To his surprise, a bandage of sorts was already wrapped around his waist, though that too was saturated with blood. As Othello treated the wound—again—Mitto tried to distract himself from the pain by studying his surroundings. He confirmed they were, in fact, under a small bridge, which stretched across a brook that must have been wider in years past. Judging by its simple architecture and the rotting beams, the bridge had been built long ago.
He was sure he had never seen it before, which meant that he had never been here.
Before he could ask Othello where they were, a cold, wet sensation seeped into his torn skin. Biting his lip, Mitto tried to think of something else beside the pain. Looking out beyond the narrow bridge, he tried to gauge the time of day, but there were few enough clues from his vantage. It might have been twilight or just an overcast afternoon.
There was no sign of anyone else. Despairingly, he imagined the other members of the company getting cut down by the goblins. He thought of the valiant woman warrior and the beautiful, red-haired archer. Surely, they and the Knight and the dwarf, had been overtaken.
Or was there a chance they had escaped like Mitto and the forester?
“I have nothing to dull the pain,” Othello said in a low voice, “and nothing to mend the wound.”
“It’s that deep?”
Othello didn’t reply, but Mitto heard the sound of cloth tearing. Then he felt the Renegade’s strong, callused hands reach around his waist. As the new makeshift bandage was drawn tightly, Mitto watched Othello make a complex knot to secure the strip of cloth.
“Thank you,” Mitto said quietly. He owed Othello far more than gratitude. The man had risked his own life to carry him, a complete stranger, to safety. “Do you know what happened to the others?”
He shook his head.
“Where—”
Othello held up a hand to silence him. “When the sun sets, we’ll set out again. For now, rest.”
The forester’s words left no room for argument, and Mitto wasn’t inclined to disagree. A few more hours of sleep would do him good. Anyway, he was too tired to balk at the idea of renewing their hike to Rydah. For the moment, he was content to close his eyes and forget everything.
* * *
The next thing Mitto knew, Othello was shaking him awake. He recalled the Renegade’s promise that they would leave the sanctuary of the old bridge at nightfall. Now that the time had come, he was less than eager to get on with the mission.
But he knew they couldn’t stay there forever. He allowed Othello to help him out of the damp recess, grunting when his wound protested against the movement. Although he had slept through much of the day, he still felt lightheaded and weak. The thought of walking around the treacherous forest all night was nearly enough to send him crawling back down into the muck.
Certainly, Othello would have a better chance of reaching Rydah without him.
But in spite of his physical discomfort and the perils beyond the bridge, Mitto had not lost his resolve to reach the capital. The thought of Someplace Else—and Else Fontane’s—warm embrace was all that was keeping him on his feet.
The stories I’ll have for her! he thought. She won’t believe everything I’ve been through this past week. Hells, I hardly believe it.
Othello quickly outpaced Mitto, who, using his quarterstaff as a cane, could manage no better than a slow gait. When the Renegade disappeared from sight, Mitto feared he had decided to set off on his own after all. Moments later, however, Othello reappeared off to one side. He was apparently scouting the area, making sure no goblins were nearby.
Mitto plodded along, grimacing against the pain.
They went on like this for more than an hour. Finally, Mitto had to stop. Leaning up against a knotty oak, the merchant waited for his breathing to return to normal. The pain in his side was gradually subsiding into a dull, throbbing ache, but that would change as soon as he started moving again.
Othello reemerged from the trees a few seconds later. Without asking for an explanation or offering any word of reassurance, he shouldered his longbow and took up position at an adjacent tree.
“How far are we from Rydah?” Mitto asked.
Othello shrugged. “I’ve never been there.”
That was nearly enough to send Mitto slumping to the ground. “What? Then how do you intend to lead us there?”
Othello took an abrupt step forward, unslung his bow, and reached for an arrow.
“Look, I didn’t mean—”
Othello cut him off with a look as sharp as any arrowhead. He then turned away, looking off to the north. Using the tree as a brace, Mitto adjusted his stance and peered into the all-encompassing darkness. In the frail light of the crescent moon, he saw nothing but still, sleeping woods.
“Somebody’s out there.”
Although Othello had spoken in a slow, calm manner—like he always seemed to—Mitto’s heart began racing. A hundred questions assailed him, but he was too frightened to put any of them into words. He had the sudden and ridiculous urge to shimmy up the tree and press his face against the bark, something he hadn’t done since he was a little boy.
Goblins, however, were far more likely to climb up after him than his short-tempered father had been.
Or they’d just fell the damned tree.
The thought of facing even one goblin was enough to make his knees go weak. He had never thought of himself as a coward, but this recent string of near-death experiences had frayed the fiber of his courage.
After a minute or two, Mitto heard the sound of someone—or more than one someone—scuttling through the forest. He knew without a doubt they were drawing nearer. He altered his grip on the quarterstaff.
Come and get me, Goblin, and let’s be done with it, he silently taunted.
Othello drew back his bowstring but then let the string go slack again and pointed the tip of the arrow at the ground. Mitto gave the Renegade a perplexed look, but Othello was paying him no attention whatsoever.
