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

by David Michael Williams

  She cupped the chilly liquid in her hands and poured it into her mouth. The water numbed her tongue. The coldness swam down her throat and into her stomach. Though the drink caused her to shiver, it was refreshing nonetheless.

  She brought her wet hands to her face in hopes of removing some of the grime from yesterday’s day-long trek. She felt so isolated she might have stripped off some of her clothes and performed a more thorough washing, but she feared the cold would seep into her bones. Better to die at the end of a goblin spear than in bed from an illness, she thought.

  Someone was standing on the other side of the stream.

  This time she grabbed her crossbow and brought it up to aim. Startled though she was, she noted from the start the intruder was a man, not a goblin. Her heart racing, she peered at him with one eye, ready to fire if he made any move to harm her.

  “I surrender,” the man said in a low, calm voice.

  Lowering her weapon, Opal wondered how she hadn’t recognized Othello immediately. Standing at least six and a half feet tall, the forester was the tallest member of Colt’s company. He carried a longbow and wore the same buckskin attire he always wore, despite the holes and tears from goblin arrows and blades.

  Even from across the stream, she could make out his bold green eyes.

  The forester’s habit of appearing when one least expected it was just one of the man’s many mysteries. It was no small miracle he had made it all the way to Hylan, and watching him fight through his fever, Opal had been reminded of her first encounter with the archer.

  The Renegades had taken her as a prisoner to their hideout at abandoned Port Stone. Klye and his gang had all but forgotten about her as they made their plans to strike out against the Knights of Fort Faith. Only Othello had cared enough to treat her wound, one that his arrow had caused it in the first place.

  She remembered his gentle touch as he bandaged her leg…

  Not only had Othello made the best first impression of all of Klye’s Renegades—in spite of the arrow—but also, he seemed possessed of a kindred spirit. She had spent much of the past few years accompanying merchant caravans along Ristidae’s untamed highways. Othello too had lived most of his life in the wilds. And they were both archers.

  Opal knew Colt worried about her getting mixed up with a Renegade, but while she was undeniably fascinated with the forester, she did not attribute her feelings to love or even sex. She had told the truth when saying Othello reminded her of her forgotten past. Her attraction to Othello was strictly related to her obsession with recovering her past.

  Though the forester was handsome in a rugged sort of way…

  Opal’s face grew warm in spite of the wintry air.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said awkwardly.

  “Likewise.”

  Othello crossed the stream in two strides, using a protruding rock to keep from getting his feet from getting wet.

  “You shouldn’t be out by yourself,” Opal scolded. “You’ve barely regained your strength.”

  “I insisted on helping with the perimeter watch,” he said. “You’re lucky I didn’t mistake you for a goblin.”

  “Are you calling me ugly?” she shot back, unable to hide her smile.

  She realized too late that she was flirting. Being the only woman in the company of mercenaries and, later, the only female at a fortress full of Knights, Opal was no stranger to the art of flirtation. She considered it harmless fun.

  That she was teasing Othello should have been nothing unusual, except for the fact she was oddly aware of it.

  Othello just stared back at her, and she lost herself in his eyes. A sensation not so unlike that which she had experienced earlier this morning swept over her. There was a memory—or perhaps all of her memories—hiding in the back of her mind. The mere sight of Othello seemed to evoke this indescribable yet wholly exasperating feeling.

  Only recently had she started associating the two—Othello and the dream…her attraction to him and the repulsive nightmare.

  “I know this is going to sound crazy,” Opal said, “but have we ever met before…outside of Capricon, I mean?”

  A faint wrinkle appeared between Othello’s eyebrows, as he considered the question. A moment later, he flashed a rare smile and said, “No. I think I would remember a woman as ugly as you.”

  Before Opal could recover from her shock—she had thought the forester incapable of humor—Othello walked away, following the shore of the stream. She stood there a while longer, trying to puzzle out his place in her past as well as his place in her present. No answers came.

  Passage III

  After three glasses of elf water, Noel was feeling a bit silly.

