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

by David Michael Williams

  When the lieutenant indicated the tall man standing silently in one corner of the infirmary, he didn’t even bother to look at him.

  “I know you will have your hands full, Sister Aric, but if you have a moment, please say a prayer for Sir Fisk,” Petton said.

  Still staring at the unconscious Knight’s ashen face, the woman nodded solemnly.

  Petton turned and headed for the door. “I am sorry to leave you so hastily, but I have other duties to attend to. These men will provide you with anything you need.”

  The two guards standing near the doorway saluted sharply. Then Petton and the other Knights departed. The woman’s brow crinkled in uncertainty as she took in the armed sentries. When her gaze fell upon him and Plake, Klye smiled inwardly. She has no idea who we are, he thought.

  Even Plake was silent as Sister Aric—who, Klye presumed, was a cleric of Mystel—attended the man in the blood-smeared gray robe. The patient lay still, not making a sound. Many questions swirled around Klye’s mind, but he contented himself with studying the healer and her two patients, trying to learn everything he could about them.

  The priestess found bandages in a cabinet. Klye noted she didn’t use a needle and thread to treat the wounded man. Either the injury was not too severe, or the woman possessed healing magic. Klye had seen similar skills demonstrated at the Temple of Mystel in Western Capricon, and while he didn’t believe in gods, he couldn’t argue against the existence of magic.

  Throughout his adventures, he had seen both the curative and the catastrophic aspects of the arcane arts. So what if the woman thought her magic came from a benevolent deity? he thought.

  Sister Aric spent the next few minutes standing over the injured man, her eyes closed and her hands placed atop his wound. Her mouth moved, but she made no sound. No one in the infirmary stirred, and as he watched the healer, Klye was reminded again of his time at the Temple of Mystel. The healers there had helped them despite the fact that they were being chased by Knights.

  It all seemed so long ago…

  When Sister Aric finished with the man in the gray robe, she moved to her next patient. But rather than attend to the other new arrival, she ran a hand along Fisk’s neck, checking his pulse. She then placed her ear to his chest. When she removed the Knight’s bandage, she gasped and took a step back.

  Sister Aric looked away from the Knight and found both Klye and Plake staring at her. “Did the goblins do this?”

  For once, Plake kept his mouth shut.

  “No,” Klye told her evenly, “a Renegade did.”

  “Renegades?” she asked. “I didn’t think there were any rebels in this area…unless…there really is a new Renegade Leader in Capricon?”

  At that, Klye laughed out loud. “There is, and you’re looking at him.”

  To the woman’s credit, she didn’t shriek or faint. She merely blinked twice and then returned her attention to Matthew Fisk, praying over the dying man’s body. Next, she concocted a salve with the ingredients on hand and made a new poultice. When she was finished treating Fisk, she walked back over to the door, pointedly avoiding Klye’s eyes.

  “Who has been treating that Knight?” she asked the guards.

  They both pointed toward the corner of the room. Sister Aric walked up to Othello, who had watched Sister Aric’s activities without a word.

  “I am Sister Aric Narrestif, Fort Valor’s healer. Tell me, friend, are you also one of Mystel’s gifted?”

  “No.”

  If the woman was disconcerted by the man’s curt reply, she didn’t let that stop her from pressing onward.

  “I must say I am impressed by your work. It is a testament to your skill that the Knight yet lives.” She paused, giving the man a chance to say something, but when he didn’t reply, she added, “I have been treating Knights for the past few years, and I have never come across a wound that so cleanly dealt. Tell me, what manner of weapon was responsible?”

  Othello glanced at Klye.

  “It was an enchanted weapon,” Klye said. “A vorpal sword.”

  “Is that true?” Sister Aric asked Othello.

  “Yes.”

  Klye watched as the healer looked Othello up and down, perhaps noticing his strange attire for the first time. He wore pants and a shirt made of buckskin and shoes that were more suitable for mucking around the woods than making rounds in an infirmary. Instead of carrying a delicate surgeon’s blade, the man wore a large hunting knife at his hip.

