Between the uneasy interludes of sleep, Colt reflected on the hellish events of the past few days. His thoughts went back to Cholk, who had given his life for him, and the emaciated man with whom he had shared the tent. Colt had mistaken him for dead. Who was he? Colt wondered. Why did I survive, but not either of them?
Cholk had believed that he, Colt, still had a part to play in the war. Colt didn’t know what to think, but he swore he would his best to deserve the dwarf’s sacrifice.
Later, when he awoke again, the rays of dawn lanced at his bleary eyes. Gods, he thought in wonder, when was the last time I saw the sun? He was aware of a gnawing hunger that made his stomach complain loudly and realized it had been days since he had eaten anything.
He groaned as he tried to stretch his limbs. He feared spending even one more hour on horseback would cramp his legs forever. Colt listened for the signs of their pursuers but heard nothing other than the chirping of morning birds. Maybe the bastards have finally given up, he thought.
Even if they hadn’t, Colt was beginning to think that fighting off the hoard would be preferable to more riding.
He was on the verge of asking the old man in front of him where they were headed, when the man who shared a mount with Lilac ordered the company to halt.
“Commander Crystalus,” he said with a sharp salute. “It is an honor to meet you. I am Sir Dylan Torc.”
This was the first good look Colt had gotten of the man. Now that they were but a yard apart, Colt could see the man wore a breastplate emblazoned with the sun-and-sword standard of the Knights of Superius. He wore no helm and carried no shield, but Colt saw a quiver and crossbow hanging from the saddle. His sword likely hung at his left hip, as with most right-handed warriors.
Dylan looked to be in his twenties, a couple of years older than Colt at best. The Knight’s brownish-blond hair was disheveled, but he looked none the worse for their nightlong race.
“Well met,” Colt replied, saluting Dylan in return. “A thousand thanks for your assistance.”
“It was my pleasure, Commander,” Dylan replied, “but I confess that it was pure chance we came upon you when we did…or a gods-sent miracle.”
Colt listened as Dylan related the circumstances that had brought him and his companions to the goblin camp. When the Knight mentioned the sacking of Rydah and what came after, Colt could only listen in stunned silence. He didn’t want to believe any of it, but he saw in Lilac’s face that she had seen the truth of it with her own eyes.
He might have been surprised to learn that Dylan’s companions—Gomez, Tryst, and Lucky—were all thieves, but it hardly seemed important in light of the tragedy that had befallen Capricon’s capital.
“Where are we headed now?” Colt asked, swallowing the lump in his throat.
“We’re almost home,” Gomez said, “if my estimates ain’t too far off.”
Since he was seated behind the older man, Colt couldn’t see Gomez’s face. He looked to Dylan for an explanation.
“We’re less than an hour from the Rydah-Hylan Highway. Our hideout is not far beyond the road,” Dylan said.
Colt conjured up a map of the island in his mind to get a sense of direction. “We’re headed east?”
Dylan nodded. “East and south.”
Colt let out a long breath. “It’s the wrong direction.”
“Huh?” said Gomez over his shoulder.
“What do you mean, Commander?” Dylan asked.
“I must return to Fort F—Valor as quickly as possible,” Colt said. “My mission was to get word of the goblins to Rydah. Obviously, that’s a moot point now, so I must get back to my fort and help prepare its defense.”
Dylan frowned. “I can appreciate your anxiousness, Commander, but I think you would be better off waiting a little while before departing. You need to recover your strength, and besides, the goblins are no doubt scouring the forest for you. We had all better lie low for a time.”
Colt considered the Knight’s advice. It all made sense. Even with the benefit of a horse, Colt was in no condition to travel. He might be able to push the pain from his wounds far from his mind, but will alone could not hope to make up for the weakness of his body.
The detour would also afford him the chance to meet the individuals in charge of Rydah’s remaining defenders. Perhaps he could even coordinate an offensive between them and the Knights at new Fort Valor.
