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

by David Michael Williams

  Militarily, Drekk’t was the highest-ranking officer on the island. But an ungifted goblin never outranked one of the Chosen of the Chosen.

  The general didn’t seem overly bothered by Ay’sek’s harsh words. If anything, he looked amused.

  “I am the campaign general,” Drekk’t stated. “I have a war to win. I cannot be in two places at once, and you are the only other person I trust with this task.”

  “And what makes you think I will do it?” Ay’sek challenged.

  “The Emperor has commanded it.”

  Ay’sek couldn’t quite suppress a startled snort. Only Upsinous himself held more authority than the Emperor of T’Ruel. Drekk’t could have ordered Ay’sek to clean his boots with his tongue, and as long as he had the Emperor’s blessing, Ay’sek couldn’t refuse.

  He did not doubt Drekk’t had spoken with the Emperor. While the shaman had never conversed with T’Ruel’s sovereign lord himself, he had seen people who had, and all of them—shamans and the ungifted alike—had been shaken by the experience. They had all been physically and mentally sapped—just as Drekk’t clearly was.

  Ay’sek understood now that he was trapped. Oh, he might take up the matter with the Emperor, but Ay’sek valued his life far too much to risk second-guessing an order. If the Emperor wanted Peerma’rek back, Ay’sek wasn’t going to be the one to deny him it.

  “Why not send one of your lieutenants?” Ay’sek demanded.

  “We underestimated the humans,” Drekk’t replied. “To attempt to take the staff by force would be folly. I’m certain of that. Even if they didn’t use Peerma’rek against us, we would lose valuable lives in the struggle.

  “But I have devised a way to get it back without sacrificing a single soldier. Prior to the invasion, you disguised yourself as a human. You posed as the Renegade Leader of Rydah and tricked the rebels into opening the gates of the capital city. You lived among humans for almost a year. You know how to act like one.”

  Not to mention I’m the only shaman in your gods-forsaken army, Ay’sek groused.

  Drekk’t added, “You will track down the humans who stole Peerma’rek, and you will take it back.”

  Ay’sek might have argued. He could have pointed out that the army needed him. Without its cache of explosives, the battalion would have a difficult time with the remaining fortifications and walled cities. They needed him. They needed vuudu.

  He might have pointed out that, with him and his spells in the vanguard, a small unit could regain the staff by force, but Ay’sek also was wary of the fearless humans who had strode boldly into the war camp and walked out again in one piece.

  In other circumstances, Ay’sek would have jumped at the chance to extricate himself from the army. At least while pretending to be the Renegade Leader of Rydah, he had lived comfortably. A war camp was not his idea of fine living—not like the upper echelon who resided at T’Ruel’s finest temples—but neither was Ay’sek eager to return to the humans. Despite their many flaws, goblin soldiers were far better company than the ugly ghost-skins.

  Ay’sek glared at Drekk’t. “For your sake, General, I hope you bring this conquest to an end soon. The Emperor is not the only one hoping for a quick triumph over the humans.”

  Without another word, Ay’sek swiveled on his heels and stomped out of the tent. He was due for a long holiday back in T’Ruel once this war was over. If disguising himself as a human—again—would bring the end that much closer, so be it.

  Ay’sek directed his steps back toward where his private tent—and its precious solitude—awaited. What he needed now was time to think and, of course, sleep. Unlike some goblins he could name, he preferred careful planning to spontaneous displays of force. An enemy killed by a knife in the dark was just as dead as one ripped apart by a barrage of spells.

  Drekk’t probably expected him to leave a trail of gutted humans on his trail to Peerma’rek, but if Ay’sek was going to take on this mission, he would do things his way.

  As he lay down on his pallet, an ancient goblin axiom came to mind:

  “Never cause more killing than you must, lest the last death be your own.”

  Passage II

  Outside the window, the tree-strewn landscape grew darker by the minute. A few flurries danced on the wind, tiny harbingers of the winter to come. The meager candlelight inside the cottage lent the pane of glass a mirror-like quality, framing the countenance of the man who stood before it.