  “Are you the healer here at Fort Faith?” she asked him.

  “No.”

  “But you’ve been tending to that man, the Knight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then who are you?” She didn’t shout the words, but there was no mistaking the exasperation in her voice. Klye couldn’t quite stifle a grin.

  “Othello.”

  “He’s one of my Renegades,” Klye added.

  Sister Aric cast the Renegade Leader a skeptical glance. “Is this true?” she asked the sentries.

  They nodded.

  The woman shook her head. “There’s a Renegade Leader in the infirmary and another rebel serving as the fort’s healer. There’s talk of a magical sword. Just what in the world is going on?”

  Passage II

  Mitto watched the Commander of Fort Faith lead Stannel up a great flight of stairs. Lieutenant Petton and Sister Aric followed at a distance, along with the Knights who had been charged with delivering the wounded to the fort’s infirmary. But Mitto, who had miraculously all but the most superficial of wounds, was left behind in the entry hall, forgotten by everyone except for the strange trio who had appeared out of nowhere and rescued them from the goblins.

  The horn-helmeted warrior and the midge were arguing about something, while the red-haired woman looked on with a bemused expression. They were like something out of a bard’s tale—or a bad joke.

  When the warrior took a swing at the midge with his mailed fist, the archer stepped between the shorter figures and said something Mitto couldn’t hear to the man in the black armor. The warrior then folded his arms, but rather than make a retort, he withdrew from the group in a huff, stomping his way up the wide staircase.

  The woman looked as though she was on the verge of saying something to the midge, but the little spell-caster had noticed Mitto by this time and was walking over toward him.

  The irrational urge to flee struck Mitto like a bucket of cold water. Or maybe it wasn’t so irrational, after all. Most sane people did their best to avoid midge. Popular opinion held that interacting with a midge was not conducive to a long, happy life.

  And yet this midge had saved his life. Were it not for the small wizard’s magic, the goblins would have likely slaughtered them to a man. Mitto owed him a debt of gratitude. Anyway, the doors had been locked fast behind him, so there wasn’t anywhere to run.

  The midge came to stop at an uncomfortable two and a half feet away from Mitto.

  “Hi. My name is Noel. What’s yours?”

  During his time in Rydah, Mitto had seen dwarves, half-elves, and even a centaur on one occasion. And there had been an occasional midge too. While none of the other races harbored any great love for the midge, the local authorities couldn’t legally keep them from visiting the capital.

  Like most sensible people, Mitto had always tried to keep his distance. It wasn’t that midge were intentionally malevolent—not like goblins. They were, however, the most powerful spell-casters in Altaerra. Rumor had it every midge was capable of wielding great magic. That fact alone would make them intimidating, but there was more to it than that.

  In their infinite wisdom, the gods had also granted the midge an immature and naïve nature. They were in essence a race of childish wizards. Midge were incredibly capricious, and they had the power to realize just about any of their whims.

  Noel might have looked like an ordinary, bright-eyed human youth, except for his outfit, which was comprised of an oversized blue robe; a wide-brimmed, conical hat made of
straw; and a thick belt—with an even thicker brass buckle—from which hung an assortment of vials and purses. Add the red-wooded staff with its blue bauble tip, and Noel looked like a child playing dress-up.

  “Uh, hello. I’m Mitto O’erlander.”

  The midge laughed out loud, which caused Mitto to flinch. “That’s a funny name. Mitto. It sounds like something a gnome would come up with!”

  Not knowing how to respond to that, Mitto just smiled while his mind scrambled to find an excuse to extricate himself from the midge’s company.

  “The gods sent me here to protect my friends,” Noel continued. “Well, they weren’t really my friends until after I came. Except for Klye, of course, but I didn’t even know he was going to be here. The last time I saw him was in a different world altogether, but I think maybe the gods wanted us to meet again here at Fort Faith.”

  After a quick breath, the midge added, “Why are you here?”

  “You needn’t be frightened of Noel,” said the woman, coming to stand beside them. “He may sound crazy, but he’s relatively civilized for a midge.”

