Colt was almost dizzy with the realization that he had actually pulled it off. Stannel’s face revealed nothing of his feelings. Petton’s expression, however, betrayed deep reservations. Colt vowed to have a private word with the lieutenant before he departed in an attempt to smooth things over, but at the moment, he felt like nothing in the world mattered except that he was getting his chance to make a difference in the war.
And while the party bound for Rydah would avoid battle at all costs, Colt couldn’t help but hope that they would run into T’slect along the way.
Passage X
Mitto received word they would be leaving for Rydah immediately after sunset and that everyone who was going was to meet in the entry hall at that time.
He was a little surprised to be included in the group—not that he would have stood for being left out. Recalling the great confusion that had erupted during the meeting in the dining room, he wondered who else had made the cut. But not wanting to press his luck, he didn’t ask the messenger, a Knight whose name he didn’t know.
Mitto tried to sleep that afternoon, but his mind was awhirl at the magnitude of what he was about to do. Excitement and anxiety gripped him, causing his stomach to roil. He was eager to leave for Rydah, but a part of him feared what he would find when he arrived
And then there were the goblins on the road…
He dozed on and off for the next few hours, and when twilight washed the sky a pale gray, he dressed, gathered the few possessions he would need for the journey, tucked his quarterstaff under one arm, and proceeded to the entry hall.
The vestibule was packed with an odd assortment of folks. The Renegades, including Klye Tristan, made up one small group, and a second crowd had formed around the young Commander of Fort Faith. Stannel was there too, but the Knight did not look as though he were leaving.
Opal, Noel, and the dwarf—or so Scout had called him—stood off to one side, and true to their word, both the woman and the black-clad warrior were dressed for travel. They wore thick, hooded cloaks and were openly armed. Noel wore the same blue robe as before, so Mitto couldn’t be sure if the midge was coming along or not. He recalled the damage the wizard’s fireballs had wrought during the scrimmage near Fort Faith, and a part of him thought having Noel along might not be such a bad idea.
He almost laughed out loud. The situation must indeed be desperate if I’m in favor of a having a midge for a traveling companion! he thought.
Mitto made his way over to Opal’s group and uttered a perfunctory greeting. The dwarf—Mitto couldn’t remember having ever heard his name—grunted indifferently, never taking his eyes off of the throng of Knights. The dwarf’s eyes were so dark as to appear black, matching his ebony skin.
Not that Mitto could see much of the dwarf’s skin now for he was clad the same peculiar armor that he had been wearing on that first day when he, Opal, and Noel had rushed into the fray to save him. In that dark, lusterless suit of armor—topped with the horned helm—the dwarf cut a truly fearsome picture. The double-bladed battle-axe strapped to his back made him look all the fiercer.
Opal wore a quiver on her back, but she kept her crossbow at easy reach on her belt. She also eyed the assembly of Knights, but Mitto couldn’t guess what she might be feeling. From what the two of them had said during the meeting in the dining hall, Mitto knew Opal and the dwarf were close friends of Fort Faith’s commander. Maybe they were worried about the man, who was knowingly placing himself in great danger, or maybe they were jealous of all of the attention he was receiving.
None of the other Knights looked very eager to say goodbye to them.
“That’s a nice stick.”
The strange comment snapped Mitto out of his reverie. Glancing over—or, rather, down—at the speaker, Mitto found Noel staring appreciatively at his quarterstaff.
“It’s important to find the right stick when you’re making a staff. Take mine, for instance.” The midge held out his reddish rod with the blue-gem tip. “It’s made from the finest wood in Pickelo. Oh, and it’s enchanted too. Do you want me to cast a spell on your staff?”
“Ah…no thank you,” Mitto replied, clutching his quarterstaff protectively.
“It takes a long time to make an enchantment…well…stick,” Noel said. “It took me almost a year to make my staff as powerful as it is, and sometimes when I have nothing better to do, I add more magic to it. It’s kind of hard to explain, but I could put a single weak enchantment on yours.”
