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

by David Michael Williams

  Not trusting himself to speak with Stannel, Petton exited the room before it was completely empty. He found himself walking behind Ezekiel Silvercrown and hurried to catch up to him.

  “Well, that was informative,” he said.

  Sir Silvercrown smiled uneasily and said, “It certainly caught me by surprise.”

  “I’ll second that,” Petton replied, though that wasn’t entirely true. He had been suspicious of Stannel for some time now, though he hadn’t been able to put his finger on why. “I cannot help but wonder if Commander Crystalus would have handed over his authority to Stannel Bismarc had he known of this little secret.”

  “Who can say?” After another few seconds, Zeke Silvercrown added, “Of course, Colt wasn’t one to condemn others quickly. Take the Renegades for instance…and Noel…”

  Petton grunted, not wanting to take the conversation down that avenue. “I have trouble trusting a man who feels the need to keep secrets. He may be our commanding officer, but I, for one, plan to keep an eye on him.”

  Sir Silvercrown did not reply.

  “I can only hope, Subcommander, that I will be able to count on your support if the need to… replace our commander arises, though, gods willing, it will not come to that.”

  “Gods willing, Commander Crystalus will return soon,” Sir Silvercrown said.

  The two Knights walked in silence then, and Petton hardly noticed when Zeke Silvercrown veered down a different corridor. Petton’s feet took him to the entry hall, where a host of Knights were already making what repairs they could to the front gate. The steel-reinforced doors had taken a beating but had held. He wondered whether they would hold again.

  For the nonce, he was almost glad Saerylton Crystalus was away. If the fort were to fall tonight, at least the young commander wouldn’t die with the rest of them.

  Passage VII

  The four-day trek from the deserted goblin camp to new Fort Valor was both arduous and monotonous. Colt pushed his troops, hoping to overtake the enemy somewhere en route, though all signs indicated the goblins were days ahead of them.

  The realization that Drekk’t was probably waging an offensive against his fort already spurned him on like nothing else could. He was no longer plagued by doubt, but by impatience. Old Fort Valor had been defeated while Stannel was away. He could only pray that the same thing wouldn’t happen to him.

  Serving among the company’s scouts, he followed the Fort Valor-Fort Faith highway until the forest faded. When they reached the open plain, a strange mixture of relief and anxiousness burbled up inside Colt as he took in the massive army that ringed the fortress like a charred wreath.

  His fort was still standing—but for how long?

  Every impulse screamed for Colt to order a charge. But the goblins would be watching the road. He and his men would be seen long before they got anywhere near the goblin army.

  Colt’s long sigh swirled visibly before his eyes. The temperature had dropped as they traveled inland. Right then, however, he didn’t feel winter’s frigid bite. His blood still boiling, he returned to the bulk of his forces.

  Though everyone was tired from walking since the dawn, Colt had his army up and moving with a single command. Nearly two hours later, his troupe was positioned southwest of the fort, waiting at a different edge of the woods. By all appearances, the goblins had not seen them.

  “They will spot us sooner or later,” he said aloud, not taking his eyes off of the black line of tents that stood like a jagged wall between him and the castle beyond. “We should act now.”

  “The men need rest,” insisted Ruford Berwyn, crouched beside him. The captain kept his normally booming voice to a level just above a whisper. “Besides, if we could sneak someone through the ranks and get word to Fort Valor—”

  “No.” Colt turned to face and Dylan, who was never far from Colt’s side these days. “There’s no time. If we move now, we can trap the goblins in a pincer attack between us and the fort’s troops.”

  Colt looked to Dylan for support. The Knight rubbed his chin, looking long and hard at the enemy camp. “The element of surprise is still our greatest asset.”

  Ruford frowned but didn’t say anything.

  “We’ll wait an hour,” Colt decided. “If we attack any earlier, the setting sun will hinder us. You and your men will ride out first, Ruford. Hopefully, this will buy those of us on foot a little time. Dylan, make sure the Knights are prepared. They’ll form the first line, followed by the Hylaners.”