And yet Colt worried about the cost of a delay. He had had the chance to slip through the goblins’ fingers before but had lingered to fight beside Cholk. That choice had resulted in his getting captured, and Cholk had died anyway.
Now—thanks to the magic of the skull-staff—Drekk’t knew most everything about his fortress’s defenses. If he didn’t reach Fort Valor before the goblins did, the gods only knew how many more friends he would lose.
“What’s going on?” Opal asked. The woman had dismounted and stood between Dylan’s and Gomez’s horses.
“I’m trying to convince the commander to stay with us and rest for a while before returning to his fort,” Dylan said.
Colt looked down at Opal, wondering what she would say. He valued her opinion; Opal was as intelligent as she was beautiful.
“You’re an ugly mess, Colt. I think some food, sleep, and medical attention would do you a lot of good. We can start out for Fort Valor as early as tomorrow if you’re up for it, but I think all of us need a rest before we head back.”
Colt turned to Lilac. “What say you?”
Lilac looked taken aback at the question. “I agree with Dylan and Opal. We’ve been lucky so far, but luck always runs out. Besides, if Othello is still…if he’s still in the area, he might come looking for us at the cottage.”
Othello? Colt stole a quick glance back at the last horse and found only the remaining thief seated there. Dear gods, he thought, I had forgotten all about the forester! And what had happened to Mitto? Maybe I ought to have a brief respite, he thought. At least it would give me a chance to sort out what had happened in my absence.
“We cannot linger here,” Dylan said. “You must make your choice, Commander.”
Colt tried not to think about how much was riding on his decision. He had thought he left the burden of command back at the fort with Stannel, but even as the leader of a small company, he could not escape the double-edged blade that was being in charge.
Letting out a long sigh, Colt made his choice.
* * *
Ruben couldn’t see Toemis’s face, couldn’t guess what the old man was thinking.
Toemis wasn’t moving. He appeared to be staring at the approaching giant and then, as though surrendering to his fate, let the knife fall from his fingers.
“We have to help him,” Ruben said.
Arthur shot him a look of absolute bafflement. “Why?”
“We need Toemis to tell the Knights that it’s his fault we all ended up here,” Ruben explained. In spite of the mounting fear that sat in his belly like a ball of lead, he forced himself to walk forward. “We need him to corroborate our story. And besides, it’s the right thing to do.”
Arthur only sighed. Ruben knew exactly what the boy was thinking. How could the two of them hope to stop the giant rock-thing? Ruben didn’t know the answer. All he knew was he couldn’t just watch as Toemis was squashed like a bug.
Despite its lumbering pace, the creature was already almost upon its prey.
Come on, Ruben. Think! Think! Think!
Arthur launched himself forward and shouted at the top of his lungs. Ruben couldn’t tell if the cry was an attempt to bolster his courage or to distract the monster. He could only watch as the boy charged headlong at the rock creature, helplessly waiting to see whether Arthur would get there in time.
As it was, Arthur reached Toemis at about the same time as the stone giant did. The beast moved far more quickly than it had been, swinging one of its massive arms at the old man. Arthur tried to knock Toemis aside, but all he managed to do was put himsel
f in the way. Ruben thought he heard a sickening snap as the rock-hard fist slammed into both Toemis and Arthur.
The two men went sailing through the air and landed a few yards from the giant.
Hardly aware of what he was doing, Ruben ran to the giant. He must have scooped up Toemis’s knife on the way for now he was holding the meager weapon out before the monster. For a moment, he just looked into the smoldering orange eyes that stared back at him without any apparent emotion.
When the giant began moving both of its hands in his direction, Ruben took a swipe at the oncoming appendages. He might as well have been trying to stab the mountain itself. The knife bounced jarringly off the rocky flesh, leaving nothing but a white scratch behind.
Ruben tried to dart out of the way, but the colossus was quicker than he would have thought possible. The creature’s large, stubby fingers caught hold of his gray robe, and when the monster jerked its boulder-like arms up, Ruben was lifted six feet off of the ground.
