Noel’s expression did not alter.
“What I’d like for you to do, Noel, is to make a quick stop in Port Town before you magic yourself to Superius. If you could get word of what the goblins are planning to Leslie, she might be able to talk some sense into her father, the mayor…”
Klye trailed off, gauging the midge’s reaction to his words. Noel’s face gradually relaxed, and then, to Klye’s surprise, the wizard’s mouth curved into a wide grin that rivaled its predecessors in size and emotion.
“Who’s this Leslie person?” he asked.
“What? Oh, Leslie Beryl…she’s the Renegade Leader of Port Town. She helped me and my band when we were in a tight spot, and I owe her one.”
Noel veritably giggled. “Is she your girlfriend?”
“She’s a colleague.”
“Is she pretty?”
Klye knew Noel was only trying to egg him on. He wouldn’t give the midge the satisfaction of watching him squirm. “Are you going to help me or not?”
Noel’s expression turned serious. “I’d love to help you, but I can’t. I’ve never been to Port Town.”
“So?”
“So,” Noel said, “I can’t magically transport myself to a place I’ve never been. I have to be able to see…in my mind…where I want to go. I have no idea what Port Town looks like. I might be able to extract the image from your memory, but that could be dangerous for both of us.”
Klye swore. Like most people, he knew very little about magic. In his younger days, he had thought magic gave wizards godlike abilities. More and more, however, he was realizing that magic, like everything else in life, had plenty of limitations.
“Wait a minute,” Klye said. “I’m pretty damn sure you’ve never been to Castle Borrom. How do you intend to magic yourself to the King of Superius?”
“You’re right. I can’t go directly to Castle Borrom. The closest I can get is Therrat, Ristidae.”
“That’s not even in the same country!”
“I know that. But I have a friend in Therrat who owns a shop for wizards. I’m hoping he might have a spell that can take me closer to Castle Borrom. Usually, I don’t bother with transportation spells. They take all of the fun out of traveling. You don’t get to see any of the scenery. But since I’m going on an important mission…hey, are you listening to me?”
Klye said he was, but in truth, he had tuned the midge out.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you, Klye. I hope your girl—I mean friend will be all right.”
“Yeah, well, thanks anyway. Good luck with your mission. I’d better go and check on my men.”
Klye turned and walked away. He could feel his face burning and told himself it was due to frustration with magic rather than embarrassment. He supposed Leslie and her Renegades would just have to watch out for themselves for the time being.
He might have said a prayer for the Renegades of Port Town if he thought it would do any good. At times like these, he envied people like Stannel and Sister Aric, who put so much faith in the gods. But since he couldn’t bring himself to talk to imaginary spirits—and since there was nothing he could do to help—he pushed Leslie and her cohorts out of his mind…
…but not before wondering whether she ever thought about him.
Passage II
Arthur’s whole body trembled, sending trickles of perspiration running down his bare arms. He lay there for a moment, trying to suppress his quick, heavy breathing. His heart thudded like a bass drum that would surely awaken everyone else in the room.
He rose to his feet and, still gasping for air, tiptoed to the exit. Once the door was closed behind him, he let himself fall against it. Sweat or tears tickled his cheek, and he wiped away the water with the back of his hand.
Arthur glanced gratefully at a nearby torch, which tossed its light far down both ends of the hallway. For a full minute, he stared straight ahead at the gray stone walls around him and told himself over and over again he was safe inside the fort. It had only been a dream.
But not even the wavering torchlight could banish the dark visions burned into his mind.
Arthur was no stranger to nightmares. He had been having the same dream for more than three months, a vivid terror that was made all the more terrible by its basis in reality. The nightmare was more than just a bad dream; it was a memory, one he couldn’t escape even in sleep.
But the past few nights had seen a change in the nightmare. New components included a stony giant, a demonic little girl, and a horde of goblins always on the edge of sight.