  It wasn’t an ingenious strategy by any means. Send the cavalry out first, followed by infantry with battle-hardened warriors at the fore to set an example for the skittish novices. This was a battle plan that the Knights of Superius had utilized since the Order’s inception, and other armies had employed the same tactics long before Aldrake Superior established the kingdom that bore his name.

  If it was good enough for the first King of Superius, it was good enough for Colt—though the charge of Colt’s ragtag unit would hardly compare to the legendary exploits of Aldrake’s Twelve.

  “If we can break through their lines, we’ll keep going until we reach the fort,” Colt added.

  The chances of that happening were slim, but not impossible. They would need help from the Knights at the fort. If Stannel and Petton did not attack from the other side, Colt and his men were doomed.

  Dylan saluted sharply and walked away, moving deeper into the forest where the rest of the men waited. Ruford’s heavy-browed stare lingered on Colt for a moment longer, and then he too retreated back into the woods. It was only after the men were gone that Colt noticed Opal standing off to his left.

  They had spoken very little to each other since leaving Hylan. With each step taking them closer to Fort Valor—where Opal had wanted to go from the start—he had expected to hear the words “I told you so” from her lips.

  But there hadn’t been time for good-natured ribbing on the road. Opal had looked too preoccupied and weary to say much of anything. She still did. Colt longed to delve into her mind, and discover what had quenched her spirit—whether it was merely exertion or something more…something he had said or done…

  Rather than tread that dead-end road, he approached her and said, “I want you to take this.”

  She regarded the vuudu staff with wide eyes when he held out to her. “Why?”

  “I don’t want the goblins to get it back,” he explained. “I’ll be in the midst of the battle. If I fall…”

  In the next instant, Colt was face-to-face with the Opal he had come to love. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes narrowed. “And just where do you think I am going to be?”

  While he was relieved to see the old Opal again, in this instance he hoped she wouldn’t prove too stubborn. He cleared his throat. “I would like you to stay here.”

  “You don’t know me very well if you think I’m going to sit this one out. I shouldn’t get special treatment just because I’m your friend.”

  “It’s not that. The truth is, you’re the only one I can trust with keeping the staff.” He paused. “If not for my sake, then please…do it for Cholk.”

  Opal sucked in her lower lip and stared at the hideous staff. “That was a cheap shot, Colt.” Begrudgingly tugging the relic from his grasp, she added, “I’ll do it, but you have to promise to take it back after the battle. I don’t want to touch this thing for any longer than I have to. It gives me the shivers.”

  Colt knew what she meant. He had developed an ambivalent relationship with the staff. He loathed its magic, which had forced him to tell Drekk’t everything he knew about Capricon. But at the same time, it was a symbol of Cholk’s sacrifice and, therefore, precious to him.

  Either way, the disembodied skull on the tip was a grim reminder that death was always nearby.

  “I want to leave a few men behind with you…not for you,” he quickly amended, “but to protect the staff.”

  “We’ll do it.”

  Colt and Opal turned to locate the speake
r. Tryst leaned casually against a crooked elm tree. He had apparently been eavesdropping all along. A sheepish Lucky joined him.

  “Sorry for intruding,” Lucky said. “We couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying, and—”

  “We’d like to do our part and help guard the staff,” Tryst finished.

  Colt didn’t quite know what to make of the thieves. He figured that the two of them were looking for any excuse to stay out of harm’s way. While neither of them struck him as ideal candidates for the job, he had no better suggestions. Certainly, he would need every available Knight and militiaman for the battle ahead.

  Lucky and Tryst were as good a pair as any.

  After Colt told the men they could stay behind, Opal said, “I’d like to ask Othello to stay too. He’s…he’s in worse shape than he lets on.”

  Colt’s face burned in spite of the chilly evening. He wanted to forbid it for no other reason than to keep the two archers apart. But Opal had a point about the forester’s injuries. Anyway, Colt had come to realize he was incapable of denying the woman’s wishes.

  If she had demanded that he remain beside her, Colt might have sheathed his sword and let Dylan lead the attack in his stead.