Desperately, he tried to free himself from the garment, but then the giant’s other hand took hold of his midsection. The cold, unyielding fingers squeezed him, forcing the air from his lungs and causing his ribs to ache.
“Let him go!”
Ruben identified the speaker as Arthur by the voice alone. He couldn’t see anything besides the rock creature’s massive chest, and already that image was beginning to fade as darkness clouded the edge of his vision.
Oddly, the realization he was dying wasn’t accompanied by fear. Instead he found his mind assailed by a multitude of questions he would never know the answer to. Why had Toemis come to Wizard’s Mountain? Where had the rock giant come from? Would he ever see Aric again?
As his hold on consciousness weakened, he saw Sister Aric clearly in his mind. He heard her speak his name. What was I so afraid of? he wondered. Bearing my soul to her should have been the most natural thing in the world. I squandered so much of my life living in fear…
Then he could resist no longer, and the darkness washed over him.
* * *
Stannel set a grueling pace for Port Stone. Though his gaze swept across the open plain—seeking the missing humans and prowling goblins alike—his mind was sifting through what he knew about Toemis, Arthur, and Ruben, recalling Mitto’s misgivings about the old man, everything he had learned from his interview with the youngest Renegade, and how he had never seen Ruben cast a single spell.
No matter which way he looked at the situation, he could not get his mind around it.
When they reached Port Stone, Scout quickly located four sets of tracks. The riders followed the trail back out of town and up the side of a mountain. Scout led the way, keeping his eyes on the ground even as he spoke with Horcalus, who rode directly beside him.
After a few minutes, Horcalus slowed his horse to bring his mount side-by-side with Stannel’s.
“Do you know the name of this place, Commander?” he asked.
Stannel paused before replying, “No, I don’t believe I do.”
“It’s called Wizard’s Mountain,” Horcalus said, “and unlike the port below, it is inhabited.”
Before Stannel could seek clarification, a woman’s voice echoed all around them. He thought he could make out individual words, but they didn’t make any sense. When the strange chanting ceased, the ground began to shake.
The tremors were weak, but Stannel saw the quake’s effects were more severe higher up the mountain. Trees quivered as though terrorized by a violent tempest, and in several places, rocks tumbled down the mountainside, creating a veil of dust in their wake.
Stannel urged his horse into a gallop, trusting Aric and the Renegades would follow. The way was steep for a time, and he could only pray his mount wouldn’t lose its footing. When he saw the trail made an even sharper incline ahead, Stannel was forced to bring the horse to a full stop.
He had already dismounted and taken hold of his horse’s bridle when the rest of his companions caught up with him. A shout rose up from the other side of the hill. With Horcalus’s ominous declaration still ringing in his ears, Stannel released the bridle, unsheathed his sword, and ran up the ledge.
When he reached the top of the hill, he immediately spotted three of the four missing people. Arthur and Toemis lay near each other not far off the trail. Ruben, on the other hand, was being held by a giant creature that appeared to be constructed from solid rock.
Stannel might have suspected Ruben was responsible for conjuring the amazing creature but for two things. First, he was almost certain Ruben Zeetan wasn’t a true spell-caster, and second, the would-be wizard looked to be seconds away from getting the life squeezed out of him by the enormous creature.
“Ruben!” Aric shouted.
Stannel ran toward the creature. Over his shoulder, he yelled, “Get Arthur and Toemis and flee!”
“What about you?” Horcalus asked.
“Do as I say!”
Stannel didn’t know if he would reach the stone giant before it killed Ruben, but he had to try. As he drew near, the creature’s fiery eyes trained in on him. The monster released its hold on Ruben and turned to face him. Ruben plopped to the ground, where he lay as still as a corpse.
Stannel slowed his advance somewhat. “Stand down!”
The stone giant took a great step forward, followed by another.
So much for ending this civilly, Stannel thought.
In his peripheral vision, he saw Horcalus, Scout, and Aric moving toward where Arthur and Toemis lay. The creature of stone took another step toward him.