Despite the sweat coating his skin, Arthur felt like he was burning up. He needed to find some fresh air, fast.
The young man stumbled barefoot through the dimly lit fortress, searching for an open window but finding only yard after yard of solid wall. It occurred to him the last time he had wandered the fort at night he had ended up in the very misadventure now complicating the old nightmare. He kept walking anyway.
Arthur found a small window in a random nook, but he wasn’t the first person to have found it.
The Commander of Fort Valor turned at his approach, watching him impassively. Arthur would have fled back the way he had come, except he was certain the commander had already identified him. While Stannel had never mistreated him—though he was a Renegade—Arthur always felt uncomfortable around the Knight.
Then again, he felt nervous in the presence of any authority these days.
Not knowing what else to do, Arthur continued on toward his destination and came to stand sheepishly beside Stannel.
“It would seem that sleep eludes us both tonight.” The commander’s tone was gentle.
Arthur nodded. He wondered about Stannel’s insomnia. Was it the stress of being in command of a new fort that kept him up?
“I don’t believe I properly thanked you for what you did,” Stannel said suddenly. “You must forgive my negligence, but ever since we returned from Wizard’s Mountain, I have been…preoccupied.”
Arthur had thought a lot about the incident. He and Ruben, a former highwayman, had followed the insane Toemis Blisnes and his granddaughter through a hidden tunnel from the fort and to the nearby foothills. They had tracked the old man all the way to Wizard’s Mountain.
What had happened next still baffled Arthur.
“It’s me who should be thanking you, Commander. If you hadn’t shown up, Ruben and I would probably be dead.”
The stone creature had knocked him unconscious before Stannel, Horcalus, Scout, and Sister Aric arrived. Ruben certainly would have been crushed to death. As it was, Toemis Blisnes hadn’t survived the encounter, and Zusha, his granddaughter, was missing.
“We have never been properly introduced, you and I,” the commander said after a moment. He held out his hand. “I am Stannel Caelan Bismarc, and it is an honor to meet you, Arthur…?”
Arthur tried to reply, but his tongue rebelled. Finally, he stammered out, “B-Bismarc?”
“That is correct.”
“My family name is Bismarc!”
Stannel’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “Is that so? How fortuitous.”
“I’ve never met a Bismarc outside of my immediate family,” Arthur told him. “And I thought only nobles used three names. Are you a lord?”
Stannel smiled warmly. “It is true the Superian monarchy uses middle names, but having three names is long-standing tradition in Glenning. It has been that way since before Superius existed.”
“But you are Superian.” Arthur didn’t know much about the Knights of Superius, but he knew the Knighthood didn’t admit foreigners into their ranks.
“I was born in Superius, but my father and my mother were Glenningers,” Stannel explained. “My father was a Knight of Eaglehand, Glenning’s equivalent to the Knights of Superius.”
This was all news to Arthur, who had thought the Knights of Superius were the unparalleled defenders of Continae. All he knew about Glenning was that it was directly south of Superius.
S
tannel continued, “My father’s name was Caelan. Hence, that is my middle name. As a Knight of Eaglehand, Caelan Bismarc fought alongside the Knights of Superius during the Thanatan Conflict. After the ogres were pushed out of Continae, he joined his Superian comrades in what came to be called the Wilderness Crusade, even though Glenning’s king did not support the effort.
“So impressed was my father by the honor and courage of the Superian Knights, that he sent his pregnant wife to Superius instead of Glenning. The Knights of Eaglehand were already a waning presence in Glenning by then, just as the monarchy was…and is.”
After a brief pause, he said, “The name Bismarc is native to Glenning. Did you know that, Arthur?”
“Um, no…no, sir…I did not.”
“Your parents never spoke of Glenning?”
Arthur flinched at the mention of his parents. He did his best to keep his voice steady when he answered, “Not that I can remember, sir.”