  “Very well,” Colt said, doing what he could to maintain his composure. To Tryst and Lucky, he added, “You are to keep the staff from the goblins no matter the cost. Once we’ve cleared a path to the fort, you will make a run for it. Understand?”

  Tryst and Lucky nodded. The former looked bored by the conversation.

  “If the goblins get the staff, you’ll wish you had died,” he said to Tryst. “Do you understand?”

  Tryst shrugged. “So we keep out of sight and run away if the goblins come after us. Easy as a Kraken whore.”

  Colt looked away from the infuriating man and turned back to Opal. There was so much he wanted to tell her—there always was—and it occurred to him that despite his promise to return and reclaim the vuudu staff, he could very likely die in the battle ahead.

  This could well be the last time he saw her beautiful face, his final chance to tell her of the love he had been harboring ever since they met.

  But with two thieves encroaching on their privacy, not to mention his suspicion about Othello’s place in her heart, Colt simply said, “Be safe, Opal.”

  Then he was walking past her, Lucky, and Tryst. The sting of tears burned his eyes, but he blinked them away. He had to forget about Opal and concentrate on what lay ahead.

  As luck would have it, he crossed paths with Othello on his way back to his army. The forester nodded a greeting, which Colt returned coldly. There was no doubt in Colt’s mind that the man was heading for Opal. He might have suspected that Othello had arranged it all—staying behind with Opal and the vuudu staff—except for the fact that Colt had planned it himself.

  He unsheathed Chrysaal-rûn as he neared his men. Though Ruford’s troops brought their number up to one hundred and forty, Colt’s army made no more noise than a group of ten. Everyone rested in silence, waiting for his order to leave the cover of the trees and confront the enemy.

  Colt stared out through the bare branches. The bright orange sun hung like a giant egg yolk in the sky. After waiting so long to find Drekk’t and his army, Colt feared he wouldn’t be able to endure one more hour.

  He remained on the fringe the assembly, alternating his gaze between the sinking sun and Chrysaal-rûn. Absently, he ran his fingers over the silver crosspiece, admiring the fine craftsmanship. Taking in the crystalline surface of the blade, he wondered where such a magnificent weapon had come from. According to the stories that had been passed down from one generation of Crystaluses to the next, the crystal sword had been in the family for as long as the family had existed.

  Laenghot Crystalus had wielded Chrysaal-rûn before retiring from the Knighthood. He wondered why the sword had never worked its wonders for his father, or if it had, why he hadn’t told anyone about the sword’s magic.

  Had Colt done something to unlock the blade’s power? Watching the sunlight glisten on the blade’s smooth surface, Colt realized the more important question was whether or not he would be able trigger Chrysaal-rûn’s magic again.

  In less than an hour, he’d need every advantage he could get.

  * * *

  Stannel had fully expected the goblins to make a second strike that first night or, at the very least, return the next morning. When the T’Ruellian force remained in camp all the next day, he assumed the goblins were trying to lull them into complacency. Why else would the massive army give the Knights time to rest and regroup?

  After four full days of calm, Stannel did not know what to think.

  Surely there was some logic behind the goblins’ strategy. It was as though the goblins were waiting for something, and since the Knights had no reason to ride out from their redoubt, he was forced to conclude the enemy expected something else to happen.

  Meanwhile, Stannel prayed and meditated, looking to Pintor for guidance, though no revelation came. In the end, Stannel was left to conclude that the goblins were either going to starve them out, or—more likely—they were awaiting the arrival of whatever weapon had destroyed the original Fort Valor.

  In the interim, the Knights could only wait impatiently for the inevitable strike.

  Sister Aric and Ruben, the highwayman-turned-healer apprentice, treated those who had been wounded during the goblins’ initial foray. Thankfully, most had escaped the battle with minor injuries. Eleven Knights had perished during in the fray or shortly thereafter. That wasn’t so many when compared to the hundreds of goblins that had died, but to Stannel, the loss of even one Knight was too many.