By this time, Mitto could make out two distinct shapes in the night, and he nearly laughed out loud when he recognized them.
Opal stopped dead in her path. She must not have immediately identified them because she hefted her crossbow up. Likewise, Lilac raised her sword and look up a defensive stance. Then both women seemed to recognize their allies at the same time for they lowered their weapons.
“Thank the gods,” Lilac said quietly. “We feared you both were dead.”
The female Renegade was all smiles as she came forward and wrapped Othello in a tight hug. The man stiffened at Lilac’s embrace but didn’t push her away. Tentatively, awkwardly, he patted her on the back.
“Where are the others?” Opal asked with a hand on her hip.
When Othello didn’t answer, Mitto stammered, “Um, well, we haven’t seen them since we got separated.”
Opal’s shoulders slumped, but then her expression grew even more determined. “We have to search for them.”
“What?” Lilac demanded. “That wasn’t what we decided!”
“I changed my mind.” Opal replied, her voice growing louder with every word. “If these two escaped the goblins, Colt and Cholk might have too. We have to find them.”
“We still have a mission to complete,” Lilac protested.
“And we will,” Opal assured her, “but first, we will learn what happened to our…to my friends.”
Lilac shook her head helplessly, and Mitto understood this wasn’t the first time they had debated the topic. He thought it was a small miracle the two women had come to any sort of agreement, given their prickly relationship.
Perhaps the bigger miracle was they hadn’t killed each other before now.
“Colt would have wanted us to complete the mission,” Lilac said. “For all we know, he and Cholk are still en route to Rydah. We may well find him waiting for us there.”
Opal might not have even heard her. “With Colt and Cholk missing, I am the next logical choice for leader, and I say locat
ing the missing members of our band is our highest priority.”
Throughout the exchange, Othello hadn’t said a word. Whatever was decided, he seemed content to go along with it. So when Opal’s bold declaration provoked a lull in the conversation, Mitto found both women looking at him, as though expecting him to cast the deciding vote.
He looked helplessly from Lilac to Opal. Both women had made viable points, and Mitto didn’t want to anger either of them. He thought Lilac was right about Colt wanting them to continue without him, but he also saw the fear beneath Opal’s mask of obstinacy.
How could he ask her to leave her friends behind? Othello had risked everything to save him. Shouldn’t they all do the same for Colt and Cholk?
“Um…well…I…I just don’t know,” he said at length.
Disappointment darkened both women’s expressions.
“You are not my leader,” Lilac told Opal. “If you want to waste your time wandering blindly through these woods, be my guest, but it’s only a matter of time before the goblins find you…and kill you. I, for one, am going to Rydah.”
Without waiting for Opal’s reply, Lilac stormed away in the direction she and Opal had been headed before. Othello gave Opal an unreadable look before following after Lilac. When he overtook Lilac, he said something that caused the woman to pause briefly. When Lilac resumed her brisk pace, she had adjusted her course so that she was going the way Othello had been leading.
Othello followed close behind her. Neither Renegade bothered to look back.
“Coward!” Opal shouted after them. She looked tempted to fire a bolt into Lilac’s back.
But she didn’t. Cursing furiously, Opal stormed after the Renegades. Mitto was left to hustle clumsily after them.
“If you think I’m going to let you escape, you’re crazy,” Opal said. “You’re still prisoners of the Knights of Superius.”
Lilac didn’t respond. The two women walked side by side, looking at everything but each other. Othello took the lead once more, guiding the party through the dense forest and looking back every now and then to make sure they were following.
Mitto brought up the rear. It was not a strategic or even an intentional move. At one point, Opal glanced back to find him straggling. He expected her to scold him, but she must have noticed his limp or how he was leaning on his quarterstaff for support because she muttered something to Lilac. After that, the party’s pace slowed noticeably.
They walked all night, taking only brief rests. No one spoke during these short respites.
When the first rays of morning began poking down through the forest canopy, they were forced to find a place to sleep. They chose a spot that didn’t seem much different from anywhere else, though a cluster of birch trees provided some cover from the west.
Othello took first watch, followed by Opal and, finally, Lilac. When it came to Mitto’s turn, more than half of the day had already expired, and everyone was ready to press on despite the remaining hours of sunlight. Silently, the company of four pressed on. After a while, the monotonous activity began to play with Mitto’s mind. He imagined he was trapped in a fever dream where he couldn’t deviate from the repetition.
Little did he know the true nightmare was yet to come.
* * *
The following day proved as uneventful as the prior one. Mitto was beginning to fear they had gotten turned around. Surely, they should have reached Rydah by now!
Midway through the next day, however, they came upon a road that intersected their own path perpendicularly. Having traversed the road more times than he could recall, Mitto knew it for the highway that connected Rydah to the rural community Hylan.
Practically dizzy with delight, he told the others they were, at most, a handful of miles from the capital. Following his advice, they turned north. The company held fast to the edge of the forest, ready to return to the cover of the trees at the first sign of danger. They met no one—friend or foe—during that last leg of their journey.
True to Mitto’s prediction, they reached the Rydah before nightfall.