Stannel seemed interested by this, or perhaps it had been Arthur’s initial reaction that piqued his interest. The commander massaged his chin as he said, “It is possible your parents are unaware of their roots, I suppose. Capricon was once owned and governed by Glenning, but enough time has passed that many of the islanders identify more with Superius than Glenning. You are from Capricon, are you not?”
“Yes,” Arthur said, “I’m from Hylan. My parents are farmers. They wanted me to be a farmer too.”
Arthur could hardly believe he was chatting with a Superian commander. Moreover, he couldn’t believe how much personal information he was telling the man. He hadn’t even told Horcalus some of these things!
“Doesn’t every father secretly hope his son will follow in his footsteps?” Stannel asked with a chuckle. “I suspect my father wanted me to enlist with the Knights of Superius. Unfortunately, he died before I was born. By the time I became a Knight, Ristidae had been liberated from the ogres, and the Wilderness Campaign was at an end.”
Arthur wondered if every Knight of Superius knew the history of Continae as well as Stannel did. Maybe they learned it as a squire. He decided to ask Horcalus about it later.
“I’m sure he’d be proud of you,” Arthur said quietly. He looked down at the floor as he spoke, as much to remain unobtrusive as to hide his watery eyes. How he wished he could say the same of his own father!
“To tell you the truth, Arthur, there are times when I think I was not cut out to be a Knight at all.”
“I think you’re a good Knight. Scout said you fought off that stone giant all on your own.”
Arthur glanced over at Stannel to find that the Knight’s expression had gone as hard as a statue’s. Gods above, what did I say? he wondered. Maybe Stannel was upset over losing the girl, Zusha. In Arthur’s dreams, the shadowy throng of goblins carried her away, though sometimes he saw her sitting upon the rock monster’s shoulder.
“That is not entirely true,” Stannel muttered.
At first, Arthur didn’t know what Stannel was referring to, but then he recalled the comment he had made about Stannel defeating the giant single-handedly. Scout had retold the story again and again over the past few days, describing in great detail the golden light that had erupted from Stannel’s mace.
Arthur very much wanted to ask Stannel about his mace, but he didn’t want to put more distance between them. Both Horcalus and Scout were convinced Ruben had cast a spell on Stannel’s weapon, but Ruben had admitted to Arthur earlier that he knew no magic whatsoever.
Perhaps like Colt and his crystal sword, Stannel owned an enchanted weapon.
“Do you think we’ll ever get to the bottom of what happened out there?” Arthur asked Stannel, adding quickly, “I mean…where did that stone creature come from anyway? And where did Zusha go?”
Stannel stared out the small window into the night. “We may never know. I only pray that the girl is safe.”
Arthur hoped for the same. In addition, he hoped he would never see the rock giant again.
“It was nice talking with you, Arthur,” Stannel said. “But the night wanes, and you and I should make another attempt at sleeping.”
Arthur nodded. He didn’t want their conversation to end but had no excuse for prolonging it. Soon after Stannel was out of sight, Arthur started the walk to back to his room. He worried about having the nightmare again, but he felt stronger for his talk with the Commander of Fort Valor.
If he dreamed of Wizard’s Mountain again, he decided he would keep an eye out for Stannel Bismarc and his mace.
* * *
Opal awoke with a gasp. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her breath came in quick, desperate gulps. At first, she could only lay there in the darkness, afraid and not knowing why. Eventually, her eyes began to adjust to the dim light that colored the sky a pale yellow.
It wasn’t the first time she had woken in a fit of panic. But what was more frustrating than the chronic nightmares was the fact she could remember absolutely nothing about them upon waking. It was as though all traces of the dream evaporated the moment she opened her eyes, leaving not a single clue as to the nature of the night terrors.
Opal supposed her amnesia was to blame. A healer had once told her that memory loss often resulted when a person suffered something very traumatic. It stood to reason that the event she continually dreamed about was the same event that had triggered the amnesia in the first place.
Which made her inability to remember it all the more maddening.
