“Lilac is coming,” Opal stated, sounding none too pleased. “But I suppose it’s better she stick that sword of hers in goblins rather than Knights.”
Upon mentioning the Renegade woman, Opal pulled a sour face, but not even a frown could mar her beauty—the fullness of her lips, her shimmering green eyes, her womanly form…
“Othello is coming too,” she added.
Colt stopped mid-stride and jerked as though slapped.
“What?” he demanded.
“I know that he’s in bad shape, but he refuses to be left behind. And he’s still your prisoner, technically.”
Colt could think of a thing or two he’d have liked to do with the prisoner just then, but he forced the dark thoughts from his mind.
“Just as long as he doesn’t slow us down,” he mumbled.
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Opal said. “He’s looking much improved, and I’ll keep an eye on him.”
I bet you will, Colt thought.
“Well, like Dylan said, we’ll be heading out soon,” he said quickly. “I’d better finish getting ready.”
“Oh, yeah, all right,” Opal said. Colt thought she looked confused, but he couldn’t quite enjoy her discomfort at being so abruptly dismissed, even though it was a small sliver of pain compared to what she had unwittingly caused him.
“I’ll see you later,” he said, turning around and walking back to his bed.
Colt continued to stare up at the ceiling long after her footsteps echoed through the inn. He tried to keep his mind off of the beautiful archer, but it was not an easy task. He did his best to focus on the mission, though that topic was only slightly less depressing than his relationship with Opal.
Man-to-goblin, his company couldn’t hope to compete with Drekk’t’s forces.
All their hopes lay in surprise.
Passage IX
He stole through the lengthening shadows, his pace unhurried but steady. Aside from the occasional shout from the ale tent carried by the chilly breeze, all was quiet. He put more than a mile between himself and Hylan before coming to a stop.
Ay’sek made a cursory examination of his surroundings. He was flanked on all sides by middle-aged conifers. Except for an owl whose eyes glowed white in the darkness, he was quite alone.
The shaman picked up a stick from the ground and traced a circle in the dirt. His mantle covered most of his body, but as he looked down, he caught sight of the pale flesh of his hand. He shuddered.
Ay’sek doubted he would ever get used to the sight. The ghastly skin seemed to hang loose around the thick digits, which themselves were tipped with rounded, useless fingernails. By Upsinous’s black heart, he hoped he would never grow accustomed to being human!
When finished, he discarded the stick and seated himself in the center of circle. He chanted the words of a familiar incantation, a spell that would insure no one could enter—or shoot anything into—the circle.
Supremely confident in his enchantment, Ay’sek wasted no time in uttering the words to a second, more complicated spell.
He felt the power of the Goblinfather flow into his body, an elating sensation that made him feel as though he might burst like an overripe melon. His brain flooded with images. He saw himself turned inside out while a pair of enormous red eyes scrutinized every inch of him. Talons raked his flesh like a lover in the throes of passion.
Ay’sek shuddered in agony and rapture.
When he opened his eyes, he was no longer surrounded by trees, but inside of a tent. Drekk’t looked surprised to see him, which was to be expected. Ay’sek had, after all, materialized out of thin air.
Drekk’t appeared to be in the midst of a meeting. A handful of other goblins, whom Ay’sek recognized as officers, stood before their general. Upon seeing Ay’sek, Drekk’t ordered them to depart, which they did hastily, eyeballing the shaman warily as they scurried from the tent.
When the last of them was gone, Drekk’t said, “I feared something ill had befallen you, Master Ay’sek. You left nearly a week ago, and this is the first I hear from you.”
“You need not concern yourself with my welfare, General,” Ay’sek replied dryly. “I know how to take care of myself.”
“I am more concerned with your mission. Do you have Peerma’rek?”
Ay’sek’s heartbeat quickened. How he longed to snuff out Drekk’t’s smug expression! He could think of at least a dozen ways of accomplishing it, everything from tearing off his lips to melting the flesh from his face. And he might have done it—except he was miles away from Drekk’t and the army.
