“Where do you think they were going?” Opal asked, looking back the way they had come—the direction that the goblins were headed.
Lilac wiped her brow, brushing the dripping rain out her eyes. “Who knows? Maybe they’re going back to look for us.”
But if those were the same goblins we’ve been tracking, the ones from the ambush, then what have they done with Colt? she wondered. Lilac had seen no sign of their missing companion among the goblins. Apparently, Opal hadn’t either because if she had, not even the full pantheon could have held her back!
No one voiced their concerns about Colt, however. If he wasn’t with those goblins, then he was still somewhere farther up ahead. They resumed their hike without further hesitation. Taking a final glance over her shoulder to make sure the goblins hadn’t doubled back yet again, Lilac wrapped her arms around herself and, shivering, fell into place behind Opal.
They walked maybe an hour more before they were forced to hide again. Were it not for Othello’s uncanny awareness, they might have walked directly into the approaching soldiers. This time, there were closer to fifty than twenty of the monsters. Like the prior group, these goblins were all armed to the teeth.
Lilac kept an eye out for Colt but saw no sign of him—living or dead. She was beginning to wonder if the Knight had escaped capture after all.
When the danger had passed, the three of them returned to the path once more.
“We’re getting close,” Othello announced, staring farther up the trail.
“Close? Close to what?” Lilac demanded.
Othello didn’t answer. And how could he, when he didn’t know their destination? While the forester was possessed of remarkably acute senses, he wasn’t clairvoyant. She regretted snapping at the man but didn’t apologize. The tension was getting to her. They had had too many close calls for one day.
And yet Lilac suspected she knew the answer to her own question. For the past couple of days, they had followed the goblins’ trail north and east. The appearance of so many goblins could only mean they were heading directly into the goblins’ war camp.
An hour later, the forest suddenly came to life.
Arrows rained down from the treetops, which had appeared empty a moment ago. There were enemies on the ground too, though Lilac nearly caught a shaft to the head before spotting her assailant. The goblin—along with the rest of its allies—was bedecked in a camouflaged shroud of some sort.
As the enemy archer reached for another arrow, Lilac’s eyes caught the movement. She was on the verge of charging at him when she heard the snap of Opal’s crossbow. The wretched creature let out a strangled cry and pitched backwards.
Lilac blinked and in doing so lost sight of the wounded foe. She had little time to consider the goblins’ method of concealment, however, for another arrow planted itself in the ground less than a foot away from her.
She frantically searched for the new threat, but aside from the arrows pockmarking the forest floor, everything was silent and still again. Meanwhile, Opal was quickly reloading her crossbow while Othello methodically nocked an arrow. The only evidence that he had already fired once was the dead goblin dangling from a nearby tree.
Without warning, Othello pulled back on the bowstring and let go. Lilac hadn’t a clue what he was aiming at. She heard rather than saw the missile hit its mark. The shrill wail might have indicated a fatal hit, except the wounded goblin scrambled out of its hiding place. The monster’s cloak, which, Lilac noted, was the same color as the landscape and coated with dying leaves, fluttered out behind it like a sail.
“Not so fast,” Lilac mumbled, racing after the creature.
Vorpal sword in hand, she easily outpacing the injured goblin. When she was nearly upon her quarry, the monster stopped and spun around. Lilac saw a glint of light and dove to the side. The knife ripped through her shirtsleeve and at least a few layers of skin. Pushing the pain from her mind, Lilac swung her blade in quick strokes.
After throwing the knife, the goblin drew a short sword, but the meager weapon was cleaved cleanly in half when the creature attempted to parry the vorpal sword. The goblin had only enough time to pull a bug-eyed face before she plunged her blade into the miserable creature’s chest.
Black blood sprayed her in the face. She spat and with the back of her free hand smeared the foul ichor away from her mouth. Now the cold rain seemed more like a blessing than a curse.
Lilac hurried back to where she had left her companions. Opal was swinging Chrysaal-rûn at three goblins. All of them were wearing camouflage cloaks, though Lilac had no trouble seeing the fiends now that they were moving.