“I’m good,” Mitto insisted. “This staff has seen me through more than a few scuffles. I like it the way it is.”
Noel shrugged. “It’s longer and thicker than mine, but we midge are taught from an early age that magic can more than make up for physical disadvantages. Mine may be smaller, but it’s capable of a lot more than your ordinary stick.”
Mitto studied Noel, trying to discern whether he was speaking in innuendo, but Noel’s smile was devoid of all guile. Not knowing what else to say, Mitto asked, “So, ah, Noel, will you be joining us on the road?”
The midge seemed to shrink before his very eyes. “No,” he uttered miserably. “Colt wants me to stay here to protect the fort while he’s gone. I’d really like to come along, but maybe it’s better if I stay. Klye is still very sick. Did you know he and I are good friends? Well, we are. We were friends before I met Colt. Anyway, Opal and Cholk promised they would watch over Colt, so I guess I’ll stay here and make sure Klye gets better.”
Mitto nodded as though he understood every word. Well, at least I know the dwarf’s name, he thought.
Cholk smiled. “It’ll be a far shot easier to keep an eye on Colt without having to keep an eye on you at the same time,” he told the midge.
Noel stuck out his tongue.
“Play nice, you two,” was Opal’s reflexive reply. “What about you, Mitto? I know you’re from Rydah, but why are so eager to get back? Why not just wait out the war at Fort Faith?”
Mitto blinked twice and tried to put his thoughts in order. “I have friends in Rydah. I wasn’t born there, but it’s my home. I lost one of my dearest friends on the way here, and I want to make sure that nothing has happened to the other…others.”
Opal’s scrutiny made Mitto more than a little uncomfortable. There was something in her eyes that suggested she suspected there was more to it than what he told her. What is it about beautiful women that makes them seem like they know more than the rest of the world? he wondered.
Mitto’s attention was drawn to the Commander of Fort Faith, who was separating himself from the other Knights. He climbed halfway up the grand stairway, stopped, and turned to regard everyone below. An expectant hush fell over those gathered. Mitto waited for the young Knight to launch into a lengthy oration, but to his surprise, he unsheathed his sword and said no more than six words:
“To Fort Faith! To Fort Valor!”
The other Knights in the room raised their blades and let out a great cheer. But Mitto was still staring up at the commander’s weapon. The blade appeared transparent, as though wrought from glass. Mitto might have dismissed it as a ceremonial implement, except the commander then returned the sword to the scabbard on his hip and drew his traveling coat over the weapon.
Mitto was still pondering the mystery of the clear-bladed sword when the commander descended the stairs and was once more enveloped by his men.
Meanwhile, two Renegades left their party and came over to where he, Opal, and the others were waiting. Mitto recognized Lilac, the woman warrior whom he had watched duel that morning. Recalling the ease with which she wielded the wooden practice sword, he was glad to have her in the group, though he might have hoped to have Horcalus along too.
Lilac no longer carried a practice sword. A well-crafted, silver-colored hilt protruded from the scabbard at her hip. Her companion had come late to the gathering in the dining room. The tall man had entered alongside Sister Aric, and further questioning had revealed the rebel had been serving as the fort’s healer before
the priestess arrived.
Aside from that knowledge and the man’s name—Othello—Mitto knew nothing about him.
Standing more than a head taller than anyone else in the party, Othello wore an outfit made of buckskin. Even his boots looked to be made of deer leather. A large hunting knife hung to his belt, and he had draped a longbow over one shoulder. The quiver on his back was filled with green-feathered arrows.
Othello certainly dressed the part of a forester, and the beginnings of a yellowish beard that covered his face made him look all the wilder.
The two Renegades said nothing to Opal, Cholk, and Noel, who in turn made no move to speak to the rebels. The midge had, in fact, detached himself from the group and was hurrying over to where the other Renegades stood. Mitto watched as the little wizard approach Klye Tristan and started talking.
All too aware of the palpable discomfort, Mitto decided to breech the silence by introducing himself to Othello.