  He hadn’t had any liquor since before leaving for Capricon—everyone at Fort Valor was always too busy to share a drink with him—so he supposed he was making up for lost time. The sweet, tangy liquid warmed him from the inside out.

  Feeling quite cozy in spite of the tall drifts of snow outside, Noel would have liked nothing more than talk the day away inside the mageware shop, exchanging tales with his good friend. But even with the pleasant buzzing in his head, he couldn’t forget he was on a very important mission.

  With an exaggerated sigh, Noel put cork in their gossiping—and the bottle of elf water—and got down to business. He forced himself to skip many details, which pained him greatly, as he told the midge seated across from him the reason for his visit.

  “So you see, I really need to find a way to get to Castle Borrom so I can warn King Edward Borrom III and the other Kings of Continae about the goblin invasion of Capricon,” Noel concluded, taking a deep breath afterward.

  Avuru clapped his hands together and laughed. “Wonderful story! If anyone else walked in here spinning a yarn like that, I’d pay him a crown for the entertainment and send him on his way. But you’re not joking, are you, Noel?”

  He shook his head. “’fraid not. And it’s im-per-a-tive that I succeed in my quest. There are many lives at stake,” he said, doing his best impression of a Knight of Superius.

  As Avuru stroked his beardless chin, it occurred to Noel that many midge would find his dilemma perplexing. After all, humans weren’t known for their kindness toward midge. Even though Pickelo South, the midge homeland, had joined the Alliance of Nations, the men and women of Continae, Ristidae, and the rest didn’t really want anything to do with them.

  Avuru probably wondered why a midge would go to so much trouble to help humans.

  “Tell me again what the goblins look like?”

  Noel poured another glass of elf water—he was awfully thirsty—as he launched into a lengthy and gruesome description of the monsters that were invading Capricon. When Noel used four fingers on one hand to imitate the goblins pointy teeth, the two midge ended up nearly choking on their drinks. They laughed for five full minutes.

  When Avuru caught his breath, he said, “Well, just as long as those beasties don’t come tromping all the way to Therrat. It’d probably stop business altogether.

  Noel smiled, taking back what he had thought earlier about Avuru not caring about humans. Avuru not only got along with humans, but he was the only midge Noel knew of to set up shop in a human city.

  Of course, most of the locals didn’t know the store was owned and operated by a midge. Neither did they know the true nature of shop. On the surface, Hidden Treasures was a dry goods store, but wizards from all over the continent were known to stop by to purchase special ingredients, potions, and new spells.

  Therrat was located on a major trade route between Superius and Huiyah. There were so many merchants coming and going in this Ristiadaen city that various guilds governed prices to ensure that everybody could make a profit. It was a mystery to all but a few how Hidden Treasures stayed in business.

  “Someday, I’m gonna walk right up to Oswaald Stelwar and the rest of the guild members and tell them the truth,” Avuru was wont to say, especially while drinking elf water.

  Noel
doubted Avuru would ever do it. The Guildmaster would probably run him out of town.

  “So…can you help me get to Superius?” Noel asked, wiping a tear from his eye and doing his best to contain the giggles that threatened to burst free whenever he thought of his own goblin impersonation.

  Avuru swirled the transparent liquid in his glass. “I’m thinking, I’m thinking.”

  As the shopkeeper made a mental sweep through all the spells he owned, Noel glanced around the room. His eyes took in all manner of magical equipment—black, white, and red candles; glass jars of every shape and size; shelf after shelf of rolled-up scrolls.

  Noel always cherished his visits to Hidden Treasures. Although Avuru didn’t let him play with his inventory, the storekeeper was known to allow Noel an occasional glimpse at the spell books for free. He never left Hidden Treasures without a new incantation in his collection.

  He squinted, trying to read what was written on the spines of the books on a nearby shelf. He jumped in surprise when his eyes met those of a man, who quickly looked away. The lad then made a show of measuring out a quantity of dark powder.