  Noel beamed and puffed out his chest, as though he had been awarded a great compliment. “This is my friend Opal,” he said. “She lives here too. She’s friends with Colt, like me, but she doesn’t like Klye so much. Opal, this is Mitto. Isn’t that a silly name? Mitto!”

  “Hello,” Mitto said, blushing in spite of himself. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Even as he uttered the formality, Mitto realized it wasn’t an overstatement. Now that he was face to face with her, he realized Opal was a truly beautiful woman. She had glittery green eyes and flawless skin. Her smooth, ovular face was framed by long, shiny hair the color of a perfect sunrise. She was slender but not without curves.

  “Well met, Mitto,” she said. Even her voice was lovely.

  Despite her feminine stature, however, Opal didn’t dress the part of a lady. The well-worn trousers and loose-fitting shirt seemed better suited for a man than a woman. The quiver strapped to her back and the crossbow she carried also seemed in contrast with her feminine features.

  Mitto had seen her shoot. She was as much a warrior as her companions. And the plain outfit and the weapons did nothing to dilute her natural beauty. The stark contrast of hard and soft made Opal all the more attractive.

  Suddenly aware he was ogling the girl, Mitto forced his eyes to meet hers, but Opal was no longer looking at him. She was staring past him and off to one side.

  “Is that your daughter over there?” she asked.

  “What? Where?” Mitto spun around and found Zusha Blisnes peeking out from behind one of the pillars that lined the hall. “Oh, her. No, actually she was one of my passengers. I’m a traveling merchant. Her grandfather wanted to bring them to Fort Faith because, apparently, the old man was once a cook here. It’s a long story.”

  Opal nodded as though it all made perfect sense. The midge was already bounding over to Zusha. At first, Mitto feared the sight of the eccentrically dressed midge would frighten the little girl, but then he recalled how Zusha hadn’t balked during the goblins’ attacks.

  And he had to remind himself she wasn’t exactly a little girl.

  Noel introduce himself. Zusha didn’t give her name, but that didn’t seem to bother the midge, who launched into a lengthy speech about his duty as Fort Faith’s protector.

  “The Knights say they don’t like my magic, but where would they be without it? Hmm? Colt always seems to come around, though he likes to wait until the last possible second. Hey, did you know that your eyes are two different colors?”

  When Mitto turned back Opal, she was smiling at him. “The Knights here are always so busy, especially now that the goblins have made themselves known. I don’t think Colt would mind if I showed you some hospitality. Are you hungry?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, and with his stomach all but empty, Mitto dared not refuse her. He followed close behind her, glancing behind to make sure Zusha was coming too. With Toemis incapacitated, he felt responsible for the girl.

  Noel continued to carry on his one-sided conversation with Zusha while leading her by the hand. They all followed Opal through a doorway and into a narrower corridor. Once again, Mitto found his eyes straying, taking in Opal’s comely form, but as soon as he realized what he was doing, a wave of guilt washed over him. A voice that resembled Else Fontane’s reminded him she was likely more than a decade his junior.

  At the thought of Else, Mitto’s mood darkened. Even though he was safe inside a fortress with Knights of Superius, he was eager to be gone. No matter how hospitable Fort Faith might prove to be, it could never match Someplace Else.

  Silently, he vowed to return to Rydah as soon as possible.

  * * *

  The two commanders stared at each other across an ancient writing desk. Colt leaned back in his stiff-backed chair, waiting to hear Stannel’s reaction to his extraordinary tale. Stannel, for his part, had not moved at all during the younger Knight’s speech and continued to stare at his counterpart in silence for several seconds.

  Finally, the Commander of Fort Valor cleared his throat and said, “Let me make sure I understand. The supposed Crown Prince of Superius left my fortress and came here to Fort Faith as planned. But his arrival was witnessed by a Renegade Leader named Klye Tristan. That very night, the rebels invaded Fort Faith with the use of magic…that midge’s magic…in an attempt to kidnap Prince Eliot.