Othello accepted his hand in a wordless greeting but made no attempt to nurture the dialogue. The expression on his face was not unfriendly, per se. There was no contempt in those bright green eyes, but neither was there anything to suggest amiability. Deciding not to press the rebel, Mitto took a step back, ready to resume the awkward silence.
To Mitto’s surprise—and relief—Lilac dispelled the silence. “I think it would be best for us all if we put the past behind us. We’re on the same side now, with the same goal in mind.”
“Let’s just make sure it stays that way,” Opal snapped, and Mitto thought that Lilac looked physically stricken by the other woman’s comment.
The unbearable stillness might have resumed but for the arrival of the sixth and final member of the party. The young commander wore a vest of leather armor beneath his unbuttoned coat. He carried no shield, wore no helmet. At the moment, he looked less like a commander—less like a Knight—than the armor-covered dwarf.
“Is everybody ready?” he asked.
Everyone nodded.
“All right,” the Knight said. “Then let’s go.”
* * *
They left under the cover of darkness, though Colt wondered how much they gained from that. According to Cholk, goblins could see in the dark nearly as well as dwarves could—not to mention the goblins’ magic was surely powerful enough to overcome an overcast night.
Still, Colt knew they would have to make use of every possible advantage, no matter how small. Slipping away at night was better than departing in broad daylight.
Innate abilities aside, the goblins had another edge over the island’s defenders. The Knights knew next to nothing about the goblins’ troop placements—or even an estimate of their numbers.
In the face of such formidable unknowns, Colt had opted for stealth over speed, hoping to avoid the invaders altogether. Since the goblins were almost certainly watching the road, the party would traverse the game trails—or cut a path of their own—through the dense forest that stretched all the way to Rydah. Not only would the trees provide additional cover, but also the confined setting would work against the goblins’ greater numbers if it came to battle.
Cholk led the way, using his inherently keen vision to pierce the veil of night. Although Colt had initially thought to appoint Othello as the group’s guide, he assigned the archer to rearguard for now. Othello carried his bow at the ready, an arrow already nocked. Having witnessed the archer’s deadly accuracy with the longbow, Colt was surprised how comfortable he was walking with his back to the tall, silent Renegade.
But for good or for ill, he trusted Othello.
Up ahead, Lilac followed closely behind Cholk. Colt wondered if she wasn’t more dangerous than Othello. When she had fought against the Knights, Colt had seen her impossibly sharp blade cut through armor as effortlessly as a scythe through wheat. From his interview with her after the battle with T’slect, he had learned that, like Chrysaal-rûn, Lilac’s vorpal sword was a family heirloom.
Both rebels could escape at any time, but Colt’s thoughts didn’t linger on the possibility. Neither had joined the rebellion out of discontent with the government or out of hatred for the Knights. By all accounts, Othello had gotten caught up with Klye’s band after killing several men in self-defense.
Lilac, on the other hand, was the daughter of a respectable Superian lord. She had joined Klye’s band to protect Chester Ragellan and Dominic Horcalus from assassins hired by T’slect—a honorable cause to be sure.
If either chose to betray the mission, it would be for their Renegade Leader’s sake, Colt knew. But he and Klye had come to an understanding. Even if Klye might have more tricks up his sleeve, there was no doubt in Colt’s mind that Klye hated the goblins as much as he did. Besides, Klye wouldn’t be foolish enough to think Lilac and Othello were capable of carrying out a rescue mission at Fort Faith on their own.
Fort Valor, Colt reminded himself with a smile.
Colt realized he wasn’t the only one watching Lilac. Whenever he glanced over at Opal—under the pretext of watching their left flank—he saw the woman’s gaze was glued to the swordswoman.
He had wanted to have a frank discussion with Opal before they left the fort, but with all of the planning for the mission, he hadn’t had time. Or maybe that was just an excuse to avoid confronting the woman about her enmity for the Renegades.
