped entirely, his eyes locked on a boxy building made of wood and the empty posts before it.

  There were no horses secured to the posts, which meant no other travelers were using the lodge tonight. Never in his life could Mitto recall wanting so much to find company for the night—if only because there was safety in numbers.

  Swearing under his breath, Mitto jumped down from the driver’s seat. He spoke neither to himself nor to the horse as he disengaged the animal from its harness. He wasn’t in any mood for conversation.

  He heard something hit the ground and found Toemis standing beside the wagon, looking at the lodge.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  Where do you think we are? he wanted to shout. We’re in the middle of nowhere with gods-only-know how many of those wretched creatures lurking in the woods!

  Mitto took a slow breath and tied the horse’s reins to a post. “It’s a lodge. Travelers caught on the road at nightfall use it. The Knights are in charge of its upkeep, which means it passes for adequate shelter. If nothing else, it’ll keep us dry.”

  And keep a wall between us and the monsters, he added silently.

  Toemis just nodded, still staring at the simple structure. His eyes held a faraway look, giving Mitto the distinct impression he wasn’t really seeing the lodge at all. Unexpectedly, the old man spoke.

  “Not one of the Knights ran from battle today, even though they were hopelessly outnumbered.”

  “The Knights of Superius are a brave lot,” Mitto replied, not knowing what else to say. “They’ll do anything in the name of chivalry.”

  That last part had held more than a hint of sarcasm, and Mitto felt guilty for it. But he couldn’t help being angry with Baxter for throwing his life away to save them. Yes, it was part of the Knight’s job, his sworn duty even, but that wasn’t enough consolation for Mitto. He’d gladly have traded a dozen Toemis Blisneses for one Baxter Lawler.

  As if breaking free of whatever strange whim had possessed him, Toemis turned around to face the driver’s seat and said, “Zusha.”

  Only when the little girl’s face pushed through the flaps did Mitto realize Toemis had spoken his granddaughter’s name for the first time. Zusha stepped out onto the driver’s seat. Then Toemis, placing his outstretched hands under her armpits, lowered her down to the earth. Somewhere in the process, the girl’s ever-present hood fell back, and Mitto made a startling discovery.

  Earlier, he had been struck by the girl’s blue eyes, for they had reminded him a little of Else Fontane’s. Mitto had always thought that Else’s eyes were a fraction too large for her face, and their prominence tended to draw one’s attention—and admiration even.

  Yes, he distinctly recalled seeing Zusha’s blue eyes back in Rydah, but now, as he unabashedly stared at her profile, he saw her eyes were as dark as Toemis’s.

  He took a step forward, trying to get a better look, thinking perhaps it was a trick of the fading light, but as soon as the girl’s foot hit the ground, Toemis pulled up her hood and began leading her toward the lodge.

  In all the bedlam of that afternoon, Mitto had almost forgotten how much he distrusted Toemis Blisnes. Never mind that the old man had probably saved his life. Toemis’s skill with his knife, not to mention his eagerness to use it, was another piece of the puzzle.

  Why are you really going to Fort Faith, old man? Mitto wondered. Why do you hide your granddaughter’s face beneath a hood? Is she even your granddaughter?

  But Mitto did not voice any of his many questions. He was about to join his enigmatic passengers at the lodge when he suddenly realized he had a third companion to contend with. Spitting out a stream of curses that would have rivaled even Falchion’s most colorful oaths, Mitto leaped back up onto the driver’s seat, pulled open the flaps, and stared down at the hog-tied spell-caster, wondering just what in the hells he should do with Zeetan.

  * * *

  It was a night like many others at Someplace Else, which was not necessarily a good thing in the mind of the inn’s proprietress. Lately, she could count her customers on one hand, and once they were finished with supper, the majority of them would either go up to their rooms or back to their homes.

  Only Loony Gomez was wont to stay until she locked up, and he’d be too drunk to make it to the door on his own. She had become an innkeeper because she was a social animal by nature, but lately she had had fewer and fewer patrons, which meant less companionship—and less money.

  Else was staring at the fire across the room, pretending to listen to one of Gomez’s favorite stories—a bawdy tale about a lonely carpenter’s daughter who carved an imaginary lover out of wood—when a brassy jingle from the bell above the door announced the arrival of a new customer.

  Snapping out of her daydreaming—which had been about Mitto O’erlander, she realized self-consciously—Else abandoned the bar and walked over to the newcomer.

  Normally, her customers didn’t receive a personal greeting at the door, but it wasn’t as though she had anything else to do. Truth be told, she was grateful for the arrival of anyone who might break up the monotony of another predictable evening with Loony Gomez. And from all appearances, this was no ordinary customer.

  The man’s stiff gait, broad shoulders, and most importantly, the scabbard that protruded from underneath his overcoat declared him a Knight of Superius.

  Rydah’s Knights seldom visited Someplace Else. Her establishment was too far away from the gatehouses, barracks, and the Celestial Palace to attract the city’s defenders. She couldn’t even remember the last time a Knight walked through the door, with the exception of Baxter Lawler, of course, and Baxter only showed up only when Mitto was in town.

&nbs
p; “May I take your coat, good sir?”

  The Knight’s cloudy gray eyes blinked twice, and the corners of his mouth twitched into a polite smile. “No thank you, madam. But might I have a word with whoever was on duty last night?”

  The Knight made no move to remove his coat, which was pockmarked with the dark splotches of raindrops. Shrugging inwardly, Else replied, “I run the show here every night, and if I had ever needed an assistant, I couldn’t afford to keep them on now.”

  Else, who had never been too proud to discuss her problems with complete strangers, suddenly felt a twinge of embarrassment well up from some unexpected reservoir. She had no way of knowing whether the man was well-to-do, but judging from his fine overcoat—and the fact that the Knights of Superius were reputed to reap wages that befitted the nobility of lesser realms—the man was far from impoverished.

  “Might we have a talk over by the fire, madam?”

  It dawned on her that she had been lost in her own thoughts again, and she desperately hoped she hadn’t been standing there too long, staring stupidly at him. If her cheeks had flushed earlier, they surely traded their rosy hue for a much darker shade now.

  “Of course,” she said, quickly turned her back on the Knight.

  On her way over to the fireplace, she mentally reprimanded herself for acting like some heartsick filly. When was the last time a man made me blush? she demanded of herself. She answered that question with another: When was the last time a man called me “madam”?

  Else had never paired the Knighthood and romance in the same thought. Oh, the Knights of Superius were a chivalrous lot—courageous and gallant and all that—but they were also, by the same token, impossibly rigid creatures, strict with themselves as well as those around them.

  “Dull, dull, dull,” she had told Baxter one night when she, Baxter, and Mitto had polished off a bottle of Dragon’s Hoard among the three of them. “Let the young maidens sigh and make eyes at those walking cans of tin. I’d sooner court the Guildmaster than the High Commander. At least with a thief, you’ll only lose your money. A Knight can go riding off with your heart without even realizing it.