With a cry, Lilac surged forward and caught one of the monsters in the back. It fell, snarling, to the ground and didn’t get back up. The remaining goblins turned back to back, renewing their offensive against their respective opponents.
Lilac dodged the sickle-shaped head of her adversary’s halberd, but she wasn’t quick enough to avoid the other end of the long weapon, which struck her kidney. Blinking away the pinpricks of pain that blossomed in her vision, Lilac accepted the blow with a grunt and made a wild swing with the vorpal sword to drive the goblin back.
The monster sneered in victory as it batted the sword aside. It was already coming at her with the sharp end of its glaive before it realized its weapon had split into two parts.
At the unexpected loss of balance, the goblin tried to adjust its swing, but by then Lilac was waging an offensive of her own. Careful to evade the clumsy swing of the sickle, Lilac aimed for the creature’s other hand. An instant later, both the glaive’s haft and the goblin’s hand fell to the ground. The monster screamed, but Lilac silenced it with a stroke that separated head from body.
Opal ran her goblin through at the same time. Lilac saw the tip of the crystal sword burst through the doomed creature’s back. The goblin slid free of Chrysaal-rûn and slumped down next to its companions.
But Opal hadn’t escaped the melee unscathed. Blood—red, human blood—stained the front of her jerkin. Before she could ask Opal whether she all right, she spotted a brown-clad goblin in a tree overhead. Instead of a bow, the creature held what looked like a horn.
It was bringing the instrument up to its lips.
She knew if the monster were allowed to blow the horn, the forest would be quickly overrun by goblin reinforcements. And yet she had no way of stopping that from happening. The goblin seemed to move impossibly slow. She could even see its chest rise as it took a deep breath.
Time resumed its normal speed as a green-feathered arrow streaked through the air and pierced the goblin’s windpipe. A clipped, sputtering sound blurted from the horn before it and the goblin plummeted to the earth.
Then the forest was eerily quiet.
“We have to keep moving,” Othello said. He strode over to his latest kill and pulled the arrow free.
“He’s right,” Opal said. “These were sentries of some sort. It’s only a matter of time before they’re missed.”
“Opal, are you…” Lilac started to say, but the woman had already turned away.
Still clutching the crystal sword, Opal walked deeper into the unknown. Her quiver was completely empty, but if her wound was causing her any distress, she didn’t show it.
Lilac gave Othello a desperate look, but the forester wasn’t paying either of them the least bit of attention. Othello had removed the cloaks from two fallen goblins and was already heading for a third.
Now why didn’t I think of that? Lilac wondered.
When Othello tossed her one of the coats, Lilac snagged it in midair and draped it over herself. It stank of the sweat and blood of its previous owner, but at least it added another layer of protection against the rain. Lilac watched as Othello caught up with Opal and handed her one of the cloaks.
After a short time following the trail, Othello, who had once more taken the lead, motioned for them to stop. Lilac’s heart pounded in her chest, and when the forester lowered himself to his stomac
h, she too went low.
Now what? she wondered. Just how man gods-damned goblins are there in these woods?
Lilac slowly crawled forward next to Othello. As she did so, she realized the forest seemed to come to a sudden end ahead. But any excitement she might have felt in leaving the forest behind was instantly lost when she saw what was out there.
The large clearing was ringed on all sides by trees that seemed to go on forever. Hundreds—perhaps thousands—of tents covered most of the field, leaving a ring of twenty yards between the tree line and the camp.
Dark smoke wafted up from different parts of the settlement, and Lilac could make out groups of goblins walking the perimeter of the camp.
She couldn’t even guess how many soldiers there were in all. And none of the tents looked any different from the others. If Colt is in there, Lilac thought, we could search for a week and still not find him—and that’s assuming the goblins don’t find us first.
She looked over at Othello and then Opal, wondering what they made of the bleak situation. To Lilac’s surprise, Opal was back on her feet.