  Every day, Stannel met with Petton, Ezekiel Silvercrown, and Chadwich Vesparis for status reports, though truthfully, little changed from one day to the next. Stannel tried to gauge the attitudes of his officers at the meetings but was unable to ascertain much.

  Petton was as curt as ever, and the other two officers acted no different from before Stannel had proclaimed the truth of his relationship with the Great Protector. He wondered whether the men accepted him for what he was, or whether they were simply tolerating him because they had little choice in the matter.

  Stannel was trying to lend a hand in the infirmary, enjoying the opportunity to chat with his dear friend Aric, when he heard the first cries coming down from the lookouts. He met Petton and Zeke Silvercrown on the way to his office. The latter had come directly from the sentries on the battlements.

  “An army rides from the southwest,” Sir Silvercrown said.

  “More goblins?” Petton asked, incredulous.

  Zeke shook his head. “No, they’re human…cavalry and infantry.”

  Stannel could scarcely believe the subcommander’s words. He had prayed almost ceaselessly for a solution to the fort’s predicament. It seemed Pintor was providing an answer.

  “Who could they be?” Petton asked. “Reinforcements from Rydah? Or Steppt maybe?”

  They had no way of knowing, but Stannel thought it safe to say any enemy of the T’Ruellians’ was a friend of theirs.

  “How many?” Stannel asked Sir Silvercrown.

  Zeke’s reply caused Stannel’s and Petton’s faces to fall.

  “One hundred…one hundred and fifty at best.”

  Zeke Silvercrown told what he had learned from the lookouts. Only a small fraction of the mysterious battalion was mounted. Those on foot were decked in all manner of armor—and in many cases, wore no mail at all. Cavalry and infantry alike were charging toward the goblin line.

  “They’ll be annihilated!” Petton said. “Even if the goblins don’t break ranks, there are enough fiends between us and the new arrivals to overwhelm them in a matter of minutes.”

  “If we can drive a wedge into the goblins and meet this new army halfway, we can at least provide them with a path to the fort,” Stannel said.

  “But we know the goblins can take on human form,” Zeke said. “What if this is a trick?
”

  Stannel considered the possibility but dismissed it almost immediately. If there were a shaman in the enemy army, why go to such trouble? If what T’slect had done to Fort Faith’s western wing was any indication of a shaman’s power, the goblins would be better off barraging the fort with vuudu than develop such an elaborate hoax.

  In any event, Stannel couldn’t risk the lives of their unexpected allies.

  “I shall lead the cavalry forth,” he told his officers. “Lieutenant, ready the bulk of our foot soldiers and await my signal. If this army of humans proves genuine, I will summon you. Subcommander Silvercrown, you will remain within the fort with the other Knights. The goblins will undoubtedly attempt to break in. Do whatever you can to repel them.”

  Both men saluted and were off. Stannel went the other way, heading for the stable.

  “Commander.”

  Stannel looked back to find Petton farther down the hall. For a second, Stannel worried Petton would refuse his orders.

  But then he asked, “What signal should I watch for?”

  Stannel smiled and glanced down at the mace that was always at hand. “You will know it when you see it.”

  * * *

  Charging headlong at thousands of monsters who wanted only to kill him, Colt was overcome by an inexplicable calm.

  Is it because I have surrendered to his fate? he wondered. Or is this just what it felt like to fight for a righteous cause?

  With each enemy he slew, Colt prayed it was one of the goblins who had murdered Cholk. Every swing of Chrysaal-rûn sent torrents of black blood spraying through the air. As he pushed through the goblin line, a trail of body parts bespoke his passage.

  He quickly outpaced his allies. When he was thrown from his dying horse, he somehow managed to land on his feet. The fiends were all around him, but he hardly cared. He had only one thought: to slay as many goblins as he could before he himself was slain.

  Colt almost immediately lost count of how many had fallen to his impossibly honed blade. His movements were automatic, perfect. It felt like he was watching someone else butcher the monsters, one after another. Not a single opponent found an opening in his defenses. Chrysaal-rûn cleaved through unguarded flanks and oncoming weaponry alike.