“I do not have the staff yet,” Ay’sek said, quickly adding, “though I could take it at any time.”
“Then why don’t you?” Drekk’t demanded.
Ay’sek was about to reprimand the general for his impudence—no one talked to a Chosen of the Chosen like that!—but he had seen something buried beneath Drekk’t’s irritation: fear.
The shaman smiled inwardly. If he failed in his mission, Drekk’t would not survive a second visit from the Emperor of T’Ruel.
Which meant that even though his magic could not reach Drekk’t currently, Ay’sek had absolute power over the wretched general. I control your fate as surely as if there were a noose around your neck, he silently boasted.
Drekk’t was practically trembling with impatience when Ay’sek finally answered his question, “It was no great challenge locating Peerma’rek. A talisman of that magnitude exudes an aura of power. A first-year acolyte could have found it.”
“Commander Saerylton Crystalus still has it?” Drekk’t asked.
“He does,” Ay’sek said. “He and his allies have brought it to a village called Hylan, where the refugees from Rydah have gathered.”
“So why haven’t you taken back the staff? Does it have anything to do with the commander’s magical sword?”
Ay’sek had been mindful of the sword ever since he had infiltrated Colt’s party, but not for the reason Drekk’t was probably thinking. While the crystal sword possessed a miraculously keen edge, Ay’sek was more concerned with the glassy the blade’s surface. Prince T’slect’s illusion had been exposed by the sword’s magic, and T’slect had been a mighty shaman.
“I do not hesitate out of fear, General, but out of prudence,” Ay’sek said at last. “The men of Hylan are planning a counterattack. As long as I was there, I decided to learn something of their plans.”
“And?”
“And your former prisoner, Commander Crystalus, intends to lead a small army to the war camp. They leave tonight, in fact.”
When Drekk’t asked for the number of Colt’s battalion, Ay’sek estimated one hundred men.
Drekk’t laughed, displaying a mouth filled of yellow pointed teeth. “What could he hope to accomplish with so few? He must be a suicidal fool.”
The general grew silent then, staring at something beyond Ay’sek.
“I trust that the army is equipped to deal with the humans,” Ay’sek said to Drekk’t when it was clear the general was not going to say more. “Of course, they might be delayed or not come at all when they discover the staff is missing.”
Colt had stashed Peerma’rek somewhere in Hylan, but Ay’sek knew that when they left the village, the commander would bring the staff with him. No, he wouldn’t part with it easily, but with Ay’sek’s own vuudu, it would be little trouble for the shaman to sneak over to where Colt slept.
But he wouldn’t kill Colt—not as long as he had a purpose for the man and that sharp sword of his.
“No, Master Ay’sek,” Drekk’t said suddenly. “You will not make a play for the staff. Not yet.”
Ay’sek’s confusion was almost instantly replaced by anger. He bit into his lip so hard he could taste blood. “What?”
“I want you to continue to spy on the commander and his pitiful army. Do not reveal yourself until I give the order.”
“But—”
“That is an order, n’feranost.” Although Drekk’t
had used the title of reverence for a Chosen of the Chosen, Ay’sek heard the word for the mockery that it was. “Stay with the commander at all costs. There will be time enough to recover the staff. After all, he is bringing it right back to me.”
Ay’sek’s mind reeled. Why did Drekk’t care so much about the small contingent of humans? He already knew they were on their way. What more information could Ay’sek glean? It was almost as if Drekk’t wanted Ay’sek to make sure Colt and the others did come. At once, he realized the truth of it. The commander had scored a terrible hit on Drekk’t’s pride when he escaped with Peerma’rek.
Drekk’t wanted a rematch.
“But how will I know when the time comes to strike?” Ay’sek asked, trying valiantly to keep his composure. “If I am to remain among the humans, I won’t be able contact you and learn what it is you are planning.”
Drekk’t shrugged his shoulders. “You, a Chosen of the Chosen, ought to be clever enough to figure out what to do. But for now, I would suggest you get what rest you can. It sounds like you have some long, tiring days ahead.”
