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

by David Michael Williams

  “But—”

  “Sir Dylan Torc, I am your commanding officer, and I will not permit insubordination. Is that understood?”

  Though he spoke to Dylan, Dale looked directly at Colt. The sergeant was testing him, baiting him. Colt nearly surrendered to the indignation burning beneath his skin.

  “I suggest we take some time to reflect on this new information before we make any decisions,” Ruford said.

  Dale rolled his eyes. “Waiting is all we have been doing, Captain. The Warriorlord alone knows why the enemy has not made a move against Hylan, but every second we dally pushes our luck even further. We now know we can expect no help from Fort Valor, and there are not enough men at Fort Faith to make a difference. We must make a decision now!”

  The quiet that followed Dale’s declaration seemed more pronounced than his shouting. Dylan Torc looked as though he plenty to say, but he kept his mouth clamped shut. Be patient, Colt silently bade the Knight. Dale hasn’t won yet…

  To Colt’s surprise, it was Quillan Dag who finally spoke. “This isn’t the Knighthood, Sergeant. The people of Hylan won’t leave their homes just because you tell them to. They need to know what’s going on.”

  “So let’s go tell them,” Dale countered, suddenly rising from his chair.

  “It…it will take some time to gather everyone,” Quillan said, visibly flustered. “And look at poor, Commander Crystalus. He and Sir Dylan have ridden all night without rest. They must be exhausted.”

  “How soon can you arrange an assembly?” Dale pressed the mayor, speaking through clenched teeth.

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “Very well,” said Dale with a sigh. “We shall tell the masses of our decision tomorrow night.”

  Colt might have pointed out that a consensus had not been reached, but he was too tired to argue. Let Sergeant Mullahstyn think he bullied everyone into his plan. Though Colt had remained quiet for most of the meeting, he would have his say before long.

  Passage V

  When Lilac awoke, she would have sworn she had never seen the four bare walls around her before. But when she spotted Else’s sleeping form, she recalled the exhausting trek from the cottage to Hylan.

  Of Opal there was no sign, and since there were no windows, Lilac couldn’t decide if Opal had gotten up early or if she and Else had overslept.

  But what was oversleeping to Lilac? What did she have to get up for? She supposed that even though she was a Renegade, whoever was in charge in Hylan might put her to work somewhere. After all, the thieves from the Guild were pitching in.

  Folding up her bedroll, she decided that if anyone was going to boss her around, it should be Colt. He had allowed her to join the mission to Rydah in the first place. She would find the young commander and ask him what the plan was. As she ran a hand through her greasy hair, she only hoped she’d have time to clean up before they left for the fort.

  If they were going back to the fort.

  Lilac walked outside. The chilly air cleared the cobwebs from her mind. A washed-out sun hung near the center of the dull gray sky. Night and morning had come and gone while she rested.

  The street that bisected the village of Hylan was empty. Lilac was seized by the irrational fear that the goblins had come and killed everyone while she and Else slept through it all. She shook the notion from her head and reminded herself that Hylan wasn’t a populous place to begin with.

  Not knowing where else to go, she started toward the converted inn. She had almost reached the door when she spotted Colt, Opal, and Dylan farther up the road, walking away from her. She had not seen where they had come from, but it appeared as though the trio were angling across the street, possibly heading for the stable.

  Lilac ran after them, holding her scabbard tight against her thigh so she wouldn’t trip over it. As she neared the stable, she realized that there was more to Hylan than the buildings that lined the village’s solitary street. Beyond the stable, sprouting up on the other side of a hillock, was an assembly of tents that stretched for a quarter of a mile.

  Colt, Opal, and Dylan came to a stop at a largish tent that stood at the fore of the gathering. One by one, they entered the tent. Lilac arrived a few seconds later. Drawing back the flap at the opening, she found Dylan’s back blocking her path. She tried to squirm past him, mumbling an unheard apology.