“I know where Colt is,” she said and then stepped into the open.
* * *
The Renegade Leader’s words echoed in his head: “At this rate, Sister, it’ll be just you and me.”
During his time in the infirmary, Ruben had had plenty of time to study Klye Tristan. There had been times when he was jealous of how easily the rebel spoke with Aric, and even though he was pretty sure Klye hadn’t meant to imply anything romantic, Ruben wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of leaving the two of them together.
He didn’t want to leave the infirmary at all.
But Ruben couldn’t refuse Stannel’s invitation to relocate to one of the fort’s spare rooms. The commander’s decision wasn’t an offer, but an order. And he counted himself lucky Stannel hadn’t sent him to the dungeon.
Stannel had decided Ruben, admitted highwayman, was to be treated like one of the Renegades. He was free to roam the fortress, but at the first sign of insubordination, he would be confined to a cell beneath the castle.
Matters could certainly be worse, Ruben reminded himself, lying in his new bed. He had been tossing and turning for the past hour or more, trying to convince himself Klye had no impure interests in his ladylove. If he had to compete with the Renegade Leader—who was both reasonably handsome and undeniably charming—for Aric’s affections, he would most certainly lose. He could only pray Klye had another woman in his life.
Ruben’s only consolation was Aric’s promise to check on him. He didn’t know when these visits would occur, but the prospect alone buoyed his spirits. Other than his love for Sister Aric, Ruben was lost. His life’s path had taken a most unforeseen twist thanks to the Renegade War, and he hadn’t the foggiest idea where to go from here.
He had spent so much of his life pretending to be other people that he was starting to wonder if he knew who Ruben Zeetan was anymore.
Convinced sleep would never come, Ruben pushed back the blankets. Slowly, he eased his legs over the side of the bed. Ever since he had pushed himself to fetch Zusha two days earlier, he had grown noticeably stronger. Perhaps Aric’s generous reward for accomplishing his task—a beautiful smile—had something to do with it.
Whatever the case, Ruben was now determined to take an active role in his recovery. The quicker he rebuilt his strength, the sooner he could return to the infirmary. Maybe Aric would take him on as an assistant.
He shivered as his bare feet made contact with the stone floor. He hurried over to his shoes and slipped them on. Wrapping his gray wizard’s cloak around him—it was all he had—Ruben made for the small room’s only exit. But he paused when his hand touched the knob.
What if one of the Knights came upon him and thought he was trying to escape? Was a late-night stroll worth the risk of ending up in the dungeon with those pirates?
Ruben stared at the door for a few seconds longer before yanking it open. None of the Knights—Stannel in particular—had ever seemed threatened by him in the least. He glanced down at his costume, a further mockery to his impotence. If I really were a wizard, Ruben thought, I could use a spell to free myself from this place. I wouldn’t need to hobble out of here like a cripple!
He pulled the frayed robe around him tightly in an effort to ward off the draft in the corridor. Slowly, he made his way down the hall, trying his best not to use the wall for support. Considering he had had a goblin arrow in his stomach a week ago, he thought he was doing remarkably well.
Ruben hadn’t wandered far before he heard signs of someone up ahead, an incessant buzz of speech that rent the silence of the night. Curiosity urged him onward, though he figured it was only some sentries walking their rounds. If there were Knights prowling about, it would be wise to show himself before they assumed he was skulking about with a sinister purpose.
He rounded a corner and realized he was quite mistaken. Farther down the hall were two people, but even in the dimness of the corridor, Ruben saw they weren’t Knights. It was the old man, Toemis Blisnes. The bundled-up figure beside him was surely his granddaughter.
Like Ruben, Toemis had been taken to a private room earlier that day. Aric had been reluctant to let the old man out of the infirmary, but Toemis had insisted vehemently. Aric had eventually consented on the condition that Toemis remain in bed for the next few days.
Ruben was half tempted to grab the old man by the shoulder, spin him around, and scold him for breaking his promise. Something held him back, however. Toemis was moving with a singular purpose through the winding halls of the fort. The little girl struggled to keep up with him.