  Noel had noticed the man on his way to Hidden Treasures’ secret, lower level, but he had forgotten all about him during his chat with Avuru.

  “Never mind Orin,” Avuru said. “He’s a good kid. And he’s my apprentice. Just between you and me”—the midge lowered his voice to a whisper—“he’s got a lot of potential.”

  Noel nodded absently. Orin didn’t look like much of a kid to Noel. He suspected the sandy-haired apprentice was an adult, though perhaps not yet twenty. Then again, it was so hard to judge ages when it came to humans.

  “Well,” Avuru said, “I don’t have a transportation spell that will take you directly to Castle Borrom, but I do have one that will get you as far as Tourney. It’s an ancient spell, scripted in the Eight Century of this era by a red-robe who had a penchant for watching the Knight’s jousts. Tourney’s a two-day ride from the capital. South by southwest, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Noel, who couldn’t even remember what he had had for breakfast that morning—or if he had had breakfast—was amazed by the other midge’s memory. Avuru had to be the smartest midge in the world.

  I’ll have to come back and visit Avuru after the war with the goblins is over, Noel thought. Maybe I could even help teach Orin some spells. I always wondered what it would be like to be a teacher…and to teach a human! Why—

  “Noel?”

  The midge blinked his eyes and snapped out of his reverie. “Uh, yeah?”

  “Do you want the spell or not?”

  “Of course I do, but, um, I don’t really have any money. I spent it all on the way to Fort Faith. I didn’t think I’d be leaving so soon. I was in such a hurry to get there…because the gods sent me, if you’ll recall…and—”

  Avuru waved his hands dismissively. “When was the last time I charged you for anything, you gnome-minded fool?”

  “Gnome-minded?” Noel sputtered. “Bah, you wouldn’t know a gnome if one came in here and took a hammer to your thick skull.”

  “He’d trip over his beard before he got past the threshold!” Avuru shouted back.

  Both midge burst into uncontrollable laughter.

  Tears filling his eyes once more, Noel declined when Avuru attempted to pour more elf water into his glass. By the Three Goddesses, he wished he could spend a night in merriment with his old friend, but he would never forgive himself if anything happened to his friends back in Capricon.

  Noel followed Avuru past Orin and into Avuru’s private study. The shopkeeper headed over to a wall made up of small cubbyholes. After a few wrong guesses, Avuru extricated the correct scroll and handed it to Noel.

  “I’d better help Orin finish with the security wards and whatnot so we can close up,” he told Noel. “You’re welcome to spend the night if you’d like.”

  Noel was sorely tempted to accept. Just thinking about a soft, warm bed evoked an enormous yawn. But it would take only a few minutes to learn the transportation spell, and if he used an acceleration spell once he got to Tourney, he could sprint the rest of the way to Castle Borrom.

  Wouldn’t Stannel and the others be surprised at how quickly he accomplished his mission!

  “Thanks anyway,” he said, patting Avuru on the shoulder. “Some other time.”

  Avuru smiled. “Next time, you can bring the wine.”

  “I’ll bring you some gnomish mushroom beer,” Noel laughed.

  Avuru stuck out his tongue before leaving the room. Alone at last, the fair-haired midge let out a great sigh and settled onto a stool. His heavy-lidded eyes glanced over the mantra that would magically devour the miles between Therrat, Ristidae, and Tourney, Superius.

  When Avuru poked his head into the study a few minutes later, he wasn’t too surprised to find the scroll lying on the table. The only sign Noel had ever been there was the distinct shape of a pointy-hat-wearing gnome traced in the dust.

  * * *

  By the time Noel reached Castle Borrom, the half-moon was low in the sky, and the sun was mere hours from rising. A slew of spells had launched him across the Strait of Liliae to Ristidae, then from Therrat to Tourney, and finally from Tourney to his final destination. But the magic had taken its toll.

  Noel was finding it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open.