  Dylan didn’t budge, but she managed to make a space for herself in what proved to be a bit of a crowd. The smell of iodine and the row of cots suggested she was in Hylan’s infirmary. She had joined a ring of strangers in standing around a cot occupied by someone of great importance, apparently. The only problem was that a squat man, presumably a healer of some sort, was kneeling over the body, completely blocking Lilac’s view.

  “Othello!”

  Opal left Colt’s side, shoving her way to Othello’s bedside. Lilac was right behind her. She crouched down by the patient’s head and realized with amazement that it was, in fact, the missing forester.

  When Lilac had first met Othello, he had been clean-shaven. Now, a full blond beard, soiled with mud and, possibly, blood obscured his chiseled features. His face had lost much of its color and was slick with sweat. His eyes were clenched shut as he threw his head from side to side.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Lilac asked the healer.

  The man did not answer, and in the space that followed, Lilac heard someone ask, “Who is this guy?”

  The healer was examining a wound on Othello’s leg. Lilac didn’t know whether to be grateful that the forester was alive or worried that he looked to be lingering on death’s doorstep. How could the gods reunite them only to take him away?

  “One of the border patrols found him earlier this morning,” someone behind her said. “They called out to him, but he didn’t seem to hear them. When they approached, he collapsed.”

  “He looks done for,” opined another, earning him a baleful glare from both Lilac and Opal.

  Dylan told the group that Othello was a member of Commander Crystalus’s team and how the forester had been lost after he started a devastating conflagration in the goblin camp.

  “He’s a true hero,” Dylan concluded solemnly.

  Lilac would have voiced her agreement, but the statement sounded too final, like the memorial carved upon a gravestone.

  “Is he going to die?” Opal demanded, grabbing the healer by his sleeve.

  “I don’t know,” the man snapped. “He’s lost a lot of blood. These’re arrow holes, by the looks of ’em. He’s got a high fever, which may melt his brain if I can’t bring it down.”

  “Poison,” Lilac whispered.

  On their way to Fort Faith, Dominic Horcalus had been stuck with a goblin arrow and had been similarly debilitated. Othello had concocted a brew to battle the Renegade’s fever, but only the clerics at Mystel’s Temple had been able to cure him.

  Sizing up Hylan’s healer, who wore the duds of a rancher, Lilac feared that the man was no match for the clerics of the Healing Goddess. For all she knew, he was an animal doctor.

  Before she knew what she was doing, Lilac was following the healer’s every command, dipping a rag in a bucket of well water, squeezing the excess liquid from it, and wiping Othello’s brow. She helped the doctor remove the forester’s buckskin shirt and winced at the sight of his injuries.

  She couldn’t bring herself to question how Othello had crossed the miles between the goblin camp and Hylan in fear that scrutinizing the miracle would somehow nullify it. All the while, she was conscious of Opal’s presence. The woman was holding Othello’s hand and staring down at him with tear-filled eyes.

  Lilac let out a startled cry when Colt drew his sword suddenly and lunged forward. Down came transparent blade of Chrysaal-rûn, stopping just inches from Othello’s face.

  The crowd around her was abuzz with questions, but Lilac realized, then, what Colt was doing. Goblin shamans possessed the ability to take on human form. T’slect had fooled everyone into believing he was the
Crown Prince of Superius. But Colt’s crystal sword could dispel the goblins’ vuudu, showing the shaman’s true form beneath the enchantment.

  Judging by the fact that Colt sheathed his weapon seconds later, he had not seen a goblin face through glassy blade.

  Slowly, the tent began to empty out. Dylan lingered a while longer, staring grimly down at Othello. Colt left soon after. Meanwhile, the village’s healer worked tirelessly, cleaning and bandaging Othello’s wounds, examining his bones for breaks.

  At one point, Lilac glanced over at Opal and saw that the woman’s eyes were closed. Whether Opal was praying or weeping, Lilac did not know. But she didn’t begrudge Opal for her presence there; Othello needed all of the help he could get.

  Lilac did what she could to bring him comfort, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the cool rag and trickling water into his mouth with another. Although Othello’s eyes flickered open every now and then, he never truly awoke from his fever dreams. The healer, who was in and out of the tent throughout the day, would only shrug his shoulders when either of the women asked him whether Othello would survive.