  “Some of the Renegades made it all the way to the western wing, where you and your men had secured the prince. Klye Tristan was among that group, but ultimately, he and his accomplices failed. When Prince Eliot ordered you to kill the Renegade Leader, you hesitated, and that was when your sword…”

  Stannel trailed off, prompting Colt to repeat the next part.

  “That was when Klye told me to look at my sword…to look at the prince through the blade,” Colt said.

  During the course of his story, Colt had unsheathed his sword and laid it on the desk. Now both commanders’ gazes landed upon the weapon. There was nothing spectacular about the hilt, except for the intricate engravings that revealed the masterful workmanship of a bygone era. Many Knights possessed ancient swords, the arms of their ancestors. This was true for Colt as well, though his blade was a rarity among rarities.

  Colt watched Stannel run a finger along the flat of the long, transparent blade. Whereas the hilt and crosspiece looked ordinary enough, the blade was a truly remarkable sight. No one—not even Colt’s grandfather—knew what the blade was made of. It was as clear as glass yet harder than steel.

  Colt’s father had given him Chrysaal-rûn before he left Superius for Capricon. Since coming to Fort Faith, the young commander had found two occasions to brandish the unusual weapon, and in both situations, he had learned that the crystal sword possessed powers beyond his—or any of the other Knights’—understanding. He had seen the gemlike blade shed a pale, blue light when he needed illumination, and during the heat of battle, it had cleaved through metal as though it were old parchment.

  “And when you looked at Prince Eliot through the blade, you saw not a man, but a goblin?” Stannel prompted.

  “Yes,” Colt said, trying his best to gauge Stannel’s reaction. “Chrysaal-rûn revealed the shaman’s true face, at which point, the false prince brandished strong magic against the Knights and Renegades alike.

  “The goblin might have killed us all if it weren’t for the efforts of a certain Renegade…a rogue Knight of Superius…and Opal, the archer who came to your aid against the goblins on the highway. They defeated the goblin shaman, but he escaped in the end.”

  Colt knew it sounded fantastic. He might not have believed it himself if he hadn’t been there when T’slect nearly destroyed him and his friends to keep his plans a secret.

  “What of the Renegades?” Stannel asked.

  The question caught Colt off guard.

  “We have detained the entire band,” Colt said. “I
have measured each of the rebels individually and am managing them according to their crimes and likelihood of repeat offenses. Obviously, the goblins are the greater threat, but since I cannot let them free without an official pardon from Superius, I see no reason to treat them poorly. As far as I am concerned, they have redeemed themselves by their actions against the shaman.

  “Two of them, including the Renegade Leader, are currently in the infirmary, while two others are locked up in the dungeon. The rest are allowed to walk freely about the fort as long as they don’t get in the way.”

  “And the midge fights for the Knights now?” Stannel asked.

  “Yes…well…Noel is a tricky case. He’s loyal to both the Knights and the Renegades.”

  Stannel folded his hands on the table. “Let us speak of the present…and the future. The goblins have compromised Continae’s government, though the extent of their subterfuge remains unknown. Neither do we know how many goblins are hiding in Capricon, whether we face a small battalion or a great army. On top of everything, the real Prince Eliot is either in the goblins’ possession or dead.”

  “Yes,” Colt said softly, his voice faltering.

  Stannel cradled his chin in his hands, and stared at a spot on the desk for a few seconds before he spoke again.

  “Prince Eliot…or, rather, the goblin posing as our prince…had stayed at Fort Valor for a very short time, but he raised a few questions during his visit,” Stannel began. “His visit left me feeling uneasy, for he had hinted that King Edward was displeased with the Knights in Capricon because we had not yet snuffed out the rebellion. His words were demoralizing to say the least.

  “Of course, now I know that it was all lies, but at the time, I wanted to discuss the prince’s unannounced visit to the island with Lord Minus. Sister Aric, who has friends in the capital, elected to come along. En route to Rydah, we were to spend the night at a certain lodge. That is where I crossed paths with the company you found me with. That is also where I first encountered the goblins.”