  His heart still pounding from his supernatural sprint to the capital of Superius, Noel took a moment to get his bearings. From the look of things, Castle Borrom was as much a palace as a big city nestled between the castle and the towering walls surrounding it all.

  The walls both surprised and dismayed him. He had hoped to simply walk up to the castle’s front door and ask for King Edward Borrom. As it was, he still had a long walk through the city ahead of him, and the speedy enchantment he had cast in Tourney had already worn off.

  A lesser midge would throw down his staff and give up, Noel decided. But he was on a mission, and he wasn’t about to let barred gates and miles of cobblestone stop him.

  Since the Knights of Superius always asked too many questions—and never liked his answers anyway—Noel spoke the words to another spell that allowed him to float, feather-like, over an unwatched section of wall. The incantation made him light-headed as well as weightless. His energy fading fast, Noel knew casting one more spell would probably cause him to faint.

  Sticking to the shadows, Noel dutifully placed one foot in front of the other, following what he hoped was a direct route to the palace. The streets were all but deserted at that hour. Some early risers were getting a start on business, and an occasional Knight marched past, patrolling the city for bad guys.

  Noel did his best to avoid the latter. He didn’t have time to argue with know-it-all Knights, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he worried that maybe word had reached the capital of his involvement with Klye’s Renegades.

  He practically collapsed to the ground in relief when he reached a stairway leading up to the palace. He gave a friendly smile to the two Knights standing on either side of the path and tried to walk past them. But the men’s gasps made him stop in his tracks.

  “What in Abaddon?” swore the Knight on the left.

  Both men reached for their weapons.

  Noel took a hasty step back, nearly tripping over the bottom of his robe. I must have startled them, he thought. As the Knights drew their swords, Noel tucked his staff into a loop on his belt. He then rolled up his sleeves and placed his hands palms out to show he was unarmed.

  The gesture caused both men to draw back. The Knight on the left flinched and cursed again.

  “Don’t let him cast a spell!” the man on the right shouted, diving forward.

  Noel made a noise that, under other circumstances, might have been funny. He tried to backpedal, but the butt of his staff jammed into the ground, stopping him with a jerk.

  “Wait!” he yelled. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

  While he tried to wrestle the staff
out of his belt, Noel hopped backward, doing his best to stay out of the Knight’s reach. The second man had not moved. He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to help his friend or run in the other direction.

  At last, Noel freed the staff. He held onto it for all of two seconds because the oncoming Knight then struck the wooden rod with his sword. Noel yelped at the sting and involuntarily dropped the staff.

  “I was sent here by Stannel,” Noel said over his shoulder as he tried to evade the Knight’s grasp. “He’s the Commander of Fort Valor…well actually it’s Fort Faith, but they’re calling it Fort Val—hey!”

  The Knight now had a handful of Noel’s sleeves. The midge yanked with all of his might, but the man gave a great tug, pulling Noel off the ground and into the Knight’s armored chest.

  “Quit your squirming,” the man barked. To his comrade, he shouted, “Get over here and help me, you coward!”

  His face pressed up against the cold metal of a breastplate, Noel couldn’t see the other Knight, but he heard his approaching footsteps. Noel struggled all the harder.

  “I have to see the king!” Noel cried. “I must warn him! The goblins are coming! The goblins are—”

  The second Knight grabbed hold of his other arm. “Shut him up! If he casts a spell, we’re dead!”

  A gloved hand clamped tight over Noel’s mouth. The hand smelled—and tasted—like leather and made breathing a chore. Noel tried to voice his indignation, but the muffled sounds that escaped through the glove only made the Knights tighten their hold on him.

  Tears dripped from the corners of Noel’s eyes. Why wouldn’t the two idiots just stop and listen to him? He didn’t want to fight them, but he had to get some air. Growling in frustration, Noel opened his mouth as wide as he could and bit down hard.

  If he had had goblin teeth, Noel might have pierced the glove and the flesh beneath. As it was, his desperate attack simply surprised the Knight, who pulled his hand back. Noel’s lungs filled with blessed air.