  Her mind wandered as the hours passed. Back at the cottage, she had been annoyed with Opal for how much she worried about Othello, as though she, Lilac, had some claim over him. True, Lilac had fought beside Othello on several occasions. They were allies certainly and companions too, but were they friends?

  Did the reticent forester have any true friends?

  Othello had joined Klye’s band of Renegades months before Lilac. According to Klye, Othello had killed some Superian woodcutters in self-defense. Klye, Ragellan, and Horcalus came to his rescue, saving him from a mob. Othello had remained with the rebels thereafter.

  She could add up all she knew about Othello on one hand. He had been a hermit, making his home in a forest. He was an excellent shot with a longbow. He knew something about concocting natural remedies. He seemed to possess a sixth sense for detecting danger.

  And he had chosen to follow Opal’s plans instead of hers when Opal had wanted to search for Colt and Cholk.

  Lilac was still sore about that last point, but she couldn’t hold a grudge against a man fighting for his life. She had thought, at the time, that Othello had gone along with Opal because he had romantic feelings for the redhead.

  Beside her, Opal gazed down at Othello’s face. Lilac might have given her vorpal sword to know what the woman was thinking.

  Sometime later, a man barged into tent. His wide eyes took in her and Opal before coming to rest on Othello. Lilac didn’t recognize him—and yet there was something familiar about him. The man let out a sigh that befit his great size.

  “Are you looking for someone?” Lilac asked. “The healer should be back shortly.”

  “Looking for someone,” the man repeated. “That I am, missy. I was hoping my boy had finally turned up. This is the new arrival, right?”

  The man pointed down at Othello, and Lilac nodded.

  He let out another sigh. “My boy run off this past summer, and he hasn’t come back.”

  Though not a parent herself, Lilac could imagine the poor man’s distress. Anyone would worry over a missing child, but the fact that there was an army of goblins on the island must have made it ten times worse. The man was wringing his hands—which were practically the size of pumpkins—and shifted his gaze from Lilac to Opal.

  “My son killed another boy,” the man said. “Wasn’t his fault, though. He was only trying to save a girl from some unwanted attention, or so she tells it. And no one doubts it. That Llede Hendorm was a bully from the day he was born!”

  The man punctuated the exclamation with yet another sigh. “I just wish he’d come home. My boy, I mean. We were able to follow his tracks for a while, but…gods, he could be anywhere by now. And if he was staying in Rydah at the time of the…the…”

  He trailed off, and Lilac politely looked away. If this man’s son had gone to hide in Rydah, he was surely dead. But there were plenty of other places the kid could have gone. Lilac was about to tell him that very thing, but when she opened her mouth to speak, no words came out, and she all but choked on thin air.

  She had seen the man before!

  Or, rather, she had seen a version of his face that was decades younger. Yes, those were the same clear, blue eyes that revealed more than they could ever hope to hide. The hair was the same too, though the man had patches of white mixed in with the red.

  “You’re Arthur’s father!”

  The man pulled a baffled face that probably resembled Lilac’s own, confirming her suspicion without ever saying a word.

  Arthur’s father was perhaps a full foot taller than his son, and he was nearly twice as wide. But there was no denying the resemblance. Now that she saw it, she wondered why she hadn’t seen it right away. And it all made sense when she thought about it. Arthur had never explained why he was working as a dockhand in Port Town—which was about as far away as one could get from Hylan without leaving the island.

  “You…you know my boy?” the man whispered, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

  “I know a young man named Arthur Bismarc—”

  “That’s him! Tell me, where’d you see him?”

  Lilac was already regretting opening her mouth. She wanted so much to put the man’s worries to rest, but she couldn’t. For all she knew, the goblins had moved on to new Fort Valor after destroying the original one.

  She wanted to help the man, but was it her place to tell him how Arthur had gotten mixed up with a band of rebels?