Ay’sek hands shook at his side. Not wanting Drekk’t to know how much he was upsetting him, the shaman said, “Very well, General.”
He spat the words that would take his consciousness back to his body. When he opened his eyes, he noticed it was darker than when he had closed them. Not wanting his supposed friends to grow suspicious of his absence, he went back to Hylan at once.
A wave of nausea sent him falling into a sapling for support. Gorge rose in his throat. Spots danced before his eyes. Being a Chosen of the Chosen came with a price. Wielding the power of a god was a heady experience, but every spell took its toll.
He felt as though his body were being stretched out to impossible dimensions. The pain was exquisite. After several long minutes on his knees, bracing himself against the excruciating cramps rippling through his stomach, the shaman was finally able to stand.
The magic made him strong, a formidable warrior; suffering for vuudu made him even stronger.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead and forced his wobbly legs to take him back to the human village. A burning that had nothing to do with magic roiled in his belly when he thought of Drekk’t.
“Gods damn that sorry excuse for a goblin,” he muttered.
By the time he neared Hylan, Ay’sek’s pulse was already returning to its normal rate. He thanked Upsinous that he had not been there—physically—in the tent with Drekk’t. He probably would have killed the general. And that would have been a mistake.
Ay’sek wasn’t one of the mindless brutes comprising Drekk’t’s army. He was a shaman. His weapon was his mind, and the more he thought about the course ahead, the wider his smile stretched. If he were going to orchestrate the general’s death, he had to make sure he wasn’t implicated.
Drekk’t wanted a second chance to face Colt in battle. Colt wanted the same.
“You will not return to T’Ruel a hero for this campaign, Drekk’t,” Ay’sek promised. “You will not return at all!”
He only hoped he would be present to witness Drekk’t’s final moments in this world.
* * *
Colt stood atop the dais, looking down at the throng gathered below. The first had arrived nearly an hour ago with newcomers arriving sporadically. Most carried hunting spears or long-bladed knives that had been hitherto used for skinning game. A few had bows and quivers.
Those who had no weapons were ushered over to a modest pile of castaway swords and hastily crafted pikes. Colt’s heart swelled with pride as he watched members of that last group accept whatever tool was given to them and join their comrades in forming ranks.
These people were not warriors, but they were willing to give their lives in defense of their homes.
The Knights of Superius were immediately recognizable by their armor, which caught the flickering torchlight. Dylan and the others worked diligently to organize the assembly into companies of ten. Although Colt was eager to be off, he knew it was necessary to establish order from the start. He intended to lead an army, not a mob.
The Knights would serve as officers, and gods willing, their subordinates would do as they were told. Colt had told Dylan—his unofficial second-in-command—to keep things as simple as possible. As soon as the army was divided into manageable units and the basic orders were explained, they would begin their march.
Colt busied himself by studying the crowd, scrutinizing the faces of the men and women who had pledged allegiance to his cause. Most were strangers, thought he thought he recognized the burly man having a conversation with Lilac and Othello.
Predictably, Opal stood at the fringe of that group. She had promised Colt she would keep an eye on “the Renegade”—meaning Lilac. How convenient, Colt thought, since Lilac wouldn’t likely stray far from Othello.
His gaze lingered on the forester for only a moment longer before looking away. He wouldn’t waste his energy worrying about Opal and Othello. A good commander could not afford to be preoccupied by matters of the heart, not when so many lives were depending on him.
Colt spotted Loony Gomez a few minutes later. The old man appeared to bidding his former charges farewell. Colt didn’t know how he felt about allowing the thieves to come along, but he supposed he should be thankful for every sword arm he could get. And yet contention was something he would not—could not—tolerate.
The belligerent Tryst came to mind…
Beyond the crowd, his arms crossed before his broad chest, stood Ruford Berwyn. Colt felt certain the Captain of the Guard was watching him, though he was too far away to be sure.