  Colt’s face had regained some of the shape and color it had lost during his time with Drekk’t. Generous nourishment and plenty of rest would do much to improve his appearance, the young commander knew, but he had no appetite, and his sleep had not been restful these past two nights.

  While scrapes and bruises would fade, some scars might never heal.

  Although he stared out the window, Colt saw neither his reflection nor the woods beyond. In his mind’s eye, he saw his Cholk straddling his chest and pounding his fists meaty fists into Colt’s face.

  The goblins were all around them, their shrill cheers building with every blow. Colt hadn’t the strength to defend himself. And he couldn’t bring himself to fight for his life, wouldn’t give the goblins the pleasure of watching him battle his friend. If the dwarf wanted to destroy the life he had saved so many months back, it was his right…

  Cholk procured an arrow, a bolt that had been shot at Colt to motivate him to fight back. But instead of plunging the arrowhead into Colt’s breast, Cholk used it to slit his own throat. Colt would never forget the dwarf’s final words before he sacrificed himself:

  “Suicide is a great crime among my people, but to give your life so that another might live…well…I’d say that’s honorable enough. Sorry I had to make it look so real…”

  Colt’s eyes caught movement. So caught up in the memory was he that he couldn’t immediately discern whether it had come from the inside or the outside of the cottage. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned suddenly to regard the person who had stolen up on him.

  At the sight of Opal, he exhaled a breath laden with too many emotions to count. He had been infatuated with the beautiful archer since he met her back in Continae. Even then, he couldn’t say no to her. She had enjoyed free passage with him and his Knights to Capricon. He wasn’t sure when he had started to truly love her, but he could admit it now, if only to himself.

  He had thought his heart would burst when their eyes had met in the goblin tent that had served as his prison.

  Opal smiled at him now, though Colt recognized it for the front it was. She was worried about him, and he loved her all the more for her concern. While he had been lying in that tent, paralyzed by the vuudu of Drekk’t’s staff, he had had plenty of time to think. He vaguely recalled swearing he would confess his feelings to Opal if he survived the ordeal.

  But caught in her dazzling green eyes, beholding and beholden to her full lips and the braid of golden-red tresses, Colt didn’t know where to begin. And so he did what he had done every day since their miraculous escape from the goblin camp. He swore that he would tell her the next time they were alone.

  Since there were currently twelve other people residing at the cottage, the private conversation would not come soon.

  “Are you all right?” Opal asked, careful to keep her voice low. No less than nine people were sharing the single, communal room with them at the moment.

  “I’m just eager to be on our way,” Colt replied, which was more or less true.

  Ever since his promotion to Commander of Fort Faith, Colt had suffered from chronic indecision. He had second-guessed every decision during the conflict with a local band of Renegades and, later, with the goblins who had instigated the rebellion in secret.

  Colt had been all too eager to leave Fort Faith and the responsibility that went along with being a commander. He had led a small party—a group that had included Opal, Cholk, and two rebels who had been enemies just days before—to Rydah.

  But their warning of a gob
lin invasion came too late. The capital city was now little more than several square miles of ruins. Colt knew it was his duty return to the fort and prepare his men for the attack that would inevitably come, but he had come to this cottage instead, to regain his strength and get his thoughts in order.

  Now was time to vanquish doubt once and for all.

  He knew what he had to do, and he was resolved to do it.

  Opal broke eye contact and glanced out the window. Colt wondered if she was looking for the only other person who hadn’t made it back to the cottage.

  Othello had run off when Opal and the others had rescued him from the goblin camp. They had been forced to leave the forester behind in order to save themselves. Colt knew almost nothing about the man, which made him feel even guiltier that his liberation had likely come at the cost of Othello’s life.

  Opal, apparently, had come to know the forester during their trek to the goblin camp. She had cursed Lilac—the third member of the rescue party—for losing track of Othello in the chaos that ensued. He suspected the forester’s absence was partly responsible for Opal’s subdued spirits. Colt couldn’t deny he was a little jealous of the absent forester, though the man was almost certainly dead.