  “It was more than two weeks ago…at Fort Faith,” she told him.

  “Fort Faith?” the man laughed. “What, he thinks he’s a Knight?”

  Lilac shrugged, unwilling to say more. The man—whose name, she learned, was Glen Bismarc—did not press her for too many details. Clearly, he was relieved to hear Arthur was about as safe as anyone in Capricon could hope to be. She told him Arthur was one of several misfits who had sought sanctuary from the goblins at new Fort Valor, which was true enough.

  “Praise be to the gods,” Glen said with another chuckle. “You don’t know how happy you’ve made me, girl. Will you be returning to that fortress soon?”

  “I wish I knew,” Lilac replied.

  “Pardon?”

  “I have friends back at the fort, so I hope to return as soon as I’m able,” she clarified.

  Glen Bismarc fixed his eyes down at his feet, which were taking small steps to nowhere. “If you see Arthur again, would you do me a favor and give him a message from his family?”

  “Of course.”

  “Could you tell him that we all miss him terribly and that we hope he comes home as soon as it’s safe? And tell him…tell him it wasn’t his fault…”

  “I will,” Lilac said.

  Glen’s mouth couldn’t decide whether to smile or frown. A single tear freed itself from his lashes, only to lose itself in the thick hairs of his beard. “I’d go there myself, but I’ve got seven other youngins to look after…and my wife…she’s been sick with worry. I’d better go give ’em all the good news.”

  The bear of a man made an awkward bow to Lilac and another to Opal before wrestling his way past the tent flaps. Lilac stared at the opening for several minutes after his departure and then glanced over at Opal, who was already looking at her.

  “That was weird,” Opal said.

  And for once, Lilac couldn’t disagree with her.

  * * *

  Rather than follow Dylan to wherever the Knight was going, Colt wandered over to an alley between Hylan’s inn and what turned out to be a blacksmith’s shop. He glanced furtively around him, but no one was paying him any notice.

  Colt steps took him to a woodpile at the far end of the alley. The slightest trace of apprehension surged through him as he approached the stack of lumber. Tossing a quick glance back the way he had come, Colt stretched out his arm and reached into a tight niche between the hewn wood and an old fence.

  With hi
s shoulder pressed hard against the pile of wood, Colt gingerly explored the space, his fingers scraping along the jagged edges of the timber. The longer he stood there, searching, the faster his heart beat.

  But then the tips of his fingers found a smooth surface. Like everything else, the object felt like wood, but unlike the felled trees around it, this pole was cool to the touch. Colt let out a sigh.

  It was still there.

  For a moment, he considered pulling the vuudu staff out of its hiding place—just to be sure that it wasn’t broken—but then decided against it. Finding a place to stash the vile relic had been difficult enough, but finagling the thing into the tiny space between the woodpile and fence had been a frustrating endeavor.

  Colt withdrew his hand and stared at the blackness of the space, imagining the skull watching him in return. The thought gave him goosebumps.

  He had almost walked into the meeting with Dale, Ruford, and Quillan Dag with the staff in hand, but Dylan had talked him out of it. Colt had left it out in the hall, where, fortunately, no one had found it.

  If he hadn’t been so tired, Colt probably would have come to the same conclusion as Dylan. After all, bringing a goblin talisman before the three leaders of Hylan would not have made a good first impression.

  Thinking back to the meeting, Colt wondered if he had made the right decision. He felt terrible for not standing up for Dylan, though it couldn’t be helped. The Knight had said almost nothing to him since then.

  Colt had wanted to reassure Dylan that Dale Mullahstyn had not won yet, but neither of them had been in a mood to talk last night, and this morning had lent them no privacy. And even if he trusted Dylan with his plans, Colt was not ready to make them known to the public.

  The time for that would come soon enough.

  Colt leaned his back against the rickety fence. This was the first time he had been alone since his captivity at the goblin camp. He quickly banished those dark memories into a far corner of his mind and tried his best to enjoy the solitude, the refreshing afternoon breezes. But the truth was Colt didn’t want to be alone.