The same healer had told her she might one day, out of the blue, remember her past, including the one terrible memory causing her nightmares. He had said she would regain her memory when she was emotionally ready to deal with whatever it was that had happened to her.
Thinking back on the conversation, Opal doubted the healer’s reasoning. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than not knowing her past, not knowing who she really was.
Besides, she felt ready for a revelation. She wasn’t some fragile maiden afraid to step in the mud. As a matter of fact, she had lived through some rather distressing ordeals in recent memory. An image of Cholk’s head hanging from a tree, his mangled body parts scattered beneath, came unbidden into her mind.
Even though she knew it would do no good, Opal closed her eyes and willed her mind to break through the barrier separating her from the realm of unconscious thought. She struggled to grasp onto an image from the nightmare, any lingering impression, but found nothing but a great black void.
Opal continued to lie there even after her heartbeat and breathing returned to normal. The nightmare always left her feeling weak and pathetic. She had sneaked into a goblin war camp without hesitation, had engaged Drekk’t—who turned out to be the goblin’s general—in combat, and was on her way back to face those savage warriors again.
So what in Abaddon, the Crypt, and the Pit had happened to her that had caused her mind to close in on itself like a frightened turtle?
Judging by the low level of light, sunrise was still an hour or more away. She briefly considered going back to sleep—there was to be another long day of walking ahead—but decided against it. She couldn’t recall having ever had the dream twice in one night, but she didn’t want to risk going through the frustration again so soon.
Opal climbed out of her bedroll and immediately began to shiver. The Superian calendar had heralded the advent of winter almost a week ago, and Capricon was beginning to show signs of the season. The grass around her glistened with frost, and her breath danced in the air. Wrapping her coat tightly around her, Opal decided an early-morning walk would do wonders for her circulation and her mood.
She tiptoed around the slumbering bodies that stretched between her and the trees. As per Dylan’s recommendation, the women had made their own separate camp not far from the men’s. She had shared a fire with Lilac, Hunter, and a few other women from the village’s militia. She had not said much to any of them last night—though Lilac and Hunter seemed to have hit it off—and she wondered if the strangers tho
ught her rude for her reticence.
Not that Opal cared what they thought of her. It just didn’t make sense to make new friends when they were all likely going to die in a day or two.
She banished the depressing thought to whatever abyss had swallowed her dreams. If today was destined to be the last day of her life, she was determined to enjoy it as best she could. And at that moment, a peaceful walk through the woods sounded like a small piece of Paradise.
A chorus of sparrow songs drifted through the evergreens. She wandered for a time as though in a trance, captivated by the beauty around her. Eventually, she happened upon a doe, nibbling at the remaining leaves on low-lying branches. Her hand instinctively reached for her crossbow.
But she stopped before her hand got anywhere near the weapon. Although fresh meat would be a blessing to Colt’s army, she could not bring herself to shoot the deer. Perhaps it was because she knew her own death would almost certainly come soon. Perhaps it was because she just didn’t want anything to ruin the morning’s tranquility.
The doe must have caught her scent for the muscles in her thick neck tightened suddenly. One dark, liquid eye fixed on her. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Opal let her warm breath out slowly into the crisp air, not wanting anything to startle the magnificent animal.
The doe took one last bite of her breakfast before walking farther into the forest. Opal reflected a moment longer before renewing her own hike. She guided her path in another direction, not wanting to disturb the deer again.
It occurred to her that none of them—neither humans or goblins—belonged there. The wilderness had children of its own, beasts who cared nothing for foreign armies.
Opal had gone a little farther when she heard the sound of trickling water. Deciding a drink of fresh water—not to mention a good washing—was in order, she followed the burbling to a stream no more than four feet wide. The water splashed over and around rocks that looked like they might have been there since the beginning of time. The creek was shallow and clear.
Williams, D M - Renegade Chronicles [Collection 1-3] Page 96