But Mitto’s joy at finally arriving home was dispelled at the first sight of the city. A dark cloud stretched over the city, a thunderhead made of smoke wafting up from the capital. The next thing Mitto noticed was the Celestial Palace—or, rather, the lack thereof.
Even at a great distance, a traveler could see the palace’s spires, which stretched heavenward like the fingers of the faithful reaching up to the heavens. Not only was the Celestial Palace gone, but Rydah’s alabaster walls, too, had all but vanished.
Mitto quickened his pace, heedless of the discomfort of his wound. His mind had gone numb, and the closer he got to the ruined capital, the less real it all seemed.
Southgate and the walls around it had been reduced to a mass of jagged masonry, allowing Mitto a view of the city itself. Most all of the buildings—homes and shops alike—had been burned to the ground. The corpses of Rydah’s citizens were strewn about the blood-stained streets. Men, women, and children alike lay in various horrible poses.
Goblin corpses also littered the ground. Some of the monsters still clutched the weapons they had used to butcher the defenseless townsfolk.
As Mitto stepped over what remained of the southern wall, his shock wore off, and he stumbled. Down on his hands and knees, he purged the contents of his all-but-empty stomach onto the soiled street. After a time, someone came over and helped him to his feet.
Only partially aware of Opal, who continued to support him, Mitto once more took in the absolute ruin that Rydah had become in his absence.
Lilac knelt beside the headless body of a child who couldn’t have been older than three. “This can’t be happening,” she whispered, though the last word was choked off.
“It’s so much worse than we feared,” Opal said a faraway voice.
“Don’t move!”
In the ghoulish silence, the sudden shout caused all four of them to start. The disembodied command was immediately followed by the emergence of three figures from a half-burned shack. The newcomers were human by all appearances. Two of them—a Knight and a much older man in a dark cloak—carried crossbows, which they leveled at the company. The third person, a dark-haired woman, carried only a short sword.
“If any one of you so much as takes a deep breath, you’ll be dead before you let it out,” the Knight promised.
The woman gasped loudly, causing her companions to glance away from their targets. That’s when Mitto recognized the woman beneath the smudged and weary expression.
Else Fontane.
Keeping her sword at the ready, she took a step toward Mitto and said, “Tell me something only you would know about me!”
Mitto’s mouth moved fruitlessly for a couple seconds before he blurted out the first things that came to mind, “You can drink more Dragon’s Hoard than most men, you always beat me at dice, and I love you.”
Else dropped her weapon and wrapped him in a great hug. Although she was crushing his ribs and causing the most exquisite pain to rip through his side, he returned her embrace with every ounce of strength he possessed.
It made no sense that the proprietress of Someplace Else was alive, armed, and in the company of two warriors. But reason no longer mattered to Mitto O’erlander.
Surrounded by death and ruin, he had found the one thing in the world he valued above all else.
PART 3
Passage I
Else walked as though in a daze, her thoughts leaping from tangent to tangent.
Ever since the attack on Rydah six nights ago, she had been overcome by a relentless numbness. The tragedy had been too sudden, so widespread, and she had been perfectly fine with avoiding the torrent of emotion swelling beneath the surface.
If she started crying, she might never stop.
But reuniting with Mitto had undone the façade, and now she struggled to close the floodgates of her heart. Ever since Rydah had been sacked and burned to the ground—she thought she could measur
e the time in years rather than days—she had held out a private hope that her dearest friend was alive and somewhere safe from the army of monsters that had appeared out of nowhere.
She almost didn’t want to look at the man, lest he vanish like some wayward ghost. But she couldn’t resist. Life on the road wasn’t always conducive to a tidy appearance, but Else had never seen Mitto looking so filthy. Black stubble shadowed his cheeks, and there was no sign of the silly three-cornered hat he always wore. His clothes were spattered with mud and blood.
How had Mitto, a middle-aged merchant, managed to survive the monsters’ invasion? Who were his friends, and what were they were doing at the massive graveyard that was Rydah?
And what, exactly, had Mitto meant when he said he loved her?
But this was no place for an inquisition, so Else contented herself with walking hand-in-hand with Mitto as they left the ruins of Rydah. When they finally reached the hideout—a stone cottage five miles or so outside of the capital—Else hardly knew where to begin.
Out of habit, she welcomed the newcomers to the dwelling. She might have offered them a drink too, but the monsters had carried off whatever ale might have been on hand. As for the cottage’s former owners, Else herself had happened upon the corpses of the elderly couple, mutilated and tossed onto a pile of broken furniture.
Because there was no guarantee the monsters had already been here, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t return, no less than four sentries kept watch from the forest at all times. By all appearances, the other scouting parties were not back yet, and so, Else offered her guests a place on the floor. There would be hardly enough room for everyone to stand when the others returned.
Now she had no choice but to face Mitto. She watched him and his friends ease themselves onto the hard, wooden planks of the floor. The tall fellow with the fierce green eyes remained standing, however, as did Sir Dylan.
Williams, D M - Renegade Chronicles [Collection 1-3] Page 71