  That Othello was a Renegade made the situation still more puzzling to Colt; Opal had never masked her disdain for the rebels.

  He felt as though he should say something to comfort Opal, but just then a third person joined them at the window.

  “Are you all ready, Commander?” Sir Dylan asked.

  They all had been restless today, but Dylan Torc was the edgiest of them all. Dylan, one of only a few Knights to escape Rydah’s destruction, had a reputation for being impatient. That was probably why he had been allowed to lead a motley team to the cottage in the first place.

  Dylan, a handful of other Knights, and some characters of lesser repute had all volunteered to leave the safety of Hylan—a sprawling farming community that had yet to face the full brunt of Drekk’t’s army—and return to Rydah. The troupe had combed the ruins for survivors before pressing their luck with some reconnaissance work.

  It had been Dylan and his companions who had stumbled upon the goblin camp moments before Colt, Opal, and Lilac had needed to make their getaway. Dylan himself had convinced Colt to go back to Hylan with him and his men, after a few days’ rest at the cottage.

  “I am ready and eager,” Colt told Dylan.

  Dylan nodded vaguely and said, “Allow me, Commander…” The fair-haired Knight stepped forward, wedging himself between Colt and Opal, and drew the curtain shut.

  “Even a single candle can act as a beacon when it’s black as pitch outside,” he explained. “No need to bring the goblins down on us now…not when we’ve remained hidden this long. We’ll be heading out as soon as the sentries return…”

  Alternating his gaze from Colt to Opal, Dylan apparently came to the conclusion that he was intruding for he turned and walked away again. Almost immediately, the Knight resumed the erratic pacing that had occupied him for the past hour or more.

  Colt couldn’t hide a smile. None of them had more than an armful of possessions, and yet Dylan had insisted on reminding them all—repeatedly—to prepare themselves for the journey ahead. As a matter of fact, Colt didn’t even own the coat on his back, as the saying went. His clothing had been donated by the man who had once lived at this cottage before goblins stained the floorboards with his blood.

  Colt had lost his armor when he had been taken into the goblins’ custody. By sheer chance, Opal, Othello, and Lilac had found his sword, which the goblins had discarded on one of the many game trails that crisscrossed the forest.

  He was relieved beyond words to have the sword back in his possession. Chrysaal-rûn had been in his family for centuries, and the weapon’s strange, crystalline blade had proven to be quite a valuable tool against the goblins.

  Aside from the crystal sword, Colt would bring only one other object to Hylan, an item so nefarious that few others in the group would dare to touch it.

  Colt glanced at Opal, who continued to look at the window even though the curtains blocked any vantage of the scene outside. Both she and Lilac had wanted to stay at the cottage one night more to give Othello more time to find them. But everyone else had voted to move on, lest the goblins show up in lieu of the missing forester.

  Not knowing what to say to Opal, Colt turned his attention to the others in the cottage. Dylan was exchanging words with Lilac. Colt supposed the woman warrior was assuring him she was ready to go.

  Like Othello, Lilac had been a Renegade up until the true menace—the goblins—had made themselves known. Colt didn’t know her very well either, but he had faced her in battle on one occasion and knew her to be a capable swordswoman. If Lilac was bitter about having to leave Othello behind, she did well to hide it from the others.

  Near Lilac and Dylan sat the cottage’s unexpected couple. Mitto O’erlander and Else Fontane had been reunited before Colt arrived at the hideout. From what Colt had gathered over the past couple of days, Else had owned an inn in Rydah, where Mitto, a traveling merchant, was wont to stay. Apparently, the two had acknowledged their love for each other only after believing the other had died at the hands of the goblins.

  Else and Mitto sat very near each other, sharing softly spoken words. Colt frowned, though he knew he should be happy they had found love in these troubled times. And yet their affection served as a reminder of how things could be—should be—between him and Opal. He so desperately wanted Opal to look at him the way Mitto and Else looked at each other.

  Suddenly, the door to the cottage flew open. Colt reached for Chrysaal-rûn, but it was only Gomez.