He remembered hearing that Toemis had served as Fort Faith’s cook long ago, and while that would explain how he knew his way around so well, it didn’t explain why he was up and about in the middle of the night.
Ruben glanced around, looking for some help—divine or otherwise. When nothing presented itself, he hiked his robe up to his knees and quickened his pace so as not to lose sight of the peculiar old man.
Although Ruben had spent the past few years of his life as a thief, he lacked the know-how of a true cat burglar. The only thing he could think to do was to walk on his tiptoes. Gradually, he closed the gap between himself and his quarry. As he got closer, he was able to make out some of what the old man was saying.
“…to end this once and for all. Fort Faith is doomed. It’s only a matter of time before the enemy comes. There’s nothing I can do about that. They’re all destined to die…”
The more Ruben overheard, the more convinced he was that Toemis had lost his mind. At the very least, the old man was disoriented. No one knew why Toemis had returned to Fort Faith after so many years, though those within the infirmary had speculated. Plake had even gone as far as to predict that the old man knew of a hidden treasure, valuables that the Knights had hidden before the ogres attacked the fortress during the Thanatan Conflict.
But who was the enemy Toemis now spoke of? Was he referring to today’s goblins or the ogres of yesteryear? Was the old man reliving the past, or was he adhering to a course he had concocted long ago?
Ruben wasn’t ready to make his presence known to Toemis yet. He followed at a distance, catching bits and pieces of the old man’s one-sided conversation. The fragments only confused him more. Suddenly very tired, he was considering turning back when Toemis stopped suddenly.
Toemis stared at an old tapestry clinging to the wall. Holding his breath, Ruben watched the old man run a bony hand over its woven surface, as though he were inspecting the quality of the material. Then Toemis slipped his hand behind the decrepit decoration.
“This had better still work,” Toemis muttered, and the cryptic sentence was followed by a loud clicking sound, like a latch falling into place.
A second later, Ruben doubted his eyes. He watched, awestruck, as the tapestry—and the stone behind it—sunk into the wall. The old man gave the indented masonry a hard push, and it swung i
nward, revealing a dark recess beyond.
A secret passageway! Ruben marveled. Had Plake been right about a treasure after all?
Either Ruben had made a noise to betray himself or the old man’s cautious nature prompted him to look behind him then. Toemis’s beady eyes glared daggers at him, and suddenly Ruben found it very difficult to speak.
“Oh…hi…I…I just happened to be…and you…with the wall…and…”
“I will not be stopped!” Toemis shouted and pulled a knife from somewhere.
The old man was on him quicker than Ruben would have thought possible. It was all he could do to avoid the blade that stabbed out at him repeatedly. Ruben could only backpedal frantically. When his back bumped up against another wall, he nearly swooned out of sheer panic.
“Please!” Ruben cried. “I don’t want your treasure!”
“This isn’t about treasure,” Toemis spat. “It’s about redemption!”
The knife lashed out once more. Ruben tried to duck, but he couldn’t move fast enough. Pain exploded at his right temple, and he was vaguely aware of falling. Surprised that the knife hadn’t killed him instantly, he just lay there, trying to clear his thoughts, but already he could feel the darkness closing in around him.
The last thing he saw was Toemis disappear into the passageway, granddaughter in tow.
Passage VIII
Lilac could only gape as Opal walked boldly toward the goblin camp. The darkening sky and her camouflage cloak provided some cover, but in a matter of seconds, the vigilant eyes of goblin sentries would surely spot her.
“She’s lost her mind.” Lilac stood up. Maybe if she were lucky, she could drag Opal back into the forest without the goblins seeing them…
A strong hand wrapped around her arm. “Don’t.”
She spun around to confront Othello. “Why not? She’s going to get herself killed!”
“She made her choice,” the forester replied. “And sometimes one can accomplish what two cannot.”
Williams, D M - Renegade Chronicles [Collection 1-3] Page 78