Stannel steadied his breathing and mentally prepared himself for the confrontation. Some men said fear was as dangerous as an enemy’s blade. Others claimed fear produced strength in the face of combat. As for Stannel, he believed the gods would decide whether he lived or died, and no amount of worrying would change anything.
The stone giant looming over him, Stannel made a silent appeal to the Great Protector for the strength and wisdom to see him through the battle. He then sheathed his sword and loosed the mace from his belt. The feel of the weapon’s smooth handle seemed to drain some of the tension from his body.
He stared up into his opponent’s furnace-like eyes, waiting for it to make the first move. When the creature finally attacked, it moved far more quickly than expected. Stannel narrowly avoided the first enormous fist that came barreling down at him with the force of an avalanche and could do nothing but brace himself as the second crumpled his pauldron and shoulder.
The giant lifted one petrified tree trunk of a leg and tried to step on him. Stannel darted to the left, barely evading the attack. The impact of giant’s foot against the ground shook the earth, but Stannel kept his footing. As the creature’s right hand came at him again, he gripped his mace with both hands and swung with all of his might.
He felt the familiar tingling sensation spread through his arms into his hands and through the mace. The bronze glow washed over him like a rare glimpse of sunshine on a cloudy day. It was in moments like these, the times when Pintor granted him a small portion of his power, Stannel felt simultaneously immense and tiny—exalted and humbled all at once.
His mace met the creature’s arm with a clamorous boom. The rocky limb exploded, pelting Stannel with shards of stone and something else that he couldn’t immediately identify. A small cloud lingered in the air, and Stannel was forced to take a few steps back, coughing in order to expel the dust from his lungs.
When the air had cleared somewhat, Stannel saw the giant’s arm had completely broken apart between the elbow and shoulder. Red-orange liquid spewed from the wound, smoking and hissing as it dripped from the shattered appendage.
Stannel realized he too was smoking for the molten substance had splattered all over him. He quickly pulled off his helmet and breastplate, throwing the scorching-hot armor to the ground. The liquid was already eating holes through the steel.
His mace, however, appeared not at all damaged by the corrosive solution.
; Stannel studied his adversary, waiting for the giant to act. But the creature didn’t move. It made no sound either. Stannel was beginning to suspect that the deep, mouth-like crevasse underscoring the burning eyes was more for show than utility. If the monster could feel pain—and Stannel sincerely hoped that it could not—it had no way of expressing it vocally.
The two adversaries stood perfectly still, staring at each another for what seemed a long time to Stannel. He wondered what the creature was thinking and if it were even capable of thinking. Is this a natural beast or a magical creation? he wondered.
Suddenly, the stone giant lurched to the side. Stannel tensed, but the creature was not advancing. It slowly turned itself around before ambling off in the opposite direction. Stannel briefly considered finishing what he had started, but he couldn’t bring himself to slay a foe unprovoked and from behind, no less.
As he knelt down beside Ruben to check for signs of life, Stannel glanced repeatedly at the magnificent creature, praying it would keep walking.
Passage XIII
Stannel gave Arthur his undivided attention as he provided a brief account of the past twelve hours.
Aside from some bruises and a twisted ankle, the young Renegade had weathered his latest adventure well. Ruben, on the other hand, had yet to regain consciousness. Aric had had to reassure Arthur that Ruben would fully recover before he answered Stannel’s questions.
As for Toemis, the old man didn’t look like he would live long enough to confirm or deny Arthur’s allegations against him. Aric crouched beside Toemis, muttering prayers to Mystel. The old man’s breathing was slow and shallow. A thin, red stream trickled down the corner of his mouth. The healer had not wanted to move him for fear he was bleeding internally.
Neither Stannel nor the two rebels beside him said nothing when Arthur came to the end of his story. He studied the boy’s face, searching for signs of treachery. It wasn’t his nature to be suspicious, but he was far too shrewd a man to take everything he heard at face value.
Williams, D M - Renegade Chronicles [Collection 1-3] Page 83