  The old man, called Loony Gomez by some, was clad in a long black cloak. He pulled back his hood, self-consciously patting down his wayward strands of gray hair, and then brushed off the light layer of snowflakes from his shoulders. Gomez looked more like a befuddled beggar than a master burglar, but as the former leader of Rydah’s Thief Guild was wont to say, incompetence was a fantastic disguise.

  A Knight entered the cottage next, followed by a second thief, a surly fellow who went by the name of Tryst.

  Dylan was on the trio in a flash.

  “Get your things. We leave at once,” he announced. Colt thought that the Knight looked more excited than a boy on Yuletide morning.

  “Yes, Sir!” Tryst barked sarcastically, pushing his way past Dylan over to where a pot of hot water sat atop a rundown stove.

  Gomez also went for the stove. “In a moment, Dylan. I’m half frozen…an’ the other half’s stiff from standin’ for three hours straight.”

  Dylan let out a loud sigh. “You have five minutes. We dare not linger any longer without a perimeter guard.”

  Of the three newcomers, only the Knight voiced his agreement. Gomez and Tryst were already bringing steaming-hot mugs to their mouths.

  Thanks to the small stove, the cottage was temperate, if not overly warm. Colt wondered how cold it was going to get that night. It probably would have been a good idea for everyone to imbibe some of the hot liquid before venturing out into the chilly night.

  As the three sentries enjoyed their drinks and a bit of leftover supper, everyone else watched and waited in silence. While the hike to Hylan would not be terribly long, Colt found himself considering the various problems that could arise along the way. Not the least of them was the goblin army.

  “You’re not taking that, are you?”

  It took Colt a second to realize Tryst was talking to him, and it took even longer for him to understand what the thief was referring to. Glancing down at his right hand, Colt was astonished to find he had been holding the vuudu staff the whole time.

  The vuudu staff—Colt had no idea what else to call the wretched thing—was comprised of a grayish rod resembling petrified wood, a yellowed skull that rested atop one end, and some black feathers sprouting out beneath the jawbone to make a macabre beard.

  The goblin general
had used the staff to render his prisoners helpless. The staff had also allowed Drekk’t and Colt to communicate, despite the fact that they spoke two very different languages. The staff could do other tricks too…

  In stealing the vuudu staff, Colt had robbed the goblins of a great weapon, and at the same time, he had stripped Drekk’t of the ability to wield magic.

  “Let’s just bury the damn thing and be done with it,” Tryst said. “Thing gives me the willies.”

  Colt, who had been absentmindedly studying the staff, now held it protectively against his chest. Although he loathed the vuudu staff—despised it for what it had done to him—he would never relinquish it willingly. They had gained the staff at the cost of Cholk’s life. He’d not dishonor the dead dwarf by throwing it away.

  To Tryst, Colt simply said, “No.”

  “For all we know, the goblins might be able to track us because we have it,” the thief argued.

  “All the more reason why we shouldn’t leave it lying around where they can easily get it back,” Colt replied.

  “It’s not worth dying for!” Tryst spat.

  “If the goblins could track us with it, wouldn’t they have come by now?” Opal pointed out.

  “She has got a point,” Dylan said to the thief, whose face settled into a deeper scowl.

  “Fine then,” Tryst said. “But don’t expect me to save your asses when it starts raining black arrows.”

  “Gods above and below, where’s Lucky?” Gomez asked.

  So loud was the older thief’s shout that Tryst spilled some of his drink on the front of his shirt. Tryst started swearing, but everyone else looked around for the missing man.

  “He’s probably just fertilizing the forest.” Tryst punctuated the comment with a curse as he dabbed at the scalding mess on his chest with one of his sleeves

  Gomez’s face was a portrait of unadulterated distress. “Darclon smite me, I must be slippin’. I can’t even keep track of me boys anymore!”

  Although Gomez was a master criminal—or had been, until the Renegade movement in Rydah had edged out the Thief Guild—it was clear the old man genuinely cared for his cohorts. Gomez was already donning his wet cloak and walking back to the cottage’s entrance when the door opened again.