Ruford had made his decision the night before: he would stay in Hylan with Dale Mullahstyn and those Knights who remained loyal to the sergeant. None of Ruford’s twenty-some guardsmen had forsaken their captain; Colt saw not a single uniformed man among his army.
At first, Colt had been frustrated by Ruford’s lack of support, but the more he thought about it, the more he believed leaving Ruford to watch over the village wasn’t a bad idea after all. Although Dale had vowed he wouldn’t put Hylan to the torch, Colt put more stock in Ruford’s promise.
The Captain of the Guard gave Colt a sudden, stiff salute. Colt let out a sigh and returned the gesture. Ruford Berwyn then spun on his heels and tromped back toward the mayor’s house. Colt watched him go, doubting he would ever see the man again.
“Commander.”
He hadn’t heard anyone ascend the platform, so he did his best to hide the fact he had been taken unawares. When he turned and saw who it was, however, he couldn’t help but gape.
“Sergeant Mullahstyn,” Colt said after a pause.
What was he doing here? Was this a desperate ploy to steal back the authority Colt had stripped from him? He eyed Dale warily, waiting for the Knight to make his move.
“You and I did not meet under the best of circumstances,” Dale said after a nervous cough. “I have heard it said that war brings out the best in a man…courage, honor, love for his countrymen…but I have come to believe otherwise.”
Colt did not know what to say.
“Please accept my apology for the way I behaved,” Dale continued. “I realize, now, that you are acting in Hylan’s best interest, as you see it. I hope you believe me when I say I am doing the same.”
Colt smiled a mostly genuine smile. “You wish to defend the villagers.”
Dale stared at him for a moment longer before breaking eye contact. “No one could ever doubt your bravery, Commander…or that of your followers. Surely you know your course will lead to their deaths.”
The sergeant looked at Colt once more. “You cannot win, Commander.”
“You might be right,” Colt conceded, “but if I must die doing my duty, then so be it.”
“Spoken like a true martyr, but what of them, Commander?” Dale indicated the crowd with an outstretched hand. “They are not Knights of Superius. They are simple men and women. It is a Knight’s privilege to protect
them, to fight for them…not beside them.”
“Even when they don’t want our protection?”
“Especially when they don’t want to be protected.” Dale took a deep breath before continuing. “The gods alone know which of us is making the bigger mistake. If our fate is to lose to the invaders, I don’t suppose it matters what we do in the meantime.”
Colt studied the man for signs of sarcasm, but Dale had apparently meant what he said. Colt wanted to tell the sergeant not to lose hope, but he could not bring himself to commit hypocrisy. At least he wasn’t the only Knight sparring with doubt.
“Maybe it’s what we do in the meantime that truly matters,” Colt said. “What else can we control but our own actions?”
Dale’s smile was almost imperceptible. “You are wise beyond your years, Commander Crystalus.”
“Thank you,” Colt replied, trusting the statement had been meant as a compliment. “What will you do once we are gone?”
Dale chuckled softly. “Well, thanks to that rousing speech of yours last night, I shan’t be able to talk any of the hayseeds into fleeing for their lives. Ruford and I will stay in Hylan as long as we must. You can think the worst of me, Commander, but I would never leave the villagers undefended.”
The two men stood in silence as Dylan and the other Knights of Superius made the final preparations for their late-night trek. A little while later, Sergeant Mullahstyn excused himself, making his way back to the home of Quillan Dag.
After what felt like hours, Dylan approached the dais and said, “We are ready, Commander.”
“How many are we?” Colt asked, his voice nearly a whisper.
“Eighty-eight in all.”
Colt nodded vaguely. It was more than he had expected and probably more than he deserved. But it was not nearly enough.
It’s not too late to back out, Colt thought. I could stay in Hylan and make a stand with Dale and Ruford. Maybe I should follow Opal’s advice and leave for Fort Valor at once. By now Stannel and Petton would have begun to worry about us…
Williams, D M - Renegade Chronicles [Collection 1-3] Page 94