Perhaps the tension would fade with time. Opal hadn’t done or said anything to provoke the former rebels. Anyway, she didn’t have to like her teammates; she only had to do her job without adding more problems to their already precarious situation. For her swift temper, Opal wouldn’t jeopardize the mission over petty differences and past grudges.
At least Colt prayed she wouldn’t.
They walked into the early morning, stopping for only the briefest of breaks. Throughout the hike, Colt took occasional glances back at the sixth member of the party, the man he knew the least about. He had had some reservations about allowing the merchant to tag along, but from Stannel’s testimony, Mitto was an honest man—and he was handy with a quarterstaff.
From all appearances, the man was holding up well. He looked tired and a bit careworn, but there was determination in his eyes. Here is a man who is no stranger to hardship, Colt thought.
He watched as Mitto used his quarterstaff to brush vines and other clinging plants out of his path, seemingly undaunted by the threat of goblins. The merchant went about his work without complaint and with a single-minded dedication of a true soldier.
The party walked in silence. Colt had forbidden talking altogether, and even whispers were to be kept to a minimum. In all of the stillness, with only birdsong to fill the void, he couldn’t help but dwell on the desperate decision he had made.
The long hours of introspection since departing had revived his doubts, which began weaving holes through his resolve as a whole. He tried to shake away the uncertainties, but soon he found himself analyzing his motivations. Had he done the right thing in quitting his post? Was he really the best choice to lead the dangerous mission?
Wasn’t he really just running away from responsibilities at the fort?
He tried to imagine what his father would say when he learned of his son’s actions. Would he praise Colt’s voluntary demotion as an act of valor or condemn it as cowardice? Wasn’t it, truthfully, a little of both?
Stannel was quite capable of running the fort in his stead. Stannel became a Knight of Superius before Colt was even born, and he had served as Commander of Fort Valor for more than a decade. His prowess in battle was dwarfed only by his wisdom. He was fair-minded and even-handed.
Really, the fortress was better off without “Commander Colt.”
The thought might have been depressing, except he had recognized his inadequacies long ago. Someday, perhaps, he would be a great leader, but presently he was ignorant of many aspects of protocol and, more importantly, he lacked experience.
In spite of his shortcomings, Colt couldn’t deny a part of him regretted yielding his au
thority to Stannel. There was nothing to ensure that the older Knight would reinvest power back into him…if Colt even wanted it.
That line of thought soon had Colt examining the very reasons he had become a Knight. Yes, there had been some pressure to follow in his father’s and brothers’ footsteps, but he could have become anything he wanted—an artisan, a scholar, or even a priest.
Had he chosen the path of the warrior simply to prove that he was as good as his brothers? Hadn’t he been overjoyed at his unexpected promotion to Commander of Fort Faith because it had proven his legitimacy as the progeny of Laenghot Crystalus and suggested he could be a hero like his father before him?
And when his father had bestowed to him the crystal sword, hadn’t that been the best day of his life?
Stealing across the silent countryside, the hilt of Chrysaal-rûn inches from his hand, Colt knew there was more to it than that. For better or for worse, he had been raised on stories of honor and valor, had drunk the milk of adventure since infancy.
If he could go back and do it all again, he knew he would choose the Knighthood again. What excitement was there in the life of a sage or craftsman? What could be more noble than being a Knight? Let the priests worry about the souls of their countrymen. I am content to protect their lives, he thought.
Maybe he had made mistakes along the way, but he had always tried his best. What more could the gods ask of him?
His spirits bolstered and sense of purpose restored, he was suddenly struck by the importance of what he and his troupe had set out to do. The men and women around him had risen to the call of duty despite the overwhelming odds against them.
He wished he could share his epiphany with the others in the group, but even if he hadn’t prohibited nonessential conversation, Colt knew he wouldn’t have been able to put his feelings into words. Not even mundane activities—such as making and breaking camp, followed by more hiking—could sap the paradoxical excitement and calm that possessed him.
Williams, D M - Renegade Chronicles [Collection 1-3] Page 69